#inkwells

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This is just rather interesting because I did wonder what sort of backstory a 1940s inkwell with PROPERT OF US NAVY embossed on it had. How did it end up in a charity shop in a small town in Devon?

(Yes, loads of US military were based in the area during the Second World War, so it didn’t take much thought for me to figure it out…)

An Account Keeper

Artist: Nicolaes Maes (Dutch, 1634–1693)

Date: 1656

Medium: Oil on canvas

Tagged by @blackbirdofasgard happy birthday to you~!

Silly headcanons for the boys in Plastic Bag Time tm regarding their tequila tolerances, brought to you specifically by my country music taste haha

Eddie's voice lowers a little as he tilts his head, resting his cheek against the top of their head. "Do you want to know why Volt doesn't shoot tequila, either?" A smile stretches over their lips as they tap their index finger against his palm twice. "It's only fair," Volt hums as he steps by them with his hands on their backs in a comforting touch, ducking to press kisses to their heads before he swiftly makes his way behind the bar and over to build a Campfire cocktail for Dante. Nib turns their attention back to Eddie's hand, turning it over and tracing the ligaments that ran along the back of his hand. "Volt tends to strip when he drinks tequila," Eddie starts, and Nib picks their head up off his chest to look at him, a sly grin on their lips. "You're not using that knowledge just to get a free show, doll."

She stayed in a crouch, as unmoving as the black and white photograph frame of her reflection beneath her feet.

In front of her, Satoru Gojo walked leisurely across the street towards her, with all confidence of someone who was called The Strongest.

She became hyper-aware of her surroundings with each slow step. He'd caught her with her back to a tall office building, trapping her between it and him. And the sidewalk was empty, non-sorcerers been driven away by him using property damage to scare them, leaving her without the option to use hostages.

Gojo stepped up onto the sidewalk and stopped, a grin on his face. "Done running?"

Had her technique not been active, she would've asked him, what do you want?

It wasn't lost on her that, if he wanted, he could've killed her already. She was a curse user and he was a pillar, if not the pillar, of Jujutsu Society. She knew he held no fondness for sorcerers like her, so, why?

He reached up and tipped his shades down, showing her that he was staring directly at her cursed technique with his too-blue eyes. "There's not a lot of people these days that interest me," he began, despite her silence. "But when waves started being made about a sorcerer who was trained by the Sorcerer Killer out there, I had to look into it. And you, you're interesting, Zenin."

A name she'd discarded, just like Toji had.

His eyes slid up slowly, like he was taking in all of her, before he finally met her stare. "Are you a mute?" he asked, tilting his head.

"What do you want, Gojo?" she asked, daring to disrupt her own technique for a second, to attract his cursed eyes to the movement of herself within the frame, until it froze again as she did.

"I wanted to see my darling fiancée, of course," he said with a playful smile.

She stiffened at what felt like an immediate lie, an insult, but then she remembered.

Before Toji, in a life that felt like it happened to someone else, her only use was to be married. It had been a drunken joke, she hazily remembered, to suggest a marriage between the daughter the clan head didn't particularly want and a Gojo.

An offhand insult to even suggest it to the Gojo clan.

She never thought... it had reached them.

He analyzed her technique more in the silence, and then he raised his arm and swung it towards her. A light post next to him bent, cleaving in half as it was uprooted and thrown at her.

She didn't move, didn't dare break her technique again, knowing grimly that he'd figured it out already.

That his Six Eyes had.

The broken post seemed to bounce off the boundaries of her frame, leaving it untouched from even the debris that covered the sidewalk.

"Ah, I thought so," he said to himself, snapping his fingers. He pointed to her, upside-down. "It's a barrier. Well, no, it's not, but it works the same way. You can't speak because motion undoes its defensive capabilities. You really are Naobito's kid, which means that I'm right. You're my betrothed."

He sounded almost amused.

"Do you actually believe they were serious about that?" she asked, her mirror image mimicking the movement of her mouth.

"Nope!" Gojo answered happily, popping the 'p'. He kept pointing at her. "But for a time, believe it or not, the Gojo clan actually considered forcing the Zenin clan to keep their word, on the condition that you became a Gojo. The chance of our happy union resulting in a kid with both my and Naobito's abilities, or even Ten Shadows, wasn't something the elders could pass up without thinking about it at least a little. But then I suddenly stopped hearing about you. I thought you died. Yet here you are, as a curse user."

Political scheming, clan birthright, both things that could be cut apart with a stroke of her brush. If it were any other Gojo she'd show them the price of pursuing her like this.

"Let's cut to the chase, fiancée, and answer this for me. Why haven't you come after me?"

She blinked at him, completely taken aback.

He peered at her with his too-blue eyes, his grin fading as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "After all, I did kill Toji, whatever he was to you," he said offhandedly, but was completely serious all of a sudden, and it raised the hairs on the back of her neck more than his slow, taunting steps had. "And I can see him in you, so I know those rumors were true too. You dodge like him, you twist around like him, and you even stand like him. Curse users have come after me for far, far less."

She blinked again and stood slowly, her mirror-self rising with her. She pulled a black-stained inkbrush from her back pocket and twirled it between her fingers as she thought.

It was true that Satoru Gojo had killed the person who meant the most to her, and she'd known that fact for many years.

"There's no reason for revenge," she finally answered, knowing he wouldn't let her get away with not answering him. They'd stand and stare at each other until the end of time (or when she ran out of cursed energy).

"Huh?"

"He told me that if he died, it would be because he took on a job he couldn't handle," she said mildly. "The fault lies with me. His decision, his fault. That's the motto that a curse user should live by."

She flicked a line of ink on the ground in front of her, the brush still impossibly wet. "If you killed me right here and now, the fault would lie with you. And if I manage to kill you, the fault would still lie with you, because I didn't pick this fight. Toji chose to go after the Star Plasma Vessel, so I won't undermine his agency by making his death about you."

He looked shocked. He stood there silently, his eyes distant.

"His last words to me," Gojo began slowly. "Were about his kid. Did you know he had one?"

"Kind of," she said nonchalantly, spinning the brush again, deliberately, watching her mirror do the same. "As long as he didn't become a Zenin, I didn't need to know more about him. If he did—well. I would've acted. I'll never know how, because he's under you now. Best protection there is, hm?"

"What did you know about the Star Plasma Vessel?"

"I knew that she was guarded by two 'big shots' in Jujutsu Society, and you were one of them."

Gojo frowned at that, opening his mouth to ask her something else, but then he shook his head hard, stopping himself. "I'm really off my game," he said to no one, suddenly cheery again, flicking his shades back up. "Well, that's all I wanted to ask, so I'll see you around, fiancée."

Without waiting for a response, Gojo spun around and strolled back across the street like they weren't in the middle of a fight, gesturing her away.

Baffled, she watched him for a second, and then she took the signal as it was. She stepped out of her frame and darted away from him.

She glanced back, briefly, and caught that he was watching her run, giving her a little wave as her eyes narrowed.

The Archer’s 1000 Picspam —> 242: Mister Monday

On the first day, there was mystery...