#💜🤍💜🤍

[oflights]

Grief Work

I have gazed the black flower blooming her animal eye. Gacela oscura. Negra llorona.

Along the clayen banks I follow her-astonished, gathering grief’s petals she lets fall like horns.

Why not now go toward the things I love?

Like Jacob’s angel, I touched the garnet of her wrist, and she knew my name. And I knew hers— it was Auxocromo, it was Cromóforo, it was Eliza. It hurtled through me like honeyed-rum.

When the eyes and lips are touched with honey what is seen and said will never be the same.

Eve took the apple in that ache-opened mouth, on fire and in pieces, from the knife’s sharp edge.

In the photo her fist presses against the red-gold geometry of her thigh. Black nylon, black garter, unsolvable mysterium—I have to close my eyes to see.

Achilles chasing Hektor round the walls of Ilium three times. How long must I circle the high gate above her knees?

Again the gods put their large hands in me, move me, break my heart like a clay jar of wine, loosen a beast from some darklong depth—

my melancholy is hoofed. I, the terrible beautiful Lampon, a shining devour-horse tethered at the bronze manger of her collarbones.

I do my grief work with her body—labor to make the emerald tigers in her hips leap, lead them burning green to drink from the violet jetting her.

We go where there is love, to the river, on our knees beneath the sweet water. I pull her under four times until we are rivered. We are rearranged.

I wash the silk and silt of her from my hands— now who I come to, I come clean to, I come good to.

Natalie Diaz

[tinycozycomfort]

💐 once you receive this lovely bouquet of flowers you have to mention five things you love, publicly, and send it to 10 of your favorite followers if you want. SPREAD POSITIVITY! ⛅️

doni!!! u angel!!! i love u!!! 💟

1) the kids i work with even if they terrify me

2) my mom

3) sitting outside in the morning and reading until the sun's too hot

4) rain!!!

5) driving along the coast

[rhea-ripley]

Love your new white gear Rhea theme

Thank you anon 💜🤍💜🤍 That look of her's was fatal to my heart

[serendipminie]

Picrew Tag Game!

I was tagged by @odeblr to cattify myself using this picrew! Thank you so much, Ezra :)

The blue spots represent the streaks of blue I currently have in my hair! The glasses on my cat self are almost identical to my real ones, so I couldn't not use them :)

I will tag @jongside, @faceglitchsworld, @solaysa, @snoos-tattoos, @seohosincerely, @toxicrevolver, @luvrli, @shadow-of-tea-and-tea, @littlebookworm69, @asoulsreverie and @chronosik only if you want! As always, if you see this and would like to do it too, feel more than welcome!

[the-delta-quadrant]

i'm ace, i'm asexual, i don't experience sexual attraction, i wear an ace ring on a regular basis, i have an asexual pride flag, i have asexual pride merch, the ace flag is in my profile picture, i've identified as asexual for 10+ years, asexuality is my oldest queer identity, i talk a lot about being ace because it's part of who i am and affects my every day life, i'm proud to be ace, i'm ace and taking up space, i'm ace and in your face, i will never shut up about being ace, i didn't suffer through ace discourse to stay silent about asexuality. they haven't bullied me into silence then and they won't do it now. i'm the exact amount of asexual that offends you personally.

[nanakorobiyaokii]

 💜🤍💜🤍💜🤍💜🤍💜🤍💜🤍💜🤍💜🤍💜

[randomfandom-3]

Lucifer: I like your new pants! Alastor: Thanks, they were 50% off! Lucifer: I’d like them better if they were 100% off. winks Alastor: The store can’t just give away clothes for free. Lucifer: Thats’s… not what I meant. Alastor: That’s a terrible way to run a business, Lucifer.

[hylianane]

The official OP twitter account changed its icon and header to Zoro. On the first day of Pride.

[moonskytale]

💜OMG he so cute💜

*poor cross🥺*

[younglibrariansworld]

Happy Asexuality Day 🖤🩶🤍💜

[themissingmango]

“Mav has five. Makes him an ace.” | 💜🤍🩶🖤

I drew this over on twitch and you can go watch the stream if you’d like!

[poke-the-vail]

valid ppls:

✅ Asexuals who engage in sexual things

✅ Asexuals who enjoy sexual things

✅ Asexuals that experience hyper-sexuality

✅ Asexuals who have never done sexual things ever

✅ Asexuals who are sex-negative/repulsed

✅ Asexuals who are sex positive or neutral

✅ ASEXUALS!!

you still have human feelings and emotions, you are not just some stone-cold face everyone passes by. You are amazing and I love you all (/p)

🖤🩶🤍💜

[jannelle-o]

🥺🤍💜

[liquidstar]

I'm thinking so much about Emilia's "The version of me that lives inside your head must be amazing. She can understand everything, even if you don't explain it to her." and basically screaming crying and throwing up

[lennadanvers]

His Home

Johnny Soap MacTavish x Ace!Reader

A/N: I'm a day late to Ace Week, but I really wanted to post this. I'd love to see more ace representation in fanfiction, so I'm doing my part. Plus, this kind of relationship has always been my favorite- there's something about undefined love that makes it perfect. I really like this one, so much that I wrote it while studying for my History exam. I hope you love it too, happy belated Ace Week!

Ghost is the first one to ask about it.

About you.

It’s late, you went to bed an hour ago, and Johnny offered him a beer. They’re looking at the empty front yard, a normal street in a normal neighborhood- a rare sight for soldiers of their kind. The food you and Soap made for the occasion sits warm in their bellies. The air smells of quiet and night.

Simon has known Johnny for a long time- and he has known him well. He didn’t know about this, though. He heard about you, of course. The first time Soap wasn’t sure if he’d make it back home, it was your name he mumbled. Instructions were clear: his dog tags were for you to receive. Along with everything else in his barracks. Ae dinnae care aboot all the rules. Ye gotta take me home tae ‘er.

Ghost knew you weren’t married- he would have seen it in his sergeant’s paperwork. He decided you were his girlfriend, then.

Until someone flirted with Johnny at a bar, and he happily told them he was single. Single. It didn’t lead anywhere, anyway; he came back to base with the rest of the team that night. Maybe he didn’t have a bird at home anymore, thought Simon.

But then there was the roommate. Soap was always talking about the roommate, how she would always leave hairs in the shower, how the laundry detergent smelled like flowers back home. It was said with fondness, the kind of affectionate jab one develops with family or very close friends. Ghost supposed you might be a childhood friend, then. Someone who had always been in Johnny’s life.

Come the end of their last mission, he had nowhere to stay at. His apartment was waiting for him, of course, but it was as empty and cold as any hotel room. His sergeant invited him home- tae meet ma girl. His girl. That was not a relationship status- no friend, no sister or girlfriend. Just girl, his girl.

He had to say yes.

Then there were you. Johnny’s age, bright eyes full of affection when you saw him. Small, soft hands ruffling the mohawk, saying it was getting out of hand. Nodding when he asked for another trim, bonnie, aye?

You hugged him around the neck, face under his chin. Ghost feared you would suffocate his sergeant. But Johnny’s face was pink, relaxed for the first time since before the mission. His arms were at your back, hands rounding your waist- they were used to that place. His nose deep in your hair- Simon felt like he was overstepping, like he wasn’t meant to see that. No one was.

Until you gave a step back- soft smile, soft eyes, soft Johnny- and welcomed him to your home. You called him L.T., like you knew him. Simon suspected you did. You didn’t try to shake his hand or- God forbid- hug him hello. You didn’t even risk a step into his personal space. He didn’t think it was out of fear- you didn’t blink twice at the black surgical mask. You just smiled and gave him a tour of the house.

That was another thing, the house. Tiny and tidy, cozy. Ghost didn’t have much experience with homes, but that’s what it looked like to him. A place lived in, well loved. A place with a past. Even more intriguing, a place with a future. By the way you talked, he gathered you weren’t renting. This place was owned. Something for the long run.

When you got to the hallway, though, you pointed to the last door. That’s my room! You can knock if you need anything, I’m a pretty light sleeper. Then to the one before that: That’s Johnny’s. Then the guest bedroom and the bathroom.

So you don’t sleep together.

Which would have been an answer to his curiosity, if it weren’t for the kitchen. After he left his stuff- a half-empty duffel bag- in the guest room, Simon went back to the small but charming space that is- all in one- your kitchen, living room and dining room. He was still in his soldier headspace, which means his steps were quiet. When he stepped into the kitchen, neither you nor Soap noticed him there.

You were laughing, hand on his bicep, eyes closed. Johnny was smiling. His shoulders down, his face soft. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer in a weird hug. You swayed together, and Simon almost heard the music you were dancing to. It went on for a while. Johnny went to grab a knife and you’d already placed the cutting board in front of him. You grabbed the oven mitt and he opened the oven.

You two are the perfect machine, always knowing where the other is going next. The smiles never falter. For the first time in years, Simon feels like he’s in a home. It’s confusing and startling. How come Soap has this waiting for him? How is he even able to go on deployment, knowing he might not have the chance to dance around you in the kitchen again?

The thought sparks memories. Soap’s sketchbook, a gleaming eye peeking from the page. His tactical jacket, jasmine perfume as they march through a field. A hair tie in the keychain. Gunpowder hands buying a bracelet in a faraway country. Making flower crowns while waiting for the target to show up. Dodging bullets with blue fevered eyes. Take me home tae ‘er.

He cleared his throat, and you handled him the plates to set on the table.

After dinner, you said goodnight. Johnny kissed your cheek; I left some beers in the fridge. Another kiss on the forehead. You waved at Simon, sweet and tired. Soap’s eyes followed you through the hallway.

Out in the cool night air, Simon asks.

“Tha’ ‘er?”

Soap flinches in his seat. The bottle in his hand twinkles under the stars. Doesn’t seem willing to reply. Maybe he doesn’t know how.

“The one from yer drawings?”

The nod is soft.

“Aye.”

Interrogation is an art. Ghost knows many ways to get information out of people. None of them work better on his sergeant than silence. The man has a need to fill empty spaces.

So he waits until Johnny takes the bait.

“A’v always known her.”

Another silence. Simon doesn’t need to ask the question out loud.

“We arenae datin. She isnae ma girlfriend. Or wife,” Jhonny’s voice is warm and liquid. “She's the love o ma life.”

Curiosity bubbles again. How does this life fit with the man out in the field? How come a cozy little house is home to a demolition expert?

“How’s tha’ work?”

Soap’s shoulders tighten, preparing for a defensive stance.

“She doesnae want sex.”

That’s not quite an answer, so Simon waits. Johnny’s back relaxes slowly, as if relieved by the lack of a reaction.

“But ‘a dinnae care aboot all that stuff. She's here whan ‘a come home, an she takes care o’ me. A tak care o’ her. Thare's nothin more than that.”

Nothing more he could ask for. Nothing more he’d ever want. His eyes glow blue, melting ice in the night. Ghost wonders, surprised, how he never saw it. How he didn’t realize.

After that, he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s nothing else he’d need to know, really. When the bottles are empty and the air a little too cold, they retreat to their rooms.

The next morning, Simon stays in bed a little longer than usual. He listens to your soft steps in the hallway, the little knock on the door and Johnny’s raspy laugh. He hears the sheets and the whispers, the way he tells you stories about their last deployement- some true (only the lighter ones), the rest made up, with a handsome, Scottish hero. He pictures you tucked in Johnny’s side, his hand in your hair, easy smiles lighting up the room. And he understands. Once again, his sergeant’s words sound in his head.

A dinnae care aboot the rules. She’s ma girl, L.T.

[coolauntlilith]

Everyone's making Catradora vs Ballister x Ambrosius comparison posts.

All I saw tho?

(Excuse my blinds reflecting on my tv lol)