#when i like a person i wanna hear anything they wanna say...

[luvsupa]

tags: gojo x fem!reader, ex relationship, fluff, angst, takes place after battle w sukuna (he wins), sad ending, mentions of blood, gojo’s lowkey depressed w.c: 1k

a/n: sorry this just came out of nowhere </3

“satoru?” you call out, squinting through the bustling sidewalks of downtown tokyo, trying to confirm if it’s really him. he turns at the sound of your voice, removing one of his earbuds, his heart flipping as he sees you—this isn’t a dream. you’re really here.

it’s been a little over a year since you two broke up. despite the deep love you shared, the relationship was suffocating. you couldn’t stand watching him come home exhausted and scarred, sometimes with blood on his clothes from the dangerous missions. it hurt too much to see him treated like a weapon instead of the person he is. you begged him to leave jujutsu tech, pleading with him day and night to escape the pain that you couldn’t bear to witness.

but the final straw was that night—when he came home, slashes across his body, his clothes torn and bloodied. watching him limp from your shared apartment to the bathroom made your heart shatter. “i’m okay,” he reassured you, but you knew he was on the verge of passing out, desperately hiding his pain from you. he couldn’t let you, his sweet sweet baby, see him in this state.

“‘toru, it’s either you leave that company or i’m leaving,” you cried, your heart clenching at the thought. his identity was tied to saving non-cursed users, but without that, who was he? he stared at you in silence, and you already knew his answer. you packed your things, his tear-filled eyes followed you from the bathroom, silently apologizing for the pain he couldn’t escape.

seeing him now, you can’t help but smile, even as the memories flood back. he looks healthier, but the scars on his face are constant reminders of his battles. “i—how are you?” he stutters, still in shock.

“g-good. how’ve you been?” you reply, your heart sinking at how tired he looks.

“pretty good too,” he says, scratching the back of his head, revealing the scars on his hands. “wanna grab some coffee? there’s a shop down the street.” your eyes widen, and you nod, a mix of excitement and dread swirling inside you.

as you walk side by side, the energy between you feels familiar yet fragile. you chat about the beauty of the night, pointing out flashy sports cars.

inside the café, you sit across from each other, getting a good view of the outside. he returns with two coffees, and you thank him for paying, though you’d always insist on paying- he declined, he never let you pay for anything when you were together.

“have you left yet?” you ask, your voice trembling as you prepare for the inevitable conversation.

“heh, does it look like I’ve left?” he jokes, gesturing to his tired eyes. you wrap your hands around your cup, feeling the warmth seep into your cold fingers. silence falls between you, heavy with unspoken words.

“i miss yo—”

“i have a girlfriend.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut. a girlfriend? your heart drops as your expression falters. why does it hurt so much?

“y-yeah, i’m seeing someone too,” you blurt out, hating yourself for the lie. the laughter that follows feels hollow, and he can see right through you.

“baby, you’re such a bad liar—” he catches himself, the pet name easily slipping past his lips. both of you stare at each other widened eyes as he mistakenly slipped up by calling you baby. he really didn’t mean to! suddenly, the air is thick with tension. you both giggle awkwardly, but inside, it tears at you—how much you miss hearing him call you that.

“if i were your girlfriend, i’d kill you for catching up with your ex and calling her baby,” you joke, but his expression remains serious. not a smile nor a chuckle, making your heart race. have you upset him?

“i mean, you were my girl,” he says, and your mind spins. my girl. you can’t help but pout, taking a sip of your coffee, your gaze drifting outside to the busy streets.

just then, his phone buzzes loudly, drawing your attention. you catch a glimpse of “A♡” on the screen. gojo’s expression shifts as he reads the message, a sadness settling over him. he has to cut your time short. you silently whine as the two of you rise from your chairs, cleaning up any mess as you both head out to leave in opposite directions.

but he stops you. his warm hands enveloping yours. “w-when can i see you again?” he stutters, his voice laced with desperation. your heart races, wanting to cry, to leap into his arms and confess your love, but that’s not an option.

“i’ll see you around, ‘toru,” you say, forcing a warm smile. rising on your tiptoes, you place a soft kiss on his cheek as he blushed hard. he tenses, the longing evident in his eyes as he fights the urge to pull you close, hugging you and kissing you as if you were his again.

“and treat your girlfriend nice,” you add, turning to walk away. each step feels heavier as a lump forms in your throat, fighting back the tears threatening to spill.

“will do,” he calls after you, trying to sound upbeat. but as he walks away, his eyes glisten, filled with unfallen tears. oh, how he misses you.

[spiderbeam]

and okay feel free to ignore this one because ive sent a bunch already buttt 🎧+max+7

🎧 — bugambilia by nasa histoires

Max is nervous. He hadn’t realized it until the bell dinged with his entrance, until you spoke your usual greeting, until your eyes met his and a smile spread over your lips. He’s a three time world champion, an icon of the world of motorsport, a celebrity—and yet he finds himself growing jittery at the sight of you.

Of course you’d be the type to fall for the one person in Europe who doesn’t know your name, Danny had teased.

He’d denied it. He didn’t have feelings for you. He had simply developed a fondness for flowers—and he just happened to like yours most.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you this soon.” You dust your hands on your overalls as you stand up to greet him. You look pretty in overalls, he finds. Prettier even with your hair held up by a bow—alongside that lovely smile that always makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. “Thought you said you were leaving the country for work.”

Max realizes then he’s stayed quiet for too long. “Um, yeah,” he starts awkwardly, hands tucked in his pockets before he takes them out soon after. What do people usually do with their hands? “I did. It was just for the weekend, though.”

“Did you have fun?” you ask, before meeting his gaze with a playful roll of your eyes. “I know, work is work, but…”

“It was fine,” Max clicks his tongue, hoping he doesn’t sound too dismissive. “Not great.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You purse your lips, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you can rant a little while I trim these?” You gesture at the newly arrived flowers.

Max chuckles a little. He’s done plenty of ranting. Mostly in front of a camera. “Actually, I was hoping to get to hear you talk about your flowers—maybe give me a hand?”

You straighten as you stand up, nodding. “What’s today’s purchase gonna be?”

“Another gift,” he says, even though he’s ran out of friends to gift bouquets to. Twice is two times too many before they start looking at him weird.

You nod your head, ponytail bobbing. “Alright.” You clasp your hands together, smiling up at him. “Wanna look around for something that catches your eye, or are you in search for anything in particular?”

Max tilts his head at you. “Which are your favorites this week?” He asked you the same question last time, and the time before that. But, as you told him before, you can’t make up your mind—not permanently, anyway. Each time he comes around, you have a different answer prepared for him.

This time, you’re grinning. “C’mon, I’ll show you.” And then your hand is in his as you steer him towards the very back of the shop—and Max can feel his breath stuttering. He blinks in rapid succession, hoping to get himself to snap out of it. Jesus Christ, you’re just holding her hand. Pull yourself together.

Finally, you stop beside a shelf with purple and fuchsia flowers with papery petals and tiny light yellow blossoms inside them. Max feels as you let go of him, prompting him to step closer to the flowers. He leans forward, hoping to catch some floral scent like the lilies and jasmines you gave him a few weeks back. He doesn’t smell anything.

“They don’t have a scent,” you tell him. “It’s bugambilia. Bougainvillea. It’s not usually used for bouquets, though, so people rarely buy any. Except for this one woman, Marisol—she says it reminds her of home. But she only takes a few branches, doesn’t really want them as a bouquet.” You’re smiling when he turns back to you. “They don’t grow around here—not naturally, anyway. It’s why I like them.”

“Bougainvillea,” Max repeats, committing the syllables to memory. “So you’ve never had to sell a bouquet of these?”

“Not yet.” You shrug. “It’s under appreciated, in my opinion. I mean—most people just buy roses. Maybe sunflowers.”

He remembers you ranting about that last week. How impersonal is it to give red roses to someone on a date? It’s like giving a gift card. No sentiment whatsoever.

And Max, surprisingly enough, agreed. He believes in personal gestures. Gifts that proof you’ve been listening, that you’ve been paying attention. And as he side-glances at you, he can see your stare still lingering on the purple and pink flowers. He doesn’t need to think it over before he’s saying: “I’ll take it.”

You nod in approval, reaching up to take a few flowers. “I knew you would,” you say proudly, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You’ve got good taste, Max.”

Max chuckles. “Not really,” he says, shaking his head. “I just happen to know someone who does.” He’s looking at you as he says it, scratching his cheek, but he can see your lovely smile falter slightly. His brows pinch together.

You haul your selected bougainvillea onto the counter, with Max trailing close behind. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who buys as many flowers as you do—not that I’m complaining.” You try to sneak a glance at him as you’re tying off his bouquet. Max relishes in the heat that crawls up your cheeks when he catches you.

This is his chance, he realizes. But then he’s running circles again because what if you think he’s creepy? That he’s been buying flowers from you in hopes of finally building up the courage to ask you out? It’s not only creepy, it’s pathetic. It’s been nearly a month since he first met you. It’s taken him a whole month to get to this. Stupid. And since when does he get nervous like this around girls? He’s Max Verstappen.

But you’re you.

“You okay?” you ask, peering at him. “You’ve been a little quiet today.”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, I just—” He means to ask you, he really does, but this one tiny detail doesn’t escape his attention as you leave the flowers on the counter, wrapped in pretty ribbons, ready for him to take home. He stares at you, dumbfounded. “I—I haven’t paid yet.”

Your expression sends butterflies fluttering around his stomach. “Consider it a gift. For keeping me company on a slow day.”

But Max is already pulling out his wallet out of his back pocket. “No, no, I can pay.”

“Max,” you say, voice caught somewhere between soft and stern. “It’s a gift. You don’t pay for gifts.”

He scratches his cheek again, a quirk of his you’ve come to find endearing. “Doesn’t this get taken out of your paycheck?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “No one buys bougainvillea. One of my coworkers would’ve probably ended up throwing them away.”

You’re dodging his question, and Max doesn’t know how to tell you that he can afford it without making it seem like he doesn’t appreciate the gesture.

You seem to decide for him when you grab the bouquet and hand it to him. Your fingertips graze his knuckles, shooting sparks beneath his skin. He should ask you now. You’re smiling like you don’t even know the effect you have on him.

“Your—”

“Would you—” Max clears his throat, pink on his cheeks. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

You smile again, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You laugh lightly, but it doesn’t sound as genuine. “Nothing—just that your girlfriend’s really lucky. I’d kill to have someone buy me as many flowers every week.”

“My—what?” Max blinks once. Twice. Three times before the words finally dislodge from his throat. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, your boyfriend?” you amend, playing with your fingers.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Max says bluntly. He’s still cradling his bougainvilleas as he watches realization wash over your face.

“Oh.” Heat is climbing up your cheeks, and for the first time all afternoon, you’re the one stumbling over your words. “O-Oh. I just thought that—I mean, since you’ve been coming around so much, and you’re like, handsome, and sweet, so I just assumed—”

“Do you wanna go out some time?” Max interrupts, ears tinted red. There’s a pretty blush spreading his face. A giddy nervousness building up in his gut. “With me, I mean. Do you want to go out with me?”

Your lips curl upward, heat radiating from your face. Max feels flowers growing in his chest. Hydrangeas, carnations, tulips, wisteria. Purple bougainvillea flowers.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

eve’s 1k celebration 🎧

this one was very loosely based on the song more on the vibes than the actual lyrics so i might revisit this song and make another more angstier drabble in the future….. for now i just recommend giving the song a listen <3 also i’m not used to writing for max AT ALL so hopefully it didn’t feel too ooc

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

Under the stars | Words 1.4k

The night air is cool against Regulus's skin, biting into his exposed cheeks and neck though it isn’t cold enough to drive him back indoors.

The silence between them is comfortable, easy, broken only by occasional rustling of grass as James shifts beside him, lying flat on his back, eyes heavily focused on the endless night sky.

The stars above twinkle lazily, making the dark sky seem like a blanket full of shiny things. Instead of their usual place—the Astronomy tower—James has insisted they come out here—has dragged Regulus by the arm wearing the same maddening grin. 

There’s something magnetic about James, something that makes it hard to say no, even when Regulus wants to.

Now they lay side by side, arms touching gently, stretched out on the damp grass right in the middle of the quidditch pitch. 

But for once, James is unbelievably quiet. 

And Regulus likes him this way. Not that James’s talking was entirely unbearable—no, that isn’t it. But there is something about the silence that makes Regulus feel… less alone.

“There.” James breaks the stillness, lifting an arm to point toward the sky, his voice barely above a whisper. “That one. It looks like a broomstick, doesn’t it?”

Regulus follows the direction of James’s outstretched hand, squinting at the constellation James is referring to. He tilts his head, trying to make sense of it, but all he sees is a jumble of stars.

He snorts. “That’s not even close to a broomstick, James.” 

James laughs softly, not the loud, boisterous sound Regulus is used to hearing, but a quieter, more intimate chuckle. “Yeah, well… maybe I just see things differently.”

There’s something in his tone that makes Regulus pause, something beneath the usual playful teasing. He turns his head slightly to glance at James, but James is still looking up, his expression softer than Regulus has ever seen it.

“You know,” James continues, voice lower now, like he’s confessing something he isn’t meaning to. “Every time I look up at the stars… I think of you.”

Regulus’s heart dances in his chest. “What?”

“Yeah.” James finally turns his head to meet Regulus’s gaze, brown eyes shining with something soft. “You’re like that, you know? Always there. Quiet. Distant. But… kind of beautiful.”

The words hit Regulus like a punch to the chest. Beautiful. No one has ever called him that, not in a way that feels real, not in a way that matters. And yet, hearing it from James Potter of all people makes something inside him break loose.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stick in his throat.

“You’re messing with me,” he finally chokes out, voice full of accusation. 

James’s smile doesn’t falter. “I don’t lie when it comes to you, Regulus.’’

There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes Regulus’s heart race, a sincerity that terrifies him. He’s used to people wanting things from him—affection, loyalty, obedience—but James doesn’t seem to want anything. Just this moment. Just the stars and the quiet and Regulus by his side.

“Are you alright?’’

“Why wouldn’t I be?’’

“James,’’ Regulus murmurs, his fingers gently covering James’ hand. “Please, just tell me.”

“I think… I think—I’m not in love with Evans anymore.’’

Regulus’ mouth hangs agape at the same time his heart skips a beat. He’s ready to embrace hurt. Of course, James might be hurt over it. 

“Oh,’’ he whispers, barely audible. “You… wanna talk about it?’’

“I don’t know. Not really. I feel like,’’ James chokes, eyes squeezing shut. “I feel like I’ve been chasing an idea not a— not a person. And I hate myself for it.”

“James. James, don’t be. It’s alright to mess up our lives a bit you know?’’ Regulus mutters, “No one hands us a guideline to live our lives. It’s in our hands to do so. It’s normal and accepted to be flawed and to be filled with some mistakes.”

“I know. That’s not all to it either.”

“Oh.”

James hesitates, his breath hitching like he’s on the verge of death. “I’m in love with this person,” he whispers, his voice shaking but determined. “I’m so in love with them. When they smile—god, when they smile, I can’t breathe. It’s like everything in me stops. And when their eyes catch the light, when they look at me and there’s that spark…” He lets out a strangled laugh. “It’s everything. They’re everything. I want to hold them, protect them, and love them. And it’s driving me mad because I don’t know what to do with it.”

Regulus feels his stomach drop, the words sinking in with the force of a tidal wave. His mind spins with the realisation, with the crushing weight of what James is saying. James is in love. Deeply, irrevocably in love with someone else.

Not him, again. But with someone else, again.

“So… does she not feel the same way? Is that why you’re upset?” 

James blinks, his brow furrowing. “She?”

“Huh?” 

“Not a she,” James murmurs quietly, as if the truth is finally slipping from his grasp.

Oh, a boy then. 

Regulus swallows hard. “That’s alright, too. I mean, I’m literally gay, James. I—”

“I’m in love with you,” James interrupts, his voice trembling but unyielding, “It’s you, Reg. You are the person I’m in love with”

The world falls silent.

Regulus’s mouth hangs open, his mind struggling to catch up with what he has just heard. His heart pounds  so loudly in his ears that it drowns out the rest of the world, leaving nothing but the echo of James’s words. 

“What?” 

James’s eyes are desperate now, searching Regulus’s face for any sign.

“It’s you, Regulus,” he repeats, his voice softer, more vulnerable. “You make me feel all those things. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

James Potter is in love with him. Not with someone else this time.

He tries to process it, trying to make sense of the rapid, frantic beating of his heart, the way his chest aches with the force of it all. 

James’s face is pale, his eyes wide and filled with something raw—fear, maybe, or hope. “I’m sorry,” James whispers, the words trembling in the night air. “I didn’t mean to— I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. I had to tell you.”

Regulus’s breath hitches, his throat tight with the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing through him. He wants to speak, wants to say something—anything—that’ll make this easier, but the words were stuck, lodged somewhere deep in his chest.

“James…” His voice is barely audible, a whisper in the wind.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… I needed you to know.” 

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. The late nights spent together, the way James’s smile always seemed softer when it was just the two of them, the way his eyes lingered on Regulus a little too long, the way his jokes had always seemed a little more tender, a little more meaningful.

Regulus’s hands tremble as he moves, his fingers brushing against James’s arm, tentative, unsure. James’s head snaps up, his wide eyes locking onto Regulus’s, and for a moment, they just stare at each other, the world around them fading away.

“You love me?” Regulus asks, his voice barely more than a breath.

James swallows hard, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah, Reg. I love you.”

And at that moment, Regulus knew. He knew because his heart feels lighter, like it’s finally free after being caged for so long. He knows because he wants to reach out and pull James into his arms, to feel the warmth of him, the solidity of him, and never let go.

“I think…” Regulus’s voice cracks, and he takes a shaky breath, “I think I might love you, too.”

James eyes go wide, breath catching. “You think?’’

“No, I—” Regulus shakes his head. Not think, no. He knows. “I know.”

Before Regulus can second-guess himself, he closes the distance between them, his lips crashing against James’s in a kiss that was all at once fierce and tender, desperate and gentle.

James kisses him back with the same intensity, his hands finding their way to Regulus’s face, holding him like he was something precious, something he can’t bear to lose. 

And in that moment, under the stars and the cool night breeze, everything finally made sense.

James pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against Regulus’s, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts. “You really mean it?” he asks, his voice full of hope and disbelief.

Regulus smiles, something soft and real. “Yeah, I really mean it.”

And for the first time in quite a long time, James Potter looks like he isn’t lost anymore. He looks like he’s home.

[serenpedac]

Tulsi

For the prompt "Forget" of the first day of F Hauville Appreciation Week, @happyhauvillebday ^^

Words: ~1500 Rating: Gen Relationship: Female detective/Farah Hauville Warnings: None

A scent brings back memories from Farah's life in the Echo World, memories she thought she had forgotten.

Read on Ao3 here or below.

“Thank you for your help.”

One corner of Jada’s mouth curls in a smile. “Even though I couldn’t tell you anything?”

Gabi shrugs as she gets up from the chair. “No information is also information. It means we can confirm they haven’t tried to make contact here.”

“Wise words. Good luck with tracking those fae down.” Jada accompanies Gabi and Farah to the backdoor when the bell of the antique shop rings. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course, see you later, Jada,” Gabi says.

Farah only gives a subdued smile. She has been unusually quiet this entire visit. At first, Gabi thought it was because she didn’t know Jada and was giving Gabi the lead on one of her first official assignments as an agent, but as the conversation had shifted from the fae rumoured to have arrived in Wayhaven to more generic topics, Farah had remained quiet. And that is nothing like her. 

Gabi is about to ask if she’s okay when Farah halts.

Farah’s nostrils flare, her eyes growing wide. She turns to the right, where an opened door provides a glimpse into a dark room.

“Farah? Everything alright?”

Farah doesn’t seem to hear her, walking into the room as if in trance. Neatly labelled jars in various sizes are lines up against the wall, sea salt, chamomile, volcanic ash, but Farah walk past those without giving them so much as a look. Instead, she goes over to some bunches hanging from the ceiling. Herbs, Gabi realises as her eyes adjust to the gloomy room. They must be hanging there to dry. Farah reaches out a hand, nearly touching them.

“You have good taste.” At Jada’s voice, Farah snaps her hand back. A guilt-stricken look crosses her face, but Jada offers her a warm smile from her place in the doorway. “That’s tulsi, it’s one of my favourites.”

Jada’s loose clothes brush Gabi’s bare arm as she passes her to join Farah.

“Would you like—” 

“Sorry. I— I have to go.” Farah rushes out, past Gabi and through the hallway. The backdoor falls shut with a loud thud right after.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what is going on,” Gabi says. 

Jada gives her a thoughtful look. “There’s nothing to apologise for. Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?” She touches the tulsi that is swaying lightly. “I will keep some on hand just in case.”

She finds Farah down the street, browsing the magazines displayed in front of the general store.

“Did you see this?” She points at a glossy cover of a fashion magazine. “I just know that Nate has something exactly like this in his closet.”

“Ehm, Farah…”

Without looking away from the model on the cover, Farah continues, “Do you think he’ll let me borrow it? It’ll be too large, sure, but I can work with that. Oversized is also a cool look, don’t you agree?” 

Gabi places her hand on Farah’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Sure!” Farah’s smile falters when she meets Gabi’s eyes. “I mean, maybe not really…” Her shoulders drop as she puts the magazine back in the stand. “Wanna walk for a bit?”

Clouds chase across the sky, and Gabi draws her jacket tighter against the wind. The gusts of autumn chill don’t seem to bother Farah, who stares into the middle-distance as they walk in the direction of the forest and the warehouse. Once they reach th edge of the forest and the street turns into an unpaved path, Farah’s shoulders sag and she sighs.

“She reminded me of my mother.” Farah gestures back towards where they’d come from. “Not that my mother was like— I mean, Jada is a different person of course, but the way she spoke and just… You know, the aura she has, calm and wise and, well, you know.” 

For a moment, Gabi remains quiet. Farah talking about her mother is a rare occasion, and while a part of her wants to know everything about Farah, everything about her previous life and how she came to be who she is, it’s not hard to see how these memories hurt Farah. And hurting her is the last thing she wants. So, Gabi merely hums and brushes her hand against Farah’s. When Farah doesn’t withdraw, she takes her wind-chilled hand in hers. 

It seems to be enough, because Farah moves a little closer, until their shoulders touch, and continues talking. “And then there was the— those herbs.”

“Tulsi.”

“Yes, tulsi.” Farah says the words as if she’s tasting it on her tongue. “We didn’t call it that, but it’s the same, I think. No, I know it’s the same. She used to…” She swallows, her voice growing very quiet as she continues. “She used to make tea with it.”

“Ah.” A look to the side to try to determine what Farah may be thinking shows that she is frowning. Not at Gabi, she doesn’t think so, but at herself or maybe a memory. Gently, Gabi rubs her thumb over the back of Farah’s hand.

“No. No, that’s not it.” She shakes her head. “The thing is that I forgot. She used to have that tea all the time and I forgot what it even smelled like.” Her eyes are brimming with tears. “If I could forget something like that, something she did almost every day, how much more do you think I’ll forget? How much did I already forget?”

A tear rolls down her cheek, followed by another, and something in Gabi’s chest constricts. “Ow, Farah.” 

She wraps Farah in a hug, holding her tight. Her body shaking from sobbing, Farah returns the hug, face buried against Gabi’s chest. 

Being around Farah it’s so easy to forget that she used to have another life in another world. Sure, there are glimpses here and there—small things she says or slips of tongue—but with how fully and eagerly she throws herself into living life, the fact that she never chose to be here, that she was ripped from her old life, is easily overlooked.

Running her hands up and down Farah’s back, Gabi feels tears burning in her own eyes.

What else did she have to leave behind? How many memories does she have about things and people that no one here will ever entirely understand?

Farah’s neat braids press against Gabi’s cheek. There is so much she doesn’t know and may not understand, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be here for Farah in the here and now. 

After some time, Farah’s sobbing subsides and she relaxes into Gabi with a sigh. They stay like that, Farah’s head tucked against Gabi’s neck, her breathing steadying a little more with each inhale and exhale. 

Eventually, Farah draws back. Looking at the spot where she’d been leaning against just now, she wrinkles her nose. “Sorry I ruined your jacket, babe.”

Gabi stops the soothing circles she’s been rubbing on Farah’s back to cup Farah’s tear-streaked face. “No ‘sorry’ needed for that. You can ruin my jacket whenever.” She briefly touches her lips to Farah’s forehead. “I’m here for you, Farah.”

Farah sniffles, golden eyes threaded with red and shimmering, but the hint of a smile lifts up the corners of her mouth. “Always, yeah?”

“Always.”

*~*~*~*~*

Some days later they’re sitting in Gabi’s apartment, Gabi leaning back between Farah’s legs, while outside the trees are swaying in the wind and raindrops patter against the window. Her eyes are closed, all her attention on Farah’s fingers running through her hair. With each stroke, she catches a whiff of the floral perfume Farah chose to wear. It’s bright and summery, just like her and just like the summer that is now officially over. Like a memory capsule.

“What’s it, babe?” Farah asks before Gabi even realises she has an idea.

Chewing her lip, she sits up straighter. “There’s this thing we could do, you could do.” She falls quiet. Is this really the right thing to say? What if her idea only makes things worse? Not to mention she’s unsure of how to execute her idea. But Farah gives a questioning hum, fingers carding through Gabi’s hair, waiting for her to continue. “Memories and smells are tied together very closely. A scent can trigger a certain memory, like you experienced. I was thinking you could make a collection of smells that remind you of the Echo world. That way, you can come back to them whenever you want. If you want, that is.”

For a moment, Farah stays silent and stops playing with Gabi’s hair. 

Gabi twists around so she can face her, an apology ready on her lips. She should not have been the one to bring this up. It would have been better to wait until Farah was ready and had broached it herself. But something in Farah’s expression makes her stop. Her usually bright eyes are more serious than Gabi has ever seen them, watching her with a wisdom belonging to the years she has lived, rather than the age she looks.

“I think you’re right.” She pushes aside a strand of hair from Gabi’s forehead. “Will you help me?”

Gabi exhales with relief. “Yes, I would love that.”

[hazmatazz]

the Worst point in a relationship is when you get worried you're annoying or shit. and it always happens no matter what! and it's the WORST

[bmpmp3]

i totally understand the preference for the sound of concatenative vocal synths vs deep learning based ones (dl i find is often a lot weaker than concatenative, even in voicebanks meant for powerful singing. although they can also be more tonally expressive in ways concatenative struggles with. but of course sometimes you just want the metallic sound which is easier to get concatenatively compared to dl's more autotune-y noise) BUT i do often see people say its because theyre worried about more same-y sounding tuning from the auto pitch creation functions which i get but also it does make me giggle a little because have you forgotten the endless plug-and-play war going on from the past 20 years. have you forgotten the millions of untuned covers uploaded every day since the dawn of vocal synthesis. have you forgotten the autopitchwriter debate. the more things change the more things stay the same <3

[jabeur]

sometimes it's pretty difficult being trans knowing that it takes so little for cis people to start debating our right to do quite literally anything, even just existing. and what's worse is that i think transphobes take joy in coming together to spout their vile rethoric and make more people believe the blatant lies they say about us

[softshuji]

Sometimes it feels like my mom punishes me for things I can't control and it's actually kinda really upsetting.

[delicatetaysversion]

my sister called me and kept asking excitedly that what's happening in my life and

[widevibratobitch]

.

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

Sometimes I see a post that's like "I'm so sick of all [privileged group I'm part of] people thinking [something it never occurred to me to believe but seems obviously bad] y'all need to unlearn that stuff right now" and I have to try to figure out if

I'm actually an exception to their blanket statement either because I'm from a social context they didn't consider/know about where that belief is not as common or because they're exaggerating and I shouldn't take it so literally

it's so deeply ingrained in me that I can't recognize it when it's pointed out and I really need to unlearn it but I'm gonna need to learn to recognize it in the first place

they just phrased it poorly and I misunderstood and the thing they're actually describing is something I would recognize

Anyway what I do know I need to unlearn is the idea that I'm supposed to just know that and can't ask for clarification.

[rosicheeks]

Yeah I said you do you cuz... Well who the fuck am I to tell you not to ya know? Go off tag queen. Run them tags🤙🏻 I love reading it all honestly I was just curious and wanted to peck your brain on it. I hope the night is treating you well. I love your vibe. You deserve someone to match it and run tag shit with you 😌

🤞 here’s to hoping I find someone to run tag shit with me 🤞

[puppmeo]

Have you ever been assumed to be romantically attracted to someone and even just the thought of that makes you want to throw up . Anybody

[celestialmancer]

⛈️ ❌ ❌ ❌ // 2:09 am, tbd ;

[ichigosoju]

🍡

[confusedsiewmai]

God, can you imagine seeing a complete stranger minding their own business and the first thing you do is talk behind their back about some made-up accusation???

Anyway, i just want to get out of this house. It's the first time in a long time that I got noticeably angry, and all I got back was "i can have my opinion and you can have yours. What I say here won't affect that atranger anyway."

The fact that you're making racist assumptions about someone when they were literally JUST buying food. It's bad enough you're talking behind someone's back, but making up stories just so you can talk bad about someone????? Its fucking unreal. The fact that somehow I'M in the wrong for calling out this behaviour in this house.