#this is giving me thoughts about the “in another word” line

[scribeofmorpheus]

and paired with the "in another world" line, this goes crazy. the idea that solas never once considered another world to be in, he always resolved himself to fix the one he (inadvertently) broke or fought for the one he was always a part of (during the war). yet lavellan's spirit and love are so singular--so rare, so precious and worthy of more than he feels he is capable of giving her in the world they both reside in--that for the first time (presumably) he yearns for a different one!

(but the irony is, in that other world, they might never have met--their love is so entangled within the results of his 'failures'; that "in another world" they may have been blind to each other; lavellan may have never come to be in the form she is in now!)

and yet! they make another world their's anyway--a world beyond the veil!

thinking about solas' "rare and marvelous spirit" comment and how much that truly means. try to imagine how many spirits solas has known in his long life. imagine the depth of his experience, communing with and learning from and befriending them. think of how he respects them, defends them. how he loves them. think of the weight of that understanding, and then put that weight behind his compliment. her singular spirit, out of innumerable others, is rare to him? countless years of wonder in the fade, and her spirit is worth his marvel?

[cornflowersisblue]

To the Bathroom, Without Me?

Mr. Gap X Fem reader Tags: Lovesickness for a dark-haired boy from another world with p#rnographic c#ntent. Words: 2000

Full version on AO3 You let out a tired sigh as you sank into the hot water, feeling the tension of the long day begin to melt away. Warm steam rose into the air, settling on the tiled walls and creating a soft mist around you. Your day at work had been utterly exhausting, so when you returned home, you couldn’t even follow your usual routine and simply tossed your things on the bathroom floor as you undressed. Your eyes closed as you took a deep breath, enjoying the long-awaited warmth. It had been a very cold day for November, and you were freezing on your way home. That’s why the water in the bath was hotter than usual.

But suddenly, a strange chill ran through you, as if a cold wind slipped into the room. You opened your eyes and flinched when you saw Mr. Gap right in front of you. His sudden appearances were something you could never get used to, no matter how often they happened.

Mr. Gap didn’t seem to care about anything. He enjoyed simple things like watching lazily or teasing someone now and then. He didn’t feel tied to anything. He was lying right in front of you now, shamelessly stretched out between your legs. His dark hair fell forward, covering his left eye, while his right eye studied you closely. He rubbed his cheek against your damp leg, his hair slightly wet and sticking to his pale skin.

He was also pleased that his body was restored, with all its parts in place. Though out of old habit, or maybe because it was more comfortable for him, he only showed his head. In moments like today. You saw him in the reflection of your office window. His ghostly face and a grin from ear to ear scared your boss so much she turned pale. She stopped scolding you, even though she clearly had a lot to say, and quickly left the office. Did Mr. Gap do it on purpose? Or was he just having fun?

His dark lips curved into a smirk. Now he appeared fully, pressing down on you with his weight. In the soft, warm light of your bathroom, he looked almost harmless. His face was strangely handsome, with a slightly upturned nose and a sharp chin. Of course, his large light-gray eyes, framed with thick black lines, stood out sharply against his pale skin. Long, slender fingers with black nails lazily trailed across your stomach, leaving behind a familiar faint chill. Your eyes followed his hand, drawn to its slow movement, as though he was lost in his thoughts too.

"Warm," he said softly. His voice was pleasant, with a slight rasp, like that of a young man—not too deep, but not high either. "It’s cold... out there." He lifted his head and nodded toward the small bathroom window. It was fogged up from the steam, making it hard to see through, but you knew it was still snowing outside. You gave a slight nod, understanding what he meant.

"Give me your finger?" he asked, raising his eyebrows with such a fake and innocent expression that it was almost pitiful. His face always vividly conveyed every emotion, and he knew how to use that to his advantage.

You lifted your hand out of the water and offered it to him. You remembered your first meeting with him. There were two identical gray doors in front of you, and without thinking, you reached for the one on the right. Behind the handle was his face. It was terrifying. You slammed the door shut right in his face with a loud bang and ran away, hoping he wouldn’t follow. But the longer you stayed in that strange place, where everything seemed to want to kill you, the more you realized you needed help. You knew nothing about that world. You just ran aimlessly from room to room, from hallway to hallway, your heart sinking at the thought of what might be hiding behind the walls. Or above you. Or under the floor. Then you remembered a book. It had a strange illustration that stuck in your mind: the eye of a creature peeking out from a crack in the wall. Creatures like that were described as watchers who didn’t cause much harm. They were said to serve as a reminder to take care of your home.

Yeah, right. A real spirit of cleanliness who loves water.

You smiled as he leaned closer, his thin fingers wrapping around your wrist and lifting your hand to his face. His lips curled into a thin smile every time he got what he wanted. He bit the tip of your finger with his sharp teeth, then ran his tongue over it. You brushed your thumb against his lower lip.

"Hello, Mr. Gap," you finally said, running your hand through his hair and letting your fingers slide down his back. He let go of your hand, shifted slightly, and made himself comfortable.

"Am I your pillow now?" you asked with a small smirk.

He reached out, stretching for something behind your head.

"Not understand your language," he reminded you. His fingers closed around a red candle. He turned it over in his hands, studying it for a moment. Then, pressing two fingers together, he lit the wick. The flame flickered softly, its warm light reflecting in his pale gray eyes. Continue reading on AO3

[insidekatmind]

The Fascination with Tattoos~Levi Colwill

A minute of silence to appreciate him and his tattoos!

Your gaze is lost on Levi's arm, as it happens far too often. You’re both sitting on the couch at home, enjoying a quiet evening after a long day. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, leaving his tattoos clearly visible as they wind along his muscular arm. Each line seems to tell a story, each design captures your attention. You can’t look away, and when you realize it, he’s already watching you with that mischievous smile that always makes you blush.

"Do you like what you see, love?" he asks, his voice warm and tinged with amused curiosity.

You quickly avert your gaze, embarrassed, trying to mask the heat rising to your cheeks. "I was just... thinking about what to cook tomorrow," you lie awkwardly.

Levi chuckles, leaning a little closer. "Sure, sure. So why were you staring at my arm for at least five minutes?"

You sigh, knowing you can’t escape his observation. "It’s just that... your tattoos are so beautiful. I can’t help but look at them."

He leans in even closer, propping his elbow on the back of the couch, his tattooed arm right in front of your face. "Oh, really? Which one’s your favorite?"

You bite your lip, hesitating. "The one with the roses. It’s so detailed, it almost looks real."

Levi raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your answer. "The roses, huh? I didn’t think you were into flowers."

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "I’m romantic, didn’t you know?"

"I know very well," he replies, leaning even closer. His arm is now practically under your nose, and you can feel the warmth of his skin. "Do you want to touch it?"

Your heart races, and you look at him with wide eyes. "What?"

He laughs softly, his voice a perfect blend of sweetness and teasing. "I said, do you want to touch it? I know you’re dying to."

You bite your lower lip, but eventually, you give in. Reaching out, you lightly trace the black lines of the tattoo with your fingers. Levi’s skin is warm under your touch, and he watches your every movement closely, as if you’re uncovering a secret.

"You really like it, huh?" he asks in a lower tone, almost whispering.

"I like everything about you," you admit, your voice a bit more confident now. "But the tattoos... they’re fascinating. They say so much about you."

Levi smiles, but there’s something different in his eyes now—a mix of pride and desire. "You know I got them to mark important moments in my life, right? But now, you’re making me want to get another one, just for you."

You look at him, surprised. "For me?"

He nods, his gaze serious but tender. "Yeah. Something that represents you, us. Maybe your name, or something only we’d understand."

Your heart tightens at the thought. "That would be amazing. But are you sure? I don’t want you to get a tattoo just to make me happy."

He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. You know how much my tattoos mean to me, and you’re such an important part of my life. Why not celebrate that?"

You look into his eyes, feeling the love behind his words. "Then I want you to choose the design. Something that reminds you of me but also has meaning for you."

Levi smiles, pulling you closer for a kiss that’s sweet yet intense. "You’re incredible, you know that?"

After a few minutes, when you’re both lying on the couch again, he can’t resist teasing you one last time. He lifts his tattooed arm, showing off the details you adore so much. "So... how many times a day do you think about my tattoos?"

You laugh, hiding your face against his chest. "Too many to admit."

He wraps his arms around you, laughing with you. "Perfect, because I want you to keep it that way. And next time, I promise I’ll get something special inked, just for you."

[readingiskeepingmegoing]

I have thoughts on the relationship of Acacius and Lucilla. 

I have thoughts on the relationship of Acacius and Lucilla. 

!!Spoiler Warning!!

If you haven't seen the movie yet, maybe swerve this one until you have.

I am in no way a writer, and this is essentially just a word jumble that fell out of my brain. Please be gentle with me.  

Massive thanks to @schnarfer and @jessthebaker for listening to me yell and sharing your thoughts with me. Your insights were invaluable.    We see Acacius and Lucilla deeply in love in the movie. But I think they came to this over time.     

In the flashback scene of Lucilla taking Lucius from the arena after Maximus and Commodus have died, it appears to be Acacius who is helping him onto the horse. So from this we can infer that the pair have known each other for a long time, and that Acacius is loyal to Lucilla, just as he was loyal to Maximus. It makes me wonder if Maximus had maybe sent word to him to protect Lucilla and Lucius. A role that Acacius take seriously and sees through to the end. 

  Lucilla is held in high regard by the Roman people and even called Queen, and that gives her power, but it also makes her dangerous to the incumbent Emperor/s, and keeps her in constant personal danger.    Acacius was trained by Maximus. He clearly remains loyal to him even after his death. The Emperor after Commodus would no doubt have been suspicious of him and anyone who had served closely with Maximus. If one General could defeat an Emperor, then why not another?     I see the Emperor initially using Acacius as Lucilla's jailer. "Keep her in line or we will know you are not loyal" sort of thing. While also making sure that Lucilla knew that she was being watched. Not even safe to confide in her maids.    There will no doubt have been a bit of resentment there, especially from Lucilla, who doesn't know what lengths Acacius is going to, to keep them both alive and as free as possible.    Acacius falls in love with Lucilla before she falls in love with him. He may have known about Lucilla and Maxmus's relationship. And it is easy to see why he would have been attracted to her. The Emperor/s probably would have noticed a change in how he is with her, how he looked at her and so the manipulation would have changed. "Do what we say or we will send your wife to you on the battlefield, wouldn't it be terrible if something happened to her on the journey to you?" 

During time away from war, Acacius and Lucilla may have found their relationship to be strained in the beginning. He will have been so much lower in rank that her, the only thing they would have really have had in common at the start would have been their love of Maximus. Over time cordiality will have grown between them, deepening to a mutual respect.    Acacius comes home from battle grievously wounded, and that is when Lucilla realises that she loves him. The Emperor/s send nurses to care for him, and she sends them all away and tends him herself, pouring all of her newly discovered love into healing him, calling on her childhood nurse who is skilled in the arts of wise women. And during this time they get to truly know each other and their passionate love grows in earnest.    

I also feel as though Lucilla will not have wanted more children. She will not have wanted to hand the Emperor/s more leverage over her, nor have wanted to see her children chewed up and spit out by what Rome becomes. So Acacius respects her choice and encourages her to get whatever contraceptive remedies are most effective from her nurse, so that he can be her husband in every way. 

  They clearly have no secrets, he knew that Maximus was Lucius's father. He did not hesitate to try to free Lucius at Lucilla's request. This, to me, makes his sacrifice in the arena more heartbreaking. He is trying to protect his beloved wife from losing her son again, and upholding his loyalty to the man who trained him.  

If you made it all the way to the end, thank you for bearing with the rantings and ramblings of a madwoman.

Tagging because you asked so sweetly: @ghotifishreads @jennaispunk @missredherring

@noisynightmarepoetry @schnarfer @jessthebaker

[curtins]

🌿 I LOVE YOU SO MATCHA! — gojo satoru sfw!

prologue. → green was the color of life, and gojo satoru, in all his contradictions, carried life in the way he loved recklessly, laughed shamelessly, and held you like the universe began and ended with you. 🌿 🤍 part of the cookbook (@antizenin)

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

but green is the colour of earth. of living things, of life. and of rot. — unknown.

warnings+. sweetness and established relationship, there's angst in this i genuinely couldn't help it, reader wears a dress in a scene, mentions of injury!

word count. 4k! song inspiration. luther — kendrick lamar, sza

a/n. i'm doing the sukuna shibuya bow from making another predictable twist and ending. but i actually rlly loved writing this, this fic is gonna stay with me i fear <3 gif made by me!

mp3. if it was up to me, i wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy. i'd take away the pain, i'd give you everything

most people think of gojo satoru in shades of blue.

not the soft and wistful kind that paints summer skies, or the quiet ripple of a lake at dawn. no, they think of an unearthly blue. sharp and electrifying, the kind that stings your eyes and lingers even after you look away.

the shocking azure of his cursed technique, like lightning bottled and ready to shatter the earth. or maybe it's the endless stretch of his eyes, the kind of blue that is so bright, you may burn yourself if you look too long.

to everyone else, gojo is blue. bold, and unrelenting and impossible to ignore.

but to you, gojo satoru is green.

it took time for you to notice it. green doesn't always shout or demand attention. it waits quietly in the background, sometimes content to let others take the stage.

but once you saw it, it was everywhere. it bloomed and took over your life.

the café smells like freshly brewed coffee, warm bread, and the faint sweetness of jasmine blooms sitting in a vase by the window. it's a quiet day, the kind that only seems to exist when gojo has finally managed to wrangle some rare time off.

your boyfriend sits across from you, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, grinning like he's thought of something utterly brilliant.

"okay, hear me out," he says, holding up a hand like he's about to make a groundbreaking declaration that will shatter the earth and bring world peace, "you're the oolong one for me."

you pause and scrunch your face, mid-sip in your tea, "please don't."

gojo leans forward, his grin growing wider ever still, "no? how about this? you're simply tea-rrific."

you bury your face in your hands, as an elderly couple looks at the two of you oddly, "you're unbearable."

"tea-rrific. like terrific," gojo laughs, wagging a finger like a professor lecturing his class, "get it? because -"

"oh, i get it," you cut in, shaking your head but still smiling at your entire world of a boyfriend, "i just refuse to reward bad behaviour."

but you should know better than to think you've tampered down on the relentless force that is gojo satoru. he is relentless in all things, especially when he decides to make you laugh. he's launched into an entire string of tea-related puns, each one worse than the last.

chai think you're amazing! we're a matcha made in heaven! leaf me alone, i'm on a roll!

and somehow, somewhere between the chai and matcha, you start to notice the green.

the delicate stems and leaves of the jasmine says slightly as the café door opens and closes, catching your eye. their soft green isn't loud nor is it attention-seeking. just quietly present, a backdrop to the white blooms that adorn their head.

it is the kind of colour you don't realise you've been missing until it's suddenly there.

you glance at the window, and the trees lining the street are the same, their leaves dappling the sunlight as they sway in the breeze. even the café walls, painted in a muted, sage-like shade, seem to glow just a little in the sunlight. a backdrop to gojo's charming antics.

he's still in front of you, his hair gleaming the same dewy shade as the jasmine blossoms. so animated as he explains why leaf me alone was an under appreciated pun.

there's green in him too, you think.

not in the obvious sense for gojo satoru is far too outwardly vivid to be defined by something as soft as the green akin to your matcha. but it's still there, beneath the flash of his grin and the sharpness of his humour. in the way that he leans closer to make sure you're still smiling.

in the way he somehow turns the whole world into a quiet garden on days like this.

"okay," gojo says, leaning back to cross his arms over his crisp white tee, "i'll stop. but admit it, i brewed up some great ones."

you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you, "fine. one of them was acceptable."

gojo gasps, clutching his chest like you've delivered a fatal, cleaving wound, "one? one? i give you comedy gold, and the love of my life repays me like this!"

the jasmine leaves quiver again as your knee knocks up, shaking the table, "you're impossible."

gojo smiles softer this time, tipping his head as though you've delivered the greatest compliment in the world, "yeah. but love me so matcha!"

the strongest sorcerer in modern history is cracking himself up again, and you can feel the warmth of the colour green around you. in the leaves, in the dappled light, and the man across from you who somehow makes the world softer, and sweeter. and full of life.

there's a matcha-green hoodie in gojo's closest. it's oversized, cozy and worn just enough at the cuffs to feel like a bit of a secret. something loved so well that it holds pieces of him in the quilted fabric.

it's nothing like the sharp navy and indigo of his uniform that he wears on duty, where every line is a untouchable warning. no, these clothes are the opposite for you. it's familar. it's gojo's off-duty self, the one that the rest of the world doesn't get to see.

gojo only really wears it at home, when he's padding around barefoot with tousled, snowy hair brushing over his forehead as he pretends to tiptoe (and fails spectacularly) to let you sleep in. it's the kind of green that somehow makes the mornings softer, as if the day dances quietly around you too.

it's also the green of the evenings when he drapes himself over the couch in your apartment, long legs dangling over the armrest while he beckons you with a lazy smile.

the fabric is impossibly soft against your cheek as you settle into his broad chest, and his arms loop around you like they were always meant to belong there. it smells like him too, a little like cedar and a little like pine. and you think it might be your favourite place in the world.

one time, you stole it.

you hadn't planned it. you had been cold, and it had been right there. before you knew it, you had been walking around the house in its oversized embrace.

when gojo had caught you for the first, his grin stretched wide, playful and wicked.

"hey, well," gojo had drawled, leaning against a doorframe like a cartoon cat that had finally cornered the mouse, "look who's going through other people's closets."

you tugged the sleeves further over your hands, "it's comfortable. you take my shit all the time."

"it's cute on you," gojo says, sauntering closer and placing his large hands on either side of your face, "but you know...no one looks cuter than me."

you snort and turn your back on him, which only encourages for the six-foot-three man to chase after you. and even though he claimed he needed it back, he didn't get it for a week.

maybe because you refused to give it up, or maybe because every time he saw you in it, he just shook his head, grinning as if he’d been caught in the middle of something he didn’t mind losing.

when gojo invited you back to the family estate, you had braced yourself for grandeur. looming gates, and endless halls. the suffocating weight of tradition.

and yes, the grandeur had been there. but what lingered most in your memory wasn't the vastness or the architecture. it was how beautiful it was.

there were several shrines that lay nestled among the estate, hidden away on plots of land. this one had been worn soft by time, covered in moss and nestled among the larger stones.

spring had woven itself into every corner of the estate, from the blossoms swaying overhead to the long grass brushing against your ankles as you walked.

gojo stood a few steps ahead of you, glancing back as if to make sure that you hadn't disappeared, hadn't been swallowed up by the earth. he was dressed in far more traditional robes for once, navy linen lowing and rippling as he moved.

but there was something endearingly out of place about him here, like a bird perched on the wrong branch.

"spring makes it look nicer than it is," he said, running his fingers over the soft, white edges of his undercut. you can hear the underlying vulnerable note in his seemingly casual voice.

you didn’t reply right away, too caught up in the way the sunlight filtered through the cherry blossoms, scattering dappled green shadows across the worn stone steps. when you reached the base of the shrine, you paused, taking it all in: the moss, the blossoms, the breeze, and him.

"it's beautiful," you said finally, and he gave you a lopsided smile that felt more honest than any grandeur could ever be.

he waited for you at the top of the steps, his gaze steady and warm as the spring air. for a moment, he looked like he belonged here, a part of the ancient garden itself. like a carven statue created by loving hands, forever memorialised as something not quite human. but you knew better.

he didn't like this place — this house that felt more like a museum than a home, this estate heavy with the weight of a family name he wore like armour. since arriving, he’d been quieter than usual, his usual spark dimmed by old memories and expectations, and constantly bowing servants who called him lord and master gojo.

but now, as gojo watched you walk through the long grass, something shifted. his shoulders have relaxed, his hands hung loose at his sides. and then, so softly you almost missed it, he says, "i want to marry you."

you froze, the words catching in the breeze between you.

he wasn’t looking at the shrine anymore, or the blossoms, or the sky. gojo satoru was looking at you, his blue eyes calm and unwavering, like he’d found his answer in the very place he’d been avoiding.

"i know it's not much right now," he added, his voice low and rough around the edges, as though he wasn’t used to baring this part of himself, "and i don't care what the elders say. but you're the only person i want."

at the edge of the jujutsu high campus, there's a vending machine of incredible drinks. its green paint had faded, and chipped from the years of stubborn sun and countless coins clinking into its slot.

it hums faintly, blending into the scenery like a reliable friend that carried you through your own years of high school.

somehow, it's become your spot. not officially, no. there was no grand declaration, no conscious agreement and treaty. but after his classes, he always ends up here.

and so do you.

it starts the same way each time. gojo satoru saunters up to his fiancé with that unmistakable grin, white hair catching the light as if he was trying outshine the sun itself.

you watch as he slides a coin into the slot with theatrical position, with his finger hovering dramatically over the buttons. like he's choosing between life and death, instead of commercial canned drinks.

"one iced matcha," gojo announces in a tone meant for a training arena, and not a quiet campus corner. his hand arcs in an exaggerated flourish as he offers you the drink, "for the love of my life."

you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you, "flattery won’t get you anywhere," you reply, accepting the can and cracking it open with practiced ease.

it's a dance you've done a hundred times, but somehow it never gets old. he leans against the vending machine, towering and smug, watching you take a sip like he’s waiting for something.

"don't even think about it, satoru" you warn, holding the can just out of his reach.

but it’s gojo, so of course he thinks about it. he grins wider — how is that possible? and in one fluid motion, he leans in and steals a sip before you can react.

"i will get revenge, always so difficult," you weakly huff, but your fond smile gives you away.

"difficult to resist," he counters, winking like it’s a challenge, "besides," gojo adds, holding the can up to the light as if inspecting its soul, "it tastes better when it’s yours."

you snatch it back, pretending to glare at him, but he’s already leaning closer, his hand brushing yours as he reaches to press another button.

"second round?" he asks, as if this isn’t already part of his plan.

the vending machine hums again, green and steady and familiar, as it delivers another drink with a satisfying clunk.

green had grown to be more than just a colour. it had been a thread that stitched its way through your love story. quiet and constant.

so when the day came, when your heart thudded heavier than ever before and your hands shook just slightly as you smoothed down the expensive fabric, it only made sense that the colour of vitality and new beginnings was everywhere.

the first ceremony itself had been steeped in tradition, from the elegant folds of your formal robes to the rhythmic chants that seemed to echo on in your head. you were grateful for its beauty, but it was the dinner afterwards that felt like yours truly.

the reception was tucked away in a corner of the sprawling grounds, where the tables were adorned with white lilies so luminous they seemed to carry their own light. they sat in vases of muted jade, the colour rich and soft, like the grass after a spring rain. the candles flickered in delicate green holders, casting shadows that waltzed across the tablecloths.

gojo was, of course, the first thing you noticed when you stepped into the space. he wasn’t wearing robes anymore; he’d swapped them for a sleek black suit that fit him perfectly, save for the ever-so-slightly loosened tie (because he couldn't help himself). his hair, as untameable as always, gleamed in the low light.

and then there was you, in a flowing green dress that felt like you’d stepped out of a dream and into his orbit. the soft fabric caught the candlelight, shifting from deep emerald to pale sage as you moved, shimmering. you thought about how this colour, the one that reminded you of leaves and tea and moss-covered shrines — had always meant life to you.

gojo's grin when he saw you was wide enough to rival the moon, and he made a show of adjusting his tie like a movie star spotting their co-star for the first time, with an awfully cliché wink.

"you clean up nice," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief, and then something more love-struck, "my beautiful wife. i must be the luckiest man on earth."

"and you’re just realising this now?" you teased, the soft fabric of your dress whispering as you stepped closer.

dinner wasn’t a grand banquet, but it was perfect — just your closest friends, a table overflowing with warmth, and gojo stealing glances at you as if you’d disappear if he looked away for too long. between bites of food and sips of something sweet, he leaned over to whisper ridiculous commentary in your ear about your guests: how much wine nanami had thrown back, or how shoko had situated herself perfectly near the food.

but then, in quieter moments, he’d reach for your hand beneath the table, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on your skin.

the night blurred into laughter and soft music, of digital cameras and drunk speeches. the green hues around you shifting like memories folding into themselves. you caught sight of the lilies swaying gently in the breeze and thought about how gojo had insisted on them when you’d been indecisive.

"white lilies mean devotion," he'd said, smirking like he knew something you didn’t.

"and green?" you'd asked.

"green's for us," he replied, "or for you. i know you like it so much. an' it's cute when you're sentimental."

by the end of the night, gojo's tie was completely undone, and his jacket hung over the back of a chair. he pulled you onto the dance floor despite your protests that your feet hurt, practically yelling in their strapped heels.

"then i'll carry you," he said dramatically, dipping you halfway before breaking into laughter when you yelped.

the two of you swayed there, in the gentle green glow of the reception, his arms wrapped around you and the world falling into place. your husband smelled faintly of the lilies and something warm you couldn’t name. you're sure if you put pen to paper, like a poet of old, you might be able to name that feeling.

"you know," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, "i've been to a lot of ceremonies, but this one’s definitely my favourite."

"oh? why's that?" you asked, resting your cheek against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"because this time, i got to marry you."

you used to love the colour white. it had been the colour everything pure. everything soft that made you feel safe. the brightness of it had brought a clarity to the world.

it was the colour gojo's unruly hair, glistening in the sun like a crown. you had been so enamoured, watching him run slender fingers through soft strands. to you, white had always been perfect and radiant in all of gojo's unbridled glory.

but the winds of the snow storm must have shifted.

you still remember that day so vividly, as if your mind could never forget it no matter how much you wished it could. the white falling on the streets of shinjuku, covered with layers of freshly fallen snow. pristine and untouched.

but there had been a sickening crack of flesh against pavement, the wet thud that only those who've known death too closely can identify.

you had seen it before you'd even registered the horror of it all. the red, the bright crimson that bled into the snow. staining it, warping it. turning it into something so vile. the ministrations of ryomen sukuna.

gojo's body, cleaven and unmoving. the garnet staining his snow-white hair as it pulled from under his spine. the quiet calm that had settled over his face, as if he had seen something so wondrous in his last moments.

that snow, once so untouched and pure, was suffocated by the iron scent of blood. and at that moment, when you had lost him forever, was the moment you knew that white would never mean purity again.

the colour of white, the colour of christmas eve — no longer held any softness for you. it wasn’t the gentle lightness of his hair; it was the cold, hard truth of loss. it was the memory of blood seeping into that pure snow, the last thing he saw before his life was ripped away.

now, you avoid it. you avoid white whenever you can, as if by doing so, you can erase that moment from your mind. you keep your house warm and cozy, perhaps almost unhealthily so, with shades of warm and soft earth tones, and you dress your daughter in colours that remind you of life, of what was still worth living for. but white? it's a shadow, a reminder. so, you avoid it.

but then, one afternoon, a few months later, your daughter tugs at your hand, small and warm, a soft giggle escaping her as she skips ahead of you. you can’t help but smile at her, at how much of gojo satoru is in her — the way she laughs without hesitation, the way her energy fills up every room, every corner.

you're walking down the street, the air still crisp from the tail-end of winter. it's one of those moments when the world feels ordinary, but in the best way possible. sunlight filtering down between reconstructed buildings, the bustle of the city in the background, your daughter's little chirp bubbling in the space between. you're lost in her, in the joy she brings.

but then, you stop.

you don't mean to. you didn't even notice where your feet were taking you until it happens. your gaze drops to the ground, and there it is.

that spot. the place where it all happened. the very spot where the white had been stained with merlot, the place where gojo's life was stolen from you. the pavement looks the same, the cracks just as they were before, but there's something different now.

a tiny green plant, barely noticeable, growing through the crack in the concrete. the leaves are soft, a rich shade of green that seems to pulse with life. it's small, fragile, but determined, its roots pushing through the cold, unforgiving pavement.

you swallow, the lump in your throat almost choking you.

"satoru..." you whisper to yourself, but your daughter’s voice pulls you from your morbid, breaking thoughts.

"look!"

you glance down, seeing her kneeling beside the plant, her tiny hands reaching out to touch it with wonder in her eyes.

"it's pretty, isn’t it? can i pick it?" she asks, her voice light and innocent.

you nod, tears welling up in your eyes that you refuse to let fall. you hold your breath, trying to steady your heart. it's absurd, you think, how something so small, so simple, could make you feel so much. how something as insignificant as a sprout could make the weight of the world feel just a little bit lighter.

nitrogen, iron and phosphorus are all found in human blood. and hey! they're also needed for plants to grow!

you hear the voice of teenage shoko, kicking her legs back as you tried to finish your homework, right before yaga assigned you another detention. but now the memory comes back to you, sickens you. tears at your heart.

you crouch down beside her, your fingers gently brushing against the plant’s leaves.

"yeah, it's pretty," you whisper, voice barely audible. “best let it rest where it is, yeah?"

you've taken a deep breath and stand up, your daughter tugging you along as she continues on her path, unknowing, innocent. entirely unaware of the memory of her father, lauded as a hero and as a sharp weapon by all those who knew him.

most of those who knew him.

but you glance back at the little plant, the green leaves waving in the soft breeze, and for the first time in months, you don’t feel the crushing weight of grief.

you just feel… a little less lost. and for the first time, the colour green feels like something more than a memory of gojo satoru.

more of a promise for the future, for those who lived on.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

okayy. so this is my request idea 😍

can i req for him pls, he still mourning his wife however you (acacius' daughter) willing to give him your love, sadly he did not want it or keep you away from him. until you realized that he still in love with his wife so you gave distance. at the end, he wanted you and saved you after your father's death

Thank you for requesting <33

(Note: reader is not Lucilla’s daughter, just Acacius’ from a previous marriage)

——————

It had been a while since you’d last seen him.

You remembered your last encounter painfully well, when he'd turned his face away, unable to bear seeing the earnestness in your eyes. You had poured your heart out to him, but he hadn't been able to accept it. He'd drawn that line firmly in the sand, having to accept the consequences that came with it.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, not really, but his heart was still splintered in a thousand bleeding shards. He was constantly reminded of the one he had loved for years before his return to Rome; The one he had bitterly lost at your father's command back in Numidia.

He never said her name at first — Arishat — until the day you confronted him after the naval battle at the colosseum. He had vowed his revenge against your father for her death, and he could not see past his hatred and mourning to see you. One of the only people who had offered him your genuine friendship, who'd heard countless stories about him from his mother, weaving an image of the strong, good-hearted man that you would one day fall in love with.

That day, the image had been shattered and your heart didn't fare any better. And so, for both of your sakes, you decided to keep your distance.

But then, after your father was arrested and forced to fight Lucius in the arena as a gladiator, things took a drastic turn. At the last moment, when your father had surrendered to him, Lucius decided to spare him, even going so far as to defend his honor.

Still, the Praetorian guard riddled him with arrows, and loss like you had never known had you crying to the skies, cursing the will of the Gods.

After the funeral, you were secluded at home for a nine-day mourning period in which no one else could reach you. Even after that, you refused to see anyone for another two weeks, letting both your heart and the scratches on your face from lamentations heal a little more.

When you felt just strong enough, you decided to throw a small dinner party to honor his life. And once the sun had set, it was none other than Lucius who showed up last, his expression somber. His body language was hesitant, like he wasn't entirely sure he would be welcome.

But when you made eye contact with him from across the room, he felt a little more encouraged to approach you. He offered his condolences and silently stood next to you as you stared at the flickering flames dancing in one of the braziers.

"Your father was a good man," he said. "I've come to realize that a little too late."

"He did what he had to do for the glory of Rome," you said, accepting his words but not denying that he had committed acts of brutality in his time as a commander.

"I have made many mistakes when it comes to you, as well. Please, forgive me."

You looked up at him and realized that despite how hard you had tried not to, you still ached for him. Swallowing thickly, you looked away before any tears could form in your eyes.

"It's all in the past now, Lucius," you murmured. "I bear you no ill will, especially after you showed mercy to my father."

There was a long silence in which the two of you were lost in thought. The two of you had your own burdens to bear, but perhaps they wouldn't be so heavy if the weight was shared. He had realized he did not want to be separated from you, even if it would take some time for the two of you to fully open up again.

He was a patient man and was more than willing to work for it -- to see it through. In time, perhaps two broken hearts would meld each other, stronger than before.

"I should like to be the one to take care of you now," he said, looking at your profile. "If you'll let me."

You stiffened, feeling something akin to hope surge within you. A lump formed in your throat and you let a tear run down your cheek. Unable to find the right words to respond to him, though, you settled for taking his hand.

And it was then he knew that things would be alright.

-------------

[amblebamble]

Arcane Season 2 Spoilers - RE: TimeBomb

“Her name was Isha.”

Ekko does not stop painting her arm, neon green on cloudy blue. His lines are knife-sharp, thin where the tip of the brush caresses her skin, and the paint barely runs as she watches an hourglass unfold.

“Who?”

“You said something… about creating a better world for someone,” she can’t remember his exact words, “her name was Isha.”

“A friend?”

“A baby, really.”

She doesn’t care to elaborate, and Ekko doesn’t ask for more. He releases her elbow to drag his fingertips down to her wrist, pausing a moment, then slips his hand into hers. Jinx does not reciprocate.

Instead, she locates the paintbrush previously dipped in neon pink, the brush-end fatter than Ekko’s choice, and – ignoring how paint splatters across Ekko’s trousers – paints a streak across his chest. He jumps back, a half shout bitten down, hands flying to his chest and patting around. Jinx waits for him to look back up at her to raise a brow and wave her brush with an eyeroll.

Ekko doesn’t apologise for the misconception. Jinx doesn’t apologise for every action it took to lead him there.

He settles back down in front of her, scooting his stool closer until their knees are slotted together, giving her access to his chest. Her hand trembles. His hands remain face-up in his lap, a slight curl to his fingers, lax. She prefers the caution.

The second line she draws with involuntary care, an X forming unhurriedly where her brush ghosts his sternum.

“Sorry I’m not her,” she says.

Ekko had told her of his time away, of a world without Vi, of green trees and abundant produce flooding the clean streets of Zaun, of a Powder that—

“I don’t want you to be.”

He takes the brush from her, and without it she is bereft of places to rest her hands.

“It was—” everything “—a good place, but I left it.”

His own encase her face, a palm cupping her jaw, the other hand curled around the paintbrush and resting on her cheek. It is cold where he swipes beneath her eye.

“I realised I had given up on you,” he ducks lower, peering up at her until she meets his gaze, “Jinx.”

Her eyes flutter, stinging with stale air as he paints another line beneath her other eye. When the brush is set in his lap, his hands return to her face. Her fingertips graze his chest, curling back into her palms, but when he remains in place she settles more securely against him, poised to push, instead snagged on the erratic pulse white-hot against her palm.

“I’m not coming back,” she whispers, eyes wide, her own pulse off-beat. “Whatever happens, whatever outcome, I don’t make it back.”

She had decided, when she heard him out. A private thought. It seems an impossible secret now - had burst from her in traitorous confession.

“Okay,” he says, though the word catches in his throat, and he repeats, “Okay.”

Jinx presses her lips tight together, rocketing forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her nose shoved in the crook of her elbow. His own arms encircle her, one hand at the base of her neck, simply holding her.

"You've wasted it - on me,"

Always a dance with them; cyclical, endless repetition. She speaks every word around 'sorry' without ever saying it, can never say it, isn't sure anymore who she means to apologise to.

"It was a choice," he tells her, "not a waste."

Silco had said killing was a cycle, was a mistake. This is another kind, a different cycle, she's just not sure where the mistake starts. She simply has to leave.

--

Later, when they’ve let go and Jinx fiddles to wrap a pink tie around Ekko’s hair, he’ll jokingly point to the transferred X along her chest and pick up the paintbrush to define it better, all while they ignore their reddened eyes and the pink trailing alongside her mascara.  

[yelenasdiary]

I usually stay up late (right now is 3 am and I still have things to do) programming and doing stuff.

I thought about this fic idea and you popped into my mind.

How about we mostly work in IT for SHIELD/the avengers so we mostly stay with computers or we are in workshops. The thing is we are with yelena and in general we get along with everyone. Lately yelena has noticed that we are more tired than usual, because us being a workaholic person can’t just stop working. One night yelena finds us sleeping on our computer while we were programming/hacking, she tries to gets us to sleep and we try to deny it. Next day yelena has some words with nick fury.

This is probably bad written but right now my brain is not braining sorry

Workaholic

Pairing: Yelena Belova x GN! Reader

Summary: You’re a workaholic that doesn’t realise how drained you can get. 

Fluff & Tiny Angst

Warnings: None, if there is any, please let me know. | 1.7K

Translations: Detka (baby)

AC: Thank you for sending this! I know it has taken me FOREVER & I do apologise for that. I hope you enjoy this! x

She watched in silence every morning when you would drag yourself out of bed to the kitchen for breakfast before leaving for work and she would watch again when you would finally come home late at night, hair slightly a mess before you’d take a shower and crash almost instantly the minute you sat down on the bed. She didn’t know what was going on at work, but she knew it was draining any energy you had left. 

Anytime she would meet you for lunch or when she would see you for the short period of time before and after work, you were just tired. Conversations were flat and short; you began to work later than usual which led to you going to work earlier than normal.

At first, Yelena just assumed it was something really important that Nick Fury, your boss, needed you to get done but when she found you one night, asleep at your desk, it raised more concern and worry for you.

Yelena sighed lightly to herself as she leant against the doorframe of your office, her brows frowning with concern at the sight of you slumped over your desk, the blue light from the monitors didn’t seem to wake you, your fingers still lightly pressed on the last letters you had pressed before resting your head. Lines of coding ran across the multiple screen system surrounding you, these were things she knew she would never truly understand how they worked. 

“Detka” she said softly, attempting to wake you. You stirred slightly, giving her a light groan but no real signs of opening your tired eyes. “Let me take you home so you can get some real sleep” you heard her Russian accent ever so softly speak. Unintentionally, you groaned once more, this time your eyes flickering open, the brightness of your screen making them sting. 

“I..I’m fine” you mumbled, sitting up straight, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Detka, you can’t keep doing this. What is so important to Fury that has you falling asleep at your desk?” Yelena asked, her brows frowned with worry. 

“I just need like 5 more minutes, I promise” you replied in your groggy state.

“More like another 5 hours” Your girlfriend muttered before she reached for your computer mouse before you could even string together where things were. “I’m not letting you make yourself sick for whatever this is” Yelena added, her voice low but firm, “you need sleep. No more hacking for tonight” she said as you watched the little arrow on your screen close down your opened tabs. 

“Yelena!” You spat, “I can’t! I have too much do to and you just shut it down?!” You added, annoyed by your girlfriends actions as you looked up at her. Yelena shook her head, “if you write another line of coding, you’re going to become the damn coding!” 

“You don’t get it, I need to get this done!” You frowned. 

“And you get do it tomorrow” Your girlfriend said, crossing her arms over her chest. Your eyes dropped slightly, there was no fighting her one this, not even you felt your eyes grow heavy once more. 

“Fine” you sighed, tiredly, “just let me close everything down properly before we go home” you added. 

----

The next morning, you woke up in a panic. The sun light creeping in through the crack of the curtains, you reached for your phone to find out your alarm had been switched off. You sighed before throwing your head back down on the pillow before covering your face with both of your hands. 

Yelena was giving her daggers a sharpen when you asked her why she had turned your alarm off. 

“Because, detka, you needed a real sleep” she said, not batting and eye at you. 

“Yelena, you made me late for work! I don’t even know what to tell Nick when I get there” you argued. 

“I already told him you’d be running late today” Your loving girlfriend replied, looking up at you, “I’m worried about you” she added. One look into her green eyes and you were reminded of the worried look she had on her face late last night when she found you at your desk, asleep. 

“You’re working yourself too hard, you come home and have a re-heated meal then shower and go to bed for a few short hours. Natasha and Wanda both said that you don’t even leave the compound for lunch, not even to get some fresh air. You are consistently at that desk working until early hours of the morning” Yelena said in a soft but firm tone. 

“Baby, it’s my job” you said, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Yes, it is but your job isn’t 16 hours a day” 

Your eyes dropped to your feet, “I know, I just….i just want to make sure I’m doing the best I can for Fury. All the coding and hacking I do, it’s not easy. It’s time consuming and I need ot be on top of my game all the time” you explained in hopes it would help Yelena understand. 

“You’re not going to be on top of your game if you’re falling asleep at your desk and barely function outside of work. Detka, I hate to say it, but you’re a workaholic” Yelena replied. You cocked a brow at the blonde, “I am not” you said, making Yelena chuckle. 

“You are detka, a hard, smart working workaholic” she teased, causing you to playful roll your eyes. “Think whatever you want Lena, I’m going to go get ready for work”

“I’m taking you today” Yelena said just before you pushed yourself off the doorframe, “and I’m picking you up at 5pm” she added. 

“Lena, you can trust me to come home at the end of my shift today” 

“I know, but Nat is dragging me in to help her with some training thing so why not carpool?” She replied with a rather proud grin on her lips. You playfully shook your head at her before making your way to the bathroom to get ready for work. 

----

You and Yelena walked into the compound, hand in hand before Yelena placed a soft kiss on your cheek and wished you a good day as you both parted ways, she waited until you were inside the elevator before she turned on her heels and headed towards Nick’s office. 

Nick, busy as usual was sitting at his desk with a stack of paperwork beside him. His focus so deep on the document in front of him he didn’t even hear the knock on his door. 

“Fury” Yelena said lightly, her accent coming in thick. 

Nick looked up before leaning back in his chair, “Belova” he acknowledged with a raised eyebrow. 

“I need to talk to you, it’s important” Yelena began, “it’s about Y/n” she added. Fury nodded, “come on, take a seat” he replied. Yelena closed the large wooden door behind her before she took a head on the typical office style chair. “What can I help you with?” The head of S.H.I.E.L.D asked. 

“They’re pushing themselves too hard for whatever it is you have them working on. This is shield, right? Not some tech startup company. They need a break” Yelena said firmly. 

“Right” Nick nodded, “and you think that I’ve been keeping them prisoner to their desk?” He added as he stood up from behind his desk and wandered over to Yelena, taking a the empty chair next to her, “Y/n is one of my hardest working IT employees, they are dedicated to their job, I admire it, I will all my IT employees would put in half the effort Y/n does. This job isn’t easy, there isn’t a real shift time start or end. We may need them at 4am if a mission goes south and they know that” he explains. 

“But they are here early every day, and they leave later than anybody else. You can’t tell me that every mission over the last month has gone to shit” Yelena argued.

“No, but, like I said they are dedicated to their job. Look, I’ll have a look at the clock ins and outs. If Y/n is doing too much unneeded overtime, I will have a word to them but if they aren’t, I’m not going to get in the way of somebody who has a drive to work” 

Yelena sighed lightly, “have you even seen them lately? They are exhausted, last night when they didn’t come home, I came here and found them asleep! At their desk! I’m not asking you to check their clock ins and outs, I am asking you to give them the break they deserve and need” Yelena said firmly, not backing down. “You can go a few days without them here. A few days is worth it then not having them at all” she added. 

Fury remained silent for a moment, contemplating Yelena’s request. He knew Yelena was right; losing a little of something is better than not having it at all. “Okay” he said, finally breaking the silence, “I will speak to them on their lunch break” he added. 

“Thank you” Yelena said, giving him a polite nod. 

“You’re just like your sister, stubborn” Nick muttered with a cocked brow. 

“I am when I need to be” Yelena teasingly grinned. 

----

When 5pm came, you didn’t want to keep Yelena waiting, you shut down your computer and made sure your desk was tidy for tomorrow morning before you wandered the main hall of the compound. You smiled softly when you locked eyes on her leaning against her blue pick-up truck talking to Natasha, Bucky and Sam. 

“What’s the gossip today guys?” You asked with a light chuckle. 

Natasha was the first to turn and smile at you, “hold on a moment, are you unwell?” She asked, jokingly. 

“Ha, Ha, very funny” you replied, playfully rolling your eyes as you stood next to Yelena, leaning your head on her shoulder. “Somebody couldn’t help themselves and spoke to Fury today” you added. 

“Ohhh! Yelena went to the big dogs!” Sam laughed. 

“She did and honestly, thank you” you said, looking up at Yelena. 

“You’re welcome” she smiled softly.

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[hauntingofhouses]

arcane s2 spoilers. another caitlyn critical rant because i have Thoughts and i'm Annoyed

can i just say i'm soooo annoyed at how the narrative treats ambessa as the worst most irredeemable person and the one true villain of the series while caitlyn who spent half of s2 as a tyrant in both piltover and zaun is just let off the hook despite them working together for most of that time.

"she didnt MEAN it" but she did do it. she terrorized the people of zaun, she was complicit. yes ambessa was using her but that's because she was so easy to use! ambessa barely had to do much manipulation, barely had to lift a finger for caitlyn to give the green light on all the tactics the militant regime used.

now, see, it's not like i'm AGAINST caitlyn redeeming herself. i'm not. i was ready for her to go down a dark path and for vi to pull her out of it. my gripe is with how it was executed. caitlyn did not deserve it, she didn't DO anything to actually work towards redemption and getting vi's forgiveness.

also caitlyn fans being so ready to just push all the blame onto ambessa is so frustrating because you know what. ambessa is an interesting character. and caitlyn's relationship with ambessa was also super interesting because it paralleled the mother-daughter relationships of caitlyn & counselor kiramman, and mel & ambessa. ambessa elevated caitlyn's character from something akin to stale bread dressed in a girlboss copaganda fit, to something actually intriguing to watch.

but of course all that is thrown away because the show apparently didn't have time to do a full caitlyn redemption arc, which would've further developed the character, while simultaneously unpacking the damage she did to zaun and to vi&jinx's relationship. but nope we didn't get that! instead she betrays ambessa off-screen for the sake of a stupid plot twist and because "she was loyal to vi all along!!!! that's the power of love!!!!" and like i love a good sappy wholesome "power of love" moment, but this wasn't it, man. this came out of nowhere and it just felt so jarring, automatically undoing all of caitlyn's development thus far (a negative arc is still character development). and not only does it somehow just undo all the damage she's done, but also just... brushes past it??? like that girl was wearing a whole ass villain cape and everything and we're just... gonna brush past that? okay.

and look. the thing is, i wouldn't be AS salty about this if the ENDING, at least, was different. like maybe if sevika got a word in during any part of act 3. or if the people of zaun were given more agency in rising up against her regime. OR MAYBE if jinx didn't have to DIE in order for CAITLYN to get her happy ending with vi. and yes, maybe jinx didn't actually die and she did manage to survive, but the people who love and care about her (sevika and ekko) are still left behind, unhappy, while she (presumably) left aboard the airship to who-knows-where. and as a side note i would also like to add that ekko is the fucking boy saviour, the MVP of the entire show who saved EVERYONE from viktor, yet he didn't get a happy ending but was left sitting there all alone, not even with his band of firelights! like come on!

but getting back on subject. the story didn't even show vi properly mourning or acknowledging the loss of her sister in the epilogue. instead more focus is given to caitlyn. no mention of jinx in that last caitvi scene. instead it focuses on caitvi's relationship ("are you still in this fight, violet? / "i'm the dirt under your nails, cupcake. nothing is gonna clean me out." even the episode title is taken from that line). season 2 featured caitlyn as a more major protagonist than vi, with the opening episode and even the closing scenes centering on her. and that, ultimately, is where so much of my frustration towards her character is coming from. it feels like the story of two sisters, vi & jinx, was superceded by caitlyn, and what was initially assumed to be paranoia-induced jealousy from jinx towards caitlyn in season 1 suddenly makes sense. caitlyn entered the picture and immediately jinx is forced out of it, in so many ways.

[sobx9]

My (unpopular) opinion on the scenes where they go to Morocco

We can all agree that the whole part of the Pogues going to Morocco was a little off, right? Pope not caring JJ is sui*dal, Kie playing cards while her boyfriend is having a break down, JJ getting over his drunken pity party seemingly out of nowhere. It was so out of character for all of them.

But one thing I disagree with is the notion that JJ’s outburst to John B about him being a bad dad was out of character for him.

Here you have this character, who, after having a shitty life, is finally happy, has a home, a family, a loving girlfriend and a business of his own. And not even two years in, it’s being taken away from him. And what’s worse, it’s all his fault. If that’s not enough, he finds out some pretty devastating news about his origin. His abusive dad is not actually his dad and his real dad just left him for dead. Not to mention the woman he thought was his mother that abandoned him was just some random lady, his real mother is actually dead, killed by her husband and he was forced to open her casket. That’s some heavy stuff.

So he’s spiralling, drinking, having an existential crisis in a way. That’s when his best friend, his brother more like, comes out with another news. He, at the age of 19, is having a baby. That’s just another life altering news to top it all off. Because in JJ’s eyes that means his brother is moving on from the life they’ve been living and leaving him behind. He’s growing up without him. Having a kid is not an easy thing. John B is going to have to be more responsible. Impulsive partying, treasure hunting, surfing during the storm and all of the other shenanigans they did when they were younger? Hard to do with a baby around. And with everything else that’s been happening? It’s understandable JJ is freaking out about it. Do I think what he said was out of line? Absolutely. But JJ has always been rash and impulsive, lashing out at the people he loves when stressed. So i think his response made sense. Also he later apologises the only way he knows how, not with words but with saving Sarah from drowning.

I was actually more pissed at John B, that he thought this news was going to cheer JJ up. You’d think that your best friend would be well aware of how you act during stressful situations and how you respond to changes. I understand why he told him, but maybe he should have taken a step back and think “hey, he’s having a meltdown, maybe throwing another life altering news at him right now is actually not the best idea.”

A little unrelated but while I am here. It pissed me off so much that they just let him drink on that boat! You want to give him space or he’s pushing you away? Fine, but take that damn bottle away from him! You know it’s not helping. And it’s not like his drinking came out of nowhere, he used it as a clutch in season 2 as well. You are on a boat so it’s not like he can just go out and get more booze. While JJ and John B are talking, there’s a moment, when John B actually has the bottle in his hand and I kept thinking, surely he’s not going to give back, right? But he does!

What I wanted to see was John B chucking the bottle in the ocean and Kie being like “thank you, good move but maybe next time try not dumping trash in the middle of the ocean? Just emptying the bottle was an option John B!” That would be more in character for all of them.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this ❤️

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Unspoken Melody p.2

Hi guys, here's a new part of the story, if you've missed part 1 here it is :) If you want to read more of my stories, here's my masterlist.

Two drivers, one unforgettable concert, and a chance encounter with a pop sensation that leaves Oscar questioning everything he thought about music—and maybe even himself.

The hotel room was quiet when you stepped in, a sharp contrast to the roaring energy of the concert venue. Your ears still buzzed faintly from the music, the adrenaline of the show coursing through you even as you kicked off your heels and let out a long sigh. Dropping your bag by the door, you glanced toward the bed and smiled.

Mark was there, stretched out with his laptop balanced on his knees. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and he barely looked up as you walked in.

“Hey,” you greeted, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” he replied without much enthusiasm, his eyes glued to the screen.

“The concert went great,” you continued, undeterred. “The crowd was incredible. Lando came, like I mentioned, and he brought a friend—Oscar, I think his name was? He seemed really nice. A bit shy, though.”

Mark hummed in response, barely acknowledging your words.

You exhaled softly, trying not to let his indifference sting. You knew he cared in his own way; he just wasn’t great at showing it sometimes.

“It’s such a shame you can’t come to the shows,” you said gently, reaching out to touch his arm.

He finally glanced at you, giving a half-smile. “Yeah, it sucks. But you know how it is. The volume just messes with my head.”

“I know,” you said quickly, not wanting to push. “I just wish you could experience it. Tonight was one of the best yet.”

Mark nodded, his gaze already drifting back to his laptop.

Before you could say more, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You reached for it, glancing at the screen. It was your manager.

“Give me a second,” you said, answering the call.

“Hey, you!” your manager greeted, her voice chipper despite the late hour. “Amazing show tonight! Everyone’s raving about it.”

“Thanks,” you said with a smile, leaning back against the headboard. “It felt great out there.”

“Well, I’ve got some exciting news for you,” she continued. “Lando just called. He wanted to invite you to his next race as a thank-you for tonight. Thought it might be fun for you to see what he does up close.”

Your eyes widened with excitement. “Really? That’s amazing!”

“I figured you’d love it,” she said, laughing. “I’ll work out the details and let you know.”

“Thanks so much,” you said, hanging up the call.

You turned to Mark, who was watching you with a raised eyebrow. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Lando invited me to his next race,” you said, your excitement bubbling over. “Isn’t that cool? I’ve never been to one before.”

Mark’s expression shifted slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t know about Lando,” he said after a moment.

You blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I just—he’s a little too friendly, don’t you think? Are you sure he doesn’t want something more from you?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What? Lando? No, of course not. He’s just a friend.”

Mark’s frown deepened. “I don’t know. Guys like that... they don’t always keep it just friendly.”

You leaned closer, taking his hand in yours. “Mark, listen to me. I love you. I could never think of another man like that. Lando’s just a friend, nothing more.”

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “I guess. I just don’t want anyone crossing boundaries, you know?”

“They won’t,” you said firmly. To reassure him further, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re the only one for me.”

Mark gave a small smile, his tension easing slightly. “Alright. If you say so.”

As you settled back into the bed, your mind drifted to the race. You couldn’t wait to see what that world was like. It was bound to be a unique experience—one you were certain would inspire something new, just as tonight’s concert had.

[vaunteir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsomethin' stupid

pairing:

azul ashengrotto/jamil viper

characters:

jamil viper, azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech

tags:

denial of feelings, love confessions, first kiss, soft azul ashengrotto, i guess, song: somethin' stupid (frank sinatra), leech twins being the #1 azul supporters as per usual, (not)

word count:

1,623

preview:

“you invited me here for a reason, didn’t you? spill it.”

azul hesitated, his usual composure faltering for a fraction of a second. “perhaps i simply wanted to see you.”

the words hung between them, delicate as spun glass. jamil narrowed his eyes, searching for whatever motive azul might have had behind his faux charm. “you don’t do anything without a reason."

“maybe tonight.. was an exception.”

( cross-posted on ao3 )

Jamil Viper adjusted the cuffs of his neatly pressed uniform, the usual routine of ensuring every detail was immaculate. It wasn’t for appearances—no, appearances were a tool, a means to control how others saw him. But tonight, there was no Kalim to keep in line, no crowd to gull. He’d agreed, against his better judgment, to a casual gathering at Octavinelle.

Azul Ashengrotto had been the one to invite him, though "invite" felt too gentle a term. It was more like being roped in by a slick sales pitch before Jamil realized he was nodding.

The Mostro Lounge always seemed like another world, the kind of place where time slowed to a languid crawl and reality blurred at the edges. The aquamarine glow reflected off crystal glasses and polished surfaces, a mimicry of an ocean’s depths. It was here, amidst the quiet hum of patrons and the lilting notes of a slow jazz tune, that Jamil found himself seated at a corner table, nursing a drink he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t quite put down.

Azul stood behind the bar, his hands moving with an artist’s precision, each twist and pour deliberate. The sway of his silver hair caught the light like moonbeams on water. Jamil, the observer that he was, found himself watching longer than he intended, the sight pulling at something in him he refused to name.

It was foolish to stay here, he thought, swirling his drink. Foolish to think anything about this night would be simple or casual. Everything Azul did had to be perfect, a calculated show of his talents.

But the problem was, Jamil couldn’t seem to look away.

The realization hit him like a jarring note in an otherwise smooth melody, and he quickly shifted his gaze to the twins, Jade and Floyd Leech, hovering by the entrance. Floyd was lazily draped over a chair, while Jade stood poised as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to meddle.

"Enjoying the show?" came a familiar (and rather insufferable) voice.

Jamil tensed, turning to find Azul standing beside his table. His gaze, sharp as glass but deceptively warm, pinned Jamil in place.

He leaned back, folding his arms. "I wasn’t aware this was meant to be enjoyable."

Azul’s smile curved like a crescent moon, sharp and soft all at once. "It doesn’t have to be. But I hope it’s not unbearable."

He sat down across from Jamil, folding his hands on the table. "You need not pretend. If you’re uncomfortable, I won’t hold it against you."

"I’m not pretending," Jamil shot back, too quickly. The sharp edge in his voice surprised even him.

Azul raised an eyebrow, but rather than pressing the matter, he leaned back in his seat. "Good. Then you won’t mind staying for the evening. I thought perhaps we could enjoy something.. less formal for a change."

It was unbearable, but not for the reasons Azul might have assumed. The weight of unspoken things pressed on Jamil’s chest, the kind of weight that only grew heavier when someone stood too close, spoke too kindly, or looked at him with eyes that seemed to search for more than he was willing to give.

Jamil set his glass down with deliberate care, sighing. "You invited me here for a reason, didn’t you? Spill it."

Azul hesitated, his usual composure faltering for a fraction of a second. "Perhaps I simply wanted to see you."

The words hung between them, delicate as spun glass. Jamil narrowed his eyes, searching for whatever motive Azul might have had behind his faux charm. "You don’t do anything without a reason."

"Maybe tonight.. was an exception." Azul replied smoothly, though the way his fingers toyed with the edge of his cuff betrayed a flicker of nervousness.

Jade watched the exchange from the bar, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. He leaned toward his twin, who was sprawled over a couch in an exaggerated display of boredom.

"Floyd, do you think Azul realizes how transparent he’s being?"

Floyd snickered, lazily flipping through a menu. "Nah. Azul thinks he’s so sneaky, but every time he looks at Sea Snake, the look in his eyes practically scream, ‘Oooh, look at me, Jamil! Pay attention to me, won't you? Blah, blah, love me!’ or whatever like, jeez! I never asked for a slow burn." He stretched, his grin widening. “Wanna bet how long it takes for them to figure it out?”

“Hmm.. I’d wager it won’t take long at all,” Jade replied, his gaze flickering back to Azul. “They’re both far too intelligent to stay in denial for much longer.”

Floyd laughed, the sound loud enough to earn a glance from Azul, who quickly turned back to Jamil, his face unreadable.

The night wore on, the lounge emptying until it was just the four of them. Jamil stayed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. His drink was long finished, and the conversation had shifted into softer territory, like a tide retreating from rocky shores.

“I’ve always admired how… efficient you are,” Azul admitted, his gaze steady but his voice carrying a rare vulnerability.

“Efficient?” Jamil repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s an odd compliment.”

“It’s true,” Azul said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You manage so much, and yet you never seem to falter. It’s remarkable.”

Jamil frowned, looking away. His fingers tightening around his glass as a strange warmth unfurls in his chest, his voice carefully neutral. “You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered.

“Perhaps not,” Azul admitted, and when Jamil glanced back, he was startled to see a rare softness in Azul’s eyes. “But I know enough to recognize strength when I see it.”

Jamil hesitated, his heart pounding. He knew he was about to do something reckless, something so stupid. But the thought of leaving things unsaid, of letting this moment slip away, was unbearable.

A pause, a moment of silence as Jamil let Azul's words sink in. Then, he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Azul continued, almost absentmindedly:

“One of numerous reasons why I love you.”

The room seemed to still, the music fading into the background like a distant wave. Jamil stared, the words sinking into him like stones into water.

Azul’s eyes widened slightly, as if realizing what he’d just said. A flush crept up his neck, and he looked away, adjusting his glasses with a nervous cough. “I—I didn’t mean— What I meant was—”

“I should go.” Jamil stood abruptly.

Azul reached for him, but Jamil had already turned, his heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. “Jamil, wait-”

"Oi, Jade, look at them. It’s like watching two crabs try to confess their feelings.” Floyd snorted from across the room, breaking the tension. "I swear, Azul’s got zero game. He's hopeless."

“Patience, brother,” Jade said, his voice light with amusement. “This is a delicate dance. Interfering now would ruin the fun.”

Jamil didn’t make it far before the sound of Azul’s voice stopped him.

“Please don’t leave.”

There was something raw in Azul’s tone, something that cut through the walls Jamil had built around himself. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned.

Azul stood a few steps away, his usual polish and poise stripped away. He looked vulnerable in a way Jamil had never seen before, and it made something in his chest ache.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Azul said, his voice quieter now. “But I won’t take it back. I won’t lie to you.”

Jamil’s throat felt tight. “Why?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Azul replied simply. “And because I’m tired of pretending it isn’t.”

The honesty in his words was like a tide washing over Jamil, eroding the barriers he’d clung to for so long. He took a shaky breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Azul stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to spook him. “Neither do I,” he said. “But I’d like to try. With you.”

The weight of the moment pressed down on them, heavy and fragile, and for a moment, Jamil thought he might break under it. But then Azul reached out, his hand brushing against Jamil’s chin, and the warmth of his touch was enough to steady him.

Jamil met his gaze, the words catching in his throat before he finally let them spill out. “I think about you more than I should. I try not to, but I can’t help it.”

Azul’s lips parted, his expression softening. “Then don’t.”

It was stupid, reckless, everything Jamil had spent his life avoiding. But as Azul leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was as tentative as it was electric, Jamil realized that maybe, just this once, foolishness was worth the risk.

When they finally pulled apart, Jamil’s cheeks were flushed, his heart racing. He looked at Azul, searching for some sign of regret or hesitation, but all he saw was warmth.

"Foolish,” Jamil muttered, but there was no anger in his voice. "You're a fool. You know that, right?"

Azul smiled, his voice low and warm. “Perhaps, I am.. But if it's you, I suppose I don't mind."

From the bar, Jade raised his glass in a silent toast, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.

The twins exchanged a glance, the former smiling serenely while the latter let out a dramatic sigh.

“Ugh, finally. I was getting real bored over here.” Floyd grumbled.

Jade chuckled, his gaze lingering on the pair. “Patience is a virtue, Floyd. And sometimes, the most interesting things take time.”

Floyd snickered, giving Azul and Jamil another quick glance. "Good for them, I guess."

[bcolfanfic]

universal sound au•gender-integrated 100bg

house fire

authors note: hi! writing this kind of au is new for me so i hope its alright. massive s/o to ww2 rpf is fine discord server for being so lovely and encouraging <3 bare bones run down: halona is a ball turret gunner, elowyn is a pilot + lesbian who was involved with tatty back on base and has been projecting missing her onto halona :p and cj was a navigator.

cj is *not* dead, while all this is going on she's a train evading via the comet line. which of course crank nor anyone else has a way of knowing.

---

Crank took a breath in before he knocked on the library door, the quiet murmur of conversation coming through from the other side.

When a few seconds went by without any movement he opened the door himself. Brady was seated in the far corner, his back slightly hunched over a stack of papers that sprawled across the table. Halona was pressed shoulder to shoulder next to him, leaning into his space to tell him something he couldn't quite hear- but whatever it was made Brady laugh under his breath. He tilted his head to look at her, eyes soft.

Better Clark sent me than Elowyn, Crank thought to no one.

Brady reached toward Halona’s hair, his fingers ghosting near her face before Crank cleared his throat, loud and pointed. Both of them jolted like they’d been burned.

Turning his head towards him, Brady sucked in his bottom lip.

"Hm?"

"Colonel Clark wants to run us through some escape stuff,"

Halona gathered her things and stood with a soft, Thanks Crank as she brushed past without meeting his eyes. But Brady didn’t move. He just stared at the table in front of him, shoulders tight.

It chipped at his patience.

"Come on, lover boy," Crank muttered, turning back and giving the door frame a pat. "we’ve got more important things to do."

"You're acting like El." Brady finally said as he pushed in his chair and stood, budging past Crank- shoulder pushing against his side hard enough that he had feeling it was intentional.

Crank paused for a beat before he followed him, boots brushing against the dust collecting on the floor. "And how am I doin' that?" He called out after him, edge of his voice biting at Brady's heels.

He could sense him rolling his eyes without seeing his face, tone annoyed. "By acting like the sky's gonna fall if I look at Hallie one way or another."

Crank inhaled, flexing his fingers at his side, knuckles aching to be popped. It was more complicated than that- for Elowyn of all people especially. But the root of the way her eyes narrowed at the two of them made enough sense to him. Johnny had never been good at compartmentalizing. And distractions were a liability, now more than ever.

Halona was a good girl; he'd seen enough of her around CJ to know that. He had more faith in her to not get distracted than he did Brady.

It was only the secondary reason that he felt like he could understand the way Elowyn's face twisted every time Brady's hand lingered on her friend's back- and every time he designated himself the one to swipe at the grime that managed to collect itself on the edges of the band-aid patched over her eye.

It made him miss having someone- miss CJ- so much it made his chest ache.

"There’s a whole lot to do around here without you trippin’ over yourself about her. We’ve got more important things to worry about." He said with a gesture at nothing. "El's right about that much."

"El’s just pissy ‘cause she’s jealous." Brady cut in, words sounding somewhat practiced as his tone dropped. "Halona knows it, and so does everyone else with a brain in their skull."

"Doesn’t mean she’s wrong," Crank mumbled, jaw feeling tight as he pushed open the door to the bunk room. Brady was so close behind him he could feel his breath on his neck.

"Yeah and you'd be singing a real different tune if CJ was here." He said, loud as he pushed past him into the room.

Crank froze where he stood in the doorway, suddenly feeling lightheaded. The girls had known from the beginning, and he had a hunch Croz did too if for no other reason than navigator proximity.

But not anyone else, Brady least of all. When he blinked and found his bearings, there was a proud grin tugging at Johnny's mouth.

"The hell 's that supposed to mean?"

Brady didn't miss a beat, stepping back towards him. "You know what it means, you were screwing her." he said, edging on shouting. "And you," He continued, jabbing his finger almost right into his face "wouldn't be acting like we all oughta' take celibacy vows in here if she showed up tomorrow."

Crank’s face burned, and he could sense everyone's eyes on him even when he didn't find he had the gall to look back. Settling for the safest bet he looked away from Brady at where Elowyn was sitting on the edge of her bunk, gaze flicking between the two of them, impassive. Halona had sat herself down at by her feet, looking up at her with one side of her cheek sucked in. Elowyn leaned down to say something in her ear.

Brady scoffed, expectant, and Crank felt like his strings had been cut.

"You know what- go fuck yourself," he spat as he stepped to him, enough that Brady dropped his finger away. "Or go screw Hallie, don't need my bles-"

Before he could even finish the sentence, Brady lunged, his fist meeting Crank's jaw with a crack.

All the air was sucked out of the room at once and Crank staggered back, blood rushing to his mouth. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, tasting copper as he stumbled to keep his footing. Who he was pretty sure was Bucky came over to haul him up by one arm, barking something at Brady that felt like white noise to his ears.

When he looked at Elowyn again her face had hardened, and it looked like she might say something, but the words never came.

"You think you got everything out of your system there boys?" Colonel Clark said as he walked out from where he'd been in the corner of the room, brows furrowed with his arms crossed over his chest. He clapped a hand on Brady's shoulder and motioned for him to go stand where he'd just come from- as far away from Crank as he was going to get in the small space.

Hearing Elowyn's voice, low and urgent pulled his attention back to her and when he looked over, she had shimmied out of her bunk to sit next to Halona on the floor. Halona looked back at him when he figured that she could sense his staring, lips pressed in a thin line- wet glint in her eye that wasn't bandaged.

Crank swallowed, guilt settling his gut like a stone. If CJ was here, he thought, she would've killed him for making Hallie cry. She'd about knocked a RAF prick on his ass over much less.

Every move he made feeling forced, mechanical, he made himself sit in the empty chair next to Buck at the table, furling and unfurling his fingers around nothing.

"Just this place talking." Buck had taken up saying to all of them.

Crank found himself wishing this place would just shut it if it didn't have a damn thing useful to say, or an MIA navigator to spit out through the fence.

[todayisafridaynight]

Since you mentioned it, what did you think of Speak No Evil? I was thinking of watching it myself :0

i really liked it ............ my friend scoffed at me when i told her i was watchin it so take my opinion with a grain of salt tho </3

[aberooski]

Luke's solo album really is just Chazz - the album - sometimes and I don't like how that makes me feel.

[heavenbarnes]

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”