#some of yall on thin ice

[mushtoons]

just got a pretty rancid ask in our inbox and we aren't even gonna dignify it with a proper response but some of yall need to understand that fiction and reality arent the same and we really dont care about what people ship and dont ship or all that jazz like genuinely we aint got time for all that shit

sure we try and make sure our followers arent exposed to that sort of stuff and will attempt to delete anything associated with it out of respect for them if we accidentally reblog from someone who blogs about weird stuff, because people feel differently than we do about it but just because we arent telling people we dont agree with telling them to kill themselves doesn't make us bad people.

so unless its something actually harmful don't tell us how to run our blog and attack us because we dont agree with what u say. just chill its not that big a deal.

[pinacoladamatata]

Man if you hate Solas and hate the whole solavellan thing what in the hell are you doing following me ?

Like idk if no one's told you also but commenting shit like "I fucking hate this" on people's art of a character is only going to get you blocked. Have fun being miserable bitch

[computersucker]

like this post if you love DANNY!!!!!!!!!!

[bardicious]

Me, watching Jim live his best, most honest and kind life, everyone around him falling in love with him: ❤️❤️❤️ You deserve it, baby.

Everyone else: SLUT

Me: 😡

[scalpelsister]

🧍can we be fr rn

[vaulttecvevo]

lowkey relieved when ppl post some stupid shit so i have a reason to unfollow, too many blogs man

[mercurialsmile]

so I'm gonna tell yall what we ain't about to do.

this year, we aint gonna make fun of people in the south trapped in any ice storms or bad weather that may occur. we aint about to make jokes about how southerners cant drive in ice and snow (altho it is true i dont need any northerners being an ass about it)

I will reiterate what I said a couple of years ago: the roads in the south are not made to handle ice. they are not built to handle snow. we do not have snow chains down here, at least not typically.

I dunno about other states, but we all know jack shit has been done about the Texas grid. If the power somehow fails again, we aint gonna make fun of us who have no power. we aint gonna be an ass about any rolling black outs. we aint gonna tell southerners they deserve to freeze to death just because we happen to live in the south or a red state.

[punkiio]

Can Caesar and Vulpes and Legion fans in general not interact with/follow me thanks

[gwyns]

So who do you think has the next book?? I think it’s Gwynriel since HOFAS is said to set up the future books and Nesta and Azriel were given a huge plot point with the starsword and Nesta’s tattoo. Those things are important and I think whatever they find out about those two things will be helpful against Koschei in the future.And Azriel’s connection deepened to the illryans .Am I supposed to believe Nesta is just going to pause her life and forget about the starsword and her tattoo for a while just because Elain leaves for her book?? That would feel like an odd choice. What are your thoughts?

oh yeah i agree, i think az and gwynriel are next. i understand that elain has enough crumbs to realistically jumpstart her book at any time, but i also feel like sjm would've given her a bit of the spotlight if she were getting ready to take the mc crown, and hofas only solidified this for me. az was in both acosf and hofas a lot, that means something

not saying i don't see and agree with some points on an elucien book being next but... idk i just think it makes more sense for their book to wrap up the series since they'll more than likely deal with koschei, who is like the main big bad in the spinoffs. i know he was introduced in acowar but i feel it's pretty clear that he's the main antagonist that will drive the lesser antagonists in the books before he's ultimately killed so... i don't think it makes much sense to kill him before the last book lol

and of course all the nesta stuff, she's connected to the valkyries and we can't forget how they've pissed off the illyrians who were already ramping up to rebel. i don't think that's something you can ignore when a new war is brewing within the courts, the continent and with koschei himself. the night court needs all the allies it can get

also the autumn court gets brought up a lot since cassian had that scene with eris at the end of acosf but... az is a spy? gwyn has autumn heritage too? i don't think it's unrealistic to guess there could be a subplot there with them and lucien, it'd be a great way of bringing him into the story and setting up his pov. if gwyn is related to lucien i could totally see that being a climax of sorts where both she and lucien learn their true parentage

and before anyone decides to get butthurt about my opinions and argue with me over points i wasn't even trying to make, no, i don't think this is me having gwyn take away from lucien. i'm trying to be as unbiased as possible and just look at what we know from the most recent books. could i be wrong? absolutely!! i've said this many times, i'm not sjm and neither is anyone on my blog (that i know of anyway 🤭 i'm still waiting for that dm containing az's pov from the last half of acosf sarah <3), so we won't actually know until it's announced but this is what makes the most sense to me personally

so yeah i think it'll be gwynriel first then elucien but i don't really care either way

[basslinegrave]

im in a sour mood again cause i just wanted to shittalk but they dont care. nobody cares. grahhh

[sophaeros]

Wait what is shadowplay

edit: renamed to colourama drive

shadowplay is the name for me and @cluedoenthusiast's "tv show" :P (as in we would make it an actual tv show if we could) well actually side a is me and charlie's, @joshus-lobster's got side b which stemmed from the same initial conversation but then they had to drive and charlie and i spiralled off in one direction while they went off in another and by the time they came back online our ideas of the characters had diverged so far we just made them separate things. love side b always blowing them a kiss

anyway shadowplay side a is about nine people in britain living in a house together for rent reasons it's pretty slice of life very character focused. out of these nine there are four main characters: amy (he/they, 35), humbug (she/her, 23), florence (she/they, 30), and dean (he/him, 25). amy and humbug are siblings (amy raised her after their parents died,,not beating the traumatised oc stereotypes), humbug and florence are in the world's most committed situationship, humbug and dean are childhood friends (their other childhood friend sylvie completes the trio :3), and dean has..the world's most pathetic longest running crush on amy. it's a whole character arc you'll love the payoff (evil). florence and dean are regulars at amy's mechanic shop that humbug also works at

brief list of everyone else in the house:

jackie - he/they, 18, florence's little brother

whipper - he/him, 17

flo - he/they, 21 (unrelated to florence. yeah we thought it'd be funny), whipper's older sibling

sylvie - they/them, 23

mark - it/any, 34, amy's best friend, cryptid

supporting characters who dont live in the house:

georgie - he/him, idk an age yet actually probably early 30s at most?? hes nonverbal and uses bsl

beau - he/him, around the same age as georgie however old that is, also nonverbal. living embodiment of 👁️👁️. georgie's qpp (well. once they realise it)

duke - he/him, 17, he + whipper + jackie are the trio of little hellions

jo - she/any, idk age either probably late 20s/early 30s, manic pixie dream girl, mark's gf

..and their neighbours who are musicians in their 40s who are gay and married

THERES SO MANY FUCKING PEOPLE. AND THERE ARE GOING TO BE MORE. HELP

[gardenofgods]

thinking about how pissed off arceus is going to be w the events of scvi. humanity are getting Too close to godhood/higher power and THAT makes him mad :)

[slotheyes]

While I certainly didn't like it, I didn't mind the sexy lady spambots that much, I'd get like maybe 1 a day and they're very easy to spot.

But im getting the blank profile no like no icon spam bots like 5 a day now and I hate them because is it spam? Is it a lurker? Well I'm not risking it if you have no icon and your profile is blank you're getting reported and blocked

[seraphmeraph]

HE GAVE ME THE ICK ICK ICKICKCIKC (jk bi han could never)

Insecure Reader x Bi Han

MK1 smut with daddy Bi Han

TW: sex(+18), riding, spanking, light degrading, GN Reader with hints of AFAB, dom!bi-han, sub!reader

A/N: I’ve been busy with schoolwork but MY GOD YALL WENT WILD WHEN I WAS GONE WHEW. I just saw the requests and I’ll work on themmm ik this shit is ass but this is just to get me started again

You were Bi Han’s partner who was always insecure about your body. At first you would proudly and without caring show your body off to Bi Han, he loved that. But as time went on you started feeling insecure, maybe because of comments somebody made or even because of your overthinking, you believed Bi Han would fall out of love.

Bi Han noticed this change, though he hadn't said anything. He was annoyed but trusted you to eventually return to normal. Every time you got intimate with him you’d find a way to cover your body, you always made some excuse to not bathe with him, and you often wore clothes that covered your body completely.

One day he came home, already annoyed with some other work, and asked you to join him in bathing, your refusal made him snap.

“Undress,” He demanded in a low, gravely voice.

“…What?” You almost stuttered.

“Take it off,” He repeated, his patience thinning.

He approached you, making an ice dagger. With one swipe your top had been torn. You were quick to try to cover your body, but Bi Han picked you up and dropped you on the bed. His arms trapping you in between them.

“Bi-Bi Han wait-“ you said, your face a flustered mess.

“You will never hide your body from me again. You are mine,” He practically growled, forcing the remnants of your shirt off you.

You were utterly mortified that Bi Han was staring down at your exposed body.

Your hands went up to cover the grandmaster's eyes, making him freeze (I had to), surprised by your action.

“Don't-Don't look at me, please?” You almost whimpered out.

His hands went up to remove your hands off his face. “Why are you hiding yourself?” His expression is almost sympathetic.

Your voice was caught in your throat, unsure if you should tell him. “I want to look good for you and- I just don’t…” You mumbled.

Bi Han looked down at you for a few seconds, you could tell what he was thinking and it made you nervous. He silently got off you, walking to a mirror, he propped it close to the end of the bed.

“What are you-?” You tried questioning, sitting up.

“Silence,” He commanded and you obeyed. You watched him walk over to you. “Pants off.”

You were reluctant to do so, but seeing Bi Hans's gaze. You immediately took it off.

Bi Han began undressing himself and manhandled you, laying down on the bed and placing you on top of him so you were facing the mirror. You felt embarrassed, and exposed, wanting nothing but to cover yourself.

He sunk you onto his cock, letting out a little grunt.

“Ah~” you moaned out, your nails digging into his chest.

“Look at the mirror,” He spoke but you didn’t listen, instead just looking down on him, he felt your heat squeeze around his dick. Suddenly you felt a sharp pain hit your ass, Bi Han had spanked you. “I said look up whore,” He grumbled.

You looked up, your eyes meeting your own. You felt the heat come up to your cheeks. “I-I can’t,” You whined to Bi Han but you felt another sharp pain against your ass.

“Don’t you dare look away,” He glared at me, now pushing you up and down onto his dick. “Keep looking,” He spoke, his hand wrapped on your hips.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, the more you looked, the more you picked out things you didn’t like.

Bi Han began speaking again. “So pretty, such a pretty little thing,” He groaned. “How could you ever hide such a perfect body from your grandmaster?”

“Mmph~!” You bit your lip, trying your hardest not to look down at Bi Han. His hands ran up and down your body, his fingers toying with your nipples.

You began to get into a rhythm as you rode him, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as well.

Guess who’s gonna learn to love themself

[dee-writes-anime]

So I saw that your requests are open and that you do JJK and I was wondering if you’d be interested in the idea buzzing in my brain for the past week. Nanami is a total jazz lover in my mind and there’s a jazz club in town and the reader is a jazz singer full of passion. I’m thinking Nanami falls head over heels for reader especially with her voice as she sings love songs. Also I love your work it’s fantastic and always a joy to read.

The Echoing, All-Encompassing Sound of Love

FEATURING Kento Nanami x Female Reader

SUMMARY The Blue Note was a place Nanami went to unwind after hard, long days of endless, meaningless work. It was a place for him to fall into the shadows and familiarity of the deep blues and jazz, it was a comfort, but nothing had ever touched him, enraptured him like you had when you stepped on that stage.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, cuteness, introspective??, Kento gushing over his WOMAN (bark bark bark), obsessed man, this is some deep, soulful shit yall, only edited ever so slightly T-T

AUTHORS NOTE I have no idea where I went with this or how it got to this point, but I really hope I brought your vision to life darling anon. <3

The jazz club, nestled in the heart of the city, is alive with an intimate, cozy energy. The space is dimly lit, with soft, warm lighting casting long shadows across the room. A thin haze of smoke lingers in the air, adding to the club's mystique. The gentle hum of quiet conversations mixes with the soft clinking of glasses and the occasional low laugh, creating a comforting backdrop for the evening.

At a small, round table near the stage, Kento Nanami sits, his posture relaxed yet composed. His impeccably tailored suit fits him perfectly, as always. He swirls a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the faint light. His sharp gaze is focused on the stage, where musicians are setting up their instruments, tuning and adjusting, preparing for the night’s performance. The familiar ritual of the pre-show calm settles over him, a welcome escape from the chaos of his usual day-to-day life.

Nanami takes a sip of his drink, savoring the smooth burn as it slides down his throat, and leans back slightly in his chair. His eyes flicker around the room, taking in the scattered patrons, each one lost in their own world of jazz and ambiance. He’s been coming to this club for a few weeks now, drawn by the soothing allure of the music and the promise of an evening where the only battles to be fought are between trumpet solos and sultry saxophone notes.

He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight will be different. Tonight, a new performer is set to take the stage, and with her first note, Nanami’s world will begin to shift in ways he never expected.

Nanami wasn’t the type to indulge in luxuries. He preferred the quiet satisfaction of a well-brewed cup of coffee, the crisp pages of a book, the efficiency of a perfectly executed plan. But there was something about this jazz club that drew him in like a moth to a flame. The dim lighting, the haze of smoke, the low hum of the bass—these were not things he typically sought out, but here, in this place, they provided a strange sense of comfort.

Tonight, the club is alive with its usual hum of activity. Patrons sit scattered around small tables, their faces barely visible in the shadows, illuminated only by the soft glow of flickering candles. The scent of whiskey and old leather mingles with the faint traces of smoke, creating an atmosphere that is both timeless and ephemeral. The band on stage plays a slow, steady rhythm, a saxophone gently crying out a mournful tune that fills the room with a bittersweet nostalgia.

Nanami sits at his usual table, close enough to the stage to see every detail, yet far enough to remain unnoticed by most. He’s dressed impeccably, as always, his suit crisp and neat despite the casual setting. He swirls his glass of whiskey, watching the ice cubes clink softly against the sides, his gaze occasionally drifting to the stage. His mind is calm, his thoughts quieted by the gentle rhythm of the music. He’s been coming here for weeks now, finding solace in the music, in the anonymity of the darkened room.

But tonight is different.

The moment you step on stage, something shifts in the air. It’s as if the very essence of the club changes, the room becoming quieter, the audience collectively holding its breath in anticipation. Nanami feels it too—a subtle tightening in his chest, a flutter he can’t quite name. He watches as you move into the spotlight, the soft, golden light catching on the sequins of your dress, making you shimmer like a dream. Your eyes are closed, your posture relaxed yet poised, as if you’re in a world all your own.

And then you start to sing.

The first note is like a whisper, gentle and soft, yet it carries through the room with a clarity that demands attention. Your voice is unlike anything Nanami has ever heard—smooth as honey, rich as velvet, with a depth that speaks of experiences and emotions he can only begin to imagine. Each note is carefully controlled, each word filled with emotion, and he finds himself leaning forward slightly, his focus entirely on you.

As you continue, your voice grows stronger, more confident, filling the room with a warmth that wraps around everyone like a comforting embrace. The lyrics are a love song, simple yet profound, speaking of longing and hope, of heartache and desire. Nanami feels each word as if it’s directed at him, as if you’re singing just for him, your gaze occasionally sweeping across the audience, and he can’t help but wonder if you see him.

The way you move on stage is mesmerizing. You sway gently to the rhythm, your hands occasionally rising to emphasize a particularly powerful line. There’s a passion in your performance, a raw emotion that spills out with every note, making it impossible to look away. Nanami’s heart races, a strange sensation for someone usually so composed. He doesn’t know why, but something about you, about this moment, feels significant—like a turning point he didn’t see coming.

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the liquid warming him from the inside out, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth your voice brings. As you hit a high note, the room seems to hold its breath, and Nanami feels a shiver run down his spine. He’s never felt so captivated, so drawn to someone. It’s as if your voice is a thread, pulling him closer, wrapping around his heart and refusing to let go.

For the first time in a long while, Nanami feels something beyond the constant grind of his duties. He feels alive, his senses heightened by the music, by your presence. He doesn’t know who you are, doesn’t know your story, but in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the music, the way your voice makes him feel, and the strange, undeniable pull he feels toward you.

He tries to stay for the rest of the night, anticipating the moment he can go up and introduce himself when all the performers do crowd work. However, it seems his phone has different plans as it buzzes insistently in the back pocket of his slacks, calling him cruelly away from the opportunity to catch your name, to hear your voice once more. Kento Nanami doesn't consider a man who's easy to anger, but that night, having lost the opportunity to know you, to catch just a single glimpse at your soul again, he can't help but feel his blood boil under his skin.

As he leaves the club, he convinces himself that he will see you again, that he will take the next opportunity as it comes and talk to you.

And that is how Kento Nanami quickly becomes a fixture at The Blue Note, his visits growing more frequent, timed perfectly to coincide with your performances.

He never deviates from his routine: arriving a few minutes before your set, he always sits at the same small table near the stage, his broad shoulders relaxed yet somehow still commanding in his perfectly tailored suit. He orders a single glass of whiskey, savoring it slowly throughout the evening.

His presence is quiet but unyielding, like a shadow that’s always there, watching, observing. Every time you step on stage, his gaze is already on you, unwavering, a steady anchor amidst the flickering candlelight and swirling smoke. It’s a look that’s intense, focused, as if he’s trying to unravel the secrets hidden within each note you sing.

You’ve noticed him, of course—how could you not? At first, he was just another face in the crowd, another patron drawn to the allure of jazz and dim lighting. But as the weeks passed, you found your eyes lingering on him more and more, intrigued by his quiet demeanor, the way he seemed to hang on to every word you sang. There was a mystery about him, a sense of restraint that made you wonder what thoughts lay hidden behind those piercing eyes.

As the days turn into weeks, his presence becomes a comfort, a constant in the ever-changing tide of the club’s clientele. You start to look for him as you step on stage, your gaze naturally drifting to his usual spot. The way he watches you feels different from the others—more profound, more attentive, as if he’s listening not just with his ears, but with his entire being.

And each time you sing, you can’t help but feel a strange connection to him, a silent understanding that grows stronger with every performance. His steady gaze becomes a source of inspiration, a quiet encouragement that pushes you to pour even more of yourself into each song. It’s almost as if you’re singing just for him, even though you’ve never exchanged a single word.

One evening, after a particularly soulful rendition of an old jazz standard, you notice him again. He’s there, as always, sitting at his usual table, his eyes following you with that same intense focus. But tonight feels different. There’s something in his gaze that you can’t quite place—an emotion that lingers in the air like the final note of a song.

The club is quieter than usual tonight, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room. As you step off the stage, your heart still pounding from the performance, you find yourself drawn to him, almost against your will. You’re not sure what compels you—perhaps it’s the curiosity that’s been building inside you for weeks, or maybe it’s the intensity of his focus, the way he seems to see right through you, as if he knows every emotion behind your songs.

You make your way through the tables, your steps slow and deliberate, your heart beating a little faster with each one. As you approach, you notice the subtle shift in his expression—his eyes widening slightly, a flicker of surprise passing across his otherwise stoic face. He sets his glass down carefully, his movements calm and measured, but you can see the tension in the way he sits up straighter, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Hi,” you say softly, your voice carrying just above the soft hum of the club. Up close, you notice the sharp angles of his face, the way his hair falls neatly over his forehead, and the intensity of his eyes—eyes that are watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something deeper.

He nods slightly, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. “Hello,” he replies, his voice low and smooth, matching the ambiance of the club perfectly. There’s a moment of silence, the kind that hangs heavy with unspoken questions and unsaid words.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. “I’ve noticed you here before,” you say, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing. “You come to listen a lot.”

Nanami’s eyes soften, and he nods again. “I do,” he admits, his gaze steady and sincere. “You have a… remarkable voice. It’s not something one can easily forget.”

His words catch you off guard, the sincerity in them striking a chord deep within you. You smile, a genuine, warm smile that reaches your eyes. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

He tilts his head slightly, a subtle curiosity playing across his features. “From me?”

You nod, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence. “Yes. You always seem so… focused. It’s hard not to wonder what you’re thinking.”

Nanami chuckles softly, a rare sound that seems to surprise even him. “I suppose I’m just… listening,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “Trying to understand the emotion behind each song. You sing with such passion; it’s hard not to be drawn in.”

Your heart flutters at his words, at the honesty in them. For a moment, the world outside fades away, and it’s just the two of you in this small, smoky club, sharing a connection that feels almost tangible.

As the evening goes on, the conversation flows naturally, each word revealing a little more about the enigmatic man who has been such a mystery to you. And as you talk, you find yourself wanting to know more, to understand the quiet strength behind his stoic exterior, and to uncover the emotions that lie beneath his calm façade.

Tonight, you’ve taken the first step into a new rhythm, one that neither of you could have anticipated.

But your exploration ends there-- at least, for the time being as Nanami finds himself pulled back into the Jujutsu world, all his extra time lost to consistent missions and training as a grade-one sorcerer.

It's only about a month later that he is finally able to force just enough time into his exhausting schedule to come see you again, the dim glow of the jazz club's lights dances across the walls, and the familiar hum of chatter fills the room as patrons settle in for another night of music.

Nanami sits at his usual table, but tonight feels different. His normally calm and composed demeanor is slightly frayed at the edges. His fingers tap nervously against the rim of his glass, and he takes a slow, deep breath. He’s been thinking about this moment for weeks, rehearsing his words, imagining every possible outcome.

He can no longer ignore the pull he feels toward you—the singer who has become more than just a beautiful voice on stage. Every performance has drawn him deeper into your world, and he finds himself wanting more. He wants to know you, to understand the person behind the melodies that have captivated him so completely.

As the final notes of your current song fade, you take a small bow, the audience’s applause a warm, familiar comfort. When you lift your gaze, your eyes naturally drift to his spot, widening ever so slightly when you see him watching you with that same intense focus. There’s something different in his expression tonight, a hint of determination that makes your heart skip a beat.

When the set ends, you make your way offstage, your steps lighter than usual. As you head toward the bar for a drink, you see him rise from his table, his tall figure cutting through the smoky haze of the club. He’s coming toward you, his movements purposeful but not rushed. There’s a resolve in his stride, a quiet confidence that makes your pulse quicken with anticipation.

“Hi again,” you greet him with a smile as he approaches, leaning casually against the bar. Up close, he’s as striking as ever, his presence commanding but not overpowering. There’s a softness to his eyes tonight, a warmth that wasn’t there before. "Long time no see."

“Hello,” he responds, his voice a touch lower than usual, an embarrassed blush lightly dusting his sharp cheekbones. He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words. You can see the faintest hint of nervousness in the way he briefly glances away before meeting your gaze again. “I wanted to… say something.” He hesitates, then continues, “First, I wanted to apologize for my absence after our conversation. I see how it might seem that my lack of attendance is directly related, and I want to make it clear that it wasn't."

"That's alright," you say so sweetly, your voice dripping with a honey that doesn't reach the stage. It makes him pause, that soulful tone that you sing with is so at odds with your personality it almost makes him want to enquire whether or not you are the same woman.

But he has more important things to do, like reveal his truth. "A-and also.. your voice… it moves me in ways I can’t quite explain. It’s like every note, every word carries a piece of you, and… it reaches me.”

His confession is quiet, almost lost in the low murmur of the club, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes now, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the composed exterior.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you feel a playful urge to lighten the moment. “So, does that make you my most dedicated fan?” you tease gently, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Nanami chuckles softly, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. “I suppose it does,” he admits, a small, genuine smile breaking through his usual stoicism. “I can’t seem to stay away.”

There’s a moment of shared laughter, and in that instant, the tension between you softens, replaced by a warm, unspoken connection. It’s a feeling that’s been building for weeks, and now, standing here with him, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you have a favorite song from my set?” you ask, curious to know more about the quiet man who seems to hang on your every word.

Without a second’s hesitation, he answers, “The ballad you sing—the one about longing and quiet devotion. It… resonates with me.”

You nod, recognizing the song he’s referring to. It’s one of your favorites too, a song filled with deep emotions, a story of unspoken love and silent yearning. His choice surprises you, but it also makes your heart flutter. There’s something incredibly personal about his answer, something that touches a place deep within you.

As the evening progresses, you prepare for the next set. Nanami returns to his table, but there’s a newfound lightness in his demeanor, a subtle shift in his posture. You take the stage again, the band picking up the soft, familiar notes of the ballad he mentioned. The room falls silent as you begin to sing.

Your voice carries through the club, each note delicate and filled with emotion. As you sing, your eyes search the crowd, drawn inevitably to him. When your gaze finally meets his, it feels like the air is charged with electricity. His eyes are locked on yours, and suddenly, the song takes on a whole new meaning. It’s no longer just a performance; it’s a conversation, a silent exchange of feelings that neither of you has dared to voice until now.

The words spill from your lips with a newfound intensity, each lyric filled with the raw emotion that’s been building inside you since the moment you first saw him. The love song, once a simple ballad, now feels like a confession, a declaration wrapped in melody. You can see it in his eyes too—a depth of feeling that mirrors your own, a quiet devotion that makes your heart race.

As the final note fades into the silence, you realize that the room has disappeared, leaving just the two of you connected by the invisible thread of the music. The applause is distant, a faint echo of reality, but all you can focus on is the way he’s looking at you—as if you are the only person in the world.

In that moment, under the soft glow of the club’s lights, something shifts between you. It’s a beginning, a step into uncharted territory, but it feels right. And as you both stand there, wrapped in the warmth of the song and the quiet understanding between you, you know that whatever comes next, it’s a melody you’re both eager to explore.

It's not long before the nights at The Blue Note become something more than just performances and applause. After the crowd disperses and the lights dim, the club transforms into a sanctuary of quiet conversations and shared silences. Nanami stays longer now, his reserved demeanor softening with each passing evening. You sit together at the bar or at his usual table near the stage, sometimes talking late into the night, sometimes just sitting in a comfortable silence that says more than words ever could.

You’ve come to look forward to these moments—the way Nanami listens so intently when you speak, as if every word matters, the way his eyes soften when he catches you smiling. There’s a calm about him, a quiet strength that you find yourself drawn to more and more. He never pushes, never asks for more than you’re willing to give. Instead, he’s just… there. A steady presence that has quickly become a constant in your life.

You learn things about him in these quiet hours. He speaks of his work in vague terms, his shoulders tensing slightly whenever the topic drifts too close. But he’s open about his love for jazz, about how he finds solace in the melodies and rhythms. He tells you about the first time he heard you sing, how something inside him shifted, how he knew he would return again and again.

In return, you share pieces of yourself with him—stories of your childhood, your love for music, and how it’s the one thing that has always made you feel truly alive. You tell him about the first time you sang on a stage, how nervous you were, and how that fear melted away the moment you began to sing. He listens with an intensity that makes you feel seen, truly seen, in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

As the days turn into weeks, an unspoken bond forms between you. It’s there in the way Nanami orders your favorite drink without you asking, in the way he waits for you to finish after every performance, ready with a quiet smile and a listening ear. It’s in the way you look for him in the crowd, your heart lifting just a little each time you find him sitting at his usual spot, watching you with that steady, unyielding gaze.

You begin to see the depth of Nanami in the little things—the way he’s always mindful of your space, the way he listens more than he speaks, and how his rare, gentle smiles are more precious than any grand gesture. He shows his affection in thoughtful ways—a book he thought you might like, a warm cup of tea on a rainy night, a steady hand at your back when you’re feeling overwhelmed.

It’s these moments, small but meaningful, that make you realize just how much he’s come to mean to you. He’s become more than just a regular at the club, more than just a face in the crowd. He’s someone you’ve come to rely on, someone whose presence brings a sense of calm and comfort that you hadn’t realized you were missing.

Tonight, the club is busier than usual, the crowd buzzing with energy. You’re back on stage, the warm glow of the spotlight casting a soft halo around you. The band starts to play the familiar opening notes of a love song, the same ballad Nanami had mentioned that night—the one filled with longing and quiet devotion. Your heart flutters with a mix of nerves and excitement. Tonight feels different, charged with a new kind of energy.

As you begin to sing, your eyes naturally seek him out. Nanami is there, as always, sitting at his usual table. But tonight, there’s no distance between you. He’s no longer just a quiet admirer in the shadows; he’s someone who knows your stories, someone who’s seen you in your most vulnerable moments. And when your gaze meets his, it’s like the whole room falls away, leaving just the two of you connected by the music.

Your voice carries through the club, each note filled with a tenderness that wasn’t there before. You sing for him now, every word an unspoken confession, every melody a shared memory. The song is more than just a performance; it’s a dialogue, a way to say all the things you haven’t yet put into words.

Nanami watches you with a quiet intensity, his eyes soft and warm. You can see the emotion there, the depth of feeling that he so rarely shows. And as you sing, you can feel it too—a warmth spreading through your chest, a sense of belonging that makes you feel more alive than ever.

The final notes of the song hang in the air, a delicate echo that slowly fades into the silence. The crowd erupts in applause, but all you hear is the quiet, steady beat of your heart, all you see is the way Nanami’s lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile.

You take a small bow, but your eyes never leave his. There’s a shared understanding between you, a silent promise that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together. And in that moment, under the soft lights of the club, with the music still lingering in the air, you know that you’ve found something special—something worth holding onto.

As the night draws to a close and the crowd begins to thin, you make your way off the stage, your steps light and purposeful. Nanami is waiting for you, his figure a steady presence amidst the shifting shadows. He doesn’t say anything as you approach, but his eyes speak volumes—filled with a quiet devotion that makes your heart swell.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his voice carrying just above the soft hum of the remaining patrons.

“Thank you,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “For everything.”

Nanami nods, his expression gentle, and without another word, he offers you his hand. You take it, feeling the warmth of his touch, the strength of his grip—a silent promise that whatever comes next, you won’t have to face it alone.

And as you stand there, hand in hand, with the music still echoing softly around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

[sant-riley]

[Task force 141 + others with Gen z!reader] [pt3]

A/N: Some of these you /may/ have seen on tiktok, that is me who posted them on tiktok. I am green haired bitch so no I didn't steal anything LMAO. I hope these live up to yalls expectations.

The last two of these my lovely friend gave me inspiration for <3 @frogchiro

Warnings: She/her pronouns swearing, age gaps, tiktok memes (like always lmk if I miss something!)

~

You steal Prices hat on numerous occasions bc its a fashion abomination and you refuse to let this man wear it around you. You hide around base as frequently as you can.

Jokes on you though bc he will literally wait til it's your birthday and buy you a matching one and will laugh at your scream of disgust.

Gaz one ups him by gifting you a matching hat as well, putting it on your head as he flicks the brim.

"Thanks Gaz! I love it!

"And not mine?"

"You're on thin ice, old man."

Price gets gifted a set from manscaped by the guys as a gag gift. He uses it for his beard bc he never bothered to look into why everyone was laughing around him.

Price takes your phone when you try and show him memes, squinting hard as fuck like a dad 💀

Soap, if yall have the time off takes you to scottish football games and it's a whole thing. You sitting there while he gets drunk out of his fucking mind, hollering and whooping and you're there trying to sink into your seat.

Chances are someone's gonna shove you and you're gonna trip and fall bc everyone's so amped up and Soap threatens to beat the shit out of them. It's a miracle y'all don't get kicked out 💀

If you have tattoos, Soap is the first one to take a marker set and color them in and adding his own additions. If you were ever to get them actually tattooed, he would tear up and pretend he isn't emotional about it.

"You like me that much Bonnie?"

He would get something of you too, so it evens out. This also makes Ghost in turn get a tattoo for you bc he refuses to be out done and he's just as attached

Neither of them get your call sign or your name, but they get something personal to what each of them associate you with.

The first time you meet Alex, you're across the room doing something that has your focus and didn't realize this is actually your first time meeting him. You ask him for a hand only to look up and see him extend his prosthetic at you with a smile and you scream.

"You asked for a hand but best I can do is a Leg." Price comes running and he sees the scene and rolls his eyes.

Everyone single one of them are the definition of "my girl can wear whatever she wants bc I'll break your jaw." meme btw. You can take care of yourself but you never need to bc they will beat a bitch up.

Laswell invites you constantly to come over and meet with her wife, esp if you don't have a mother figure. She always always tries to come on base to see you and always has a birthday and Christmas present on it's way to you wherever you may be. Her wife loves you to death and they've pretty much adopted you and you cannot escape it, oh well.

Gaz buys you whatever your little heart desires, especially if he's deployed away in a country where they sell exclusives of whatever you enjoy. It's a pain in the fucking ass to try and ship a anime figure to your place from Japan but he's gonna try his best.

Ghost doesn't share his food, or at least it was before you came along. He groans and grumbles about having to feed you but he wouldn't do it if he truly didn't want to. Soap asks and Ghost tells him to fuck off.

If you watch anime, please imagine trying to get everyone in the room and trying to explain who Dabi is. They're all so fucking old they keep thinking you're referring to the elf from Harry Potter and it infuriates you to no end.

Soap and Gaz know better but it's funnier to see you mad.

Being the youngest, they absolutely force you to do the jobs they don't want to. Whether it be cleaning the barracks, to cooking dinner when able, it doesn't matter bc they'll all pull rank on you.

"You're the new kid, get to it then."

"Ghosttttt-"

"Don't Ghost me."

Soap is the kind of motherfucker to play the fifa games and doesn't understand that he's stupid for buying it every single year bc there are no changes oncesoever. He will not listen to you about it and you've given up.

Ghost will see you talk about your etsy list and will ask for your phone, you trust him so of course you hand it over. He hands it back to you and it's just, all purchased. He says nothing while he sips on his tea while you scream at him asking why he did it. He won't tell you but it's because he knows it makes you happy and it'll keep your mood up, giving you a reason to be motivated to get through missions. It's also because he knows that retail therapy is a thing for your generation.

Soap, if you do any, is actually really good at doing your makeup! He knows how to do everything and he refuses to elaborate. (As a kid he'd do his mom's makeup when she went out for dates) he's the one who helps you doll up if you're going undercover.

Ghost, Gaz and Price find you unfunny whenever you make a "wow I wish British people were real." You say it so often and it gets annoying but they also just accept it's a part of life.

Soap personally enjoys the "SCOTLAND FOREVERRRRRRR" meme and will scream it with you. Ghost threatens to cut yalls tongue out.

Other parts can be found under #Kayla writes <3

Taglist:

@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess

@stupid-ninja @milkmily

@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii

@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel

@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

@marsbar127xx @baddump

@xncasi @king-cookiex

@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky @wolfyland07 @diejager

@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom

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