#AND i haggled her down a bit

[hematiterings]

Apartment-sized washing machine: SECURED.

[rayveneyed]

nanami kento is the kind of man that makes people swoon without even realising it.

he's the kind of man to walk into a luxury store after work, suit jacket folded over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other -- his blonde hair still mostly perfect from the high-end pomade he uses. he scours the shelves, frowning to himself, while the attendants whisper and giggle amongst themselves near the tills -- an argument over who will be the one to talk to him, because he's intimidatingly pretty.

("just look at him," one whispers. "he's definitely buying something for a girlfriend."

"a wife," another disagrees. "c'mon. he's giving husband vibes."

someone hums. "but i can't see a wedding band."

"his mother, maybe?" says one other. "oh, i love when guys come in shopping for their mother."

"nobody's mother is getting a bouquet of a hundred red roses--")

eventually, one of them is volunteered as a sacrifice -- smiling and sweet as all attendants should be, she clears her throat. the others, crowded around the till, watch the exchange closely. "excuse me, sir. is there anything we could help you with today?"

her mouth is dry and her hands are clammy -- and when he fixes her with those narrow, burning eyes, her throat bobs.

"ah, yes." and his voice is deep and gravelly and drawling, and her stomach turns. she can only imagine what her coworkers are thinking -- hell, she can only imagine what she's thinking. her mind has stopped short. "my girlfriend likes this brand quite a bit. i thought i'd pick her up something..."

disappointment brews in her stomach -- and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because obviously a guy like that is taken. and -- she glances down at the roses -- obviously he treats her super fucking well. of course he does, because why wouldn't he? "oh, perfect! do you have anything in mind?"

"well, actually..."

he ends up buying one of the priciest gift boxes available -- fancy body care and perfume laid out in their signature boxes, decorated with ribbon and dried lavender -- no argument, no fight. he doesn't look for something cheaper, doesn't try to haggle or remove something to decrease the price. he adds, and adds, and adds -- and when she mentions a special offer at the till, a little add on for an extra 2000 yen, he accepts it readily. he inserts a black card into the card machine (of course, a black card), takes the beautifully wrapped bag, and thanks the girls for their services -- and just as he's leaving, his phone rings.

of course he answers the phone with hello, darling. of course he begins to ask his girlfriend about her day, the girls think with some amount of annoyance -- of course. maybe the curse of retail isn't entitled assholes expecting you to wait on hand and foot for them -- maybe it's the handsome men coming in to splurge on their girlfriends while you're painfully single and working for pennies.

[ominouspuff]

Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about. 

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids. 

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time. 

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical. 

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept). 

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are. 

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that. 

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him. 

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill. 

“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving. 

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 2

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? I think Rhys gets the worst though, kinda depression?, isolation, Cassian is an idiot, slut-shaming?, discussion of SA

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Azriel kept showing up. 

And Zahra kept letting him in. 

She had no fucking clue what possessed her. 

And yet every time Azriel showed up at her doorstep…she let him in without protest. 

He always brought food or he cooked. Always something to eat. And he always stayed until she had consumed an entire serving in front of her. 

She should tell him to stop. She should tell him to leave her alone.

But Zahra never said a word. 

Zahra couldn’t manage that. 

It wasn’t like she had had many private conversations with Azriel before. And she did get t to see a side of him that…she never seen before. The kind, gentle side with a biting sense of humour. She could be as bitter and cutting with him as she wanted to be and he gave back just as sharply…but it never got personal. They never hurt each other.

And she got to know him. Not the spymaster, not Rhysand’s most trusted spy….but Azriel. The male. Not the Illyrian warrior, not the fae…but just him. as a person. Azriel who loved good food and good books. Azriel who smiled and who was gentle and kind…and coaxed mice back outside with never-ending patience. 

It was strange, how easy it was to talk to him. How easy and relaxed it felt to spend time with him. How natural it was that he was there. 

As if it had always been the two of them cooking together. 

She shouldn’t get too used to it. It wasn’t going to last. Zahra knew it wouldn’t. But she allowed herself to bask in it. Just for a little bit longer. 

Bask in the feeling of…having at least one person in this new life that…dare she say it? Was like a friend to her.

A friend. When was the last time she had had one of those? 

She didn’t want to think about that.

Just like she didn’t want to think about it, when Azriel started showing up earlier, reports in hand and joined her in working at the rickety old kitchen table.

Zahra worked on the ledgers, sorting through the numbers. And he sat right across from her, reading through his reports, quietly sipping his tea. 

(He had brought better tea with him.)

Zahra had thought that he would annoy her… but they were utterly content with ignoring each other for hours at a time. No need for words or unnecessary conversation. Just the comfortable silence of each other’s presence. It was oddly…pleasant. 

And somehow his presence…it lit something inside her. When she dropped off the account ledgers the next time, she made a quick detour to a cheap antique store just a few doors down.

Zahra browsed through the shelves on the inside. 

It was a tiny shop, filled up to the brim with old stuff and odd trinkets from the past. And then she found something that made her pause. 

An absolutely ugly, oversized armchair with the most horrible plaid pattern…but it looked like it was made for wings. The one chair in her kitchen worked for Azriel because the back was narrow enough to slot through the middle of his wings, while the one she preferred wouldn’t have worked in a million years…but the couch she had…that was another story. No way that couch was comfortable for him. 

But this armchair….

It was perfect, if you were willing to overlook the absolutely hideous pattern. But Zahra kind of grew to like it with each second that passed. So she pulled on her best haggling skills and bought that monstrosity. 

And then Zahra had the seething hot realisation that she needed to get it home somehow. She felt a tug at the hem of her skirt and stared down to find a tendril of shadows tugging at her.

One of Azriel’s. She just knew it.

The same shadows that liked prowling through her rooms and pruning the sad basil plant on her windowsill… She was also quite sure that they had started to oil the hinges on her door, but she hadn’t yet caught them in the act.

“You don’t to be able to bring that home for me, do you?” She asked them drily. The shadows coiled in a way that made her assume that they were laughing at her. Or at least having fun. It was honestly hard to tell. But another tendril popped into existence as if to say ‚Yes, I can do that!‘ 

A moment later, the chair had disappeared.

Zahra just hoped it actually had been Azriel’s shadows and not another bunch that liked stealing stuff. The thought that she had just given a chair away to some random shadows for free was a slightly concerning one. Oh well. Hopefully, it would arrive at her house soon enough and not at some random place. She had just paid for a pretty decent sum of money for that monstrosity after all. 

She bought other stuff too. Like actual spices, so Azriel wouldn't need to keep bringing all of that with him every time...another couple of plates...A blanket for the living room...

She didn’t even know what possessed her to do that. It was like something inside of her just…woke back up again. She had been dead in more ways than one. But Azriel was slowly coaxing her back to life. 

She felt more alive than she’d done in a long time. She could actually feel her heart beating. Her blood rushing in her veins. She could…feel again. And it was such an odd sensation. 

To her surprise, the armchair stood in the middle of her living room when Zahra arrived home.

A little shadow wrapped itself around her wrist as she gaped at the monstrosity sitting in her living room. The shadow seemed proud of itself.

"Thank you," Zara said politely and the shadow ruffled up as it preened. It was honestly kind of cute. And it was odd to see it like this. A small little bit of…personality. So different from what she’d always thought the shadows would be like. 

Then the shadow disappeared again and she was left with…the armchair. Which was now placed right in the middle of her living room.

Damn it. She forgot about how absolutely ugly it was. 

But oh well. It fit right in with some of the flaking of paint in the rest of her house...and the rotting floorboards in one corner.

At least that armchair was comfortable. She had to admit it. There was something oddly charming about that ugly old chair. 

She sighed, ignoring the chair for the moment as she organised her spices in the kitchen and then went back to work.

Azriel showed up in the evening that day, blinking twice at the chair.

“Where’d you get that eyesore?” he simply asked in greeting. 

"Antique shop," Zahra gave back drily. "And I bought it for your wings, thank you very much."

That made him blink in surprise. "For my wings?" he echoed and his eyebrows shot up.  "You bought an armchair for me?" 

There was something about the absolute surprise in his voice that made her want to laugh. "Yes, I did, Shadowsinger," she confirmed. "And just for you, I will ignore that horrendous plaid pattern that is covering every inch of that hideous thing." 

His lips curved into a smile, something like fond amusement playing in his eyes. "What a kind thing of you," he returned with equal amounts of dryness. "To give me such a wonderful eyesore to keep my wings company." 

He dropped down into the chair and she had to admit that it was perfect for his wings. They slotted through the gap in the back and seat without problem and he looked like he melted into the cushions. 

"It may be the ugliest thing I have ever seen, but it is the most comfortable too," he admitted with a sigh.

A small smirk edged up her lips. "I know," she simply said. "So you are stuck with it now. Consider it as a present for all the food that you give me." 

He snorted in amusement.

His head dropped back and he looked up at her, his hazel eyes glinting in the dim light. His wings were flared all over the back of that chair and she couldn’t help but notice how damn huge they were. 

He was big. She knew he was, of course, but it was easy to forget when she saw him next to Cassian. But Azriel was broad and muscular all on his own…and his wings flared all over her living room really emphasised it. 

And for some damn reason, she had the sudden mental image of his wings wrapped around her. The thought was absolutely ludicrous and completely inappropriate. 

She firmly squashed the mental image and instead just focused on the fact that Azriel was still looking at her through half-lidded eyes. There was an amused, almost fond smirk on his lips. 

"Where do I get paint from?" she blurted out.

That made his eyebrows raise. "Paint? Why do you need paint?" he inquired as he sat forward and his wings folded back against his body. 

"I should probably do something against the flaking-off paint around here," she admitted with a shrug.

He pursed his lips in thought. “And I assume you’ll try to do this all by yourself.” That wasn’t a question. He sounded pretty damn certain what her answer would be. 

"Have you talked to your landlord?" he asked her. "Are you allowed to do that? I mean, whoever it is is probably going to be happy that you do something...to stop this whole house from falling apart, but still.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know, this house is mine," she gave back drily. "I can do whatever I want with it."

Azriel’s brows shot up at that, an amused surprise in his eyes. “You own this place?” he echoed, clearly not having expected that. 

"I won it in a game of cards," she admitted drily. "The guy I won it from inherited it and wanted to get rid of it. Nobody wants it because it's out of the way, but I like it."

Her one and only time in a tavern had left her with the house. She should probably consider that beginner’s luck. 

“You won it in a game of cards…?” he repeated again, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. “Are you joking?” 

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Nope,” she said with great amusement. “Nine men's morris to be exact. The idiot lost it fair and square.” 

He was looking at her in a sort of disbelief, yet there was something like respect in his eyes. “Remind me never to play cards with you,” he said drily. 

She just shrugged. "It was just once," Zahra said with a sigh. "I went to one of the taverns...decided to get utterly wasted," she snorted. "I don't think becoming an alcoholic is for me, because I spent 3 days afterwards throwing up."

“The hangover must’ve been brutal,” Azriel commented dryly. "So you won a house in a game of cards."

She just gave a nod. “Pretty much, as ridiculous as it sounds. I do think it needs some paint though."

Azriel just snorted. "I think it needs more than paint," he said drily. "It probably needs to be demolished and built up again."

“It’s not that bad,” she protested, but even to her, that sounded weak. The place was a dump. It was a literal dump. "It has character," Zahra said, her resolve growing. "Just because it's a little broken, doesn't make it garbage," she whispered.

There was something sad in her voice and Azriel just looked at her, a certain quiet understanding in his eyes. And she cursed him inwardly, because he saw too much. 

He always saw too much. Saw through her defences and the walls that she’d built up. 

"You are right," he agreed. "It's a little bit broken. But I am sure can be fixed."

A sharp pang flared up in her chest at his words, as if that gentle acceptance and quiet understanding from him hurt. She pushed it down, refusing to examine the feeling too closely. 

"And there a few different shops in Velaris that sell...paint...and other...things to...improve a house."

"You mean to stop it from falling down onto my head?" she asked him wryly

“Exactly,” he responded with an amused smile as he folded his wings again. “And stop the drafty windows from letting in a constant, cold breeze.” 

Damn it…she had been hoping he hadn’t noticed that. But of course, he had, because he was observant. Far too observant. 

“And you know, maybe put in a proper lock at the door,” he continued drily. “And fix the leaking tap in the bathroom…”

Zahra rolled her eyes at that. “I like that dripping sound, it’s very melodic,” she said with sarcasm drizzling from her voice. 

It made him chuckle lowly. The shadows around him rippled and coiled in response to their master’s amusement.  “You have a strange concept of melodious sound, if you find dripping water to be in any way pleasing,” he told her drily. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I be swooning over the sound of a harp or the violin?” she rebutted with a sharp little snort. 

“Not necessarily,” Azriel replied with an amused smirk. “Any other sound would be better than that constant drip…Though I have been known to enjoy the symphony on occasion," he admitted to her. "Or even some of the taverns."

A snort of laughter left her lips at that, despite herself. “I can’t imagine you in a tavern,” she told him honestly. 

He shot her a dry look at that. “Why not?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow at her. 

“It just doesn’t fit,” she gave back bluntly. “You in your leathers, standing in the middle of rowdy drunks. Just seems so odd.” 

He rolled his eyes at that. “I know how to dress down,” he rebuked her drily. “And I also know how to blend in.” 

“You’d stick out like a sore thumb, even if you wore absolutely normal clothes,” she retorted. “Your muscles betray you, Shadowsinger.” 

He huffed at that and then leaned back into the armchair, arms folded. “Now you’re just being insulting,” he groused and she snorted. 

“Oh, did your ego get bruised, Shadowsinger? How terrible,” Zahra dead-panned, making him roll his eyes again. 

"Let's just see if I bother making dessert, for you if you continue that," he groused at her. "I got all the makings of caramel pudding."

“What?! No, wait.” She leaned forward, something like panic on her face. “You cannot dangle that in front of me and then not give in! I even bought you an armchair!" she told him, making him snort.

“It’s a hideous armchair,” he pointed out with a smirk on his lips. “You really think it’s a gift?” 

“Hey! You agreed that it was comfortable,” she protested. “And you can’t deny that your wings like it too.” 

He snorted as he stood up and walked into her kitchen.

She did get caramel pudding in the end. Of course, she did. Even Azriel wasn’t immune to some good old puppy eyes. 

***

Zahra bought him a chair. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that knowledge. 

The fact that she had thought of him enough to buy one for him…it was something he was still trying to process in his mind. 

With the idea that she had spent her own money not on something to make herself uncomfortable...with the fact that her own bed was a mattress on the floor...but she had made sure that the next major piece of furniture she bought hadn't been a proper bed...but instead an armchair for him.

The fact that she had deliberately put his comfort above her own…yeah, he still didn’t know what to do with that information. 

He also didn't know what to do with the information that he actually...he actually really liked her.

Maybe it had been there since the beginning and he just hadn’t noticed it. But the more time he spent with her, more she made him laugh or argue or just…talk. The more he started to like her and appreciate her company. 

She was quick-witted and smart...and so quick to bloom if anybody paid her any attention. And when it was just the two of them at her house...well, then it was...it was so easy. So comfortable.

He forgot to remember to make sure to not give her any reason to be scared of him because she never was. She didn't even blink twice if he came home with the carcass of a deer slung over his shoulder, only cleaned off the table so that she could help strip it.

She asked questions about what he was doing and genuinely seemed interested. Never judged or looked at him weirdly, because she just seemed to get it. Just took him being the spymaster in stride, because that was who he was. Accepted it almost like she accepted his shadows.

He didn't think he would even need to hide the blood that coated his hands, because Zahra didn't seem to care one way or another.

She didn’t even ask him where he had been during the day or what he did. She just accepted the blood and dirt that came with it. 

And quite frankly…if he did his work at her dining table or locked into his room at the House of Wind…who cared?

That dilapidated cottage at least had better company than his own brooding one.

And it never felt felt he was intruding on Zahra when she used him as free labour for whatever redecorating she was doing that day.

They replaced the floorboards…he helped paint the door…

In fact, he was willingly going to her house every night, like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. It probably wasn’t, but he didn’t care. Every evening, when Azriel was done with his duties, he simply dropped into her house. 

They cooked together. Illyrian recipes that he knew…then some that he didn’t know that he had asked his mother for, who had answered into a sprawling letter…recipes that Zahra knew from her human years…and then he brought a cookbook from the library in the House Of Wind and they did that too.

The one thing the two of them did agree on though, was that no dinner was complete without dessert.

They both had a horrible sweet tooth.

Unspokenly, Zahra was the one who lit the fire of the fireplace and the oven…who put food in the oven and pulled it out again.

Zahra didn’t say a word about it. She just did it.

He didn’t even think about who was doing what if he was being honest. He just enjoyed having a shared dinner and the easy conversations that were taking place. It became as routine as breathing, just being in her house and spending the evening with her. 

He tended to linger too. Kept staying with her. So that he doesn’t need to return to the House of Wind, try and fail to sleep and listen to Cassian’s and Nesta's enthusiastic lovemaking.

That was why he stayed. He really needed to avoid the lovebirds at all costs, because they were…just too damn loud. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so damn annoying. 

“If you want and ruin your back on my couch, be my guest,” Zahra said one evening and he froze, staring at her.

She had gained some weight. It looked good on her. No longer a back of skin and bones as she had been, but her cheeks were fuller, Her clothing filled out more.

His gaze briefly flicked up to the couch and the frown on his face grew. “Honestly, that thing is probably the worst place to sleep,” he muttered. “But…I think I prefer it over listening to my brother and his mate going at it.” 

“Nice,” Zahra said with a snort, seemingly unbothered by the comment. “Seems like they know what it means to respect your need for sleep.”

Azriel snorted at that too. “Not quite,” he retorted with dry amusement. “They just don’t care.” It was the damn truth. Cassian and Nesta didn’t even bother putting up any kind of noise-mutting spell to spare his already poor sleep. 

Still…if he stayed there…” Aren’t you worried that I…” he trailed off.

“What? Ravish me?” Zahra drawled. “You had every chance at it for weeks and you haven’t touched me. So no, not really, Azriel.”

“I simply don't want to overstep my boundaries,” he found himself saying quietly. "I wouldn’t force myself on you," he continued with a quiet severity in his voice. "Not ever." I am not a brute," he added firmly. 

“Oh trust me, I don’t think you're a brute,” Zahra told him dryly. “If you wanted to force yourself on me, then you would have done it weeks ago.” 

He nearly flinched at the matter-of-fact way she said that. 

“I would never do that,” he choked out. 

“You are a good man,” Zara said quietly.

Something in his chest flared at that. A mix of shame and guilt, because he was so far away from being a good man. “I don’t want to give you any reason to fear me,” he said quietly, the words tumbling out of him before he could even stop them. 

Her expression softened at that and he held his breath. His shadows coiled, as if they were holding their inhale as well, waiting for her response. 

“It’s funny…” she began quietly and he had to forcibly keep himself from leaning in. “You have never given me a reason. Never.” He blinked at that, a small sense of surprise flaring up in his chest. 

“I…have never once been scared of you,” she told him bluntly and he stared at her incredulously. Because how could she ever say that? How could anyone not be scared of the spymaster of the Night Court? The male who was rumoured to be the spawn of nightmares and death? 

“Don’t look so surprised,” she deadpanned at the sight of his undoubtedly shocked face. “Honestly, you’re the biggest softie I’ve ever met.” 

“I am not a softie,” he protested with a sharp frown on his face. “I am a literal Shadowsinger. I am anything but soft.” He told her firmly. 

“Sure…” she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes, clearly not believing a word he said. “You are a terrifying man for sure, Shadowsinger.” He bristled at her cheeky tone. “That’s why you come over here every night and feed me.”

“I-” he paused, not knowing what to rebut with that statement. It was true. He came over every, single night to share dinner with her, to…just spend time with her. 

Zahra just laughed, patting his cheek and then disappeared into her bedroom. “Good Night!”

Azriel let out a long breath and just shook his head at her retreating back. Sometimes he had no idea what to do with her.

But he also couldn’t resist the smile that tugged on his lips and he moved over to the couch, curling up on it and trying to make himself comfortable as much as possible. 

Even when it was a far cry from a massive bed in the House of Wind…it was the best night of sleep he had in ages.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he fell asleep fairly quickly. And even his shadows seemed to rest easy, coiling around his body and the couch like a cocoon. 

And for the first time in a long time, his dreams weren’t plagued by nightmares. 

He was awake before dawn, stocking up the fireplace and moving silently across the cottage so that Zahra could still sleep a few hours.

And then he winnowed to the House of Wind for a quick breakfast. He was out there preparing the training rings before anybody else.

It also meant that the shadows were happily trembling around him.

Which was good, because he still had a question to ask them.

“How high are the chances that you cheated at cards so that Zahra would get that house?” He asked the shadows drily.

There was a tendril of shadows assigned to each family member. Only so that Azriel would know where they were at every given moment. He never asked the shadows for more, he respected everybody’s privacy as well as he could…but…But this hadn’t let him go for weeks.

No answer.

He hadn’t expected one.

“Of course,” he said with a sigh. “You like her.” It wasn’t a question.

We do! The shadows answered brightly. She treats Master well!

His lips curled up into a slight smirk at that. They were right. She did treat him well. She never treated him like an intimidating male…she just treated him like any other person. With respect. With kindness. 

Teasing him.

He chuckled to himself at the memories of her teasing him, the way they bickered as if that was the most usual thing in the world. 

She isn’t scared of us like the other ones, the shadows whispered softly.

It was clear who they meant with that comment. Elain and Mor both. Zahra seemed to find the shadows more fascinating than anything. Talking to them even sometimes. In response, the shadows doted on her. Happy for once not to be ignored and outright feared.

He hummed his agreement at that. She wasn't scared of them…and they were growing quite fond of her. Which…he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. 

She’s pretty too, Master, the shadows commented quietly.

Azriel paused in his work at those words. Yes, she was pretty. With her tawny skin and dark brown hair…and green eyes….Her skin seemed to bloom with health. The way her body had filled out, her hips gaining more curves, her face getting softer. 

Though it did surprise him that the shadows made that comment. They had never done something similar about any other female…even females he had bedded.

That was certainly a surprise. He had to pause and think about it for a few moments. The shadows had never made any sort of comment like that on another female. On any female in fact. Yet they thought her pretty. That…was a thought he filed away for later. 

She doesn’t have a mate either…she’s free of…romantic entanglements, the shadows continued quietly. If you wanted her….

He froze at that. “Are you trying to convince me to pursue her?” He spoke out loud to the shadows. 

You like her. She would make you happy, the shadows responded. What’s the harm? 

“There is no harm,” he mumbled to them quietly, his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the spear that he was holding. “Nothing except that she would likely not be interested.” 

And he was done with that. Done with being turned down. Done with never being a choice.

If he just stayed her friend…he got to spend time with her…he got to listen to her laughs and giggles. He got to be treated by her with kindness and respect. Why destroy that?

It would be cruel and selfish to ruin the friendship he had gained by trying to turn that into anything else. She trusted him. She treated him like a person. And he wanted to keep it like that. 

And Zahra deserved better than him still being half hung up over Elain. Her sister.

Though to be quite honest…he had let that go. Elain had chosen Lucien and that was that. Azriel was more pissed off about how Rhysand was treating him than anything.

Though he never showed it, he was quietly furious at how Rhysand was treating him. After he had agreed to back off…he had hoped Rhysand would stop acting like an overprotective mother hen. 

He didn't.

And then Mor's Mating Bond with Emerie had snapped and apparently that meant that Rhys was now waiting for Azriel to have a meltdown.

Which he wasn't going to have, thank you very much.

He could think that how Mor had treated him had been utterly unfair...and he could still wish her nothing but the best.

The only thing that he had wished for had been a single conversation with his friend. But she didn't seem to want to have that and so Azriel hadn't pushed. Maybe it was better that way.

It was better that way, he was sure of that. The…closeness they had once shared was gone. Maybe forever. But he was more or less alright with that.

They could all leave him in peace and he would do the same for them.

He made that calculation without Cassian, who came bounding into the training ring with all the energy that Azriel was never quite sure where his brother got it from.

He had barely even put down his spear that Cassian bounded into the training rings, his face split into a broad grin. It was clear that his…morning activities with Nesta had been enjoyable as usual. 

“There you are,” Cassian said with a boisterous grin, clearly not noticing the rather sour mood that Azriel was in. “You look....surprisingly well rested," Cassian said, cocking his head to the side.

“I slept well,” Azriel answered simply, pointedly avoiding eye contact with his brother. He knew damn well what Cassian was going to be asking. 

“You slept well,” Cassian repeated, drawing out every word and making it clear that he was not going to let that go. “Care to specify where?” He asked point blank and Azriel’s jaw tensed. 

Azriel could not suppress the low growl that came from him at that. He was not in the mood to be teased by his brother. And he was also not in the mood to listen to another innuendo-filled conversation about Cassian and Nesta’s sex life. 

“Not one word about that,” he told his brother firmly and Cassian just laughed. 

“Oh come one.” He drawled. “I have to get my fun somewhere. Everyone else is mated already. I have to bother someone!” 

It wasn't supposed to hurt him. He didn't think so. But it still did. It cut. Sharp and deep.

The words cut deep, much deeper than Azriel would have wanted to admit. His jaw tensed and his hand clenched around the spear so hard that it might have creaked. He knew it was a joke…but it didn’t change the fact that it had stung. 

And Cassian didn't seem to notice that at all. "Come on, give me details!"

“There are no details to be given,” Azriel said simply, his voice carefully neutral. “Just because I am not spending the night and listening to the two of you going at it like rabbits, does not mean I have someone in my bedroom.” The words were harsher than he had intended. 

“Don’t tell me you do it in some grimy back alley with a random wench?” His brother teased him and Azriel’s temper flared. The Shadows curled and snarled around him, his temper snapping. 

“I would thank you for not speaking about females that way, and no I am not ‘doing it in a back alley’”, he retorted with a low growl in his voice.  “You should stop talking before you piss me off,” he warned his brother through gritted teeth.  It took all his willpower to make sure that no shadows lashed out. This was Cassian. His brother. 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassian raised his hands, clearly seeing how his words had affected his brother. “I was only teasing. You can be so damn tense about some things. You need to relax,” he said and Azriel had to resist the very real urge to throttle him. 

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟏]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 1.5k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of abuse/alcoholism

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. first meetings and a slight introduction to our characters! i imagine each drabble will have a pretty varying length, so this one is a bit on the shorter side! either way, i hope you enjoy :) interaction is highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗘

Kinich meets you in the spring.

The air is warm and balmy that day, with a breeze that brushes by the skin with pleasant coolness. His mother likes to take him to the market with her on days like these, probably for his own good. She tells him he’s a bit unsociable for his age, not that he disagrees—he just doesn’t see any point in changing. He does just fine spending his days at home, exploring the land around his house.

This kind of weather brings everyone outside, which leaves the market bustling—sellers scream their prices and show off their wares, and buyers haggle until their wallets are empty. He walks around with his mother for a bit, one hand gripping her skirt, and she offers him bits of candy and other treats. He rejects them all; really, he doesn’t want for much.

Still, he’s a more independent child, so eventually his mother leaves him to explore the various market stands while she goes around buying the more “boring” items. She probably hopes that he’ll make a friend or two, but he never does—most of the children don’t play in this area. They prefer to play with the Yumkasauri near the outskirts of the tribe.

Either way, he does end up looking around for a bit. Yanta, an elderly woman that sells fruit, gives him some berries to try, and he leaves with his tongue sweetened. He peers at some of the climbing gear, too, with astronomical prices that he would never be able to afford—at least not while his father gambles every Mora away. As the time passes, the crowd starts to get a bit stifling, so Kinich wanders away in search of a quieter place.

He settles for one of the walkways outside of the market, letting his legs dangle over the edge so he can look down at the river. There’s Yumkasauri whelps playing below, bumping each other into the water and screeching with joy. 

Laughter echoes from somewhere nearby—the sound of children, children like him. He tucks his knees to his chest. He has no need for friends, not when there is still so much to learn about the land. He thinks of his mother and the fresh welts on her skin. When he’s older, when he’s more capable, when he knows more, he can help her. Maybe one day they’ll be able to leave this place, or maybe just that man.

A burst of wind slips by—it carries the scent of flora, fuzzy yellow ones that make his eyes water and the purpling blooms that his mother loves. The recognition makes his head turn, just in time to see you run past him, a clump of flowers falling from your grip. You don’t seem to notice, and they fall uselessly to the wooden walkway, inches away from Kinich’s pinky. 

He eyes the flowers curiously—the petals are so bright, yet dainty and thin. Then, he looks toward your rapidly disappearing figure.

And really, he doesn’t know why he cares. He should go find his mom and go home. His father will be there soon anyway, and that’s a whole different beast to contend with; he doesn’t have the time or energy to be concerned with you. 

So he doesn’t really understand himself when he grabs the flowers, pushes himself to his feet, and jogs until your back is within his reach. Another step, and then his fingers wrap around your wrist just as you yelp in surprise. 

The first thought he has when you turn to face him is that you’re quite pretty, and that you look to be his age—he shakes it away just as fast. Instead, he nods toward the bundle of flowers sitting in your arms.

“You dropped some,” he mumbles, opening his palm to you. It reveals a pile of crushed petals and snapped stems, and his face reddens in embarrassment. He hadn’t thought to be so careful in his rush to chase you. When he looks up, your lips are barely parted in surprise, and he awkwardly tugs at his collar.

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

He’s not good at this, he realizes instantly. Years of sticking to his own have left his social skills lacking, and he grasps blindly for something to say. Instead, you’re the first to break the silence—you laugh, a bell-like sound that he finds a bit cute.

“Wow, I must’ve been going pretty fast,” you say, head tilted. “Sorry about that! My momma used to say I run like the wind!”

Kinich tries not to get stuck on the ‘used to’ in your words, but fails—he wonders if you’re alone. It must be difficult, he’s sure, but there are some nights when the stench of alcohol grows too strong and the screams grow too loud where he wonders if it might be preferable. He’s thinking too long, and the silence grows awkward, so he forces himself to speak.

“What are the flowers for?”

It’s your turn to be embarrassed now, an awkward giggle escaping your lips as you shift your weight between your feet. 

“I was thinking about making flower crowns for the other kids in the tribe. They don’t really like playing with me lately, maybe ‘cause I’m alone, so I wanted to do something so we could all be friends again.”

Kinich doesn’t really get it—what would be the point of playing with someone who doesn’t like you? Something about the situation tells him it wouldn’t be the right thing to say, though, so he merely nods. You seem genuine, and while he may be socially inept at times, he’s not mean-spirited. Quietly, however, he notes that the stems of the flowers you have are too long—you’d have trouble making flower crowns with these. 

“Have you ever made crowns before?” he asks, doubtful. 

“Nope,” you answer honestly, “is it that obvious?”

Living at the foot of the mountain meant he had become much more familiar with the nature surrounding the tribe. His mother had been teaching him a few things lately, particularly related to farming and weaving. A flower crown would be simple work, certainly. 

He frowns. He shouldn’t do this, but you’re looking at him so expectantly.

“I could show you how—”

“Kinich!”

His mother appears just then, cheeks reddened and hair sticking wildly to her forehead. Various bags hang from her arms, evidence of her shopping, but she casts them aside in favor of grabbing at his wrist. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I thought you got lost, or even kidnapped! What were you thinking? You’re not usually like this!”

You vaguely think that the two look quite alike; he has her eyes, save for the purpling bruise that sits just underneath her left one. You’ve had similar ones from banging your knees on things, but none in a place so front-facing.

Kinich hangs his head, stepping away from you quickly. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Shame radiates from his form in waves, so potent you can practically feel it yourself. You grab his other wrist out of instinct, and he raises his eyes to you in surprise.

“I’m sorry too, ma’am,” you say. The woman looks shocked, gaze flitting to where your hand joins with his. “I was clumsy and took up too much of his time. It’s my fault if he was late.”

Kinich’s heart flips, and he’s unsure why—maybe because he’s never had anyone defend him like this, maybe because he’s never had anyone defend him at all. His mother looks just as flabbergasted as he does, only returning to her senses when she notices the setting sun. She sighs, addressing her son again.

“Your father will be home soon,” she says, retrieving her bags, and Kinich visibly stiffens. “We should go.”

Gentle, he twists his wrist from your grip, quietly following his mother as she starts to leave. There’s a similar sadness to the hunch of their backs, as if they’re dreading returning home—you wonder if you’re imagining it. Kinich, you remember his mother calling him. You like the sound of it.

“Kinich!” 

He turns at the call of his name, so unfamiliar from your lips. You’re smiling brightly, holding up two of the flowers you’d picked.

“Next time, teach me how to make a flower crown, okay?”

/

His mother doesn’t speak as they make the walk home. He lets the wind fill the silence, whistling through the trees and carrying him with its lulling sound. It’s one of the few pleasures he finds nowadays when he retreats outside, skin purpling with fresh bruises.

They inch the front door open, tentative and wincing, half-expecting his father to burst out in a drunken rage—they’re only met with silence. Relieved, Kinich’s mother sets about putting away the groceries, and Kinich collapses into bed, letting his eyes fall shut as the sun dims outside. He tries to savor the last few minutes he has, distantly praying that his father might come home sober today. 

He thinks of the market, and then he thinks of the flowers. He thinks about the flowers, and then he thinks about them some more—a little longer than is natural for him.

Just as he slips into sleep, Kinich realizes that he never asked for your name.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Market Day

Thank you to @spacebarbarianweird for the Astarion x barbarian!Tav headcanons that inspired this fic!!

Summary: You drag some of your companions to the market to restock on supplies and run into a little spot of trouble

Today was Market Day, as you had come to coin it, where you and your companions would visit a nearby market to purchase various supplies, whether it be food, drink, weapons, potions, or anything anyone happened to need. With a slight skip in your step, you make your way into the marketplace, dragging along a weary vampire, a less than interested cleric and a very very reluctant wizard who wanted nothing more than to be fast asleep in his bedroll or be buried deep in a musty book.

“I don’t understand how you can be so cheerful this early in the morning,” Gale yawns, rubbing his eyes.

“Why was I chosen over Lae’zel to come along?” Shadowheart groans, dragging her feet along. Astarion looked the most alive among the three but you could tell he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“It’s a bright and sunny morning! There’s no better time than now to get all our shopping done!” You cheer, pumping your fist in the air.

“Why didn’t you invite Karlach along if you wanted some life in the party?” Astarion rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. The market is rather quiet today, much to his distaste, for it meant there were less pockets to…well…pick. To you however, the lack of a crowd meant that there was more time to peruse the wares available without the person queuing behind you breathing down your neck to hurry it up, so you were more than happy about it.

“But I can be the life of the party!” You huff, giving him a pout. He should never have taught you how to gives puppy dog eyes, Astarion thinks to himself, watching as you give him your best shot at said eyes. He sighs in response, knowing you will never let this matter rest until he agrees with you and numbly nods.

“Of course you can, darling. Now, don’t we have quite a bit of shopping to do?”

With that, you’re off, heading towards the butcher while the others go their own ways to various shops of interest. Gale, to no one’s surprise, heads straight for the merchant selling a bunch of magical items while Shadowheart meanders around until a particular store selling carvings of the various gods catches her eye and she makes a beeline towards it. Astarion, meanwhile, looks for his first pocket to pick and eyes a rather wealthy human strutting around that made for easy pickings.

You quickly gather all the food items on the list and shove them all into your backpack, proud of the bargains you had made on your own. Astarion had been teaching you how to haggle, and although you were a slow learner, you were steadily getting better at it. Today proved as much. You couldn’t wait to tell him about the discount you had haggled from the fruit merchant and show him all his teachings hadn’t been for naught. As you made your way to Astarion who was at the other end of the market, something caught your eye — black leather bound book with words you couldn’t quite make out in gold lettering.

You go to take a closer look, curious. Did Astarion have this book? You don’t remember seeing such a cover before, would he appreciate the book? You weren’t even sure about the contents of the book, words always proved a challenge and you hated how you couldn’t just beat the words into submission so that you could read them.

“You can’t just beat up every problem you come across!” Astarion exlaimed when you angrily swore at the paragraph he had been trying to teach you to read.

“Everything would be so much easier if I could.” You huffed in response.

“Some things require a little more finesse, darling. Don’t you worry your beautiful self, leave such things to me.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead with a small smile.

The fond memory caused the corners of your lips to quirk up. Astarion had never once blamed you for struggling with learning how to read, he had been patient, as patient as he could be but had given up some time after. He had never pressed you to learn to read afterwards, instead he did all the reading for you which you very much preferred as you got to hear his melodious voice while understanding whatever was scrawled on the pages of the book you had looted from a corpse because you found the cover pretty.

“Didn’t know barbarians knew how to read, I thought they were all brawns and no brain.” A sneer comes from your right. The merchant selling the book you were looking at gives you a look of disgust and snatches it out of your grasp.

“Get your grubby hands off my wares,” he spits, “someone who lacks the intelligence needed to understand such fine craft shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

You scowl at him, a low rumbling erupting from your throat, “I may not be able to read but I sure as hells can understand what you’re saying.”

“The creature speaks!” The merchant feigns a gasp of surprise. You snarl, a hand moving towards your axe when a cold hand gently rests on your hand. Astarion meets your gaze, giving a small shake of his head and puts himself in between you and the merchant.

“It seems intelligence and basic common courtesy does not go hand in hand,” he says nonchalantly, but poison drips from every word. “To think a man so well-learned would only have the manners of a beast.”

The merchant glares at him but Astarion calmly looks them in the eye, a fake smile gracing his lips, “am I wrong?”

“This is none of your business, elf,” the merchant hisses.

“Oh, but the moment you insulted my lover, it became my business.” His unnerving smile remains plastered to his face, unsettling the merchant who was slowly losing confidence. “Now then, may I see this fine craft of yours?”

“Leave at once! You’re ruining my business!” The merchant snaps. “And I suggest getting yourself a better lover, maybe one not as daft as that barbarian.”

Astarion’s ruby eyes widen, a hand reaching for his dagger but you beat him to it. You grab the nearest and heaviest book you can find and slam it hard into the merchant’s face, “you can have your damned fine craft back! I don’t need it! I’d rather be illiterate than have to resort to insulting others to feel better about myself!”

Astarion chuckles, swiping a few books that caught his eye before grabbing the book you had been eyeing as well as your wrist and pulled you along, “come on, we better leave before the guards come to investigate the commotion.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” The two of you make a quick escape, disappearing into the nearby town before the authorities could catch either of you, giggling all the way.

Once Astarion is sure you’re far enough, he rounds the corner and stops to allow you to catch your breath. You pant, bending over with your hands on your knees but you’re grinning the widest grin you can muster.

“That! Was! Satisfying! You can beat up every problem you come across!” You laugh. Astarion doesn’t even bother to hide his smile, the merchant had deserved that blow to the face and better yet, had been robbed of some of his most prized wares.

“They had it coming,” he snorts, ruffling your hair. “We head back for the others once the heat has died down.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your shopping,” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly.

“It’s quite alright darling, I had finished pickpocketing all the rich people in the maket anyways.” Astarion waves a hand dismissively.

“Astarion!”

“I had quite the haul even, who knew there were so many gold necklaces just lying around unattended.”

“They were attended!”

“Well, clearly not attended enough.” He fishes one out and holds it out to you. “What do you think of this one?”

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, tracing a finger along the precious chain.

“May I?” He holds out a hand to you and you gently place the necklace into his outstretched hand. He gestures for you to turn around and you comply, twiddling your fingers nervously. Would you looks good in it? It was definitely a very expensive necklace, something that should not lie on the necks of the likes of you and would sell for a large amount of gold but Astarion had chosen to slip it around your neck, a look of satisfaction clear on his face when he had you turn around so that he could admire his handiwork.

“Perfect. I knew it would look good on you, my taste is impeccable.” He crows. “I also have a dress for you, but that will have to wait until we’re back at camp, unless…”

“Back at camp back at camp!” You squawk, cheeks quickly heating up. Astarion leans in to press a quick peck to your lips, slipping his hand into yours.

“As you wish, my darling barbarian.”

[hermesmoly]

What's your opinion on Hermes in adaptations ? I personally think that, like with other gods, a lot of nuance is often lost.

He's usually just a fun speedy guy in modern vision and we don't really see his status as god of merchants, travels, rhetoric, theft or his role as a psychopomp. It's really a shame, honestly.

He's portrayed as a bit witty, but I'd love to see him more as a trickster god (like in Argos' story), a persuasive talker, a traveler who explores the world and his relationships to mortals and various gods alike.

(like his relationship to youthfulness, being the second youngest Olympian, at odds with Apollo before reaching an agreement, taking care of Pan then Dionysus, some interactions with his mom Maia or his chthonic coworkers, etc...)

Idk I wanted to talk about him a bit instead of complaining about Dionysus for the 100th time this week 🤣. Since Hermes is your favorite god, I thought it'd interest you 😉.

@superkooku thank you for this ask aaaahhhh!!!

Honestly, Hermes as a deity has so many layers of potential when it comes to story writing, and while he is a Certified Happy Go Lucky Extrovert^TM, there are so many aspects of him that aren't just the comedic messenger!!

I could make a list of all the aspects of Hermes I'd personally love to see more in modern media, so here we go:

Hermes' role as the god of thieves and trickery (his darker self, his suave nature, how he killed one of Hera's favorite servants so effortlessly and still remains in her good graces? His caduceus has two snakes- in a dual way representing his slyness along with his role as a protector)

Hermes' role as the god of trade and merchants (you telling me my boy won't be good at haggling prices and owning the market? I need some version of him where he owns the black market or some crazy stuff)

Hermes' role as a psychopomp (and by extension his relationship with his Uncle Hades. What is his relationship with the other chthonic gods? I love what Hades Supergiant did with Hermes/Charon but I long for more! Especially when he's very much there as Persephone's personal escort to and fro the Underworld. Thanatos should not get all the credit for reaping souls and guiding them home. )

Hermes and Maia (extroverted son, introverted mom, so many things we can explore here! How he felt growing up in that cave, his relationship with Arcas who his mother adopted!)

Hermes and Zeus (his aspect of being the god of hospitality!!) (Modern Media might never give us the Zeus-Hermes-Baucis-Philemon adventures but I am still for it always)

Hermes' mental health and depression (+ the bad side of his relationship with his mother and father) (more specifically Lucian Dialogues of the Gods 4, where Hermes states he is the most miserable god in all heaven, working every day and waiting upon Zeus' grander sons from mortal women. Now in my interpretation, Zeus wouldn't be that harsh to Hermes to make him almost like an indentured servant, but reading this dialogue you can really feel his exhaustion from the God of Trade and many other things. We can all relate to the feeling of being brushed off when you're feeling down, and I think this is the least likely aspect of Hermes to be explored since we will be putting him out of the "lucky, carefree" god persona that most put him in)

Hermes and Atlas (going back to Dialogue 4, Hermes mentions being the grandson of Atlas. I find it fascinating bc how does Hermes feel looking at his grandfather? Does he hate his grandfather for siding with Kronos? Does he resent his dad for creating this void for them to not have a relationship? Does he fear that if he steps out of line Zeus could do the same to him? Does he talk to Atlas forced to hold up the sky? Very compelling stuff)

Hermes and Hera (*holds them very tightly* they are the stepmother and stepson duo. Hera can be a certified Apollo-Artemis-Dionysus hater but has almost no hate for Hermes from what I know. There is no retaliation for Argos' death, and we all know Hera can hold a grudge! She milked him once in an obscure myth and that makes him her honorary son alongside Heracles, even appearing to bind Ixion alongside Ares, Hera's biological son. Hermes even makes an effort to deliver all of the invitations to her wedding to Zeus. Sure all of these can be explained by his messenger/servant role, but they seem to have an amicable and fun relationship that most media just writes them down as "Hera hates him" looking at you Blood of Zeus **EDIT: all of these are mostly headcanon-territory, so apologies for that!)

Hermes and Perseus and his role as helper of heroes (his canon bf... people out there shipping Perseus and Medusa when HERMES IS RIGHT. THERE! Perseus is called a beloved of Hermes and I'm sad that people are erasing that in their Perseus retellings. Gifts seem to be a love language for Hermes since he gives him his sandals, sword AND invisibility helm free of charge)

Hermes and Ares / Mercury and Mars (sorry I'm biased the Ares stan in me is coming out forgive me I think Hermes and Ares as a symbiotic relationship is something that can be explored more. The Jar Myth where Hermes saves Ares lets into some of the vulnerabilities Ares has, Lucian Dialogue #1 and the differences with how they view Zeus, war vs diplomacy, both being athletic gods, both being lovers of dogs, and many other things I can pitch for the secret Ares/Hermes fans out there)

Hermes and Dionysus (more modern media of Hermes taking care of his little bro-bro!! To be best buds in the future, that's just so endearing and sweet and we need more interactions between them. Their duality is similar to Ares/Hermes, with the additional madness factor. How would Hermes react to Dionysus' darkest side as his guardian and brother? Also, Hermes would definitely shake up Dionysus' parties. Would they murder together? Maybe. Definitely.)

[w1shb0n3z]

Chilchuck girldad shenanigans!!! +Senshi's thoughts on mlp at the very end

(Brace yourself. This is a long one)

What's Chilchuck's favorite girldad activity? It's not doing their hair, no. That's just something he's been praised on. Being able to put his girls hair up in different styles whenever his wife wasn't around was seen as very admirable and lots of people complemented him on it. Especially non-half-foots (becuase they seem to think the father is less involved in the kids life LMAO) And though his daughters loved when their dad did their hair, they much proffered when their mom did it since it was neater

Chilchuck's favorite girldad activity (well, general girldad activity) is actually playing pretend. He seems like the type to just playfully scoff at kids he sees engaging in an outrageous, glorified LARPing session. And he is. He is that type. He thinks it's playing pretend is silly. But, when it comes to his daughters, it's charming.

He found some genuine entertainment when he was making believe with his little ones while they were young. Fully immersed in the ever complicated plot and nonsensical characters, he loved seeing the spark in their eyes and the giggle in their voices as they played out their fantasies. He'd also like to be dense from time to time just for the reaction it got. Saying things like "but bears can't fly" or "I thought you said princesses couldn't swim" be uase there's something very humorous about being scolded by a toddler

Once the girls got older, though, his favorite activities became specific to the kid.

For Meijack, his mini-me, it was teaching her his craft. For Flertom, the one that looks just like her mother, it was makeovers. And with Puckpatti, his bright-eyed youngest, it was shopping.

A little more of Meijack

She had taken an interest in locksmithing when she was young; so much so that she would often swipe a spare lock when her dad wasn't looking. Mei had proven herself to he a very crafty and tactile person. After about the 15th time, Chilchuck was tired of this and decided to improvise.

He took a nice square wooden board, sanded it down to make sure no mishaps would occur, and then attached some latches, locks, and other miscellaneous things to it. He essentially made a busy board for Mei, and she loved it. She would often be found in her room, buckling and unbluckling, messing with straps and zippers and locks and ties.

He'd make her a new board each year on her birthday; that is, until she turned 5. After that, she got puzzle boxes, and each year, they'd get more and more complex. If they were invented at the time, Mei would totally fuck up a Rubix cube on the low.

Expanding a bit on Flertom

After finding baby Fler with a face smeared with her mom's ruby red lipstick, Chilchuck knew he had a future full of make-up modeling. So following that incident, he bought Fler her own little make-up kit.

Initially, little Fler was satisfied just beautifying her own face, then showing it off to her dad; however, she did start feel like good old papa Chuck was missing out on the fun, so she pressured him into letting her put some eyeshadow on him. It was bright blue, it was messy, and it was awful to apply.

After a year or two, the make-overs got better and better. 10 year old Fler was becoming quite talented with her cosmetic skills. She'd gone from doing outlandish looks on her dad to actually finding styles that fit him and testing out new ideas on him.

What about Puckpatti?

Now I did say that Puckpatti's designated activity was shopping, but what I meant to say was haggling down prices and looking for deals. Ever since she was young, the adorable, unassuming half-foot had a knack for bargaining— even while trading toys in the playground or snacks in the lunchroom.

Chilchuck first noticed Patti's gift after she came home from school with a necklace on. ...She certainly didn't come to school with it, so it's safe to say Chilchuck was confused. Once he found out what actually happened, he did get Patri to return the necklace and focused her abilities to learning how to shop efficiently.

Patti truly did enjoy shopping with her dad. And kn occasoik they would go to different shopping centers together. Chilchuck would always get discounted tools, courtesy of Patti, and Patti would find a pair of shoes or some fruit and nealry cut the price in half. They go wandering place to place, talking and spotting the best deals, It's always a fun and productive time!

Now to Senshi

If you've made it this far, congrats! Here's your reward

Either in a modern AU, or just due some crazy magical force, Senshi finds out about MLP.

Now, would he watch this on his own? Nope. A colorful show about ponies doesn't catch his eye, so sorry.

But let's just say he ends up watching MLP. (Moslty because in this scenario, Marcille had mentioned liking the show and senshi heard it was about horses- or well, ponies)

After whatching a few episodes he's come to a few conclusions and has gained a couple of opinions.

Who's his favorite character? Big Mac

Who's his least favorite characters? Diamond Tiara, Silverspoon, Gilda, Rainbowdash, and Rarity

He does NOT fw the them.

His opinions on the mane 6 + a few more

Twilight: very uptight, but has the potential to be a leader of some kind. Not a personal favorite

Fluttershy: Thinks she needs some guidance and to grow a backbone, but is very impressed witb her connection to the fuana

Rarity: Does NOT like her. Thinks she's spoiled and prissy and snippy

Applejack: Likes her! Think she's nice and hard working and well rounded

Rainbowdash: Think she does wayyy to much. Someone needs to teach her not to be so full of herself. He legitimately didn't want to watch some of the episodes because he felt like rainbowdash was just being an ass (some with Rarity)

Pinkie pie: Too hyper for his taste. Thinks she's pretty odd

Spike: he finds the idea of keeping a small dragon as a...well, a little brother figure, to be odd. He doesn't get the fact that Spike has a crush on Rarity and thinks that the gang should treat him with more respect

Zecora: Another character he actually likes. The episode introducing her frustrated him a LOT, he actually haf to pause it becuase all that pony racism was too much for him

Luna/Nightmare Moon: He's iffy about her. Ay first, he didn't have too much of an opinion on her, but once he figured out her deal, he liked her a little. He doesn't blame her for turning evil at all

Celestia: Thinks she's USELESS. Oh my god. He's confused because she seems like she should be a queen and not a princess, but based on what she sees her do, he isn't surprised that her status is princess

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (08)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Teen (series will be explicit) Words: 1.7k Summary: Where'd you learn to shoot like that?

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Three days go by and the Ghoul still hasn’t figured out what the fuck’s he’s going to do. He’s managed to redirect them to a farmstead that’s been abandoned for a good decade already. It was a decent enough place to hole up for the night, and kept them from heading straight toward her goal. Kept them closer to the stateline than not.

He needs to just fucking do it.

He knows her now, knows how she walks, how she thinks. She probably wouldn’t try to fight him when he finally told her about the bounty. More likely she would just deflate, that same sad look settling on her face as when they’d found a dead songbird on the path.

She’d still eaten it, but she’d nearly cried.

Something in him recoiled at the idea of putting that look on her.

Not like it mattered much. They had supplies enough, thanks to her haggling, and he wasn’t in a rush to move on to the next thing. The price on her head would set him for a while - his feet would start itching long before he needed to meet his needs

So what was the difference in spending a bit more time with someone who didn’t flinch every time they looked at him? Someone who teased him and acted like they were out for a Sunday stroll every damn day even with the rad roaches and the mole rats. Someone who, occasionally, made him remember the man he used to be.

It was fucking dangerous is what it was.

The man he was couldn’t survive in the wasteland. That man had a sense of honor, of right and wrong, that would abso-fucking-lutely get him killed. 

Get them killed.

Because she was soft cotton and flower petals wrapped in a pretty sun dress and without him she would have been dead a thousand times over by now, he just knew it. Someone had to make those choices, shoot a man in the face, to keep them both alive.

“You need to learn how to shoot.”

She turns to look at him as he says it, carefully clambering over a rocky outcropping. “I do?”

“If you plan to survive out here you need to know how to protect yourself.”

“And you think that means learning how to shoot?”

He grunts and quickens his pace so he can pass her, scanning the area until he sees what he’s looking for - a small ridge line with darker colored rocks buried in the sand about fifty yards away. He catches her by the waist as she tries to go past, spinning her until she’s directly in front of him and they’re both facing it.

“First rule is don’t ever point this thing at me,” he tells her, pulling his pistol and settling it into her hand.

“I thought the first rule is treat every gun like it’s loaded?”

“That’s the second rule.”

She chuckles and he feels it all the way down his spine. He shouldn’t be standing so close to her but he’d be lying if it wasn’t half the reason he’d decided to start this little impromptu lesson. Pulling his gloves off he tucks them into his belt.

“This one’s got a bit of kick so you should hold it with both hands.” He takes her left wrist and lifts her arm, wrapping her fingers around the hilt alongside the other. It’s exactly like a dozen movies he was in a lifetime ago, holding a woman in his arms while he showed them how to do some mundane task. 

They almost always ended in a kiss.

Gulping, he leans over her shoulder. “See that green rock over yonder? See if you can’t-”

The rock shatters.

The Ghoul blinks in the hazy smoke, staring at the hill. When he turns back she’s got her head tilted up to his, their faces inches apart. “The black with a white stripe next?” she asks before adjusting and pulling the trigger. The damn woman never even looks away from him, the rock she identified spinning down the hill in a cloud of dust.

“Did I hit it?”

“Did you-” Stepping away he takes his hat off, squinting at the ridgeline. “Why the fuck am I the one doing all the shooting?”

Grinning, you pass the gun back, carefully pointing the barrel down. ��I don’t have a pistol.”

“Why the hell didn’t you buy yourself one?”

“If you spend too much money in one spot people get greedy. We were pretty much maxed out on survival gear.”

And she’d bought him chem instead. He gapes at her, trying to figure her out. Everyone had an angle, everyone was in it for themself. He’d known that for centuries now. And yet she still managed to surprise him.

Even more so when she nudges his shoulder companionably with her own. “Don’t be mad, I’ve had years of practice.”

He stares at her face, untouched by time and a fierce counterpoint to his own. His curious fascination shifts into a grudging respect. Where before he had found her interesting, an anomaly, knowing that she could take care of herself if it came to it made his body light the fuck up. She’s close enough he only has to shift slightly for them to be standing toe to toe - barely a breath between them.

Smooth skin is cool under his palm, her neck arching just so into the curve of his hand. It’s too intense, he can feel it, heat thrumming between them. And it’s not just him - her eyes are glazed, her breath suddenly coming in rapid pants. Not a kiss, a kiss would be too much, too much for her to handle his face and mouth that close.

No, he wants a taste instead. Of all his sense only taste remains as sharp as it once was - undiluted by the effects of time and radiation.

There’s no resistance when he tilts her head to the side, ducking down to run his tongue along the exposed skin. He doesn’t imagine the way she shudders, or that her pulse leaps beneath his lips.

He could bite her, gnaw the life out of her bones.

With a low groan he sinks his teeth into her shoulder, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her skin. His head is full of her scent, her body pulled flush to his own. Fuck his missing nose and ruined face, if he can’t taste the inside of her mouth right now he might just collapse right here in the dirt.

Nibbling his way back up her neck, he rubs his lips against her skin, nipping at her chin before swooping in to take her mouth. To tangle their tongues together and feel her moan how much she wants him all the way to his cock.

It’s a bucket of ice water when she jerks away, shoving against his chest and sending him stumbling a step backwards.

“No.”

Hunger nearly overwhelms him, hazy redness creeping at the edge of his vision. It’s not the Turning, not quite, but something rawer and deeper. He wants to throw her to the ground and rut against her - flip her to her knees and…

A quick jerk of his head and he comes back to himself. She’s a few feet away, chest heaving. There’s a red mark on her neck and he feels a rush of pleasure that he left it there. She looks a bit unsteady herself and he takes a gamble.

“I’ve been told a fair few times that no means no - but it seems to me there might be a bit of room for interpretation here.”

“No kissing,” she blurts out, seeming stunned by her own words.

“Anywhere?” He cocks his head, hooking his thumbs into his belt, “That takes a bit of the fun out of things, don’t you think?”

A hand flies up to cover her mouth and she lets out a strained laugh. It breaks the mood - whatever it was - between them, and he sighs as he steps further away from her.

“We’re gonna lose a crop we keep on like this, you ready?”

She doesn’t point out that he’s the one who called for the stop, nor does she mention that it was his actions that caused the delay. She keeps pace near him, not saying a word and he doesn’t bother to fill the silence.

Had he read her wrong? Her pulse had thrummed like a hummingbird under his hand but that could as easily have been fear. Maybe she had been terrified of him, too scared to stop him. He hadn’t tried to fuck anyone in over a hundred years - hell his cock hardly worked half the time these days. Maybe he’d fucked up.

Shit.

So much for his thoughts of having a bit of fun before turning her over. 

It was too bad, she was pretty and tasted like cool spring water and spun sugar. It was enough to make his mouth water. And she looked at him like he was still a man, not a monster. Then again, he’d been a hell of a lot nicer to her than he’d been to most people the last few years. Maybe everyone was as sweet if he was just a little kinder to them.

Sure, and he’d wake up tomorrow to find he was hairier than a yeti’s ass.

He pauses, staring at the horizon. The sun would set in about an hour and there weren’t nothing he could think of nearby to make camp at. Maybe a bit of fallen overpass? He’d take second watch and tie her up while she slept. Then he could explain things nice and easy in the morning and quit this stupid ass farce they were engaged in.

“The mouth.”

It was the first words she’d said in hours and he glanced her way with a scowl. “What was that?”

She won’t meet his eyes, looking pointedly away from him. “You asked, and I’m answering.”

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up. He just couldn’t kiss her on the mouth, that’s what she was telling him.

Well hell, he could work with that.

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter One

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn't be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there's a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters: You, Antiques salesman, mother, cute black cat.

Chapter Warnings: Pain in the ass mother, language.

W/C: 1,220

A/N: Soley thought of this idea just for that Spiderman meme.

The bell to the antiques store tinkled as you opened the door. As you stepped in, the proprietor of the store moved away from behind the counter. The place was cluttered, and everything in sight was for sale.

“Hi there, interested in purchasing something today?”

He was a kindly-looking older gent, who reminded you of your pops, and you couldn’t help but smile warmly at him.

“Potentially. Just browsing, for now.”

“Looking for anything in particular?” He enquired as you started to browse.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

He smiled then. “Ah. You won’t know what you’re looking for until it finds you.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

You chuckled and nodded. Yeah, you could agree with that.

It didn’t take long for you to find something. Your eye had landed on a trifold oval picture frame. And for the price tag, you were tempted. Very tempted.

“Ah a lovely set. Baroque features in the detailing. Could do with a possible restoration, but a proper clean would also suffice.”

You fingered the tag again, it was a hundred dollars.

“Tell ya what. I’ll knock off ten bucks. How does that sound?”

You looked at him then.

“You don’t think I don’t know the look of someone finding an item they can’t walk away from? Darlin’ you got that look. You got it bad.”

It was just a picture frame. A dumb little picture frame, but why did it give you so much joy to look at? You weren’t much of a haggler and it would seem rude to haggle the price after he had already generously knocked off ten percent.

“Alright, you got yourself a deal.”

He shook your hand. “Excellent.”

He picked up the item and very carefully began meandering his way back to the counter with you following him. He set the item down gently and rung up the purchase.

“Such a pretty little find. And it was a shame that it had been hiding in a box, before coming here.”

You gave him a quizzical look and he held up a hand before disappearing into the back for a few moments and coming back with a small wooden box. He placed it on the counter in front of you. Your hands reached out towards it. The wooden box looked plain compared to the delicate and intricate detailing on the frame. It was finished with a dark varnish and what was with the strange script etched into the grain? Was it Elvish, or Sanskrit, or even Latin? You had no idea. A simple clasp locked the box. Easy to use. Either way, now you had a keepsake box also.

“It’s my understanding that the original owner had passed away and his living relatives didn’t want it and, well here it is.”

“Well, it’s their loss.”

“Of course, of course. If they hadn’t, then you never would have found it.”

He took your cash and then handed you the receipt. He bid you a good rest of your day as you lifted the box and the picture frame and made your way out of the store.

*

You placed the final photo in the frame. Slid the locks, and placed the frame on your sideboard, angling it so you could appreciate it all that little bit more. You sighed in contentment as three of your favourite fictional men smiled seemingly at you from beside your TV.

The door knocked and by the light raps you knew who it was. This time, you sighed heavily and muttered “God, give me strength” before going to open the door. You’d only opened it a crack before she started to barge her way in.

“Y/N, honestly, what are you wearing? Pyjama’s during daytime? I don’t know. Go put on some proper clothes.”

You looked down. Now you were annoyed. It was loungewear for God’s sake. Perfectly acceptable.

“Mother, what I’m wearing should be of no concern to you and its just gone five, and it’s a Saturday.”

She sniffed and made her way into your lounge. She tutted at the clutter.

“Don’t you ever tidy up?”

You rolled your eyes and sat down. “What did you come here for? To pick faults or was there an actual reason?”

“Your father—”

“Not my father.” You stated.

Your mother had married her partner not long after your father’s passing and now, she acted as though he had been in your life since birth.

She continued, like you hadn’t interrupted her.

“—and I have been talking. You know that nice young man that started last year, Cole—"

“Wait, you’re not seriously trying to set me up?”

Your mother looked a little put out.

“Well, it can’t hurt to get back out there. Get back on the horse or so to speak.”

You sat there shocked. Then it turned to anger.

“Are you ashamed of me? Are you ashamed that your one and only daughter is a divorcee!”

“Ashamed, no. Disappointed, yes.”

It was like a punch to the gut and the hurt stabbed at your heart. You’d suspected your mother had opinions on your divorce but to voice her disappointment a year and a half after finalization felt like a kick in the teeth. It left you speechless.

“Is that new? I have to say I don’t think it goes with the room. Who are those men? Are they from your shows? Honestly Y/N. I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

Your mother had continued to ramble on whilst you were still reeling from her comment. At that moment your all black cat slinked in, jumping up and made her way over to your mother’s lap.

“If you’re not careful, this is your future.” She said nodding to the cat.

You looked at her then.

“I think you should leave, mother.”

She turned her head, facing you. She looked like a goldfish with the way her mouth kept opening and closing. Then her lips pursed together, and she stood, with the cat leaping from her. She made a disgusted sound, discovering the amount of cat hair had malted on her. You handed her a nearby lint brush, and she furiously started scrubbing at the hair on her skirt. She then stood and bid you a good evening and purposefully walked to the door. Your mother didn’t wait, slamming the door on her way out. You scrubbed your hand down your face muttering about her audacity.

*

You plonked yourself on the sofa, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The cat had been fed and was currently God knows where, doing its own thing.

Halfway through Family Feud, a loud crash from what sounded like your kitchen alerted you. Your laugh cut short and Steve Harvey poked fun at a contestant's absurd answer, laughing on the screen. You jumped up, abandoning the snacks and ran to see the destruction, cussing your cat out along the way.

You stormed into the room ready to reem your pesky feline, grabbing a broom, threatening the extinction of treats for the rest of his life. But what you saw had you stopping in your tracks. Words died on your tongue. And what you saw, there was no rhyme or reason to it. In fact, it should have been physically impossible.

Dean Winchester stood in your kitchen, holding a case of pie.

[sc0tters]

Long Gone | Nico Hischier

summary: the downfall of your relationship with Nico is both thick and fast, especially when neither one of you try to stop it.

song: don’t come back - Tate McRae

request: yes/no

warnings: a few swear words, toxic Nico, mentions of alcohol and drinking.

word count: 1.22k

authors note: this one was a bit shorter than the others but that’s because I’m off to bed cause I’m going skydiving in the morning (I wish I was kidding). if you are in a toxic relationship wether it be a platonic or romantic one I can’t stress this enough, please try your best to remove yourself from it and remember that you are loved. If you want to either see more of the celly or be apart of it you can find the playlist here!

pt 2

Nico was ready to throw four years down the drain.

All of the warning bells rung in your head the more you thought about it. For the last three months you were only learning about team events through the other wags. The nights he would go out with the boys drinking you only learnt about his whereabouts of the evening once he got home reeking of alcohol. Your relationship had well and truly gone from being girlfriend and boyfriend to what felt like an awkward roommate agreement.

Until last week you had fought him on every thing he did, the late nights, the lack of care, the not inviting you, every single last thing that he did in an attempt to pull away you had to fight him on. But when you found a necklace in his side of the closet whilst you were doing laundry your heart broke. It wasn’t a piece that you owned and you realised it was bought on the teams trip to Carolina based on the date marked at the top of the receipt.

You wouldn’t have been so hurt by it if you hadn’t just gotten a bottle opener that looked like it came from the airport.

That paired with the fact that he missed lunch in New York with your parents who were there for business that weekend made you officially want to pull your hair out.

You let the door to your apartment slam shut as you swore that you were seething. The amount of emotions that went through your body was enough to make any straight thinking person nearly pass out “Nico!” You yelled as your bags dropped to the floor.

The Swiss man was sat on the couch mindlessly scrolling through his phone “you look interesting,” he commented as he was surprised to see how put together you were for some random Tuesday.

It made you roll your eyes as it took everything in your power to not go ahead and punch him “what the fuck have you been doing?” You asked as you pushed his feet off of the ottoman so that you could sit on it.

The gesture made him furrow his eyebrows “a friend wanted to go for lunch-” he explained as he motioned to the leftovers that were on the kitchen table.

You couldn’t help it when you reached over to hit him but unfortunately for you his reaction timing was too good as he wrapped his hand around your wrist “so I covered for you for nothing?” The scoff that fell from your lips was vile as you struggled to process how he was so okay with what he had done. Nico did nothing more than just wait for you to continue though “lunch with my parents was today.” You sucked at your teeth as you ran your fingers through your hair.

What pissed you off the most was that he didn’t even seem sorry “my bad,” he shrugged as he got up.

You weren’t proud of the borderline temper tantrum type scream you let out as you stood up too “I had to sit there for three fucking hours acting like you’re the best boyfriend in the world.” You pointed out as you marched behind him “when really you’re just a piece of shit.” The latter comment from you got Nicos haggles up as he was quick to back you against a wall.

His laugh was a dark chuckle “yeah, what’s so shitty about me?” He asked as he ran his fingers through your hair as he tucked it behind your ear.

Small, no tiny, maybe even minuscule was how you felt in that very moment “I know about her!” It was like you were proud of the fact that you had caught him in the cheating act.

Nico’s once irritating chuckle now turned into an amused giggle “you think I’m cheating on you?” Sure you weren’t his favourite thing right now but there wasn’t another woman in his bed or in his life like that.

It hurt you how nonchalant he was about it all “I know about the necklace.” If this was any other time you could have found his quick demeanour change amusing “you searching through my stuff?” That’s how it always seemed to be. Anytime there was a fight between you two even if you should have only held like twenty percent of the blame it was always flipped onto you “I’m sorry.” You apologised as your head dropped.

But before you could say anything else Nico was already in your shared bedroom and had locked the door behind him.

Since then you had gone pretty quiet when you were at home but most of the time you spent at a friends place. The girls had all been fabulous as they helped you cope with Nico. It surprised them just as much as it did you when he started pulling away as everyone thought he was close to proposing to you, not kicking you out of your apartment.

You didn’t know if it was a pro or a con that the girls knew you so well that they could see that you weren’t in a good relationship anymore. It was effecting you mentally and nobody should have to walk on eggshells around their partner 24/7.

And that is how you all landed in an elevator to the top floor of your apartment building where you and Nico lived. One of the girls had seen on Jacks story that the Swiss man was out at another bar and that was why they decided to go clear your stuff out then.

Yes your friend group had smarter plans before but you were ladies with a few bottles of wine in your system and were all now ready to take on the world.

The reason why they had mainly come with though was because they all knew that it you saw Nico then it would be all over and you’d probably be apologising to him once more for something you didn’t do.

It was all going so well, your things had been packed away into the multiple suitcases that the girls brought with them as you all knew that it would be easier to tug those suitcases downstairs than it would be to carry boxes down.

Your heart sank as the front door opened “what is this?” Nico slurred as he was beyond drunk at this point.

There was a squeeze at your hand as your best friend sent you a smile in an attempt to give you some encouragement. You nodded as you stepped towards the Devils captain “this is for all the shit you have put me through the last few months.” You had to raise your finger to signal that you weren’t done talking to him “this is goodbye Nico.” You explained as you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

Your tongue darted across your lower lip as you stared at him knowing that it was the last time you were going to see him those close for a while “so by the time you sober up I’ll be long gone.” You promised before you left the boy dumbfounded and in silence.

By the time the next morning came you had already made good on your promise.

You were long gone.

[readingaurorasandsadprose]

The goat story

As they settle into domestic life in the cave, Peeta prompts Katniss for a story, which she likens to singing, an activity she views as superfluous but connected to her father, and, as of recently, Rue. Peeta, the artist, and Katniss, the utilitarian.

The goat story provides important insight into Katniss’ background and their world on multiple counts:

The relationship between Katniss, Gale, and District 12

Dynamics of the Hob, town, and officials

Katniss’ personality

Peeta’s prompt is specifically for the happiest day she can remember, so her mind turns to Gale, which she intuitively understands would not go over well, and Prim. I find it interesting that she doesn’t even consider memories of her father, say, teaching her to swim or singing to the mockingjays. Lady the goat was introduced back in chapter one with her cheese and milk featured in the reaping festivities and here we get her backstory as a 10th birthday present for Prim. The story opens with Prim giving a gift of goat cheese to Katniss, and this story reverses the situation with Katniss giving Prim a gift of goat, the gift that keeps on giving between the sisters. Timeline wise, Prim’s 10th birthday places the events around two years before THG, and Katniss at around 14.

The first half of the entire story is an internal monologue, not spoken out loud, to protect Greasy Sae, Rooba the butcher, and even the peacekeepers from punishment for breaking the laws by engaging in the black market. Katniss’ awareness that the audience will have already figured she was illegally hunting but her refusal to implicate anyone demonstrates her nature as a protector and the need for mutual silence within District 12. I doubt anyone from District 12, regardless if they are from the Seam, town, or a peacekeeper, would say any of the first half of the story out loud. It is their mutual silence, their mutual dependence, their mutual aid that protects them all. The black market is an integral part of their economy and way of life. 

Gale and Katniss shoot down a young buck and Katniss describes him in detail, remarking on his youth, beauty, unfamiliarity with humans, and innocence. Her description calls to mind the tributes themselves, innocent children. We learn it is Greasy Sae, a trader at the Hob, who seems to be well-respected within their community, that refers them to a butcher in town. Greasy Sae could certainly use the buck for her stews, but she clearly has Katniss’ and Gale’s best interests in mind and wants them to get the highest price for their kill. The Hob operates on goodwill and trust between the traders with Katniss and Gale being established and well-regarded members of their ranks.

They take the buck to Rooba, the butcher in town. Katniss and Gale have crossed the threshold of the Hob, where haggling is the way of commerce, and into town with Rooba where the merchant class controls trade. The pair receive the most money they have ever had at one time and head for the market square.

From here, Katniss narrates the story out loud directly to Peeta and indirectly to Panem, claiming she traded her mother’s old locket in for money. She is drawn to the Goat Man’s injured goat, noting how owning a goat can change your life in 12. I find it a bit amusing how nonchalant Katniss and Gale try to be while sizing up the goat, even buying a cup of milk, but the Goat Man insists she is for the butcher. When Rooba shows up, she complains of the goat’s worsened state, then leaves with a wink to Katniss. The crowd joins in the haggling between the Goat Man and Katniss. 

Rooba’s shenanigans and the involvement of the crowd show how invested the communities of 12 are in Katniss from even before the reaping. We see over and over her suspicious nature blinds her to the perceptions of others. She is taken aback by the salute she receives at the reaping, but as we learn over the course of the books, District 12 respects and admires her. We hear this explicitly from Delly, in Mockingjay, but more subtly in this story. Katniss denies that Madge is her friend, denies that she would get generous trades on her own merit instead of her father’s or Prim’s reputations, denies that the people of District 12 care for her. Her years of trading across the lines that divide 12, interacting with the people of the Seam, the town, and the peacekeepers and officials means she is one of the few that would be known to almost everyone. Almost everyone in 12, besides Haymitch, is aware of her dedication to providing for her family. Katniss interprets the “effect she can have” that Peeta refers to as pity and an insult, but really, it is anything but. I’ll bet NO ONE from 12 was surprised when Katniss volunteered. Katniss’ inner dialogue throughout the games show how profoundly the watchers of 12 influence her decisions and how it is distinctive from the influence of the watchers of the Capitol. She knows she would be ostracized in 12 if she didn’t ally with Peeta after the rule change, and she knows she would never accept anyone back into 12 if they didn’t do the same.

Gale carries the goat back, because, according to Katniss, ‘he wanted to see the look on Prim’s face as much as I did’. This line tears me up knowing what is coming in Mockingjay. 

Katniss has a very rare show of sentimentality here by buying a ribbon for the goat to present to Prim. The conversation between Katniss and Peeta after she tells this story never fails to crack me up. Peeta KNOWS this story is the happiest in Katniss’ life because of the ‘lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping’ but she insists that the goat was a ‘little gold mine’. Their banter here is why we are all Everlark shippers.

Thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts on the goat story

[kykyonthemoon]

A Commission

Behind Kinich's weird smile that scares almost everyone in Natlan, is his story with Mualani.

── .✦ Kinich x Mualani

── .✦ Tags: soft, sweet, fluff, short, hurt/comfort

── .✦ Word count: 1k4

── .✦ Ky Ky's note: I've returned to Genshin lately and the new Natlan is absolutely captivating! I was in tears while reading Kinich's story, and I do love his interactions with Mualani a lot. Thanks to both of them, I had a chance to write for GI again <3

── .✦ My Genshin Masterlist - which I'm updating it again very soon.

Lately, Kachina had noticed something peculiar about Kinich. 

Every time she saw him, instead of his typical apathetic expression, he would show all his teeth and his mouth would stretch all the way to his ears. At first, she didn’t understand what that face was, but then she let out an “oh” in surprise when he said it was a smile. 

Not just Kachina, but nearly everyone who knew Kinich, noticed the unusual expression on his face. Even those who commissioned him. They would suddenly see him peering at them from a distance with that smile, with Ajaw yelling alongside him: "Shut that ugly mouth of yours right now!"

The cause for Kinich's frequent smiles was always a mystery, until Kachina visited Mualani and expressed her concerns.

"Huh? Did Kinich scare you?" Mualani questioned as she brushed Kachina's hair.

“Don’t you think his smile is scary? I mean… He’s already very unapproachable, and now he even has that expression…”

Mualani remained silent for a little moment, then she held her stomach and rolled on the ground laughing.

“Huh? What’s wrong, Mualani? Even you are acting strange!”

Seeing her perplexed expression, Mualani sat up and responded, “Ah. I'm okay. It’s just that I know why Kinich is acting like that. Actually, this was sort of my responsibility.”

“Huh?”

Then, Mualani braided Kachina's hair and told her the story of many days before.

Kinich presented Mualani a basket full of dazzling stones he obtained in the Teticpac Peak area. A few days ago, he had received a commission from her to collect those exquisite stones as gifts for Kachina. 

“Thank you. Here is your payment.” 

Mualani gave him a hefty bag. Kinich always enjoyed dealing with her since, as a merchant, she understood the price of everything and did not haggle. Kinich’s business had slowed down a bit recently. There were not as many new commissions as before, but Mualani continued to meet him on a regular basis.

“What's the problem? Is it not enough?” Mualani had been observing Kinich's expression for quite some time. She inquired because he appeared different than usual (yet his face remained stiff).

"No. This is adequate. I simply wanted to ask you a question concerning business."

To cut a long tale short, Kinich became curious in Mualani's business, which was always flourishing. He wanted to ask her about acquiring more clients. Of course, when there were challenging commissions, people would always think of Kinich first. Life had recently been lot more steady,  which was a good thing, except for Kinich’s wallet.

After listening, Mualani simply grinned. She told him:

“Most people come to entrust you with difficult commissions that few others dare to take on. But if you want to expand your business and attract more clients, you probably need to be more, erm, approachable.”

Kinich scratched his head. For the next half hour, Mualani taught him how to be more friendly to others, including a lesson on how to smile.

As the sun slowly set and Mualani had to go home, she said:

“Remember. Next time you see a familiar face, try smiling at them first! They may find you more friendly, and be more comfortable sharing their problems. That's when you can offer to help them."

Kinich nodded. “Understood.”

“Let's try it one more time.”

Mualani suddenly moved closer to him. Her index fingers reached out, touched Kinich’s face, and softly pulled the corners of his lips in opposing directions. The last rays of sunlight caught her hair, making her seem to radiate a more gorgeous aura than the pile of rocks in the basket he had brought back. Her face was so close to his, and she was grinning.

“Yup. That’s right. Keep smiling like that!”

Mualani looked at Kinich. For a long time. So long that she forgot what she was focusing on; his eyes the color of grass or the smile she had never seen from him before? Perhaps both. Kinich was staring at her. And smiling. That had never happened before. For a moment she was stunned. Even when her fingertips were no longer brushing Kinich’s face, he was still smiling.

It was his own smile, not the one she had just forced on him.

“S-So beautiful…” Her lips moved quietly. “Kinich is… so beautiful!…”

Mualani's breath tickled Kinich's face, and his cheeks showed signs of burning. Most people commended him for his skills, but it was extremely rare for someone to say he was beautiful. Suddenly, his mind wandered back to when he was a baby and his mother was still by his side. 

"I hope that in the future, you will encounter many happy things on your journey, so that others can see how beautiful my Kinich's smile is!" 

Perhaps his smile, his real smile, had long since disappeared with his mother. 

Kinich coughed. Only then did Mualani realize that she was standing a little too close to him. Too close. She quickly took a step back and bent down to pick up the basket of gems.

“Oh… I have to go… G-Goodbye…” Mualani awkwardly hugged the basket of stones and dashed home, leaving Kinich in a perplexed state on the hill, staring at the region belonging to People of the Springs, where the girl’s pale hair bobbed with each step.

That was the beginning of Kinich's unexpected smile. But he had no idea, and neither did Mualani, that the smile he offered her that day was unique from any other of his. How strange!

So one night, when the Natlan sky was bathed in a pool of stars, Kinich came to see Mualani and gave her a bag of mora.

“I want to commission you.”

Mualani’s eyes widened. Before she could ask anything, Kinich added:

“I want to learn how to smile again… The real smile. Not the kind of smile that makes people even more afraid of me…”

Mualani pursed her lips, attempting to hold back her laughter as she recalled the story which Kachina had told her the day before. 

"I apologize if I'm intruding into something that is not my concern. But you didn't just suggest that because you wanted more clients. Is that true?" 

Kinich gazed at her. His nod validated what she had stated. But what he failed to want to convey was, in the very moment when he unintentionally smiled at her that day, he seemed to have found a bit of warmth from someone else. It was something he could only vaguely sense in his dreams since his mother had departed.

“Okay,” Mualani replied. "I'm not sure why you're making this peculiar offer, but I accept. And I will not take Mora."

Kinich frowned. “What can I offer you to make it worth your time?”

Mualani leaned toward him. Her eyes locked with his as she smiled brightly.

“Something more valuable than mora, of course!”

[bowieandqueen11]

Take Us Back / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: ahh hope i didn’t miss the izzy request deadline!! honestly just a really fluffy one about what the reader and izzy might do on a day off on land would be super cute , could be either established relationship or the confessions could ensue during! whatever you think would work best, love ur writing sm 💘

Ahh I love this idea so much!! You know me I always love a good love confession. although this one is a little more subtle than I meant it to be!! Thank you so much :) Although this managed to turn more into hurt/comfort, so sorry about that!!

I'm sorry if this sucks ass, writer's block has been kicking my ass and I'm trying to write through it!

Warning: mentions of blood, mentions of child abuse, some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @tinylilvalery.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands had been seven years old the last time he had sat in the foot of a river's mouth.

Life had felt different then: harsher, colder. Even the sunlight had felt a pale wanton impression of the basking heat the crew lay under now, leaving nothing but pocked scars across his soul and a rigid fear woven through his lancinating ribcage.

But that day- god, that day. It had been one of the rare instances that his mother had been lucid, if not tolerant of the mere sight of him. She had just received news from his brother, informing her that he'd finally managed to wrangle his way into one of the crews dotted around the local docks. He still remembered pattering into their cramped kitchen that morning: remembered crawling into her lap, afraid that the shock slumping her usually sapless face as she leant her elbow wearily on the tablecloth was due to his tardiness, not registering in his tired state the opened letter his mother was clutching in her left hand. He had shut his eyes, expecting the usual sting of reproach to come burning across his backside, but instead he was met with shallow laughter and the feel of his mother's frigid hands wrapping around his spine.

She had carried him the whole way down to the bay, had spent the whole rest of that strange, surreal morning in a trancelike contentment. Instead of going to their usual morning prayers, his mother had taken his hands and had danced with him: her feet splashing across the slivering waves as they bit and hissed and fell in aglow bubbles around her feet. Instead of being sent down to the docks to haggle for some small scrap of leftover meat for him to come back and boil for their dinner, his mother had cupped his cheeks as if, for one glorious, unprecedented moment in his life, the hopeful smile timidly warming his cheeks was the most important thing in the world.

The thing Izzy remembers most, though, was the magical way his mother had sung. How the sound made his knees grow weak, tears collecting in the crinkles of his eyes as she sang a strange song about finding beauty in the mundane: of rosiness the shade of his cheeks, of the end of grief, of embracing the beautiful imperfection of our mistakes.

He was almost inclined to believe her. But even at that age, he knew reality was far crueller than her. Because even though she was still humming into the shallow depths, she had refused to even once meet his desperate eyes.

He knew the song wasn't for him. He knew, as he glanced down at the lonesome creek that he suddenly realised was bitingly cold against his waggling toes, that his life was resigned to one of subordination. How she had walked him into the water until their ankles were coated in a fine line of salt, clutching his hand to her heart as the invocation began to wear off. That this grandness, this gloriousness, was to be found inside the soul of others. As his mother began to lug at him again, drawing him further and further into the benighted depths he suddenly didn't want to wade into: was suddenly afraid to approach, he finally understood the truth of his life.

He knew he was just there as collateral to her joy. And as he began to cry out in fear, feeling that all too familiar burn against the ruddiness of his cheek, he realized that hope was created to dwell within other people.

'See child, I told you. Change comes with the tide. Fortune comes to those of us who are deserving of it', she took a deep breath and darted her eyes down to him in antipathy, before digging her spindly fingers into his wrist until they drew blood. She didn't even blink as she used her free hand to pull the letter out of her pocket, kissing its inked lines and clutching the crumpled parchment to her chest. The dying light of the day seemed only to coat her in cerement as she sobbed silently, Izzy too afraid to move in case the sallow light entombed him as well.

He hadn't allowed himself to feel the sunlight since. Instead, he shrouded himself in Stygian shadows, stifling himself under their abhorrence: he had tried to cage his heart to keep it safe. Little did he know, that instead he had created a shroud, and left the shredded remains of what was left to shrivel in the darkness.

You. You! You, god, oh you. Coming swanning into his life with the rest of Stede Bonnet's infuriating little toy miniatures, cresting with graceful consideration along the sinews he had long locked away, with a determinant hankering for his heart. Every look his way just to try and catch his wandering eye: every shit-faced smile in defiance of his crude orders and the callous bite of his words was exhuming an anguishing pain within his chest.

Which is why he found you so fucking obnoxious. Insubordinate. Just as obdurate as him. You seemed to make it your life's mission to get the tomb holding him captive to crack open.

And by god, if it wasn't about to.

He was almost embarrassed by how quickly he had agreed to join you on the shore during the crew's solitary day off that month: his head had nodded as if a screw had come loose in his neck, and although he had to punch Lucius in the stomach for guffawing at how absurd he looked from where he was pretending to mop by Stede's cabin doors, it was worth it to be able to spend some blessed time alone with you.

Which is how he found himself perched on the shallow end of a crag: the sand sifting off his boots and the midday sun burning a white-hot hole into the top of his head that even the nearby leaves of the shimmering banana tree couldn't defend him from. He kicks lazily at the water, scaring away a few darting fish as you finally give up your wrestling match with Jim and come to sit criss-crossed next to the rather forlorn looking man. He does his best to raise his frown once he feels your fingers poke at his stiff shoulder, but even you're able to see the way the smile barely makes it past the top of his stubble, let alone his crestfallen eyes.

'So...', you start with a twist of your lips, an idea suddenly popping into your head as you catch sight of a few lengths of haggard bark popping out of the mud. 'You ever fish when you were younger?' You pull some of the twine out of your makeshift rope belt, looping a knot around the cleanest ends and handing one of the makeshift poles to the first mate.

'Fish? Did I ever... fish?', Izzy asks incredulously, tilting his head at you as if in disbelief. He had fished before: in fact, he was actually rather good at it. When his mother's health began to fail and the poor relief filtering into their household in drips and drabs began to be unable to keep dire poverty from banging at their door, Izzy had taken to smuggling onto the back of boats and fishing out of barrels to get food.

'No. No', he lies. 'I'm not a fucking fisherman, I'm a fucking pirate-'. He didn't know why the memory was making him so irritated. Maybe it wasn't the recollection at all, he thought in a stricken horror, but the way you turned your full attention to him. That- that swinging gaze, that coy smile lifting your cheeks as you try your best to read every microcosm that flashes across his panicking face. That- that kindness in the furrow of your eyebrows, that forbearance as you gently took his shaking first and unfurled it, placing the fishing rod in his palm.

Your fingertips tenderly swirl against the seamed linen of his wrist before you let go. Izzy blinks unsurely, something akin to trepidation making his breath choke in his nostrils, making them flare uneasily.

'I know you're going to be a natural', is all you whisper, sensing his alarm and placing the man's hand back onto his knee with great care. With a final nod, you turn your head back to the sea line.

Fuck. Fuck. How could you read him so easily? How could he, a man so ruthless in his faux arrogance, be laid so bare before you, when he had spent so many years devotedly poisoning that part of himself? He was about to fucking burst, and if you even fucking dared to place your warm fingers against his bare skin him one more time, he was going to draw his scabbard loose and lacerate his billowing heart himself.

The feel of you sitting next to him, holding your own fishing pole between relaxed fingers was almost enough to make the sound of Frenchie hollering in the distance bearable: the man trying to do half-crab like 'somersaults' across the sand. Izzy sighs, pretending the screaming cackle of Roach as he chased the Swede with one of his juggling pins was just the faraway caw of some mythical seabird. Even though the sound of your cheerful hums were sending spears of a long buried fear deep into his stomach, he was content to let the memories of his mother wash over him, to be instead overlapped with his rapt ruminations of you.

'Am I... am I doing this alright?', he asks, daring to break the silence, although his hoarse voice barely seems to penetrate the gleaming air at all. Thankfully, you have your ears finely tuned to hear both his scolding remarks and tender confessions, and so your reply is both astute and quickly timed as you whip your head to take an enthusiastic look at his pole.

You dart a finger out before he even has time to prepare for your approach, drawing his thumb further up the stick. 'That's it... that's it! See, I knew you'd be a natural at this!' It takes all of Izzy's self-control not to whip out his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to instead try and alleviate the way his cells seemed to catch alight every time your skin brushed against his.

'Although', you start, poking your pointer finger against your chin and looking at him in contemplation. 'Your angle is a little wrong. Do you know how to fix it?', you ask, not wanting to offend him and have him scuttling off like a snow crab when you had put so much effort into getting him to trust in your company.

'I- I don't know', he lies, already moving his torso so you would have easier access to wrap yourself around his tensing shoulder blades send ripples spreading across the back of his vest.

'Here-', you reach an arm out, palm spreading against the rigid meat of his lower back as you turn the man to face you more directly. He jolts, and for a second you're worried that you've accidentally brushed against an old injury, but then the man unconsciously mewls, his thighs bucking forward against the sand grains.

'Like this', he asks breathlessly, knowing damn well that his posture was absolutely perfect.

'Like that', you reply with a smile as sweet and meek as the champagne bubbles lapping hungrily at his feet. It was almost enough to blow away the cankered cobwebs encasing his heart: almost enough to flood the chambers of his heart with a child-like resurrection, if he only wasn't stubborn enough to keep the latches of his heart's coffin lid closed.

'I'll tell you something, you're far better company than Ed', you say to alleviate the tension, feeling sorry at the way the man seems to be cursing himself with thick, inaudible swears. You let your fingers dart across the last few vertebrae's of his spine, enjoying the way his whole body seems to convulse like an electrified eel once you let go. 'The last time I tried to teach him to fish, I swear I was two seconds away from kicking him overboard. That man genuinely does not know how to stay quiet for two seconds.'

He grabs onto your wrist, so desperate to retain every ounce of your attention. So desperate to feel you set him aflame, without the embarrassment of having to ask. For the first time that day, he stares deeply into your eyes, his thick eyelashes flickering back and forth as if searching for something.

'You don't have to tell me. I very unhappily managed to overhear him talking to himself this morning about all the ways Captain had used his fingers last night-'

You clasp your hands to your ears, a high pitched giggle pealing out of the back of your throat. 'Oh god, please! Just stop! Whatever the hell our dads do, I don't want to know!'

God, you were bewitching.

'What about your father', you ask suddenly, raising a curious eyebrow at the man. 'I know that you, Israel Hands, must have had a phenomenal upbringing to turn out the way you did.'

'I can't fucking tell if you're being sarcastic or not', he replies curtly, but the edges of his lips are curling up despite of himself.

'Come on', you prod at his side with the jut of your fishing pole. 'I have to be completely honest, I've been dying to know your story ever since you got on the revenge. Until today, Mr. 'I'm god as far as you're concerned', you've been a bit of an enigma to me.'

He looks at you sharply, his lips lingering upwards and making the warm glow that followed through into his eyes paint him as an angel against the goldenrod hues of the sun’s rising throne. 

'Until today?'

You can't help but match his bashful smile.

'Something tells me you've fished before', you reply smartly, nodding your head down to his tugging line.

It seemed to come to him then, that hope he had long forgotten: reverberating through his already troubled mind like a deafening echo, screaming and writhing and cacophonous as it pierced every fragment of his brain it could, begging him to remember the days when love had been true. Pleading with him to allow veracity to forburn the self-inflicted death he had allowed to coat his now pounding heart.

His mouth twists, unsure as where to start. It had been so long... so long since he had been truthful with anyone, let alone with himself. He swallows thickly, eyes roaming over the scuffs of his boot that are sliding further and further into the chilled depths of the shallow water, before he curls his fingers into a fist and goads himself into being compliant.

'I used to... I mean, I used to go down to the river with my mother, when she could be bothered. Which wasn't very often.'

He prays that you won't notice the faraway look in his eyes. How they begin to cloud over with unshed tears for a life he should have known. Should have had. For innocence robbed, and exasperation capitulated into its place. How his hands were now beginning to jolt so harshly, he nearly sent his fishing role flying into the ocean with one particularly intense heave.

'My mother always used to tell me, that you could begin your life again if you could pinpoint the exact spot where the rivers began to merge with the sea', he seethes out through gritted teeth, a low whistle sliding over his tongue as you reach your hand out and offer him the only form of solace you can think to give. 'She used to say that this is the spot where Calypso fell after Odysseus left her. That if you sing to her, her face will appear within the waves and grant you immortality.'

'Did you believe her?'

'I didn't before.'

'Hmm, what made you change your mind?' You entangle your fingers messily with his gloved hand, allowing both your poles to clamber noisily into the rugged pit chipped out by the toes of your feet. You knew if you broke the spell, interrupted this moment, it might never come again for him.

‘It was you, for fuck's sake!’, he wanted to shout. It was the truest thing he had ever known, plain and so soul crushingly simple.

Instead he flops his head back, and looks dead-set into the blinding light of the sun. 'I heard you singing. Heard you with Frenchie earlier, when you were singing shanties on the deck. My mother also used to sing to me', he warbles, voice hoarse.

The swallow tattoo scored onto his neck seems to thrum to life with each pulse of his juddering arteries.

'Ah-', you frown, 'I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up all these... memories for you. That's why you've been brooding so much today.'

His head darts to the side to scrutinize you, but when you mumble another sweet apology he finally stops scowling. If you hadn't been so lovestruck yourself, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon in that moment to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that brightened the man's widening eyes, a vestige kind of hope widening the gloam of his pupils.

He tilts his head to the side: towards you, eyes dipping down to almost imperceptibly gaze over your pursed lips.

'Don't be sorry'. His bottom lip trembles as he heaves a breath and squeezes your hand tight against his own. He felt like he was falling onto the cusp of something dangerous, but he refuses to allow his obduracy to suffocate the words.

'You sounded...', he grits his teeth, trying to bury his words by seething them into his skin instead. You watch him shove his chin into the side of his shoulder with humoured curiosity, giving him the time, the space, the security to finish his thought. He buries his eyes into the water, watching the rippling reflection of his face wallow into the shoreline. 'You sounded beautiful. It was nice to hear music again. I haven't in so long.'

'Well, Israel Hands', he trembles at the feel of your warm breath brushing against the tip of his ear. 'Good thing I'm immortal now.'

He smiles at that.

'Looks like I have all the time in the world to sing for you, if you'd like.'

For the first time since he was seven years old, Izzy Hands felt like he was allowed to live again.

'I'd- I'd like that very much.'

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #14: Skin-Deep

Prompt: telling || Master Post || On AO3

---

Alakhai does not initially understand just how Synnove and Dancing Heron remain friends with one Rereha Reha.

Oh, sure, the girl is nice enough (‘girl’ as if she isn’t just a few years younger than Alakhai herself), especially for someone that filthy stinking rich. (Who needs that many purses?) But she’s loud and rambunctious and bawdy, a bit too fond of parties, ostentatious in the extreme, the exact opposite of the far more reserved Synnove and Heron.

Clearly, she’s missing pieces of this puzzle, not helped by her infrequent visits to Ul’dah, and then Rereha running screaming for Gridania of all the cities. But Alakhai is very good at fading into the background to observe, so that’s what she’ll do.

It’s all the little moments that count for the most.

The time she and Synnove arrive at Rereha’s family manse to find Rereha’s room a minor disaster with clothes spilling out of the walk-in closet and Rereha sorting things into various piles.

“Shirts to keep, trousers to keep, dresses to keep,” she had said, “shirts to donate, trousers to donate, dresses to donate. Forgot to do this before I went to Gridania. Oh! Gotta let Ruru and Roro at the donate piles, too, they get first dibs on whatever I’m not wearing anymore, should be a couple of things they like…”

There’s also the cheerful pride Rereha always has when she speaks of her baby sisters. She isn’t particularly close with them, but none of them seem to mind that. Rereha has her own path, and she speaks with naked relief about how much better Ruruha and Roroha will be as castellans for the family businesses. “They actually enjoy goldsmithing and alchemy and all the business management stuff!” But she’s always happy to share a list of her sisters’ latest accomplishments when asked, and at one point, Alakhai is present when the young twins decide they want a song from their elder sister. And Rereha immediately puts down her bow, and picks up her fiddle.

There’s the time they were all out shopping the market stalls, and Alakhai sees Rereha clock a minor jeweler down on their luck. Worn hems, unpolished shoes, a collar very carefully turned to hide a faded stain. Their wares are good, even to Alakhai’s untrained eye, and Rereha quite happily purchases a necklace and two sets of earrings from them. But Rereha doesn’t haggle quite as ferociously as she would with a better-off merchant (and there is, apparently, an entire etiquette about haggling in Ul’dah and greater Thanalan that Alakhai has no hope in hell of grasping), though she manages it in such a way that if you’d never seen her actually put her whole effort into it, you’d never know she’d deliberately gone light.

And then she puts on the necklace as they wander off, and hooks in one pair of earrings into her lobes and the other onto her cartilage just at the points of her ears, and gushes to everyone on Sapphire Avenue who asks about her baubles about where she’d gotten them.

Then there’s Rereha’s about preternatural memory for keeping all of Heron’s numerous relatives straight. Synnove’s dead to the world on the couch in Rereha’s room, recovering from exams, while Heron whisper-shouts in frustration over some family squabble that’s boiled over and Rereha is nodding along. Heron finally wears herself out and presses her forehead against the couch with a low groan.

“It’s so stupid,” she finishes.

Rereha wiggles off the still-sleeping Synnove’s back to smush herself against Heron’s head and pat her shoulder in commiseration. “Your uncle’s a moron,” she says. “Has anyone bothered to write to your Great Aunt Intrepid Star to get her to settle the matter already?”

Heron heaved a sigh. “Trying. She went on holiday in the South Seas, which has turned into her island hopping her way to Thavnair, and the runner keeps just missing her in every damned port.”

“Damn.”

Finally, there’s today. Synnove is making eyes at an enormous topaz she just bought like it’s a Bismarck ice cream sundae and Alakhai has a hand on her elbow to keep her moving through the crowd. Rereha, however, isn’t quite so distracted, and she yanks at Alakhai’s belt to get her attention.

Alakhai looks down and can’t help but blink in surprise at the expression of utter loathing on the lalafell’s face. Then Rereha points, and through the heavy crowds, Alakhai sees a hyur woman of middling years, pale-skinned and black-haired and blue-eyed.

Alakhai has never met Isolde Greywolfe and quite frankly probably shouldn’t (oops there’s a knife in someone’s kidneys, so clumsy, how awful of her), but now she knows for sure what the woman looks like.

Rereha has already moved to Synnove’s other side and is tugging at her friend’s skirts, and Alakhai assists by gently pushing Synnove into the movement. “Come on, babe, you’re gonna get us mugged making buffalo eyes like that,” Rereha drawls.

Synnove merely grunts.

Even with her eyes still glued to that topaz, Rereha and Alakhai manage to get Synnove down one of the less busy side streets, and from there, Rereha guides them through the maze that connects the various major Avenues until it spits them out near one the clusters of cafes.

“Time for coffee!” Rereha says, and that finally gets Synnove’s attention.

Alakhai shakes her head in amusement, and levels a considering eye on Rere. The pieces are beginning to fit together, and what a strange creature this Rere really is. Funny, though.

Let’s see where this goes.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

what he deserves, chapter 4

Sanji x Reader, a bit of Law x Reader

Warnings: angst, one-night stand, not really a love triangle – law and reader are mature about the situation. Some implied smut. WANO SPOILERS.

a/n: this will be several parts. Leave comment for tags. ONE MORE PART TO GO!

Summary: Witnessing all the suffering Sanji went through on Whole Cake Island, all you want is for him to be truly happy…even if it means not with you. Set after the fight in Wano, you go through the motions of an endless fight and end up in bed with the Hearts Pirates’ Captain to distract yourself from the one thing you want the most – Sanji.

masterlist

The morning brought many bounds of regret as you woke up hungry with a headache. Resting deep into the soft cotton filled mattress, you stared up at the ceiling and wondered what the rest of the crew was doing. Had Luffy gone back to see Otama? Was Nami getting things ready for the voyage out? Was Zoro lost somewhere or perhaps he too found comfort in sleeping in the shading forests…

These thoughts beckoned and stole your attention, occupying your mind as to not think of Sanji and the awful conversation the two of you had. Maybe he didn’t know…maybe he didn’t realize he further fractured your already fragile heart. Or maybe you were taking this too far, felt too sensitive about what had happened on Whole Cake Island. Maybe things were fine just as they were, and you didn’t need to rock the boat any further.

Getting out of bed, you moved to the small vanity across the room and stared into the mirror – horror filled your eyes, hair sticking in all directions and in the morning light, it was shorter than you remembered. Collapsing onto the vanity chair, you picked up a brush that laid on the tabletop and began to tame it down. It took ten minutes to get it neat enough to leave the room; a new kimono laid on a lounge chair near the door. Folded neat with a small note resting on top of it; you picked up the note and saw that it was a gift from Nami. It was dark green with yellow flowers petals, the fabric a rich silk and you wondered how much Nami had to haggling to get it down to a reasonable price. Inhaling in the morning dew that came from the gaping window, you began to undress.

The inn was a bit quieter than the previous morning; Robin and Franky were having tea in the main seating area. Both greeting you with warm smiles and the latter mentioning that the rest of the crew had gone off to the Sunny. “We’re on our way over after this,” Franky grinned. “Gotta make sure she’s ready to set sail.”

Robin offered you a cup of tea and you sat down next to her, listening as Franky listed off check points for the Sunny. You asked if he needed help, but he told you not to fret – he had everything under control. Robin asked if you were ready to leave Wano and you sighed. “It feels like we were here for so long but now that things are settled, I wish we had more time to really see the country.”

“I agree but Luffy wants to keep going, so we shall.” The archaeologist’s smile was so sincere and warm, you settled against the chair and sipped the tea, listening to the duo exchange conversations, not pipping in but just glad to just be around them. Robin and Franky had always been a relaxing pair to be around, and you often wondered if it was their age – but Brook was older than everyone and he was pretty chaotic. The conversation quickly changed to lunch, and your stomach growled in response, that’s when Robin snapped her fingers gingerly. “I forgot to tell you; Sanji left you a plate of food in the oven. He said it should still be warm because he wrapped it up.”

The mere mention of his name guilted your bones, but you thanked her, excusing yourself to the kitchen. You held the tea saucer in hand and walked through the dining hall to the kitchen, placing the cup on the island. Moving to the oven, you opened it and saw a plate waiting for you – wrapped in beeswax paper. Bringing the plate down onto the counter, you unwrapped it and saw that it was rice balls. Delicious looking rice balls and your hands clapping together in excitement. Everyone knew Sanji’s rice balls were the tastiest in all the seas and it took seconds for you to devour four of the dozen set on the plate. A little groan escaped your lips, and a chuckle came from the doorway of the kitchen.

It was Law – standing in his familiar jeans and yellow long sleeve shirt with a blue coat with a fluffed collar. If Law was anything, it was well dressed. You chewed quickly, beckoning him over and offering up the plate. He declined a rice ball and you shrugged, swallowing with a loud sigh. “Sorry. These are exceptionally good.”

“You sound just like Luffy.”

“Did you just come here to grace me with compliments, because I take that as a compliment.”

“I’m sure you do.” Law leaned against the island and said he had come to see if you had made it back from being lost. You laughed explaining the whole silly ordeal, noting that his eyes lingered a little too long on your hair. Touching a few strands, you clarified that it had been a last-minute decision. “All you Straw Hats are the same…”

“Brilliant? Strong? Incredibly mesmerizing?”

“No, impulsive.”

“Another compliment, thank you.” He gave up and asked when Sunny was due to depart Wano and you asked why he cared so much. “Not trying to figure our next big move, are you? Because I have to say, you hit it right on the nose – we’re an impulsive group of people, so our plans are never definitive. You should know that by now.”

“Far enough,” he concluded, dropping the subject. Instead, he asked if you were going to the final banquet. “Bepo and the others haven’t shut up about it all day.”

Right, the final banquet; you remember Luffy mentioning it on the way to Otama’s village. Another party seemed a little much and you worried that there wouldn’t be enough resources left for the people of Wano, but Kin’emon and the others insisted. Wano was to be a free country again and they wanted to thank the people responsible for making that happen. Devouring another rice ball, you shrugged. “I guess I have too. I take it I’ll see you there?”

“Begrudgingly.”

That’s the spirit, you told him, and he half-heartedly laughed. Covering up the remaining rice balls with the beeswax paper, you mentioned you needed to go with Robin and Franky to the Sunny. Law said they had left. “I passed them on my way in.”

“Oh, well, care to walk me over? I actually have something for you…”

The man pushed away from the counter, curious to know what it was and when he asked, you refused to say. “It’s a surprise, but it’s worth the trip. Are you busy?”

Law gave out a low, exhausting sigh and you laughed. “If you’re too tired…”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can’t be gone for too long; I don’t need those guys giving me a hard time.”

Understanding what he was talking about, you mentioned how Chopper was in tears when he thought you were leaving to join the Heart Pirates. Law shook his head, a bit of warmth in his cheeks – he was embarrassed, and you found it hilarious that such a cool tempered could even fathom that emotion. Or easily display it on his face. Nonetheless, the two of you quietly left the inn and started toward the direction of the Sunny. The excursion was a good thirty minutes from the center of the town, but the conversation flowed easily and filled in the time spent walking. He talked, vaguely, about his plans for his crew but you didn’t blame him – after all, every crew had their own goals. You had never heard him outright say he wanted to be King of the Pirates, but he did openly talk about beating Kaido. His alliance with Luffy was surely coming to an end, but you had a hunch he wasn’t going back to enemy status any time soon.

“Isn’t she beautiful!”

Law glanced up toward the Sunny. “It’s obnoxious.”

Even though you ignored his comment he followed you up the ramp, watching as you practically raced up onto the ship. He stalked behind slowly and as you interacted with your fellow crewmates. It was obvious how happy you were to be back on the ship, and he again followed when you started toward the upper deck. “The library is this way.”

“There is a library on this ship?”

Sensing a bit of envy, you climbed the steps toward the observation room before turning to him with a prideful smile. “We do, everyone but Luffy has books in it though…”

“I’m shocked.”

The two of you made your way to the library; you opened the door for Law and followed when he walked in. His eyes moved around the room taking in the shelves lined across the walls, filled with books. The small desk in the middle and the seating that also lined the walls. Opened books were scattered around all surfaces and he picked up the nearest one. It was a book of old fables and you laughed, explaining that it was Chopper’s favorite. “He’s a doctor but he’s also very young.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, I have something for you.”

He glanced around at the library once more, before following you to a shelf on the wall. He watched as you thumbed through the spines of several books before plucking one out of its place. You opened it up and pulled out a comic. His eyes widened and you laughed, holding up a Sora, Warrior of the Sea comic. “You should have this; Sanji doesn’t know I’ve had it all this time. I was surprised as much as you were, finding out about his family. I don’t want it on the ship where he could find it. Plus, I saw the way you practically drooled over Sanji in that suit.”

It had been shocking to hear the true origins of Sanji’s family line and to put faces to the people that hurt him so much. You were there when he used the raid suit and hated the way it made him look like the rest of those people. Then later, you saw how hard he was resisting being like them.  Law carefully took the comic, flipping through the pages and you could see a child in his eyes. He looked up from the pages. “I still can’t believe he’s a part of Germa66.”

“He isn’t,” you reminded the man, plucking the comic out his hand. Staring down at the cover, you frowned. “I used to love this story when I was a kid, one of the few luxuries my family allowed me to have. But when I saw the real monsters…saw how they treated Sanji, I wanted to kill them all.”

“You didn’t though.”

Letting out a deep breath, you handed back the comic and moved toward one of the bay windows. Staring out, you saw Robin and Nami on the grass – they were talking amongst themselves and when your eyes lingered to near the right of the ship, you saw Sanji. He was leaning against the ship’s railing, smoking a cigarette, and staring out at the ocean. “The restraint I had to pull from the deepest part of my soul. If had my way, I would have killed them slowly…painfully…”

“I couldn’t see you doing such a thing.”

This prompted you to look over to Law and laugh. “We’ve slept together, Law, but you hardly know me. I would have enjoyed killing them because their cruelty to a child matched that of my parents. It didn’t matter in the end, Sanji asked us all to help save his family.”

A small breath released from Law’s throat, and you expressed amusement at his shock, giving him an look that told him you understood his surprise. Eyes moving back to Sanji, you stared at the man – painted a portrait of him in your mind, for later consumption. “Do you know what kind of person asks for help in saving their cruel family? A family that has abused them their whole life. Discarded them like trash? A kind person, Law. Sanji is a kind person, and he deserves more than what life has given him.”

The library went deathly quiet, eyes now on Zoro – who had joined Sanji. Those two always acted as though they hated each other, starting arguments over nothing. Brothers. You watched as Luffy joined the duo, the three of them together only took seconds before bickering started among them. Then the others appeared and before you knew it, right before your eyes, your family was all together. Smiling down at them, you noticed from the corner of your eyes, Law staring too. Arms across his chest, he studied your eyes and the way they seemed to glisten as you watched the crew interacting.

“Life has given him this crew.” Law’s hand fell onto your shoulder, and he said he had to go. Moving your eyes from the window, he thanked you for the comic and said he had something for you too. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning, but I wanted to give this to you before we go our separate ways.”

He pulled out a small torn piece of paper from his pocket, holding it out between two fingers. You stared at it for a moment, trying to understand but then it registered, and you carefully took it from him. It was his vivre card. “Are you sure you want me to have this? Shouldn’t this go to Luffy?”

“I can’t trust him to keep it safe, besides, I want you to have it.”

You stared at it thoughtfully. “It’s not because we slept together, is it?”

“No.” he was a matter of fact. “It’s because we’re friends.”

…..

The main deck was busy, Nami instructing where to put the crates and barrels of supplies Zoro and the others were hauling up the ship’s ramp. Law, at your side, walked toward the ramp and turned to you. He again thanked you for the comic, he now had it tucked in his coat pocket, and said he’d see you at the banquet. “Save me a drink,” you smiled, and he nodded, the two of you reaching for one another’s hand. He gave you a tight squeeze and leaned in to whisper something in your ear; you were very aware that the two of you were direct line of sight of the whole crew.

“Talk to him, you’ll figure it out.”

Law pulled from you, hand still on yours and smirked – it was the first time ever seeing him look so devious and seconds later, you knew why. He planted a kiss onto your forehead, promptly released your and strolled down the ramp – narrowing missing Franky carrying two large crates. You knew he did that to make your life a little harder and he was a certified little shit for that but watching him leaving a good friend of yours and a piece of his vivre card in your pocket made you feel at ease. He disappeared back through the trail that led to where the Sunny was docked and you yelled down to Zoro, asking if they needed help bringing up more supplies.

“Nah, we got this.” He shouted back and you left the men to their busy work. Moving back to the grassy area, Nami gave you a smile and pointed her pen at your hair. “It’s shorter than it looked last night, but it’s still very cute! I bet Law loves it.”

“It’s not like that,” you retorted, snatching the clipboard from her hands. She frowned but you pretended to be invested in the list in front of you. “I’d appreciate it if everyone stopped talking about Law and I like that. It really isn’t what everyone thinks…”

“Sanji thinks you two make a nice couple.” You gripped the clipboard, and you asked when he said that. “This morning when we were all walking over. We were discussing the two of you – you’d be surprised how we all agree Law and you totally make sense!”

Your eyes moved to the ramp just as Sanji appeared, rolling a barrel onto the ship. He caught your attention real quick but you looked away and stared back at Nami. Shoving the clipboard into her hands, you told her there was never going to be anything between Law and you. “We’ve come to a mutual understanding of friendship. If I hear anyone discussing us again, I’ll really join the Heart Pirates, got it?”

Nami’s smile faded and she quickly apologized. “I’m sorry…it’s all in good fun, really.”

“Yeah, well…” Sanji started toward the kitchen and a sense of resolve washed over you. Starting toward the kitchen door, you gave Nami a smile. “…the good fun is getting real old.”

Leaving her to that, you flocked over to the kitchen – taking one real deep breath before barging in like a hurricane. Sanji looked up from unpacking fish into the freezer and it felt like the air was vacuumed out of the room; his eyes stared unknowingly at you and your heart was racing a thousand times in the same divine rhythm it always did when he was around. Standing in the doorway, a halo of light lit around your body as you shouted you needed to talk to him, and he felt something entirely new.

Was it a mix of terror and relief? Was that emotion even possible? A thousand things ran through his head, but they were all dismissed, cleared away when he saw the way you smiled at him – as if, after a long journey, you were finally home.

In that moment, Sanji was breathless.

..........................................................................

tags:

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@yuki190 @bowscale @utakamo

@fire-child-kira @cheshireshiya

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@angeiisa @bitchycoffeepainter69

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@bocchi-the-heart @sseleniaa

@depression-247 @sweetgurl1623-blog-blog

@punem69 @themossiestchick @sweetcoldmelancholy

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@simpx4xanimexmen @micaelacantsleep

@meritxellao @armaria

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