#Bookkeeper duties

[finlotax]

Choosing Between a Bookkeeper and a CFO for Your Startup

Proper financial management is vital to the success of a startup. However, deciding whether you need to hire a bookkeeper or a Chief Financial Officer (CFO) can be challenging. Both roles are vital to a business but serve different functions. We help you understand the differences between these roles and guide you in choosing the right financial professional for your startup.

Understanding the Roles

A bookkeeper is entrusted with the job of keeping accurate financial records for your startup. This includes recording daily transactions, managing invoices, handling payroll, and ensuring that all financial data is up to date. Bookkeepers essentially record your business’ day-to-day financial transactions.

On the other hand, a CFO’s job involves strategizing for your startup and covers financial planning, risk management, financial reporting, and advising on investment strategies. You require the services of a CFO for high-level financial insights and guidance to help structure your startup’s long-term financial strategy.

Key differences between them

1. When to Hire

a. Early Stages of Your Startup

During the initial stages of your startup, when your business is relatively small, your financial transactions are fewer and not too complex. In such a scenario, hiring a bookkeeper is sufficient and necessary, but you do not require a CFO at this stage. A bookkeeper can handle the basic financial management that your firm requires, while you can focus on growing your business.

b. Rapid Growth

As your startup grows and its financial transactions become more complex, a CFO can provide the strategic financial oversight needed. They can help manage growth, secure funding, and ensure that financial risks are mitigated. However, while your startup grows and expands, you will continue to require the services of a bookkeeper.

2. Scope of the role

A bookkeeper’s role in a startup is to ensure that the financial records are kept up-to-date. Typically, a bookkeeper is required to perform the following tasks;

·   Recording the daily transactions

·   Maintaining the General Ledger

·   Reconciliation of the bank accounts

·   Maintaining details of accounts payable and receivable

·   Preparing financial statements such as the income statement, balance sheet, cash flow statement, etc.

A CFO’s role on the other hand extends across the organization, with the CFO being responsible for all the crucial financial decision-making. The scope of your CFO’s role would primarily encompass financial management, your startup’s financial health, and future goals. Generally, the CFO’s job would involve;

·   Drawing up financial strategies

·   Reporting on the financial health of the startup to its various stakeholders

·   Budgeting

·   Overlooking financial operations

·   Compliance aspects of your startup

·   Spearheading funding campaigns for your startup

3.   Cost efficiency

While hiring a bookkeeper is generally not as expensive as hiring a CFO, the higher costs involved are outweighed by the strategic value a CFO brings in. If you don’t have the budget and you are just starting out, hiring a bookkeeper can be a more cost-effective option for managing your finances. However, always base your decision on the financial needs of your startup.

Whether your startup needs a bookkeeper, a CFO, or both roles, depends on its unique needs and goals. Both roles hold great significance for your startup’s financial health but serve different purposes. By clearly understanding these roles and evaluating your current and future financial needs, you can make an informed decision that will support the growth and success of your startup.

Finlotax: Your reliable tax consultancy partner in CA

At Finlotax, we excel in delivering premier tax consultancy services in CA. We offer a range of competitively priced services including CFO services, bookkeeping, tax preparation, tax planning, payroll management, and compliance solutions. Ensure comprehensive financial management for your startup with our expert CFO and bookkeeping support. To learn more, reach out to us at 4088229406.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

masterlist [ongoing]

After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Parts:

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one twenty-two

ao3

[thisblogisaboutabook]

The cycle of life

Azriel x Reader

Fae cycles suck, thank the mother for your attentive mate who is there to provide you with all of the smut and fluff you desire.

warnings: smut, language, self-esteem and body image struggles, anxiety, slight breeding kink

She didn’t know when the self-loathing crept in - although it was always the first sign. The week had been busy, she’d poured herself into her work. Being a bookkeeper for such a wealthy court was… tiring to say the least. It was fulfilling work, especially when it came to the Court of Dreams. Balancing ledgers and creating budgets for various charitable endeavors was a duty she was proud to take part in. The High Lord and Lady’s efforts in keeping their court thriving was admirable. Most would find the work mundane, and she supposed it could be, but accounting always felt like a puzzle to her - using her brain to solve problems and contribute to the advancement of the Night Court was rewarding.

She wasn’t perfect though, despite that desperate desire within herself to be. She’d push, and push, and push herself completely overlooking all the good she did and absolutely berating herself internally when the occasional mistake occurred.

Azriel was her number one supporter. She’d always imagined him to be better suited for the likes of a fellow warrior such as Mor or a Valkyrie like Gwyn. Perhaps even someone soft and lovely like Elain, a glowing beacon to come home to. Y/N had told Azriel as much when he began pursuing her.

“Why me?” She’d wonder to herself as she assessed her figure in the mirror - overlooking the enticing feminine curves that all but screamed “squeeze me, grip me, take me”, the way her plush lips bowed into a perfectly kissable pout, how her radiant skin that nearly glowed rendered her ethereal. She only saw imperfections. Not to mention that she wasn’t graceful or stealthy, she couldn’t cook or keep plants alive to save her damned life, and she had a tendency to get stuck inside her mind.

Truthfully this week was more than busy, it was hard. She’d pushed herself to meet deadlines that she’d gotten behind on due to an influx in workload. She’d made a few mistakes that nobody had issue with - except herself. Nuala and Cerridwen were taking well-deserved time off, leaving the essential household tasks on the back burner. Between working endless hours, Azriel being gone on a mission, and a flare up of the anxiety that she’d put so much effort into working through over the years - she was exhausted.

Physically her muscles ached, stomach cramped, and her head pounded as the all-too-familiar symptoms of her impending semi-annual cycle took root. Her mind and spirit were utterly fatigued from the busy week, the flare up of anxiety, and the overall stress of life. She was desperate for Azriel to return from his mission soon.

It was around 9PM when she coerced herself into wrapping up work on Friday night, she spent three hours afterward tending to the house and catching up on neglected tasks from the week, too tired to even bathe as she crawled into bed - sleep claiming her immediately.

She awoke the next day to a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Hello beautiful.” Azriel whispered against her skin, pulling back to allow those intense hazel eyes a chance to examine her. Her eyelids fluttered and brows furrowed as she let out an exhausted groan, “baby…” a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she reached toward him in a needy manner that made his heart ache. He hated leaving her for missions though she always understood and supported him. He leaned down, wrapping his arms around her body, letting his warmth seep into her bones as she melted into his embrace.

Azriel noticed the flinch she made as the sun shone through the window into their room, quickly flaring his wings to block it from view until her eyes adjusted. “What’s wrong, love?” He whispered, though he already had an idea. The heat of his breath against her ear sent chills through her, prompting her to give a quick nip to his neck before kissing it.

Gods, she’d missed him.

“Nothing baby.” before he could call her on her lie she continued, “what time is it?”

“Well, you missed breakfast.” He smirked.

“Ugh… how did I sleep in so late?” She sat up, rubbing her tired eyes.

Azriel shrugged “Your body must have needed it.”

“Says you.” She scoffed. “You were off all week doing physically demanding work and busting your ass for this court… while I sat on mine balancing ledgers.”

“Y/N…” he spoke, his low voice barely more than a warning growl. “We’re not going to do that. You are allowed to feel tired, allowed to let your body rest. Your work is important.”

She sighed, knowing better than to press on. She knew to pick her battles and that this one was not one she would win.

“Fine.” Y/N shrugged, eyeing a paper bag on the bedside table. “What did you bring me? Please tell me it’s something with chocolate.”

Azriel’s lips curled up into a grin that she’d never tire of seeing, handing over the bag. “See for yourself, darling.”

———

Azriel knew from the moment he stepped into the quiet house that she’d need extra love and attention today. His loving, caring, selfless mate who typically rose early - he swore the sun rose on her accord and not the other way around - was still sound asleep in bed.

He immediately exited the house before she could sense his presence and stopped by her favorite bakery along the Sidra. Chocolate croissants were a necessity in times like these. She’d need a pain relieving tonic, epsom salts and soothing oils, and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t hurt either.

He went ahead and picked up ingredients for a few quick meals and a new book she’d mentioned recently as well.

He had to laugh at the irony. His mate often questioned her worthiness of him. HIM. She couldn’t see what he saw. A passionate, intelligent female who cared for her mate, her court, and family more than anything. Always putting her own needs last but the first to volunteer when help was needed. The cauldron truly found his equal - someone who gave and gave but it was never enough. Someone who couldn’t see her own worth, her pure heart, her devastating beauty - while the rest of the world marveled at it.

She’d been the catalyst in his own self-acceptance. He’d spent centuries believing he wasn’t enough, that he was unworthy of a mate, of his position, of the power he was born with - just to meet this intelligent, radiant being who could bring an entire room to a halt and assume they were only seeing flaws. Not the beauty that could make even kings fall to their knees if she’d only ask. When the bond snapped, he decided then and there that he would show her just how worthy she was. In the decade they’d been mated, she finally started to see her worth, how precious she was to him, to those she graced with her presence. But life is complicated and triggers are inevitable, especially when it came to the flare of hormones that accompanied an impending cycle.

—————

The chocolate croissants were a win if the drawn-out contented sigh Y/N let out upon finishing her third one was any indication. He’d shared details of his mission as she indulged in the pastries and she gave him a few details of her week - frowning as she went into detail about the “mistakes” she’d made.

They were common mistakes that anyone would make, truthfully, some weren’t even her fault, but he listened as she let it out. He’d learned over the years that sometimes she just needed to get it off her chest and not advice. Simply hearing each other out had become a key element in the foundation of their relationship - when thoughts became too much - they were always listening ears for each other.

Once she’d gotten it off her chest she changed the subject by asking, “What do you want to do today?”

Azriel had a lot to do - but his mate took priority this weekend. He gave her a wicked grin, “I want nothing more than to waste away in this bed with you all day.”

“But?” She replied.

“But nothing.” He flicked her nose. “I want to spend the day in bed with my mate - is there something wrong with that?”

Azriel could see the war in her mind. Debating whether she deserved to take a day off, or should tend to other tasks. Before she could object he leaned in, lips capturing hers in a deep, loving kiss. She immediately opened for him, his tongue lazily tangling with hers. “Fine” she murmured.

“That’s my girl.” He cooed before returning to claiming her mouth, the shell of her ears, her neck.

“Mmm” she purred into his kiss while he palmed at her breast through her silken cobalt night gown. Her swollen breasts immediately peaking beneath his touch.

“So responsive” his low voice growled into her neck, sending fire straight through her, igniting her core. “Is that beautiful pussy as ready for me as these are?” He asked, tweaking a nipple through her gown.

The responding moan told him more than enough as he hitched the hem of her nightgown up to her waist, exposing the dripping cunt practically begging for him underneath. His eyes rolled back at the intoxicating scent of arousal drifting up into his nose. “Holy shit, Y/N.” he groaned, clearly pleased with the sight.

He ran a finger through her slick core, adding a teasingly light amount of pressure to her clit but before he could insert a finger she moaned “No Az, I can’t wait. Please.”

“You don’t want my fingers?” He teased, slipping one inside of her. Mother, she was absolutely soaked.

“Az…Fuck. No. Please.” She pleaded. Reaching down to palm the hardened length beneath his sweatpants. “I need that inside of me. Now”

Typically he would reprimand her for being so demanding, robbing him of his playtime with her sweet, dripping sex. But the desperation in her voice left him desperate to oblige her.

“Since you asked nicely.” He replied, to which she frantically helped him out of his pants.

Before she could reconsider taking more fingers, he thrusted his length into her. Hard. Every thick, aching inch of him, stretching and filling her completely.

“Like that?” He asked as her moans filled the room.

“Yes. Yes, Az.”

“Fuck.” She cried out. “Just. Like. That.” Each word coming out individually timed to the thrusts of his cock.

There was no way he was going to last long at this pace, especially after being away for a week. “Not gonna last long like this. Fuck!” He ground out.

She grit her teeth as his thrusts became harder, more erratic. “Then fill me, Az. Need your cum.”

Slipping a hand between them, he pressed his thumb to her clit, moving it in that perfected motion he’d finessed over the years as he diligently studied her body, a scholar whose sole discipline laid in pleasuring his mate. Locking his eyes with her, he gently commanded “Cum with me baby.”

With that they both let go. Their releases filling the room like a song. A melody Azriel would never tire of, one he replayed in his mind somehow far too often, yet never enough during his time away.

Azriel stayed inside of her until their breaths settled, evening out into sync with eachother. He reveled in the warmth of her. His perfect mate - physically, emotionally, spiritually. He’d never take this for granted.

Finally he pulled out of her in one long sweep, she looked down to admire the still considerable length of him even when partially softened. Her stomach dropped to see blood mixed in with their combined releases.

“Az, oh, I’m so s-” She started but he cut her off.

“Baby. It’s just a little blood.”

She almost looked ashamed. “I know but- I’m embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” He puzzled. “It’s completely natural. Do you really think blood bothers me? Come on now beautiful, we’ve had sex during your cycle before. Why shy away now?”

“I just didn’t expect the bleeding to have started already. It explains why I’ve felt so lethargic, I suppose.”

Azriel went to get a warm cloth from the adjoined washroom, returning to wipe her. Her cheeks flushed at the intimate action.

“Stop overthinking it. Besides, we’re mates.” He smiled, a soft look overtaking his eyes. “If you still want to have children with me someday, your cycle is kind of an essential step of the process.”

Y/N flushed at the comment. The thought of carrying his babies was something she’d dreamed about for years now. Thank the gods for her distant Illyrian ancestry and the genes that blessed her with curvy hips capable of birthing winged babes.

“You know, with my cycle returning… we could always start trying? If we stopped taking our tonics now - it should be out of our system in time for ovulation. Rhys has offered recently to let me bring on an assistant book keeper, which would be excellent timing.”

Azriel’s heart fluttered at the thought of it. His mate round and glowing as she carried their baby, a babe that would know so much more love than he ever had as a child. Something so pure and beautiful that could come from the love between he and his mate. They’d talked about it for years now, a dream of theirs. He had to quickly blink away the silver lining his eyes at the gift she was offering him, his selfless mate in all her infinite love. There was no way he could verbally reply in the moment without choking up so he sent waves of adoration, joy, and gratitude down the bond.

She sent every bit of love right back to him, propping up on her elbows to capture his lips in a promising kiss.

———-

After they came to a decision, Azriel carried Y/N to the bathing room where a hot bath full of the oils and epsom salts he’d picked up that morning were waiting. She nearly cried at the relief of the welcoming heat that greeted her.

Before she could object, Azriel quickly stepped out to change the sheets, promptly returning to slide into the bath tub behind her. He washed her hair, massaging her scalp to which she nearly purred like a cat. He carefully washed her entire body massaging her back, thighs, calves, shoulders, and breasts in the process. By the time he was done tending to her, she’d nearly fallen asleep.

Ever the caretaker, she tried to wash him in return but he insisted that this was about her - passing her a rolled up towel to place behind her neck while she relaxed, letting the oils from the bath soak into her skin as he lathered himself. He got out first, toweling himself off before lifting her out of the tub and drying her off with a heated towel.

Though she insisted she could do it herself, Azriel wasn’t having it. This was his day to care for his mate so he helped her into cloth lined linens and selfishly left her topless, slipping her underneath the fresh blankets.

He assured her he’d be right back slipping out to the kitchen to heat up her favorite gnocchi soup and fetch a tray he’d prepared with her pain relieving tonic, bouquet of flowers, and more chocolate.

It didn’t take much to bring his mate joy - the genuine gratitude she’d send down the bond at even the smallest gestures was never lost on him. Perhaps it was self-serving but he couldn’t resist surprising her, coveting each warm smile she’d give him as if he’d never feel warmth again.

He prayed their future babes had her smile, her eyes, any of her features, truly. But most of all, her heart - maybe then, beating within the most precious gift the mother could offer them, she’d finally see just how beautiful she really was.

————

He had to beg and plead like a mad male but finally she agreed to spend the entire weekend in bed with him. Who knew that he, the one who was typically the workaholic, would be the one to grovel at his mates feet begging her to take a break.

Fortunately, she was not immune to his charms and obliged him. At one point, she snuck out of bed in an attempt to accomplish a few tasks around the house before her cramps humbled her. Azriel was promptly startled awake from the nap he’d drifted off to as she loudly exclaimed from down the hall, “Fuck it. Back to bed.”

They spent the rest of the weekend making love, whispering of their dreams for the future, indulging in sweets, and reveling in each others touch with no shortage of laughter and kissing in between.

——————————

A/n: So I’ve totally been under the weather this weekend with no motivation to write but as I laid in bed with my own partner tending to me with whatever I needed, I couldn’t resist writing this. I intended it to be a Drabble but the words just kept flowing. I stan fluffy Az. Anyway, thanks for reading!

For those of you waiting on new parts to my current fics - I promise they’re coming along and will be out soon! xo ♥️

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 98 (Questioning Bay Security & Grim Pays an Unwanted Visit)

cw: pet death

While Conrad looked over his case files at the precinct, Detective Zion Spangler approached him. "Can you help me with the manager of Bay Security? He's resisting attempts to book him, and he says he won't talk to me."

Conrad knew J Huntington III through parent-teacher nights and school assemblies. Though his focus was meant to be on the search for Rafa and not the investigation into the suspicious death of Jimmy Stefano, Conrad was still frustrated by a lack of leads and agreed to talk to him.

"I don't have a clue what you brought me in for," he groused as the sergeant took his fingerprints.

"Questionable bookkeeping, Mr. Huntington, just like you were told when the detectives picked you up."

"Well, like hell I'm gonna talk to some green young nobody on the same force that needs our help to keep anyone safe in this town!"

Conrad sighed. "Well, if you don't talk to me, I can't promise you'll be home tonight for dinner with your wife and kids."

"Come on, Sargent. It's a few days before Winterfest and I promised my kids I'd take them out shopping for their mom."

He grew more cooperative after that, following Conrad into the interrogation room while Zion and a few others watched from the other side of the glass. J looked across the table with a sneer while Conrad pointed out where the cameras were inside the room.

"We're just trying to figure out why a security company with a monopoly at the docks was off duty that night, and there are some questions about the books. Really, there's a question about the lack of much in the way of books."

"We're a legal company. You should be talking to George Brindleton, not me. He said pull the guys, I pulled the guys. It's my job to do what he says."

"George is wintering in the sun, but if you don't give us enough to work with, we'll have to call him in for questioning when he gets back. You and I both know he won't like having to talk to us."

The thinly veiled threat was enough to get J to look at photos of the crime scene and give insight into his work for George Brindleton.

"We do what he wants and he signs big checks. He paid us to make up the loss in paid time so close to the holidays."

"He told our captain he was cutting costs in the dead season, but if he's paid you, regardless, he had another reason."

J shrugged. "Talk to George. I don't ask questions. It doesn't serve me."

"And breaking kneecaps to manage what goes in and out of the port serves you, instead?"

"That's the problem with law enforcement these days. You're too good. But people are terrible, Sargent Gordon."

"Is that what you tell your kids?"

"Your son is a Landgraab, Sargent. What do they know about being good?"

Conrad held his hands in his lap. "Ash is a lot like his mother."

J scowled and Conrad changed tactics. This wasn't getting them anywhere. "We looked into Bay Security, and we know George Brindleton is an arms-length investor. So why do you do strictly what he says?"

"There's a lot of simoleons in legacy families."

"What does that matter to you? J Huntington the Third, is it?"

"That's a joke. There's no J Huntington the First or Second, but my makers thought it'd be funny. It's not, and maybe you can guess why I don't speak to them these days. I named my son Caiden."

"What does George have on you?"

"On me? Nothing. I came into this job with the deal already in place, and it's better for my family if I just accept things as they are. I don't need to be a hero. I know a good cop like you wouldn't understand."

Conrad knew he was no hero. "Not one of your guys was hanging around the docks and saw anything the night of the murder? Isn't there a Friday night poker game in one of the old fishing boats?"

"If we don't have to break knees, Sargent, we don't. I don't keep tabs on them when they're not working."

"You've never seen the victim in Brindleton Bay before?"

He shook his head. "Not until you showed me that picture of him dead at the docks."

With little learned from the head of Bay Security, Conrad let J Huntington go with nothing gained in their search for Jimmy Stefano's killer. Ximena was still at large, but he was grateful she hadn't turned up around him or his family in the weeks since the murder, at least.

Winterfest was just a few days away, and Heather and Conrad planned to forge ahead with the holiday as if nothing was wrong. Heather, especially, was loath to let Ximena ruin her children's Winterfest, and they didn't want Ash to notice anything amiss.

But though they were wary of the threat posed by Ximena, they still faced unexpected tragedy right before the holiday break.

Heather's old cat, Boomer, got sick with hot feet. She took him to her clinic and tried to help him, but she soon realized there was nothing she could do. He was twenty-one; it was his time.

The fuzzy white mixed breed died of old age the night before Winterfest Eve. Heather had brought him home from the clinic so he could pass comfortably. When the time came, the Nesbitt-Gordon household was visited by a new friend.

After Grim helped Boomer cross the rainbow bridge, Heather invited him inside from the cold, and he comforted her over the loss. "Grief is a privilege reserved for those fortunate enough to know love," he said wisely.

Heather had many pets, and she dealt with loss at her clinic, but it didn't take the sting away. Not tonight. Still, she was grateful for Grim's kindness and sent him on his way with a smile. "Bella Goth's probably expecting you. Thank you for caring for Boomer tonight."

Grim disappeared with a pound of his scythe against the floor. Despite the advice, Heather was heartbroken, and the holiday season began under a cloud of sadness at the Nesbitt-Gordon home. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: In game, J Huntington III is married to Liberty Lee and they have two kids, son Caiden and daughter Alexis. J breaks kneecaps and Liberty's an astronaut, apparently.

[sapphire-writes]

Winter Rose

pairing: Aemond x Stark!Reader

summary: Raised among wolves, and raised among dragons; throughout time Targaryens and Starks seem to find their way to each other.

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 2.3k

note: this is mostly fluff! enjoy my loves 💙

You had been a small child when your father died; when your elder brother Cregan was named Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. Though he was just a boy of three and ten at the time. You remembered the funeral of your father, the way Cregan held your small hand in his own.

“You need to be brave, sister,” Cregan had whispered in your ear. 

Your eyes were wide as saucers, gazing upon the still body of your father. You expected his chest to rise and fall, as though he were simply in a deep sleep. He remained motionless. You had only seen one other corpse in your life, that of your mother.

The image of her flashes in your mind. Beautiful, wild, and gone. Petals in the wind. Your father would lay beside her for eternity in the crypts of Winterfell. The thought comforted you, your parents in the earth below you, and your brother. Simply sleeping beneath the mighty fortress of Winterfell.

Cregan squeezes your hand. 

Your uncle, Bennard Stark, was to rule as regent until Cregan came of age. A feat that does not bode well when Cregan reaches adulthood. But Bennard succeeds nonetheless. 

You grow alongside your brother, both of you fierce, both of you spitting images of the First Men. Both are haunted by the ghosts of wolves before you. You and Cregan are one and the same until you come into your maidenhood.

That is when things seem to change between you, suddenly you are thrust into the role of a soon-to-be mother, though still unwed. Lords vie for your hand, present themselves to your brother for the chance to bed, and breed you like a prize mare. You are having none of that. 

“Lord Umber is a fine choice!” Cregan yells, running after you as you flee from the great hall.

“You heathen!” you snap at your brother.

You stop, causing Cregan to nearly run into you, glaring at your brother. 

“You’d ship me off to Last Hearth, is that it?” you accuse, “who’d do your booking then hmm?”

Cregan flushes with embarrassment. 

“I’d make do without you,” he says.

“You’re shit at bookkeeping,” you accuse. 

“You’re a lady, it’s your duty-”

“My duty!” you scoff, “How very convenient to you!”

Cregan frowns, visibly frustrated by your angry disposition.

“You like Lord Umber.”

You look at him incredulously. 

“He is my friend, Cregan, it does not mean I wish to bed him.”

“Sister, you must listen!”

But you are off already, across the yard, angry tears wet on your face. They do not last long as you hastily wipe them, crystalized in the cold air they fly like diamonds to the gravel below. 

The news comes to Winterfell when House Stark is invited to the capital to represent the North at King Viserys nameday. Evidently, all the great houses are to feast in the capital, with tourneys and celebrations to last for several days. 

“Allow me to represent our house, and when I return I shall not fuss about marrying Lord Umber,” you tell him, bile rising in your throat as you panic at the thought.

Cregan senses your hesitation. Brothers are like that, sensing your lies. 

“You shall?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. 

“I shall.”

The journey to King’s Landing is long and tiresome, taking the better part of a month. Layers of clothing are shed the closer you get to the capital, as the air around you warms, snow melts and flowers bloom. It is as though you are blooming as well, pushing through the soil and towards the sun.

You are presented at court, as unwed ladies often are, to the king and the royal family. Though King Viserys is not in attendance, represented by the Hand instead. 

The first of the festivities you attend is a tourney. 

“You do not wish to participate, my prince?” you ask, out of courtesy.

“I do not care for tourneys, my lady,” the one-eyed prince tells you, “I believe them to be a foolish waste of time.”

You smile slightly at his honesty.

“They are said to prepare men for the battlefield,” you tell him, “though I do not know whose enemy would wait for his opponent to pick up his sword.”

Aemond glances at you as you take a sip from your cup. He glances at the tourney field, understanding your jest as he observes two knights waiting to fight. A flicker of a smile appears on his chiseled face.

“Most knights simply wish for the attention of those of court,” Aemonn tells you, “Fame and glory; to be a page in a song.”

“To have the favor of a pretty girl,” you agree.

Aemond looks at you once more. A pretty girl. You meet his eye, smiling. Aemond looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

“Have any of these knights won your favor, my lady?” Aemond asks.

You shake your head.

“No, I am afraid not,” you tell him, “I prefer a real warrior to a pretender.”

Aemond watches as you excuse yourself and walk away, a curious expression on his face. 

The feast later that evening is boisterous and full of merriment and delight. It makes you miss home, an ache appears in your chest that you cannot shake. No matter how many lords you dance with, how many ladies you chat with. Though you wished for an escape, you so miss the walls of Winterfell. Cregan’s hand in yours. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps the North is where you belong. Winterfell, Last Hearth. Did it matter which castle, truly?

“My lady,” the voice of Prince Aemond pulls you gently from your thoughts.

He is kind, you can tell. Though his exterior is cold, reptilian almost. Like the snakes that slither in the greenhouses of Winterfell, searching for warmth and life in the frozen ground. Simply trying to survive. Aemond bows to you, offering his hand, violet eye scanning your face. 

You want to ask him about it. But you bite his tongue. You know all too well how people enjoy poking the bruises of others, teasing out the memories of pain a person holds inside them simply for their own selfish curiosity. You shall not be like them.

You take his hand and allow him to lead you to the dance floor. You cling to the young prince for the rest of the evening, finding calm in his cool presence. It is nice, standing beside him feeling as though there is no silence you need to fill. Feeling as though he simply enjoys that you are there. 

When you return to your chambers, a blue winter rose rests its petals on your pillow. You pick up the flower, inspecting it carefully between your fingers, the cerulean petals catching the moonlight. A reminder of home.

The remainder of your visit to the capital is spent on Prince Aemond’s arm. In the library, on walks through the gardens. He even entertains your passion for hawking, joining you as you travel into the Kingswood. It is nice to have a friend among so many dragons. Someone to talk to, someone who enjoys your company. 

As the days pass, you have collected a bouquet of winter roses; they sit beside your bed in a glass vase, the first flower only just beginning to lose its petals. They scatter across your chambers like freshly fallen snow. 

A raven arrives, confirming your brother’s visit to the capital. Cregan is often impatient and comes to the conclusion that he must join his sweet sister in the capital, bringing Lord Umber with him. A determined pup, your elder brother can be. 

Aemond senses a shift within you as you wait in anticipation, though he cannot quite figure out what the cause is. When your brother arrives, you avoid his presentation at court entirely. Though Cregan is relentless, and spots you as you attempt to escape to the gardens. In your haste, you nearly run into Aemond. You clasp his arm.

“Quickly,” you say nervously, shifting on your feet, “I must go, quickly.”

“It is your brother,” Aemond says, looking over your shoulder, “why do you wish to run from him? Have you not missed him this time apart?”

Aemond knows you have been missing him, missing home. It is why he took such care with the flowers left in your chambers. He had enlisted Helaena for help; winter roses are fickle plants that require delicate care outside of the North. 

“Of course I have,” you tell him, trying but failing to hide behind his tall frame.

Aemond smiles slightly as you grab his arm. Cregan has spotted you, a determined grin on his face. Lord Umber has joined him on his journey to King’s Landing. He has brought the wedding to you. There’s nowhere to run anymore.

“Then why do you hide little wolf?” Aemond asks, chuckling.

“He wishes to marry me off,” you tell the prince, “ship me off to Last Hearth.”

Aemond’s face falls slightly, he glances over his shoulder as your brother comes closer with each passing second. Aemond turns back to you, eye scanning the distressed expression on your face. 

You bring your gaze back to the prince, an idea coming to you. 

“My prince,” you say suddenly, “do you trust me?”

Aemond frowns, not fully understanding what you are asking.

“Of course my lady-”

“Then kiss me.”

Aemond’s jaw slacks as he looks into your eyes. 

“Quickly, please,” you beg, “Aemond.”

His eye flickers from your lips to your eyes.

“Trust me,” you say softly.

The one-eyed dragon prince needs no more convincing. He bows his head to your height, and you stand on the tips of your toes, hand caressing the back of his neck bringing his lips to yours. Aemond is gentle with the kiss, as though he has never kissed someone before. He nearly pulls away after the first peck, but you secure your hand on his neck, opening your mouth against his, deepening the kiss.

Something comes alive in Aemond as you slip your tongue into his mouth. Fire curls in his belly, desire lodges at the base of his spine, and his cock strains against his trousers as your nails scrape his scalp. 

You pull away when the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls you from the prince’s trance. Lips reddened by the hasty kisses, Aemond’s violet eye is wide as it meets yours.

“Sister,” Cregan says awkwardly, “It is good-”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Stark,” Aemond interrupts, nodding to the young wolf.

“Your grace,” Cregan says, bowing slightly.

“Delightful to be surrounded by kin,” Aemond tells him.

“Kin? I do not understand,” Cregan tells him.

“My betrothed has missed her brother for too long now,” Aemond clarifies, much to Cregan’s and your surprise. 

“Betrothed?” Cregan asks, looking between you two. 

“Yes,” you tell him, sliding next to Aemond, pressing your body against him, “Prince Aemond has asked for my hand. And I have accepted.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly.

“Without informing me?” he asks.

“We wished to surprise you,” Aemond says softly, “your sister was so excited by your arrival, she wanted to tell you in person.”

You nod eagerly as Aemond speaks, and Cregan raises an eyebrow at you in question. You smile widely, showing too many teeth. A she-wolf, daring him to question you aloud. 

“Tis true, brother,” you tell him, “Who am I to deny a dragon prince?”

“I suppose if you did not want to, you would not,” Cregan says, sighing, “A stubborn woman, my sister is.”

“One of the many reasons she is so charming,” Aemond agrees, his words causing your heart to flutter inside your chest.

Warmth pools in your belly as the prince smiles down at you. Cregan raises an eyebrow, nodding in approval. 

“I dare ask, what else has entrapped your attention, my prince?” Cregan asks, “It is my understanding the Queen wished for you to take a wife for some time now, to no avail.”

Aemond nods.

“Your sister is a rare find, much like a winter rose south of the Wall,” Aemond begins. 

Your heart leaps in your throat. Though you had expected it, now it is confirmed. It was he who left you the flowers. He who took such care with them. 

“However, did you do it?” you ask, eyes wide. 

Aemond smiles at you knowingly. 

“Precious flowers take time to bloom, they require special care,” he tells you, “but they are well worth it.”

You flush at his words, believing he means more than just the flowers. 

“A marriage must be treated with such care as well,” you agree, lacing your fingers through his. 

Aemond’s hand is rough from training with the sword, but your hand fits perfectly in his. The warmth of his palm settles the flurry of nerves in your stomach. 

“Are you prepared to give this union such care?” Cregan asks, his voice hardening, “This is my sister you are marrying, and she deserves nothing but the best.”

Aemond smiles, looking down at your intertwined hands. His thumb rubs against the back of your palm. 

“I would gift her the world if I could,” he admits, “I promise you, I shall spend the rest of my days devoted to making her happy.”

Your eyes well with tears and your heart swells with pride at his words. You tug him closer to you, taking his other hand in yours.

“You must excuse us brother,” you tell Cregan, “though I have missed you, I require a moment with my betrothed.”

You lead Aemond away from Cregan, away from the curious eyes of court, until you are in a secluded area of the castle.

“Where are we going?” Aemond asks, a smile playing on his lips.

You tug him closer once more until you are pressed up against him.

“I wish to kiss my betrothed unwatched,” you giggle, bringing his mouth to yours once more. 

This time, you do not stop.

______________________________________________________________

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[homunculus-argument]

Random scene of a fantasy story that I won't incorporate anywhere:

A military camp is being overseen by a representative of the royal family - not the crown prince, but the other one, who has been sickly his whole life. It's known that he will never carry a sword and won't likely ever rule in his own name, and he has poured his dedication to academic studies, from ethics to maths, preparing to be the highest bookkeeper, master of taxes and royal finances, and - if duty so calls - a philosopher king.

The prince is known to use a cane, sometimes crutches to get by, and for days such as this one, when he cannot walk at all, there is a chair with wheels.

Standing in a row within sight of the prince's entourage, but firmly out of earshot, one of the commanders lets out a baffled, mocking scoff at the sight of the prince. He remarks to the men around him that he would rather be dead than live in such a condition, that a man should be able to fight in order to be called a man at all. While the common soldiers around say nothing regardless of what they think either of the commander's stance nor the prince, the commander's right-hand man speaks up, asking whether the commander would prefer to be killed on spot, if he ever were injured in battle but didn't immediately die.

The commander answers yes, of corse, with the baffled airs of someone who had been asked a stupidly obvious question. To stress his words, he tells every soldier within earshot that if he is ever maimed past the point of ever fighting again, it is their duty to give him the mercy blow.

While nobody knows for sure where the name came from, this was actually the day when the commander gained the epithet The Warhorse of [his birth location]. Not because he is as strong, bold, fierce, disciplined or fearless as a well-trained war horse, but because he is as fragile as one: always one broken leg away from needing to be shot.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 22: Nonexistent Normal

The next few days bring a feeling of rushed anticipation. The familiar atmosphere in the kitchen hits me like a slap in the face. 

“Strange” is all I can comment on as people bustle around the office, hands full of documents and betting papers.

“What did you expect when you came back?” Finn asks from behind me.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a sliver of happiness. But the only one I see with any amount of happiness is you, Finn. This expansion doesn’t seem to be pleasing anyone but Thomas.”

He clears his throat and I turn to face him. Two years has done its work on Finn. His child-like face is still there but his eyes have grown with the deep ambition of a young man. 

“I missed the lessons. I really did.”

“Aw,” I smile and give him a quick hug. “I promise as soon as I carry out whatever Thomas has planned for me, I will schedule more. Speaking of which, where is Thomas?”

Hurried footsteps echo through the hall and we turn to see a woman hastily throwing on her coat as she heads for the door. There’s no question about her business here. We both know it. Thomas’ door opens and he steps out in a clean suit. Finn now decides to wander off to the parlor, leaving us alone.

“Still gallivanting with ladies of the night?” I taunt slightly.

“You still think I’m a good man after all these years?” Thomas lightly argues back as he approaches me in the kitchen.

“I do, Thomas Shelby.”

This surprises him. Thomas’ eyes search me for any hesitation, as if he was expecting me to scold his sinful behavior. It is disappointing to see him still turning to whores to keep him happy, especially after his ordeal with Grace.

“I will admit that this type of sin is no business of mine, but it’s your life. Just remember that your actions will have consequences.”

Why does he have to look at me like that? My words seem to fly right over his head but he’s still looking at me. 

“Verena! Come help me with these!” Polly yells from the office.

I give Thomas a shrug. “Duty calls. Anything you’ve got on the docket for me today?”

Thomas, still with the same look, shakes his head. “No. We’ll sort out the tough work first, then you lot can come in with the paperwork.”

Tough work? What kind of expansion is this anyway? Or by words or by force?

“Verena!”

“Coming, Polly!”

I hurry past the handsome gangster into the bustling office. People are pouring into place bets and Polly’s swamped with counting cash. The Romanian woman grunts in annoyment as soon as I join her.

“Talk talk talk! If you want to chat so much with Thomas then go on a date. Time to work!”

My head jerks to look at her once I process her rushed words. “Haha. We’re just catching up.”

“Yeah. Right.” Polly drolls sarcastically. “Catch up after we’ve handled this mess.”

Back to work it is. Customers pile in one after the other. I lose track of how many times I pass through the safe. What I do notice is the pile of money inside growing bigger and bigger. Thomas wasn’t kidding in his letters. Profit has been good.

“Alright, time to clock out.” Polly locks the door and collapses into a chair. 

“Already? Wha-? Oh!” I gape at the clock. “It’s already five!”

“That’s how it’s been,” Polly grunts. “I might have Thomas make you the new bookkeeper since he’s so keen on finding a new one.”

Oh. That was Grace’s job. He still hasn’t found a replacement. 

An ember of hope ignites in me. If I really want to stay here maybe I can convince Thomas to promote me. Something concrete that will prove to father that I have an official job and will keep them off my back.

Finn walks through the door and notices our tired state. 

“Where have you been?” Polly asks.

“Helping John pack the car.”

My head perks up. “Car? They left already?”

Finn shakes his head and points to where he’s just come from. “Not yet, but they’re about to. Now’s the time for any goodbyes.”

My exhaustion vanishes and I sprint out the door despite Polly’s callings. Sure enough the older Shelby brothers are gathered around their car ready to depart. But where’s Thomas?

“Hello, gentleman. Off to a new adventure?”

“If we can quit from arguing for five minutes,” Arthur grunts.

“Oi, Steenstra! You don’t need to do that,” John rejects when he sees me helping to pack a few bags. “They’re too heavy.”

“Are you saying I’m weak?” I joke and lift up the bags anyway.

“‘S just that you’re not the sturdiest ox of the group- Ow!”

John rubs the spot where I just punched his shoulder. He complains and Arthur can’t stop laughing.

“Call me that one more time and I will literally punch you in the nose,” I warn lightly. “I’m not a strong ox, no. But I am a fierce tiger.”

John scoffs and shrugs the threat off. “You don’t have the guts to- ah!”

I get him in a headlock and soon he’s bent over. “Need I remind you that I am American?”

“Alright alright, I give in!” John gasps and flinches away. “Jesus, Verena! What happened to you?”

I smirk proudly at his arrogance. “That’s what happens when I spend an entire month with my brothers.”

“I was on my way to step in but I see you’ve got it covered.”

I look behind me and see Thomas approaching. Another fine suit as usual. He seems to be in good spirits. I hope it lasts at least for a day. He looks between John and I with an amused smirk.

“Just get in the fucking car, John.”

“Good morning, Thomas. New car?”

John goes to sit in the back while Arthur taunts him. Thomas walks up beside me and lays a hand across the shining metal.

“Business has been good. Why not use the profits?”

“You should be proud,” I praise. “Have fun on your holiday. Polly’s going to miss you.”

“And you?” Thomas asks with slight interest.

His question holds layers of hidden hope. Does he want me to stay? I want to stay. I just got here.

“I’ve been gone two years. What’s a few more days? Besides from what I hear, you lot deserve a vacation. London sounds exciting.”

“At least we can drink legally, love. Though no doubt it’ll be just as hectic as your American speakeasies.”

“Haha, very funny.” I smirk and put my hands on my hips. “Be careful. Right, then. Cheerio, you wild gangsters.”

Thomas gives a salute and climbed in with his brothers. The engine spurs to life and the car begins gliding down the road.

“Right! Peaky Blinders are going on fucking holiday!” Arthur cheers.

“Sit down, you mad bastard!” John pushes him down.

Never a dull moment with this lot. Once they’re out of sight I hear footsteps from behind. It’s Finn.

“Are they gone?”

I nod. “Just left. What say you about a walk along the Cut and a catching-up chat? After all, I've hardly seen you outside of family meetings since I got back.”

He nods eagerly and we start off towards the river. Finn might have grown too but he’s still the same kind boy I remember.

“Do they still fight all the time?” I ask softly.

“They’ve calmed down a bit but Arthur’s head still strays from time to time.” Finn pauses. “How’s things in America?”

“In my case, terrible. My father’s been under lots of stress because of the new Eighteenth Amendment. Now we’re relying more on bootlegging, which is today's topic. The term came into general use in the American Midwest in the 1880s to represent the practice of traders concealing flasks of illegal liquor in their boot tops when they went to trade with Native Americans. Now my father runs a speakeasy. It’s called that because of how low you have to speak the password to gain access. It’s also called a blind pig or gin joint, but speakeasy sounds more classy in my opinion.”

Finn keeps nodding along. “Thanks for this. It’s… Nice to get away from the office. I want to run the family business but at the same time I don’t want to always obsess over it. Like Tommy does. Is that bad?”

Poor Finn. It’s come to the fact that the only way to gain his family’s respect is to strive in their world of treachery and killing. Polly once believed that he could grow up to be a normal man. But when you’re a Shelby no one knows the meaning of normal.

“In a way, I understand. My family’s trying to either fix me up with any businessman they can find or get me employed in our own brewery.” I stop walking to get Finn to look at me. “Family is important. But they can also let you down. You know that, Finn. If you’re doing something that doesn’t seem right, don’t question yourself. Ask God.  Above all else, His word is what matters.”

Finn gives a satisfied hum and looks away at the murky waters below. “If God is so righteous, why does He allow misery? Why did my mum have to die? Why did my brothers have to go to war? Why do we have to keep up this madness with the Blinders?”

All good questions. Ones that no mortal will ever have the answer to. It breaks my heart to see Finn’s innocence being swallowed up by these mobsters.

“I mean, even if Sabini wasn’t posing a threat-”

My breath hitches and my panicked eyes meet his. “Dear Lord. Sabini…”

Finn frowns at my reaction. “You’ve heard of him?”

On the East Coast Sabini isn't a name that's thrown around without concern. They have connections. And the Italians are not on good terms with the Irish.

“There are rumors even in Brooklyn,” I answer slowly. “Finn, why on Earth would you lot be involved with him?”

He shrugs. “Donno. Only overheard Tommy muttering to himself.”

I point a scolding finger. “Finn, you are a good boy. No eavesdropping on people even when they’re conversing with themselves. As for Sabini… I will ask him about it later. Let’s get back to our walk.”

Days tick by. I help Polly with more chores. Go on walks with Finn. It feels like nothing’s changed. Can it stay like this? I know it’s not a perfect world but it’s a comfortable one. I’m not the one killing or lying. But when I talk to the Blinder boys who do it almost seems like they’re normal people too.

“So you’re really from America?” A Blinder named Harry asks as we lounge in the office.

“Hasn’t Thomas told you?” I ask back.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “No. Mr. Shelby doesn’t like us asking too many questions. We were only told to keep guard on you.”

“Oh well, isn't that sweet,” I mutter. A babysitter. “Just how dangerous has Small Heath gotten?”

“Don’t hold your breath, love.”

Footsteps echo throughout the hall and Thomas struts towards his office door. Why is his coat all dusty? How is he back already? Does a holiday for them last only a few days?

I get up from my chair and slowly approach. “Back so soon?” 

“Yes.”

Time to bite the bullet. “And you’re looking for a new secretary?”

“Already found one,” he replies and pours some whiskey into a glass on his desk. “Lizzy.”

Disappointment stings hard. Lizzie? A prostitute acting as a secretary? Granted the Shelbys have known her far longer so her trust must be stronger. But I’m disappointed nonetheless.

“I thought she…?”

Thomas downs his drink and gives a nod. “I changed that. I need someone who can look the other way, and I’m afraid you care too much.”

Ouch. 

“And what about Sabini?” 

The gangster’s eyes flash with warning but I push on. He’s not leaving me in the dark. He puffs out his chest and attempts to back me out of the room but I stand firm.

“Finn overheard the name and told me. That won’t go away, Thomas.”

That hardened stare makes my blood run cold. I’ve been met on the downside of Thomas’ anger only on a few occasions but this time it’s different. No words, no shouting. Just those unblinking blue eyes ordering me to stand down. So this is his secret of taming the Peaky Blinders.

“I can handle it.”

I set my jaw straight. He’s mad if he thinks this won’t end with bloodshed. I put a hand on my hip and point to the main office. “What about Polly? Ada? There are more ways he can hurt you besides pulling a gun to your head.”

Thomas sets down the glass and puts both hands on my shoulders. In an unspoken battle we glare back and forth, morals against pride. 

“I can handle it,” he repeats. “‘S not for you to stress over, love. Our family is stronger than him. Shelby Company Limited will persevere without any problems from Sabini.”

I want to believe him. But something deep down makes me consider something darker.

[iamnotshazam]

estinien could be just plainly bad with coin, yes, but have we considered he started splurging like an outrageous idiot to get back at tataru and krile when he didn't want to be with the scions. he's a grown-ass man, he knows how money works, and it's on company dime, right? surely the scions have deep pockets. he keeps it up when he realizes it gets him out of coinpurse duty.

now he makes one bone-headed purchase whenever he starts working with a scion that hasn't heard yet and nods to himself like "ah yes another day another bookkeeping task avoided." after realizing tataru holds the scions' budget together with blood, sweat, and tears, he feels bad about running up the tab in shadowbringers so he uses his own money. he tells himself it's for everybody's benefit anyway. it explains why he knows the map guy was ripping him off

aymeric can't find out cause he would know instantly and wonder for a second if estinien had smashed his head in a jump recently. why else would estinien, who has traveled all over the world on his own gil now, not know how much a hair tie should cost?

one day soon estinien shall look in the mirror and realize that, among other deeply startling self-realizations he has had in the last few years, if he is willing to pay for this rigamarole it may mean he is, in fact, Bad with Coin

(i do not actually think this is what happened, cant see him keeping up a charade like this, and estinien being bad with coin is funny on its own. but. maybe he also knows if he were charge of money and if alphinaud gave him one 🥺 over not having a big enough allowance he would have to scold alphinaud but would also end up giving him the money)

[paimonial-rage]

of hopes and prayers - zhongli

ship: zhongli x reader

synopsis: in which alcohol brings about a moment of vulnerability

notes: a short deleted scene of bookkeeping!verse that takes place immediately after but it’s better than drinking alone with references to blasphemous assumptions

"You know,” you began as you walked to your homes, “I'm not sure if you heard that day, but one time I told Meng and the Ferrylady that Rex Lapis would never sit alone listening to tales of his life. After thinking about it more, I think I was a bit shortsighted to say that."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"They say that Liyue is 3,700 years old, but Rex Lapis is even older than that. He's one of the oldest gods in all of Teyvat. How many people do you think he's outlived? How many friends had he said goodbye to throughout his life? It wasn't as if he could leave either. He was the Geo archon. It was his duty to watch over Liyue, its people, the adepti... Being forced to see people come and go... I can't help but imagine how lonely of an existence that must have been. Dealing with that, maybe it would be easier to just reminisce alone. That way it would hurt less when they leave... at least, that's what I imagine.”

He chuckled.

“Did you perhaps come to that conclusion after our conversation this evening?”

You shook your head, “No, but I can’t say you didn’t play a part in it. Thinking about it makes me think… makes me hope…”

You bit your lip, lapsing into silence. There was a reason you brought this up. You had more to say, but… You cursed as you felt tears begin to gather at the corners of your eyes. You blamed it on the alcohol. Really, you shouldn’t be getting so emotional over such a childish thought, but with the moon shining beautifully in the sky and crickets chirping around you, honesty found itself coaxed to your lips.

“It makes me hope that he wasn’t alone. That he had someone at his side that he could talk to, not out of duty or respect, but as a friend. That someone was there for him on beautiful nights like this.”

You hated the way your voice wavered, unintentionally letting frustration weave its way between your words. It was stupid thought, a foolish thought of a naive mortal. It probably was an insult to project such immature emotions onto beings like the gods. And yet the more you thought about it, the more sorrow weighed at your heart. You felt a tear slip down your cheek.

“I would think so,” he replied.

It was such a simple statement from your companion, and yet as his shared sentiments sunk in, more tears began to flow. It was embarrassing, it was frustrating, you wanted to die. His words really shouldn’t have meant as much as they did. He was supposedly a mere mortal like you, but… The relief that filled your chest was almost impossible to bear. All you could do was cry.

A chuckle came as a finger brushed your tears away. You could barely hold his gaze for a second before you looked away in embarrassment. You felt your face begin to flush and your heart begin to beat. Did he really have to look at you like that? With amusement? With an undeniable warmth that turned his amber eyes positively molten?

“I’m sure he was very thankful for them too.”

[toweroftickles]

Genshin Impact: Quiet in the Library

(Jean/Lisa Tickling Fic)

This was a request for @artistgirl20 that, like always, took longer than anticipated. ^^;

**a crash of thunder, overdramatic violin music** "I surrendered my crown for you, Chien! Everything that was mine, I gave to you!" Antoinette stood on the starboard rail of the mighty ship, tears streaming down her cheeks. The stars cried out to her from above, begging "Jump!" Chien faced her, his black locks slick with ocean spray. Frigid were his wolf-like eyes. "You knew what I was...my responsibilities! My family! My duty to my country surpasses any love I have for man!" Antoinette's lip trembled. "...or woman?" she whispered. Their lips crashed together in a tempest of passion and agony, and the thunderous sea waves, for all their sound and fury and majesty, could only stare with jealous eyes at the rapture before them. Oh, that Antoinette could summon their frigid depths to her and cool her trembling loins! The straps of her blouse unbuckled, seemingly on their own. Her back was against the wall. It was happening. And as Chien reached for her, their eyes magnetically locked, she felt a surge of tender embers stirring in her silken -

"Uh, Jean? What are you doing?"

**cymbal crash**

A startled yelp escaped Jean's mouth. The chair rocked and squeaked beneath her, nearly collapsing onto the floor until steadied at the last second. Who was…?!

…oh. Lisa. Duh.

The snug little cottage of Jean's imagination came crashing down around her ears, and in its place sprung up cool white plaster walls, columns upon columns of endless books, and a chessboard floor. Once again, she was sitting at one of the long tables in the Knights of Favonius Library, her fantasies interrupted by gubernatorial tedium.

After the surprise subsided, pangs of guilt rippled her brow. Her face buried itself in her palm. She was supposed to be out helping the local populace, not goofing around, but preparing everything for the Weinlesefest always tired her out. Too many business owners to corral, too many casks to brew, too many guards to train, too many windowpanes to decorate...

Blessed Barbatos; she could use a coffee.

"Hee-Hee. You look tired. What are you worried about now?"

"Nothing...nothing!" Jean scrambled to conceal the small purple novella in her lap. "Just brushing up on some vineyard history before I....Hey!"

Just like that the book was out of her hands. Lisa playfully yanked it away from her and began to leaf through the pages before she had a chance to object, much to the former's dismay. The cover's title, embossed in silver letters, read Above The Ebbing Waves, and underneath it was a woodcut illustration of two embracing figures on the edge of a cliff. The bookkeeper grinned broadly.

"Why Jean…sitting here with a romance novel instead of performing your knightly duties?! How saucy!” Lisa, hand on her heart, looked as if she might pretend to swoon. "And after all those lectures about my productivity..."

Jean grimaced. Ugh...That gleeful sarcasm was just killing her. She wasn't gonna hear the end of this one for a while. Embarrassed, she watched Lisa's fingertip trace across the book's inner cover, until it found the small ink stamp peeking out from behind the dog-eared pages.

"And wow...I never thought you'd be the type to keep a book checked out late."

That one stung. It was true...Jean had, knowingly and with malice of forethought, broken a rule. The world was officially ending.

"Right, I...I know! I'm sorry, it's not like that!" she broke out into nervous babbles. "You see, I hadn't quite had enough time to reach the ending, and I thought that if I sat in here and finished it quickly then you might..."

The truth was that she simply didn't want to part with the book's sensual, overwritten cheese. But amidst all of that nervous excuse-making, Lisa merely chuckled. It was almost offensive, how nonchalant she was. In fact, Jean wasn't sure what bothered her more...that she was caught reading spicy love stories on the job, or the fact that Lisa didn't seem to care in the slightest about her despicable crime.

The spellcaster leaned forward on the table, right into Jean's face, putting on her most comforting smile.

"Jean...this library is entrusted to me, is it not?"

"Well...yes, of course it is." Their noses were almost touching.

"Mm-hm. And what's my first rule here?"

Jean immediately sat at attention and spoke like a student taking a quiz. "Seventh Edition Rules section 1: Please be quiet in the library."

She looked up, expecting approval, and saw that Lisa was instead rolling her bright green eyes...with a twinkle of playful affection in them, sure, but rolling nonetheless. (Was that a rhetorical question?) Lisa walked around behind her back, her heels slowly clicking on stone floor.

“Noooo…the first rule in my library is: while you're here, you have to relax.”

Black-gloved hands suddenly clasped Jean's shoulders. She let out a soft gasp. A rubbing sensation spread across her back and her neck.

“Oh....Mmf…now, Lisa…”

“Shhhh. Shh. Just relax.”

Jean shuddered. Lisa's hands felt warm and soft as they massaged her tense muscles into butter.

"You're so high-strung. It's cute, but it's not all that good for you."

She couldn't help but smile at the remark. This felt nice; nicer than she wanted to admit. Spindly velvet claws tip-toed their way down her neck as graceful as a ballerina, smoothing over her capelet and up and down her shoulder blades, until at last they came to rest, right on the lip of her collarbone.

Those long nails…the light touch sent an embarrassed quiver down her body, and she exhaled quickly through her nose. Half-shy and half-elated, she took Lisa's hand, holding it at bay.

“Heh…hey, watch your hands; that tickles…” she sighed.

Uh-oh. Her eyes reflexively dilated. As soon as the words slipped out, Jean knew she’d made a mistake. Lisa's flirtatious chuckle pricked her ears. She could feel that evil "Wicked Witch of the West" grin staring down at her.

“Oh REALLY?”

“…No. Lisa, don’t.” Her pretty smile, relaxed for the first time all day, twitched conspicuously in the corners. Jean was giggling already, and no finger-wagging authority could hide it.

“Oh, sweetie, you should NOT have told me that.”

The sound of cracking knuckles rang out. Jean tried to hop up, but before she could stand, ten fingers reached down to her waist, held her still in her chair, and skittered all along her belly.

“Mmfff…Mm Hm-Hm! Hmhm! D-hon't do that!" The blonde knight struggled to keep her lips sealed and barricade the soft, sweet sputters with her hand. She didn't hate being tickled, but in public? This was embarrassing!

"You can't giggle in my library, Jean. Rule number 1, seventh edition." Oh, why did Lisa have to tease her so much?

"Hn-Hee! C-come on, cut it out; someone'll seehee us!"

"Then hush."

Those fingers...they were marching like little soldiers all over her torso. They played the drums down her lats, squeezing and plying so gently between every muscle; even her corset couldn’t protect her. She wriggled in her squeaky chair, desperately hoping that the nearby knight (who was in the midst of perusing a book titled The Handmaiden's Swan, and Other Dirty Jokes Overheard in Djafar Tavern) wouldn't meet her gaze. One girl a few tables down did notice the pair, but then quickly turned away with a playful smile. That was the worst part for Jean. Not the tickling...not the jittery nerves inside her tummy...but the possibility that another Mondstater might see this display of affection.

Gossip, you see, was quite the force of nature in this town.

“Ah Hn-Hn! Hn! It t-hickles!”

“Goodness; you’re even more ticklish than I imagined!”

Wait… ‘imagined?’ Had Lisa thought about this before? No, don’t be silly; she wouldn’t, Jean told herself. Why won’t she stop?!

"Hey...you want to see something fun I can do with my detection magic?"

"Lisa, don't you dahahare..." Jean tittered nervously, her snickers dancing on the end of her tongue. Her words resisted, but her tone, her smile, her eyes...those surrendered.

"Hm-Hm...I can find out exactly where you're most ticklish," Lisa purred. "Right........

.....abooouuuuut......."

"D-hon't; dohohon't..." Jean was about to erupt.

Her ribs...the right side, smack in the middle. The lower left side of her smooth tummy…a soft, squeezable handle just above the hipbone.

“….HERE!”

Both spots felt a sharp pinch. Fingertips dug in and wiggled firmly, kneading into those nerve clusters with skill and aggression, sucking Jean's breath right out of her...

...and that was it. She laughed. She laughed, and no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t stop.

But this was no ordinary tickling. Daggers of crackling static burrowed down through her clothes...Electro magic?!....and kissed her tingly skin in all those innumerable secret places that made her want to squeak. She was lighter than air, practically floating. Her hair stood on end, her arms and legs broke out in chilly goosebumps.

"Ahhh Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha-Ha! H-Heh-Heh Ha! *gasp* L-hee...Lisaaaa, Ha-Ha Ha! *gasp* Oh my g-hosh!"

“Oh, here’s a weak spot! And another…and another…”

“Ha-Ha Hee!”

Were any students in the library watching? It no longer mattered. Those thoughts were far away now. All that mattered to Jean was how apple-red her cheeks were glowing, the delirious dreamlike warmth she felt, how much Lisa clearly relished touching her this way, how every playful jab made her want to curl into a little ball on her bedroom floor and yet never escape the arms that nestled her...

She descended from her hazy fog, breathing softly, her cheek flat against the cool wood of the desk. The tickling had stopped, leaving behind little teardrops that hung from her eyelashes and ghostly tingles all over her body.

"Hn......*sigh*....Hn-Hn....Lisa....th-hat's nohot funny...Hn-Hn Hn..."

“Now how does that feel?”

Jean’s pulse steadied. Her breath slowed. She hadn’t noticed at first, but to her surprise, she wasn't worn out. On the contrary: every muscle in her body was alive, coursing with a current of renewed vigor, like pure distilled caffeine had been injected into her bloodstream. Electricity made the hair on the back of her neck buzz.

Better than tea. Better than coffee. Better than…Get your mind out of the gutter, Jean; you’re a knight.

“O-oh....Wow, I…I feel so…energetic!” she gasped.

"Hmm, yes, that's my very special 'Electro-Tickle.' Heh-Heh." Lisa wiggled her fingers devilishly in the air. "Gives you a wonderful little jolt of energy, huh? I just love doing it. You know…some people even seem to really enjoy the process..."

Jean stood and snapped her book shut...uncharacteristically hard.

“Yes, well…*cough* thank you very much for bringing this new skill to my attention. I appreciate the help in getting me back to work. Ahem...Now, um, if you'll excuse me..."

"Hey, wait a minute, where are you...?"

Jean was already halfway across the room and at the front desk. The romance novel clunked inconspicuously into the return drawer. She didn't know why it worked, but her sunny disposition was back. That Lisa...she always knew how to get Jean excited to serve her community again. Just for a brief instant, she looked back.

"See you later tonight?"

Lisa smiled. There's the Jean she knew. "Yep. Tonight."

********

***The Next Day***

Knights of Favonius did not seek vengeance. Such dishonorable behavior was beneath the guardian factions of Mondstadt. But there were limits to chivalry, and surely Grand Master Varka would understand. Just this once.

Lisa was somewhere in the library...the witch had been in absentia all morning, but never strayed far from her den. Jean knew that much for sure. She’d catch that lackadaisical librarian shirking chores again and make her pay. It was justice, after all. Up the stairs she traipsed, creeping like a ninja. Nothing out of the ordinary…not at first. A quick scan of the second floor got no results. But then, behind the shelves and against the wall, something caught her eye. There was a small light glowing from beneath a desk…a candle, most likely. Worth investigating.

There, in a quiet back corner, she finally found Lisa, wedged underneath the table and in the midst of a nap, surrounded by a crude box-fort of novels. The witch's head was propped up on a red leather-bound cooking manual. Not much of a pillow. Her chest moved with gentle, placid breaths. Her wide-brimmed hat lay limp on her forehead.

Jean couldn't believe this - sleeping on the floor now? Really? Slacking off was perhaps Lisa's favorite pastime, but this was a whole new level of frivolity. But this time, Jean wasn’t even frustrated. No, it was the perfect opportunity. And even more perfect: a mango-sized lavender pot resting atop the short bookcase nearby, that she herself had left there a few days earlier. Its bouquet of dandelions had only just begun scattering seeds.

Perfect.

She quickly plucked one of the blooming flowers from the dirt and resumed her stealth mission toward Lisa. The lioness crouched low until she was down on all fours, beneath the long desk, eyes level with her prey...still asleep. Her heart was beating fast. Crawling up to the dozing librarian, her left hand closed slowly around Lisa's stilettos, she pulled, and the high heels slid off with a satisfying shuffling sound.

Lisa's feet, like the rest of her, were long and shapely…at least a size 10, her very high arches accentuated by the sheer pearl-grey nylon sheathes they wore. They were pretty, statuesque even, and it made Jean strangely jealous. (She'd always wanted to gift Lisa a really lovely pair of shoes for her birthday, something that her feet would look nice in, perhaps adorned with some petrified Sumeru roses and lacework etching...but never found the right pair, nor the time to custom-craft them.)

Shoving that thought down inside her for the moment, Jean reached out slowly with her fragile flower…quick, make sure she hasn’t stirred…and let its delicate little filaments brush gently against Lisa’s soles.

Tickle tickle tickle.

"DAH; Hnhn-Hnhn Hnhn!!"

At the softest touch of dandelion fuzz, the sorceress snapped awake with a start, and her knees buckled and pulled sharply into her breasts. Her sudden burst of giggles was smooth and husky, like a rich oaky bourbon, melting in Jean’s ears as a drink on the tongue. Jean struggled to grab Lisa’s ankles and hold them still, but the librarian’s big, ticklish feet were already nestled safe underneath her. She sat up, adjusting her honey-cinnamon curls, and giggled some more.

“Good morning to you too, Jeanie…little bit early for that sort of thing, isn’t it?” Her lips flashed a knowing smile.

“*sigh* Lisa, it’s 2:30 in the afternoon.”

Jean then realized that the dandelion was still in her hand, and quickly blew its seeds to freedom out of the side of her mouth. Lisa brushed her hat aside.

"Heheh...Oops. Let's hope nobody came by to return any books today." Immediately she hopped to her feet, making a stop to grab her discarded heels. “What do you need? Anything I can do to help, I’m there.”

Jean almost laughed. It never ceased to amaze her, how quickly her lazy confidant transformed into a buzzing worker bee whenever she was around.

“Good. I don't want to have to write you up again. Now, if you don't mind, there's something I'd like you to do with me, if you aren't too busy with your beauty sleep."

“Oh! Jean, I'm scandalized....I could never forget about our afternoon tea! You woke me up just in time.”

Jean blushed.

“N-no, that’s not it. But...actually, yes, it is about that time, if you're interested. And you do have a list of duties to perform after that. It’s just…well….you see, I’ve got a very full itinerary for the next few days preparing for the festival. And, um…I'm feeling a little bit drained right now, and…”

The Grand Master looked down at her ivory boots. Why couldn’t she get the words out? It wasn’t that embarrassing; it hadn’t been the day prior. But something was holding her back. Was it weird now? Was she making it weird? Her arm reached out into space, grasping for a distraction…any distraction…and began to fiddle with some of the hardcovers on a nearby shelf. That smug smirk of Lisa's was making her nervous.

“…yes? Heheh. Go on, spit it out.”

Whew. Ok. Here it goes.

“I wanted to ask…

…would you please practice that...'Electro-Tickle' technique again?”

For a second, she was worried at what Lisa would think. And then the giggles started.

"I was hoping you'd ask."

********

[renaerys]

A Negotiated Seduction (ShiSaku)

Written for The ShiSaku Server flash event in honor of ShiSaku Week 2023, Day 1: Mafia (Yakuza) AU.

Summary: The mortifying ordeal of breaking rules is only slightly outweighed by the prospect of her own mortality delivered by the yakuza enforcer currently looking at her like she is a marginally entertaining idiot.

Or, Sakura washes a lot more than just the laundry when she crosses paths with a particularly playful hitman at her local mob-run bathhouse.

Rating: M

Read it on AO3 here!

xxx

There are some things, Sakura thinks, that maybe aren’t worth the prospect of a double paycheck. As she schleps a basketful of men’s clothes stained with blood and viscera and in dire need of mending, she tries to convince herself that this is worth it. Not that she has much of a choice, but even the illusion of one is a comfort to both her ego and her rapidly dwindling sense of self preservation. 

She doesn’t know her way around the bathhouse yet. She has only just started her shift and gotten the bare essentials of the rules: keep your head down and speak only when spoken to and, crucially, don’t stare. 

Easy enough, she thinks as she walks briskly down the shoji-lined corridor, her bare feet nearly silent over the hardwood floor panels and the hem of her painted silk robe whispering about her calves. The laundry is there at the end of the hall, she recalls from Shizune’s instructions. Inside, she finds old women in over-washed yukata soaked in soapy water up to their elbows as they scrub the dead away. It smells of lye and blood in here. Sakura’s eyes sting. She dumps the contents of her basket out with the others, adding to the mountain of stabbed clothing, and tastes her bile. Shizune’s account of this latest atrocity was hasty but no less nightmare-fueling.

(“The Hyuuga brought fifty men and left with five. It was a bloodbath.”)

Sakura grimaces at the scarred battle uniforms, wondering which ones belonged to men who would succumb to their wounds tonight. It’s naught to her personally, but the Uchiha cut her checks and own her apartment complex, so on a professional level she has a vested interest in pleasing them so that it doesn’t become personal. But bathhouse duty is very different from her regular bookkeeping job. Numbers and sums are all the same, whether they balance books or body counts. It is quite another thing to peek behind the veil at the hard assets informing them. 

She shuffles out of the laundry in a hurry, lightheaded from the smell, and immediately runs into Shizune on her way in. 

“Sakura! There you are. Take these to the gentlemen in the east bath, and be quick about it.” Shizune shoves a silver tray at her topped with a jade bottle of sake, three matching cups, and a dish layered with cigarettes. 

“Wait, but, I’m not—aaaaaand, she’s gone. Great.” Sakura is left holding the tray alone in the corridor, ignored and on the clock. Whoever is expecting this won’t like to be kept waiting, surely. She resolves to get this over with quickly and discreetly. 

The east bath is…somewhere. Sakura wanders for what feels like an impermissibly long time, squinting at the wooden tablets hanging over the shoji doors to find the right room. She is starting to sweat as she runs up and down the corridors, the few flyaways that escape her high bun plastering to the back of her neck in her rising anxiety. Please, please don’t be angry. 

At last she finds the right one and knocks (she isn’t so frazzled that she would walk in unannounced and spook a room full of gods-damned hitmen). A muffled voice mutters something through the door that she takes as permission, and she slides the shoji open. 

Immediately, she is assaulted by the soupy haze of fresh steam, searing and wet down her throat. She tries not to gag at the abrupt change in temperature and humidity, thankful the silk robe she has been trussed up in is light and expensive enough not to cling to her flushing skin. 

“Finally,” comes a man’s low voice, cinched with irritation. “You can set it here.”

Sakura moves without thinking about it, remembering the rules. The place he has indicated is at the lip of the steaming bath, where the scents of lavender and eucalyptus are strongest. She arranges the three cups and tips the bottle to pour. She barely finishes filling the first one when a hand swipes it from under her. He moves with liquid quiet, smooth and shadow-fast.

Sakura startles and spills a bit of sake onto the tray, and she looks up on instinct, breaking the first rule.

Keep your head down.

The man—the yakuza assassin—is inches from her, completely nude as he soaks in the bath, and watching her intently over the rim of his sake cup. Sakura’s rational mind registers nothing but a general sense of oh, fuck, while her hind brain acknowledges the enticing, vulpine shape of his eyes and a jawline sharp enough to cut her teeth on. 

“Sorry,” she panic-apologizes, like a lunatic. “Please, I-I’m Sakura.”

Speak only when spoken to.

The hitman has not moved, frozen where he sits half submerged in the herbal bathwater as if her self-destruction in real time is merely a passing amusement. 

Sakura cannot look him in the eye like this, wearing a flimsy, silk bathrobe and nothing else, wondering which of the massacred clothes had been his. She makes the further mistake, then, of letting her eyes fall to his chest, which is inked with the image of a great crow spreading its dark wings to his shoulders. Colorful koi fish cascade down the sleeves of his arms, the sharp fins of a dragon lurking beneath their bed of waves. The craftsmanship is vibrant and lively, beautiful in its ferocity. 

Don’t stare. 

She snaps her eyes back to his, only to find him closer now. Looming. 

“Are you asking my permission?”

The mortifying ordeal of breaking rules is only slightly outweighed by the prospect of her own mortality delivered by the yakuza enforcer currently looking at her like she is a marginally entertaining idiot. 

She opens her mouth about as wide as the rainbow koi fish leaping off his bicep. “I, uh…”

The assassin (the assassin!!!) leans in closer, because apparently he is not close enough. She can smell the spicy scent of cloves on him, sweetened with sake and the smirk he offers at her expense. “Shisui,” says Shisui, the absolutely, unequivocally a murderer in his molten silver timbre. He sets his emptied sake cup back on the tray and exchanges it for a cigarette. “You’re welcome.”

It takes her a second—the several seconds that pass with him lighting his cigarette and still watching her through the bruise-blue smoke—to clock that he is teasing her. It is the most unfunny thing she has ever heard, which is much less the fault of his joke and entirely the reason of his occupation, advertised in loud, garish patterns down his arms and chest. They are a dart frog’s colors, flashy and poisonous to the touch.

Don’t think about touching him. 

Except now she is thinking about it.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” Shisui says as he rests his hand on the edge of the bath, directly next to her knee where she is sitting. “Are you fresh, Sakura?”

Her mind wanders to meat, recently carved, untouched. And she is neither stupid nor ignorant of the ways of these men, men like Shisui. But she knows that offense is not something she has the standing to indulge in. She has only been working for the Uchiha Clan for two years, an infancy, really. For all her shortcomings, no one has ever accused Haruno Sakura of being stupid. 

“It’s my first time, yes,” she says, holding his gaze so that he won’t get the wrong idea about her ogling. And then, to save face: “Forgive me.”

Shisui sucks on his cigarette and blows his blue dragon’s breath, his eyes trailing down her face, her neck, lower. Sakura is suddenly acutely aware of just how deep the cut in her robe is. She doesn’t have much, but what little she does have is flushed from the heat of the bath and this ignominious situation she has landed herself in. 

Yes, herself. She is the one who accepted the cheap rent at her fancy apartment in Roppongi Hills without inquiring too deeply into the nature of the job that came commensurate. She knows what she signed up for, and frankly she is surprised it has taken this long for her to get more intimately acquainted with the, uh, carnality of her colleagues. 

“Forgive you?” Shisui’s danger, she realizes then, is in how friendly he makes his bewitchment sound. But a sharp blade will bleed all the same. Damn if he isn’t good with his sword hand. “All right. But my forgiveness isn’t free.”

Why the hell did I say that??

It is done, and she isn’t the type of moron to argue with a naked yakuza hitman while she is on her knees wearing nothing but a silken robe. There is a suggestion here, she knows (he knows), but Sakura does have her pride, and historically speaking, her pride has always been stronger than her pussy. 

With an audible swallow, she says, “How shall I pay you?”

And stronger still than her pride is her desire for power, and all the spoils it offers to good girls who make themselves invaluable.

Shisui laughs. Unfortunately, it is the exact flavor of forbidden that reminds her why she doesn’t claw her way out of the morass of lies and excuses she feeds to law enforcement when they come knocking on her door every couple of months. What can justice give her that the mob can’t? Not her swanky apartment, or protection, or the promise of guaranteed retribution should that protection ever be compromised. And not the double paycheck she is pocketing for enduring whatever this is for the night, and not a moment longer. 

In the end, it is all profits and losses. Sakura has always been excellent at balancing her books. 

“You can start by pouring me another,” Shisui says. Then, as an afterthought: “There are clean towels and tinctures in that cabinet.”

It isn’t an observation. It isn’t even a request. Sakura understands his meaning clear as day when he snuffs out his cigarette on the tray she still dumbly holds and turns his back on her. 

She doesn’t spill the sake this time. The towels are where he says they are in the oaken cabinet, along with an array of soaps, essential oils, and ointments. There are also bandages, needles, and spools of thick, black thread nestled in a box next to the iodine and rubbing alcohol. Shisui, however, does not smell of blood. He is uninjured that she can see. She wonders what that says about him. He doesn’t strike her as craven. Certainly, he would not be granted admittance to this private bath were he the type to court the coward’s death. But if he is no soft-fingered milksop, he must instead be good enough to escape the charnel consequences of his work. To remain pristine is to be virginally lily-livered or mortally nonpareil; there is no in between.

Sakura ponders the subtle beast she has unwittingly courted as she approaches him with a fresh washcloth and a bottle of vetiver oil. And she stands there, awkward. She is clothed and thus can’t set foot in the herbal waters, of course. But Shisui remains content to soak, and he shows no indication of leaving. 

“Um—” Uchiha-san? Shisui-dono? “Sir? I have what you requested?”

Shisui chuckles and glances askance at her, bearing his very white canines. “Are you unsure, or do you just want my approval?”

Sakura makes an indignant face, forgetting herself momentarily. “I want you to stop playing games and speak plainly.”

He laughs more fully and leans back against the edge of the pool. Sakura does her best not to look, but the green water is murky with herbal infusions and steam enough that his man parts are adequately concealed even as he bears his neck to her, as if inviting her to slide down the length of him. The great crow stretches with him, its wings spread wide, blood on its feathers. “I like you. Take off that robe and get in here.”

“I—what?”

Shisui, still smiling, nonetheless shifts into something entirely other. Like when a cloud passes before the sun and casts the world in a lambent sense of other—longer shadows, faded edges, same but off. It is a chilling sight, his weaponized smile. 

“I said,” he slips his hand around her ankle, warm from the water and firm with purpose, “take off your clothes and attend me.”

Sakura doesn’t believe him for a second. Surely, he can’t be serious—oh, he is serious. As serious as his hand crawling up her calf, kneading the muscle there. And she must consider it is him asking (ordering). She doesn’t know him, but she knows enough to know he is inner circle, blood. He has earned his ink. And she knows there isn’t a scratch on him while his kin lie stuck like pigs in a shitty warehouse a few miles from here. 

She can’t say no. She knows it, and he knows it, and yet he hasn’t physically forced her yet. What does that mean? Why is she waiting for him to? 

Unfortunately, he is beautifully disarming, and she is staring again. 

“Sakura?”

She isn’t sure why she obliges him. (Rather, she is sure he is a killer, but she is less certain of how her hands don’t shake when she tugs at the tie on her robe. Of how her name in his voice rings more like an offer than a command, but surely she is imagining that.)

The robe pools at her feet in a pile of rippling pearl, and Sakura focuses on the heat of the water. It only takes her a second to slip beneath its welcoming warmth, and noticeably longer to brave a look at him. 

Shisui is watching her with some vague intrigue. It isn’t lascivious, and he isn’t staring as she did, but there is a curiosity to his look that is at once inviting and incorrigible. If she knew him, she would be tempted to roll her eyes or poke his arm, but she does not. He is a stranger, a killer, and she is very, very naked. 

“Vetiver oil,” he says, examining the bottle she has set on the tiled ledge of the bath. His curly bangs hang in his eyes a bit, dewy with the humidity. He is aesthetically boyish, but he carries himself with the authority and confidence of a man. “Interesting choice.”

“You didn’t specify,” Sakura says, defensive even though her tits are literally out, and this should be the least of her concerns. 

“Get over here, then.”

Sakura knows what he wants. She just doesn’t quite understand why he wants it from her when there are trained geisha and maiko aplenty to choose from. She knows for a fact that the Uchiha Clan invests heavily in entertainment; it is all over their books she keeps. “Just the washing?”

It’s a question, yet she hopes he hears her reluctance, that bid for an escape. 

That grin again. Tempting, promising, dark. “Of course.”

He shows her his back, and for the first time since this terrifying misadventure began, Sakura really looks at him. He is magnificent, like a rare bird at the height of his colors. The irezumi paints his full back in a mosaic of blues, yellows, and reds. It’s a fantastic battle scene of the first gods, the primordial pantheon of kotoamatsukami, before Heaven and Earth, before life itself. They are shining under a golden sun and rising from the depths of a black sea, the beginning of everything, and they are a shapeless horror of swords and wind and fire. 

Sakura dampens the washcloth in the bathwater, and she spills a bit of vetiver among its soft fronds. Only now does she tremble, to touch him. 

Needless to say, this is not how Sakura envisioned her after hours shift going. 

“You’re no geisha,” Shisui says as Sakura runs the washcloth along the muscular expanse of his back. He is corded with muscle, prime, but he is svelte and compact, built more for speed than for power. Though Sakura does not doubt his power. He has few scars, a wonder in this line of work. “But you could be, with that coloring.”

Sakura has heard this before. She is no great beauty, but she is striking in the sense of lightning: flashy and ostentatious, lacking substance. As fleeting as her namesake. “I’m a bookkeeper,” she says sensibly, her breasts just barely grazing his back. 

“That’s surprising.” He says it lightly, like a joke. He turns slightly to see her, and he is so close. “You’re not even wearing glasses.”

Oh, she thinks, her indignation distracting her from the way the dragon’s head roaring on his bicep brushes against her tightening nipple. He is a moron. 

“Well, you’re not wearing anything, to be fair.”

Sakura is not sure when she let the assassin come so close. He is here now, invasive and scented with heady vetiver, and his hand is hot and insistent on her hip. Sakura drops the washcloth with a splash, her hands flying to the crow inked upon his chest to—stop him? Touch him more? 

“Sir, I don’t—”

“Shisui,” he says, entirely too close that she can feel him breathing against her lips. 

“Shisui,” she repeats, mesmerized. Is she so pliant? Is this all it takes to entrap her—a mellifluous voice and undivided attention? When his hand moves to the small of her back and asks her to arch for him, she wonders if that’s such a bad thing.

“Sakura.” Her name is playful on his tongue, made wicked when it tastes the meat of her bottom lip. 

His kiss is oddly gentle, restrained in a way that suggests he is testing her waters. Sakura parts for him because what else is she to do when he is pulling her onto his lap? She can feel his cock against her thigh, growing stiff for the want of her, and she gasps, overwhelmed by her own lust that hits her like a speeding train out of nowhere. He meets her incendiary passion the moment she gives into it. 

The fact of the matter is, Shisui is hot, he is dangerous, and he is kissing her like he means to drown them both. And Sakura has always been something of a black hole for attention, so why not his? He is so very willing, so generous, and she is greedy—for money, for security, for him now that she has him. 

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulls herself more comfortably onto his lap where his aching cock happily welcomes the press of her. His laughter is not so unexpected this time; she has deduced that he is a playful sort, and distantly, she knows that ought to scare her given his line of work. He is too good at balancing humanity and brutality and coming out ahead. But Sakura, too, is well-versed in the polarities of personality and deeds alike. She has to be, working for the mob. She balances them like she does her ledgers, evening out the assets with the liabilities and breaking even with her conscience at the end of the day because she’s always been good at compartmentalizing. It’s about money, and it’s about numbers, and it’s about never getting directly involved. 

With one kiss, Shisui has her rerunning her calculations and coming up slut. Which is fine so long as he keeps kneading her ass like that—

The door sliding open startles her, but not him. His kiss deepens, if anything, and Sakura whimpers to feel him so consumed, so hard against her. She digs her nails into the jade scales plating his shoulder, caught between lust and alarm, but not for long. 

“You started without me,” comes a deep, masculine voice so devoid of inflection it hits Sakura like a ruler to her knuckles. 

Shisui pulls Sakura even closer to him. She is squeezed between the hard plane of his chest and his shackling arms with nowhere to go but deeper into him, and she gasps at the pressure. Mortified at being seen in such a compromising position with a gang member, she tucks her face into the crook of Shisui’s neck as if she can hide. 

“Sorry, Itachi,” Shisui says in a pleased tone that indicates he isn’t the least bit sorry. His hand slips around the back of Sakura’s neck in a reassuring hold as he presses his nose against her seashell hair. “Couldn’t resist.”

Itachi… Itachi?! The prince of the Uchiha Clan, heir to the crown—that Itachi?

“I can see that.”

Gods above, what is she doing? She is naked, sitting in the lap of a killer on the verge of letting him fuck her in a yakuza bathhouse, and Shizune will surely be looking for her. What if she finds Sakura here? Like this? What if she is fired?

(She won’t be fired. The yakuza don’t fire people; they only dig graves, and Sakura is pretty sure no one has ever been recycled for charming a man for one night. The loss of human capital would have crossed her books.)

“You squeeze her any harder and she’ll pop. Hey.” The hand on Sakura’s shoulder is cool, the contrast wonderful when the rest of her is so, so hot. 

With some effort, Sakura manages to pry herself an inch away from Shisui and swivel her head around. The most beautiful woman she has ever seen is leaning over her, her cornflower eyes brimming with one part concern and two parts wily mischief. But her smirk when they lock gazes is understanding, like Sakura is in on the joke with her, rather than the butt of it. 

“Hi. Are you okay?” asks the impossibly gorgeous woman. She is wearing a robe similar to the one Sakura had on earlier, but she fills it out better. Sakura assumes she must be a proper geisha with the regal manner of her movements, as if trained for perfection. Why else would the crown prince of Tokyo’s most powerful criminal faction bother with anything less?

“What kind of question is that?” Shisui is playful, but Sakura can feel him rub circles into her waist like he is trying to tell her something secret. “Sakura and I were just getting to know each other a little better.”

An understatement of the highest order. But Sakura is still reeling from the overwhelming lust Shisui conjured in her with seemingly little effort. No one has ever hit all her buttons so right, so quickly, and it’s an endeavor to find her head after such whiplash. He is still hard for her. She can feel him straining against her belly. And if she’s being honest, if they hadn’t been interrupted, Sakura would have let him pull her in even deeper. 

She still might. 

She bites her lip, which is red with Shisui’s attention. “I’m okay, thanks,” she says, trying to sound sincere. “We were just, um…”

“Ino.” 

Itachi approaches, and he is as nude as a newborn and just as immune from any shame whatsoever. Sakura cannot help but stare (she has already broken every rule, so why stop now?). He is as Uchiha as Shisui from the coal-bound look of him, and the oni snarling up his arms and shoulders are entirely at odds with his placid, almost serene features. Unlike Shisui, Itachi has fresh stitches in his thigh where something sharp recently cut him. 

He is as pretty as Ino, but with none of her radiance. There is a quiet hunger about him that Sakura cannot quite comprehend beyond power and control and mine. Like a scintillating star looking for a place to shine, Ino is drawn to his void. 

“Oh, very well,” Ino says, casting a final glance at Sakura like she really does care. “At least you’ll be on your best behavior.”

Her chastisement is directed at Shisui, who chuckles. “When am I not?”

“Often,” says Itachi, deadpan. 

Ino is all smiles as she goes to him and runs her nails over the red-eyed crow inked to his shoulder, perpetually watching his six. “Let’s get you unwound, love. Shall I call for sake?”

“I already got it.” Shisui dangles the porcelain bottle Sakura had brought earlier like it is a cat’s toy, and he is in the business of catching pussy. Sakura flushes at that lewd thought, and he notices. “All right there, Chef?”

“Chef?” She forgets her embarrassment. 

Shisui winks at Itachi like he wants approval. “She cooks our books.”

Sakura is not sure how to handle joking about usury with a couple of hitmen, but she is certain indignation is not the correct response, and so she remains mum and merely digs her thumb under Shisui’s collarbone. This earns her a hard squeeze to her ass and another laugh, delivered hot and wet against her neck. 

Itachi, who is busy having his long hair braided by Ino, looks about as impressed with Shisui’s shitty joke as Sakura feels. “I see.” 

See? What does he see, exactly? 

(Besides Shisui shamelessly sucking on her neck.)

“Haruno Sakura.” When Itachi asks a question, it isn’t really a question so much as a confirmation of his own correct deduction. 

Sakura doesn’t think it is entirely good that he recognizes her. Until this moment, she would never have thought he knew she existed. “Yes…?”

Itachi is still as a statue while Ino perfects his braid. It would be a comical sight if he wasn’t A) completely naked and B) someone who could kill her now and suffer no worldly consequences, should he wish it. Tonight, it seems, he does not. 

“Tread lightly, Shisui. Her work is valuable.”

“Ah,” Shisui says, mystifyingly serious now as he cants his head toward Itachi.

“Come on,” Ino says, tugging on Itachi’s hand and kissing him chastely under his jaw. “I’ll pour for you.”

Itachi and Ino are around, somewhere, apparently harboring some vested interest in her preservation, but Sakura cannot be bothered with them when Shisui is here and hot and attending her clavicle in a way that makes her wet enough to throb. Which is why she knows they must stop here, before she does something foolish like fuck the assassin while she’s on the clock. 

“Shisui, please—”

“Baby girl,” he says, and it’s as dirty as it is unfair while he cradles her to him. Deft fingers trail up the side of her and nestle around her breast. There is an affection to his lust that is incredibly powerful. “Enough pleading. I wanna hear you say thank you.”

Sakura is sure she will be thanking him before the night is over the way things are going. 

“What am I doing?” She doesn’t realize she’s said it aloud until he answers her, no longer teasing as he watches her soberly. 

“You’re enjoying a bath with a gorgeous stranger. Your ledgers will be waiting for you in the morning, the same as always.”

That thought causes her some modicum of true distress. How can she go back to business as usual after this? Knowing Shisui exists and the rules she’s always known are nothing but sugar glass, shattered in just five minutes with him? 

“No,” Sakura says, realizing now what her problem is. “I don’t want the same as always.”

She doesn’t want her nice apartment with the desirable location, or the books that are full of lives and transactions she has no stake in. She doesn’t want to keep her head down, to stay quiet, to turn a blind eye. 

Shisui tilts her chin up and smears her lip with his thumb. “Tell me what you want, then.”

Sakura radiates in his hold, and she knows. “I want more.”

“More, huh?” He parts her mouth to make room for his kiss. “I can help with that.”

Ino’s laughter is the sort that makes people want to laugh with her. It is instantly enticing, in spite of Shisui’s cock promising to help too. 

“Hey, you two,” she calls from across the long bath. “Come join us for a drink. We’re celebrating a victory tonight, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Sakura thinks Ino is quite high and mighty for a mere mortal around a pair of yakuza who miraculously survived a massacre with hardly a scratch on them, but perhaps perched on Itachi’s lap is as close to a throne as anyone is like to get in this line of work. Shisui, in any case, seems to think so. 

“Coming?” Shisui asks, already moving. 

Sakura admires the rippling verdigris scales of the giant koi fish swimming up his forearm. He is expecting her to acquiesce. What can she do against him, really? But from the moment she set foot in this place, it hasn’t felt much like her against him. Theirs has been a negotiated seduction from the first broken rule to the promise of more. 

“I’m not going to finish my laundry shift, am I,” she says, already reaching for his hand. 

Shisui grins and pulls her flush against them so that they are floating together. “Not on my watch.”

This is reckless, and it is thrilling, and Sakura has wasted two years staying quietly on the fringes of reckless and thrilling. “Watch me, then.”

Ino has to call them again to hurry up and stop making out in the bath before they drown. 

[plushienanami]

yandere!god x reader concept

imagine…a yandere!god and the reader are both god’s.

yandere!god is not a yandere yet, but just a normal person with a healthy mindset. where the reader is in love with the yandere!god, yet the yandere!god’s heart belongs somewhere else. his heart belonging to a human girl.

yandere!god would spend countless hours of the day neglecting his god duties in order to spend time with the human girl, meanwhile the reader has to endure the heartbreak.

a war between mankind and gods erupted throughout the kingdom, sacrifice coming to play to keep peace and order throughout both worlds. reader sacrificing themself in order to stop the war and let yandere!god lives peacefully with the one they truly love. sealing herself in a tomb for her permanent slumber.

although, with love comes sacrifice.

reader’s sacrifice could only do so much and yandere!god has to give up the majority of his power in order to keep his love safe. his loss of power forcing him to age as a human would, yet his godhood kept his immortality.

yandere!god living a peaceful life with his beloved, building a home, starting a family, growing old with his spouse. life felt perfect, but he could never leave behind what he once was. watching the love of his life and offspring eventually meet their end, giving him the painful reminder of what he actually was.

TIME SKIP to centuries later to modern times, humanity and technology is booming. the rumored god who vanished from records after the war thousands of years ago. a researcher team gathered together in order to uncover the mystery of the missing god.

in a desolate wooded area, a cave overgrown with nature they find the cave of the sealed god. a gold framed glass casket laid the body of sleeping god, looking tranquil and untouched even from countless years that went by.

immediately taken by the team, the god later awakens confused on where they were and how they were awake. informed by the lead researchers of the group who seemed very passionate of his job, he explained the story in full.

news breaks out nationwide about the god who had been discovered after being sealed away by conflict once in the past, and the masses erupt in shock and disbelief.

the news travels over to yandere!god who is in complete bewilderment. he had thought you had died years ago and now you are alive? the only one in the world who knows who he actually was and not having to lie century after century about his prolonged life.

yandere!god who volunteers as one of the researchers bookkeepers and gets the position as he is just a wise old man. yandere!god who watches as the lead researcher acquaints you with modern life and the two of you becoming quite close. who knew you could be so sweet, gentle, benevolent?

yandere!god overhears your story of the one you love and why you ended up in this predicament. maybe throughout the years he had forgotten about his past lover because somehow you begin to fill her place. you had been through so much pain and suffering all because of how selfish he was. in the end he should have stuck with you, you two both being the same and truly capable of understanding each other.

yandere!god who bathes in fury as he sees the lead researcher lay his hands on you, his filthy undeserving sinful hands. how dare he? he was in the presence of a god, only gods could be worthy enough to be around each other.

yandere!god looking at himself seeing the shell of a god he used to be.

no worries, when he regains his power he’ll be able to stand proudly at your side where he should’ve been in the first place…

[sharpfamily]

Summer 1915 -----------

Eleazar and Theodore sat together on the sofa in the family room, not believing their eyes, while their mother busied herself with her tasks

"Has she sat down at all?"

"For breakfast? She sat down to eat breakfast, right?"

"No, she quickly ate while standing in between cleaning the counter and washing the dishes"

"Is she alright? has she forgotten how to rest?"

"I think she just has a lot of things to do at the moment..."

Both boys didn't realize that their father, who had emerged from his study, had witnessed the entire exchange.

"Finally catching on are you?"

"Dad!"

"Your mother moved in with me one day, started cleaning this house and has yet to stop. On top of raising you lot, doing her fair share at the shop and putting up with me. She sees everything that needs done around here, and gets to it. And while some days her mental list is short, today it seems like it's a rather long one doesn't it? And I'm unfortunately stuck with the unpleasant task of bookkeeping at the moment and unable to assist her."

"Theo, perhaps we should go ask Mum if she needs help, maybe we could tackle some of the things on her list"

"Don't ask her. She'll say no. And it shouldn't be on her either to delegate tasks. Both of you have functional eyes and brains, put them to good use. See what needs done, start your own mental lists, and get to work."

"Yes sir"

The boys rose in unison, and each went in different directions. Satisfied that the boys had understood the assignment, Aesop returned to his own work.

----------

About thirty minutes later, Aesop re-emerged from his study to find a much different sight. His wife sitting at the sofa where his boys were a little bit ago, with a cup of tea in her hands, eyes closed.

Both boys were busy, Eleazar deep cleaning the oven and Theodore cleaning the bathroom.

Aesop sat next to his wife and put his arm around her.

"Hello you"

"I've been relieved of my duties"

"I can see that."

"All done with the books?"

"If I have to look at another spreadsheet I think I'll go mad. Here I thought grading essays was mentally exhausting but I'll gladly read through a pile of second year essays looking for some semblance of intellect over looking for where the missing sickle is"

"I think you're being a little dramatic at the moment"

"I can assure you I'm not"

"Thank you for taking care of it, and for everything else you do for us"

"It's you that deserves all the gratitude my love. Although I will help myself to a sip of your tea if you don't mind"

[Sharp Family Drabbles]

[smallraindrops-blog]

hi! requests are open, yes? may i ask for a poly tsc!reader x wmftd!y/n x hypno? idk how this’d work but it seemed fun and v self indulgent which is the Best kind of fun hehe. have a nice day!

Constellations of Us

(Part One)

Pairing: TSC!Reader X Hypnos X WMFTD!Y/N

Word count: 7.5

Warnings: Angst, post-breakup for TSC!R x Y/N, jealousy, AU, mentions of infidelity ( none that occurs between the main ship), multiple POVs, no beta.

Summary: 

‘Nothing is more unintelligible than the human heart.’ - Homer, The Odyssey.

Brokenhearted and the new resident of the House of Hades, you are left to pick up the shattered pieces of yourself. 

Funny enough, your hands aren’t the only ones in the pile.

Notes:

Requests are not open.

I am simply working on a very overdue request. 

For sake of readability, TSC!Reader will be in second person aka ‘you’, Hypnos and Y/N will be in third person’s. I will also attach who POV is. 

This will likely be two parts. 

Thank you for waiting. I hope this first part is worth the wait.

~

(Reader’s Pov)

The administration chamber had quieten down as the last few shades hurried out, done with their duties for the day. Their happy chatter faded with each step they took. The room was dimmer with just a few candles, the warm light smothered by the dark. Walls of scrolls seem to go up and up into an endless height. 

You paused on the paper you were working on, your quill left in the ink pot as you reread it. You were mildly impressed that the Master’s son had managed to find new ways to break apart the underworld.  

Who knew fire could be used as a surfboard?

You gave a quiet chuckle at the mere thought but slowly, your smile faded.

This wasn’t what you thought it would be. 

A skilled healer turned into a bookkeeper. What would Patroclus say?

You weren’t sure how you felt about it but it was an undeniable fact that the dead didn’t need healers. At least, this way you were getting paid. Not that money meant much to you. 

It was just proof that you were doing something and not wasting away.

The bureaucracy was mind numbing and exhausting. It was also what you wanted.

You didn’t have to think about anything that wasn’t the work on your desk. You didn't think about your shattered heart. That the love of your life was just a few steps away, unable to meet your eyes.

Or think about the god that had taken your place.

Only if there was paperwork you could use to sign away your own useless heart.

You rubbed your forehead, hating that the moment you stopped working was when you thought about him.

About them. 

With a sigh, you picked up your quill and signed the paperwork, verifying that the money will be needed to fix the damage. 

“Oh! You’re still here.” 

With a muffled gasp, you looked up. Did you somehow summon the god of sleep by a mere thought?

Lord Hypnos blinked at you slowly, drifting closer to your desk like he wasn’t a intruder. His red cloak floated around his shoulders, so heavy it looked like a blanket. He didn’t have the regal appearance of Queen Persephone, or the terrifying aura of Lady Nyx but it was undeniable that he was a god.

The god of sleep smiled at you hesitantly, staring down at you. If the god stood on his own feet, he would be taller than you. Another insult even if unintentional.

You hated that you couldn’t deny how beautiful he was. Heavy lidded golden eyes, full lips and perfectly messy curls. His form was mostly hidden under his modest clothes but the glimpses of his arms revealed a slender masculine shape. 

“I am, Lord Hypnos.” You kept your voice quiet, respectful as you stood. You bowed your head, your hands curled by your side. “How may I be of service to you?”

“Just Hypnos.” The god corrected with a hand wave. “I think we both passed that point, hm?” 

You didn’t know what to say to that. 

Hypnos lifted up the thick stack of paperwork in his hands, giving you a rueful grin, “Master Hades had loudly informed me and everyone else in the hall that I had messed up my paperwork once more. Form ZEY -1 to ZEY-213 and um…Form S-3 to Form S-111. I think.”

“I will be happy to make you new copies.” You said in a rush, glad to be given a task. The sooner you can get this god away from you, the better. With a speed you didn’t know you had, you hurried to get him new paperwork. 

You wondered how he could mess up simple paperwork but didn’t ask. One, you didn't want to even look at him. Two. It wasn’t your problem. 

The god had shamelessly picked up your quill and studied it with his head tilt when you returned. Soft white curls spilled over his ridiculous sleep mask. Another thing you didn’t understand, how a god could be so... ungodly.

It was an ugly thing to think of and you hated that small, petty side of yourself. Afterall, the god did nothing wrong. 

This whole mess was yours and Y/N’s fault. You were grown enough to admit that at least.

Lord Hypnos’ face lit up when he spied you. His graceful hands took the fresh stack of paperwork, and your quill floated back to its ink pot with a wave of his finger.  You winced when you noticed how ratty your writing quill was getting. You just didn’t care enough to replace it when it was still working perfectly fine.

His old forms were on your desk. There were doodles of random animals, flowers - and maybe a person? There were a few of them, each one different.- everywhere on the paper and you saw many, many blank lines with missing information.

Well then.

“This is horribly awkward, isn’t it?” Lord Hypnos chuckled, drumming his fingers along the papers. You bit the inside of your cheek. Lord Hypnos lifted an white eyebrow, and you realized that he was waiting for a response.

Gods were supposed to know when morals lied, or so you were warned by your mother growing up.

“Very much so, Lord Hypnos.” You sighed. No point in denying it. It was horrible. It was right down painful. You didn’t know loving someone and knowing they belonged to someone else could hurt so much.

“Hypnos. Please. Just Hypnos. I have rank over you so you have to obey. Or at least pretend to.” Hypnos said with a wink. The joke came effortlessly to Hypnos or so it seemed. It was a talent you couldn’t help but admire. 

“Hypnos.” You admened with a jerky nod. 

A thick pause filled the space between you and the god. All your life, you were taught to respect and worship the gods. Now you were handing one of the infinite beings paperwork.

It was surreal.

“Well, I guess I will go and try not to mess this up again.” Hypnos laughed again, like it was another joke. You tried to smile but you weren’t sure you had succeeded. 

It wasn't until Hypnos vanished that you allowed yourself to slump against your desk. You covered your eyes with your hand and let out a shaky breath. 

You survived a lot. This was nothing compared to the brutal war that stole so much away, your heart shattering into millions pieces or even your death.

With an inhale, you made yourself straightened up. This was nothing and you will get over it.

You had to.

~

A moment later, you realized that his paperwork had been left on your desk. Unsure what to do, you just shoved the pile into one of your empty drawers. 

You will deal with it later. 

~

There were many things you missed about living. What surprised you that one of the things you missed the most was the ability to tell time. There were no sundials in the underworld nor calendars.

The closest thing you and every other shade had was the coming and going of Queen Persephone, her gentle smile was nothing more than a fading memory. 

Sometimes the Prince would let something slip when he came in for paperwork. 

His very appearance was enough to terrorize every administration shade, yourself included. 

“Please don’t touch that, your highness.” You begged as Prince Zagrues began flipping through files, tossing them aside or worse, putting it back in the cabinet but out of order when he didn’t find what he was looking for.

You thought you heard one of the shades begin to weep.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” Prince Zagreus assured you cheerfully then he picked up a box too quickly, the scrolls rolled out onto the floor.

Several of the scrolls unfurled, hitting your foot. You bit on the inside of your cheek, so hard that if you were still alive, you would taste blood.

Then Prince Zagreus dropped the armfuls of scrolls he was holding.

The weeping turned to full on sobs and horrified stares. You couldn’t quite stop the strangled noise of anger that spilled from your lips.

“Sir please just tell me what-“ you tried to speak but Zagreus was already going back to the next box of scrolls.

“Why are they crying?” The prince asked you with a frown, like he didn’t realize that he had single handedly ruined everyone’s hard work. “I know spring has ended since I last came in but I just need this one record. I still remember where it is. I think.”

Your ears perked at that.

It had been a while since Queen Persephone returned, and if Spring had ended with Zagreus’ last visit, along with the rumors she will be returning in due time. It must be close to the end of summer then. 

Gods, what wouldn’t you give for a sundial and calendar?

“Hey! Didn’t your Father ban you? Or had he unbanned you again?”  Hypnos swept through the crowd of shades, his cloak bellowed behind him as he came closer. He lifted an eyebrow at the mess that Prince Zagreus created then slowly he glanced toward the crying shade.

“Wowie.” Hypnos murmured. “You already made one of them cry. Good job, your highness. Just like your father.”

Prince Zagrues had the grace to look guilty. “I just need this one thing, Hypnos.”

Hypnos gave Zagreus an unimpressed look, a hand on his hip. “What? Do you need to know how many times you've been run over? Or stabbed? Or nibbled on? Or how many times you annoyed me?”

“Fish.” Zagreus admitted with a shrug. “I wanted to see my fishing records.”

You slapped a hand on your forehead, prompting both gods to look at you. You flushed when you realized how disrespectful it was and murmured an apology. You immediately went three spaces over and pulled the box labeled with Zagreus’ name and quickly found what he was looking for.

“Oh thank you, my good shade.” Zagreus said, reading the scroll. “Huh, I haven’t been fishing as much as I thought.”

“Are you done terrorizing everyone?” Hypnos’ question was honey-coated, his smile fake.

“Oh come on now, I am not that bad.” Zagreus replied then he looked at you, flashing you a gorgeous smile. One that told you that Zagreus knew he was a troublemaker. “Am I?”

Hypnos grabbed a random scroll and began smacking Zagreus with it. “Out. Out, you foul thing. Shoo!” 

“Ow! Stop it, Hypnos. You are going to give me a papercut.” Zagreus batted at the air as he left, Hypnos was still hitting him. 

Exhaustion hit you like a wall. Suddenly, you just wanted a bottle of wine to drink and maybe a small nap. However Prince Zagreus’ mess was calling to you. With a sigh, you kneeled and began gathering the scrolls. 

You were going to have to stay late. Again.

“Hey, I am sorry about him. You should see his room, I mean really.” Hypnos had returned like a ghost, hovering near you. You nearly dropped the scrolls when you heard his voice.

“No, thank you.” You muttered. You had no intention of ever seeing or stepping into Prince Zagreus’ chambers. 

“Wise decision.” Hypnos said with a nod, grabbing some of the scrolls himself only to immediately give it to some unfortunate shade. 

You dropped the scrolls on your desk, and turned to face Hypnos. You wanted to shoo him out much like he just did to Zagreus but you didn’t. You bit your tongue. 

The god gave you a grin but you saw the tension around the corner of his smile. He was nervous. 

Why would a god be uneasy around a nobody moral like you? There was that certain someone you and the god had in common however one look at you then at Hypnos would make it clear that you were outclassed in every sense of the word.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Lo- I mean Hypnos?” You asked when he still didn’t speak up. You could feel the weight of eyes on your back, no doubt you were going to the main conversation for post-work drinks. 

Lovely. Just lovely.

Hypnos bit on his bottom lip, his long fingers drumming on your desk. “Well, yes. I seem to be missing some forms. Like could you see if you have any for me? Um. Please?”

“Of course.” You murmured as you went to check for him. There was a nagging suspicion that Hypnos didn’t have any missing paperwork, one that was confirmed when Hypnos’ paper tray was empty. 

When you went back, the god was gone.

You glanced down the scrolls and frowned. On top of the pile was a brand new quill and a note.

‘A thank you gift! - Hypnos.’ There were little smiley faces and flowers surrounding the words. 

You took a sharp inhale. The quill was nice, far nicer than what a normal shade should have. But you weren’t glad for it. 

It felt like he was mocking you. There was no point in him giving you this. It felt like a slap, one more taunting gesture toward your worthless heart.

You didn’t hesitate to grab the quill along with the note and dump the stuff into the drawer, the one that was still filled with Hypnos’ forgotten paperwork. 

The loud slam of the drawer closing echoed out though the administrative chamber. With a huff, you returned to work, glaring at anyone brave enough to glance your way.

~

When everyone else left for the night, you pulled the quill out. You twirled it between your fingers, resting your chin on your hand as you studied it. 

The quill was high quality, the orange color shone like fire in the candlelight. If you remembered correctly, it was the same type that Hypnos used. 

Maybe Y/N use the same one as well.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, the heartache settling in like an old friend. Perhaps taking this job was a mistake. Not that you had much choice. When one is summoned by Master Hades, it is usually in their best interest to obey.

Regardless, it would be best to thank the god of sleep. You highly doubt that Hypnos took time out of his day to mock you. Besides you saw how he bullied Zagreus. He wasn’t the type to hide his teasing. 

Nor will you be ruled by your own heartache. You had seen the ugly paths a soul could take doing so.

You closed your eyes against the memories. Maybe someday you won't be haunted by your own ghosts.

~

It shouldn’t have been surprising when you found Hypnos by your desk when you came in yet it still caught you off guard. 

The god flashed a toothy grin, waving with far too much enthusiasm for the start of a workday. His curls looked messier, his sleep mask loose around his neck and his right cheek were marked by lines. It looked like he just woke up from a pleasant nap.

Yet that only seems to add to his beauty and you tried not to think about how unfair that it was.

“There you are, my favorite administrative shade- worker-?” He paused, tapping his chin with a finger, then with a nod. “Shade.”

“Hypnos.” You greeted in a more relaxed manner, “I take it you need something from me?”

His smile turned sheepish. “Well. It seemed I messed up my papers once more. I am surprised the house is standing after all the Master's screaming.” 

“Oh that must be why the house was shaking earlier.” You teased him, surprising yourself and him. Mostly yourself.

Hypnos looked delighted, his hands fluttered in the air. “See, I knew you were my favorite for a reason. The others just roll their eyes at me.”

You cleared your throat, stuffling the papers on your desk. “So what forms do you need?”

Hypnos opened his mouth then closed it with a clink. “Um-well-”

Pity bloomed in your chest the longer Hypnos struggled. It must have been obvious on your face because Hypnos crossed his arms. He was actually scowling.  At you.

You blinked in surprise. Not even Master Hades could break Hypnos’ smiles, it was a fact everyone in the house knew.

“I don’t know how you- or anyone for that matter- can keep up with the forms! Everytime I think I know which ones, I turn around and there are a billion more.” Hypnos ran a hand through his curls, frustration clear in the furrow of his brow. 

“There are a lot of forms.” You agreed, your eyes darting over to the walls of scrolls. Only problem was, those forms were necessary. There was so much that needed to be documented for Master Hades to fully understand everything that happens in his domain. 

Or you hoped so. Otherwise you and everyone else are doing busy work for nothing.

Then an idea came to you. You immediately began to pull out your drawers, ignoring Hypnos’ curious glance as he floated closer. 

Where was it-

“Ah! Found it!” You grinned as you revealed the small notebook. It was a blank one that you haven’t gotten around to using yet. It wasn’t as nice as the ones you saw Master Hades used but it will suit.

Hypnos lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yay?”

“Lists.” You told him with a smile. “Whenever I have a lot of work, or stuff I need to remember, I write down everything in a to-do list.” 

You offered the notebook to Hypnos. You held your breath, sure that the god was going to reject it.

Hypnos reached out, his slender fingers brushing against you. You resisted the urge to jerk, shocked at the sheer amount of warmth that came from the god of sleep.

The god flipped through the pages. He was obvious, thankfully. “Do you really think this will help me?”

“Yes.” You said, giving him a sure nod. “I still remember when Patroclus was first teaching me. There was always so much information I needed to know. Once I could write and read, those lists were a lifesaver.”

Hypnos nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah, you know what? I’ll try it. I mean, there is a reason Y/N calls you a genius, right?”

Those unassuming words caused you to flinch like you were slapped. You didn’t realize that Y/N still called you by your old nickname especially to Hypnos. Or that he told Hypnos that much about you. 

The god caught on immediately. His heavy lidded eyes going wide, his golden irises gleamed with shame.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.” Hypnos grimaced. “I am quite talented at sticking my foot in my mouth.”

“It’s fine.” Your smile was brittle. 

Hypnos bit down on his full bottom lip, the silence filling the hollowed space. Then the door opened, then a flood of shades came. Some brightly chattering as others tried desperately to wake up. 

Some of the office busybodies caught sight of you and Hypnos with wide eyes. They stared shamelessly, even slowing down as they walked passed. You rolled your eyes. 

As the newcomer who hasn't had a breakdown yet, you were a novelty among the gossipy office workers. It didn’t help that you also had a certain god who wouldn’t leave you alone. Hypnos closed the notebook with a nod and offered up a smile. One that you returned.

“Find out what forms you need and I will make sure to have a fresh batch ready for you.” You told him.

It wasn’t until he left that you slumped into your not so comfortable chair. Immediately, it was Lydia who came up to you. Her blue eyes staring a hole into you.

“What was that about?” She asked, placing her hands on your desk and you thought she might be attempting a friendly smile.

“Our favorite type of paperwork. You know how crazy I go over forms for TA.” You replied blandly. It was petty but the look of pure indignation she shot at you was totally worth the uncomfortable moment with Hypnos.

~

Don’t leave me! Don’t- don’t! please!

You jerked awake, gasping for breath, limps tangled in your blanket. You stared up at the dark ceiling with wide eyes, the candle in your room was so dim it was almost nonexistent.

Hating yourself, you pressed your palms against your damp eyes, willing the tears to stop. Only more came, running down your cheeks. You let out a quiet sob. 

You hated that dream. 

It came over and over again. Never letting you get true rest.

Eventually, you curled under the blanket like you could hide from it, your hands clinging to it, all alone in the dark.

~

You weren’t embarrassed to admit that your knees still shook whenever you were called forward by Master Hades. It was the most perfectly respectable response a moral could have.

His size was impressive, beastly in comparison to a moral. He flipped through the report you gave him, his scowl deepened as the silence grew. You resisted the urge to shift on your feet. 

You felt like if you just twitched, it would attract the god’s attention, like a cat to a very dumb rat, and that was the last thing you wanted. 

“On form TA11 to TA13 regarding Tartarus’s last chamber, it looks like you corrected the previous shade’s work. Why was that necessary?” Master Hades said. His tone was polite - for him anyway.- but there was an undercurrent of danger. 

“Yes, Master Hades. If you please refer to the file on your desk, you will see what the contractor shades had noted down for repairs versus what was listed on the forms. The document will show with the corrected information along with the new knowledge that we can reuse the materials and save a decent amount.” 

The words came out quickly, your fingers shaky as the god did as you requested. Hades studied the forms and the documents, his red eyes darted between the paperwork.

“Very well.” Master Hades signed the paperwork and you felt your soul resume in a dizzying rush.

As you began your return to your overflowing desk, Hypnos waved at you. When he saw he had your attention, he gave you a double thumbs up with a wide grin. It made him look utterly ridiculous.

Not wanting to be rude, you gave the world’s most awkward thumbs up back. You didn’t know why he wanted to be friendly with you of all people. 

Pity, maybe.

You kept your head down as you hurried down the hallway, eyes skimming over Master Hades’ notes. It was better not to look, to not see him.

“Genius, slow down.”

You paused in mid step, your body going on autopilot at the mere sound of his deep voice. With a sharp inhale and a silent prayer for strength, you faced him.

It didn't stop the devastating knife from twisting in your heart. He was just as you remembered, his eyes intense as he studied your expression. You jutted your chin out, your nails digging into the paperwork.

Unlike you, he looked like he belonged here among the gods. His strength was undeniable even as a shade, his presence commanded respect. You hated that you still wanted to reach out, to wipe away that brooding expression to reveal his smile.

“That isn’t something you get to call me anymore, Sir Y/N.” Your tone came out abrupt, harsh among the gentle light of the hallway. 

His eyes flashed and it was obvious that he wanted to say something back. You straighten your back, ready to counter. It was comforting in a horrible sort of way since disagreements were normal for you and him even before the war. It would feel good to blow off some steam.

Then he only nodded. His voice low as he took a step back. “Of course, reader. Forgive me for overstepping.”  

And just like that the wind went out your sails. Were you really going to have a full on argument with Y/N in the middle of your workplace? You closed your eyes for a single moment then adjusted the papers in your hands.

“Was there a reason you wanted to speak with me?” You didn’t look at him again. You don’t think you could bear it.

“I heard that you and Hypnos had been...working together.” He said after a pause. His voice was a lower octave and you shivered at the sound of it. “That notebook you gave him, it is actually helping him. A lot.” 

“Good.” You said. You actually meant that. Even if you weren’t sure about Hypnos, you hated the idea of anyone struggling. Then you heard him repeat your name, his voice lower.

It took everything in you to not look up at him. To reach for him. “I’m glad to hear that. Was there anything else you wanted?”

“I wanted to say thank you.” He murmured. ��So thank you. For helping Hypnos when I couldn’t.”

His quiet gratitude hit a new soreness in your heart - one that you didn't know even existed- but you forced yourself to take a breath. With strength you didn’t really feel, you made yourself look.

There was an unexpected softness in his expression, one that you recognized. You had seen it countless times, during long nights after battles, whenever he pulled you close or the quiet moments of just you and him with the sunshine warm on your skin.

Your breath hitched, and you wanted to tell him that you missed him, that you were sorry about how everything went down, that you just wanted to hold him one more time.

You wanted to ask if he missed you just as much.

Then you caught a glimpse of white curls, Hypnos’ curious expression shifted to one of guilt and he darted away as Y/N turned his head toward the noise. 

“I’m more than happy to help anytime. Tell him I said thanks for the writing quill.” You said, your cheeks flushed hot from pure shame. You were already hurrying away like the guilt was nipping at your heels.

His presence was the reminder you needed to snap you back to reality. 

You thought you heard Y/N began to call you back only for his voice to fade as you pushed past the doors.

~

(Hypnos’ pov)

“A writing quill?” His voice was low, only for Hypnos’ ears even though they were alone. With a quiet hum, Hypnos gave an indulgent stretch, too stated to actually get up. His arms flopped down around his head and grinned when he caught the flash of hunger in Y/N’s expression.

He met Y/N’s cool stare with an innocent blink.The shade had somehow still had energy, sitting up in the bed. Blankets were pooled around them, with countless soft as cloud pillows spilling onto the floor. The firelight was golden and peaceful. 

His mortal looked gorgeous, the light casting shadows over his muscular form, tempting Hypnos to move closer and use his tongue to trace the lines of his powerful body.

For some reason, his mind flashed back to Reader, or Genius as Y/N called him. The guilt in the Reader’s face was a mirror to Hypnos’ own. Hypnos didn't mean to eavesdrop on a private moment, really. 

He just wanted... he didn’t know, not yet.

Hypnos gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “He needed a new one. The one the house gave him was falling apart.” 

Y/n said nothing. He didn't need to, his silence was enough.

Hypnos sighed, closing his eyes. “You will have to accept his presence here eventually.”

“I have.” Y/N said, his calloused fingers caressing Hypnos’ bare hip. Hypnos let out a  soft gasp, goosebumps forming on his skin but he didn't move. 

Y/N moved downward, pressing open mouth kisses against Hypnos' neck. “What I don't understand is why you are so determined to befriend him.”

Hypnos gripped Y/N's broad shoulders, torn between wanting more or making him stop so they could talk. His eyes traced the stars that gleamed above them. If he was completely honest, Hypnos still didn’t completely know why he cared.

But he did. 

There was something about Reader...

“I like him. Hades still hasn't found anything wrong with their work. And I know he tried. Many times.” Hypnos said, not even attempting to hide his jealousy. He never knew someone who could stand toe to toe with Master Hades with paperwork.

not even his Mother could say such things. Certainly not Hypnos nor the Queen herself.

Hypnos huffed. “ And he actually wants to help people, do you know how rare that is? I think anyone else would have refused to help me, considering the situation.”

Y/N pressed a lingering kiss against Hypnos' collarbone before rolling off on him. His voice was quiet. “I do.”

Hypnos bit his lip, his thoughts whirling. Maybe he should confess to maybe taking quite a few peaks of Y/N’s nightmares and of his gentle dreams. That Hypnos had seen moments shared between lovers. Ones that weren't him and Y/N.

That Hypnos knew Reader still dreamt of y/n. 

Jealousy had definitely been there but not as much as Hypnos thought there would be. If anything, he wanted to keep watching. He didn’t but now, he was curious about this other person. 

This other person that his dearest had loved once. Maybe he still did.

Hypnos wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally met Reader. There was nothing unique about him. He could have easily been lost among the crowd, even if he was pretty for a moral.

Then Hypnos saw it. The spark in those eyes that spoke of an unnatural intellect. Then Reader kept helping Hypnos, again and again.

Reader had been someone Y/N had loved. Surely that meant something. Especially if Hypnos was right, that he saw the same longing in Reader's eyes. 

Hypnos stared up at the canopy, turning the moments over and over in his mind like a puzzle to be solved. Then you reached for him and Hypnos went obediently, sighing when he found a comfortable position, his leg over y/n’s thick quads, his hand on Hypnos’ hip.

”Love you.” He murmured, kissing Hypnos’ forehead gently. Hypnos returned a kiss against Y/n’s bare skin. 

“Love you too.” Hypnos murmured, his fingers trailing over familiar scars.

It felt odd, like something was shifting into a new shape but it wasn’t quite sure what shape it wanted to be yet. Hypnos knew all he could do was wait and see.

~

(Reader’s Pov)

Shades were rushing past your desk, their arms overflowing with scrolls, orders yelled overhead as the chaos grew. One of the more experienced shade were already passing around a flask, muttering about how it was going to be a long night.

You skimmed over the scroll once more. You were obvious to the chaos around you. It was almost like being back in the war, only this time you didn’t have your hands inside a pulsing body, rushing against time and the fates themselves to save lives. 

This time, it was just your -and everyone else’s- livelihood.

Queen Persephone was due back any day now and Master Hades’ list of demands had only grown.

New flowers needed to be ordered, fresh wood for the hearth, there was a rare type of soil mix from Olympus that Queen Persephone had requested months ago and it still hasn't arrived. Fancy food and types of wines that you have never heard of, fine fabric and so on and so on.

Your fingers danced along the abacus as you went over the numbers of Hades' orders and the cost of everything. It was already more money then you would have earned in a thousand lifetimes but the numbers were easy and mind numbing. 

Which may be why you didn't notice him at first.

“Reader.” His low voice was enough to jolt you out the trance you were in, your fingers lingering on the wooden beads.

Y/n stared down at you, his arms gripping a huge stack of scrolls. You blinked once then once more as you registered just how many he was holding. His strong jaw clenched, the glint in his eyes hard as stone. 

It was a familiar expression, one that told you just how close he was to losing it. Once you had been the one to reach over and smooth away the anger. But that wasn’t your place anymore.

Not that your body didn’t seem to get the memo. Your fingers twitched.

“What is this?” You gestured toward the pile of work, trying to keep your voice cool. 

He exhaled, “Master Hades had decided in his infinite wisdom to increase security for the house. Again. I have the paperwork for the new routines for myself to be filed, along with new procedures for the administration staff.”

With that, he dumped the scrolls in the ‘IN’ box. 

“You’re kidding me.” You breathed, plucking the top scroll and unfurling it. You skimmed over the words, a pounding headache forming behind your eyes. 

This was just more work, not even necessary with all the last minute preparations for the Queen. No one was going home until the Queen arrived, that was for sure. Maybe you should have taken that offer for a drink after all.

“Here.” 

He placed a wrapped parcel on your desk, the rich scent of spiced meat and herbs hitting your nose immediately. Your mouth watered. 

With a head shake, you pushed it back to him. “I don’t-“

But he was already walking away, “You need something, gen- Reader.” He scoffed. “You get cranky without food.”

That made your mouth snap close and you let him go without another word. The parcel was still warm when you picked it up. As a shade, food wasn’t a need. But it was a gift from Y/N. 

And he wasn’t wrong to be honest.

You unwrapped the parcel, inhaling the scent of the gemista. A simple food, a large tomato stuffed with herbs, meat and vegetables. It took you back to long nights over bonfires, of your thigh pressed against Y/N’s, of Achilles’ lyra playing sweet melodies, Patroclus’ dark eyes watching over with pride. 

When you took the first bite, you let yourself savor the meal like chaos wasn’t surrounding you. Then you devoured the rest in a single bite and got back to work. The gods wait for no one.

~

The fates must still keep an eye out for the shades because Queen Persephone’s reunification with the house went off without a hitch. Laughter from the celebrations reached even as far as the administration chamber.

No doubt that wine was free flowing and the tables were stuffed with delicious food. Your stomach growled even if you didn’t actually feel hungry. The thought over an overfilled cup of wine sounded heavenly.

But the thought of possibly running into a certain couple made your gut turn sour. So you looked down at your desk, biting down on your lip.

Numbers were nothing but blurry ink to you now and the lights felt like a thousand sun. You forced yourself to blink your painfully dry eyes. Others were celebrating, some already packing up to return home. It must have been many days since the start of this whole madness.

As you listened in, you wished that you could have done something. But you were dead and so was the child. At least, their many grandparents were more than happy to fuss and spoil the little one.

One of the older men was telling the others about the young grandchild that had recently made their journey to the underworld.

An short and brutal illness was the cause.

You began to clean up your desk, sighing at the chaos. Ink bottles and papers were scattered everywhere and you cursed yourself for getting so messy. 

“Hey, you should come join us.” One of your coworkers, you had forgotten his name, said quietly. He nodded toward the mess on your desk. “I promise it will be more fun than cleaning up.”

The shade was good-looking, his eyes were a charming, gentle brown and his smile was perfect. It made you smile in return but nothing stirred, no breathless sparks in you.

”No. I can't come along but thank you for the invite.” You told him. 

“I insist, let me buy you a drink. Gods knows, you were the only reason none of us lost our jobs today.” He pushed a little more, his smile was still there but it looked a little more colder.

You parted your lips but before you could say anything else, a voice piped up.

”He can’t, because he already promised to join me.” Hypnos beamed at your coworker, blatantly lying. “Early birdie get the worm as they say.” 

The shade narrowed his eyes at Hypnos as if doubtful of Hypnos’ words.

”Soooo.” Hypnos waved him off, like he was a bothersome and pushy merchant. A beat and the shade ducked his head, “Of course, Lord Hypnos. See you around, Reader.”

“Yeah.” You murmured, noting that Hypnos didn’t bother to correct the shade on the title. Far as you knew from rumors and your own handful of interactions, Hypnos didn’t let coworkers call him by any titles, or even strangers if Hypnos liked them on sight.

Once the group left, it was like the air in the room went with them. 

Suddenly, you were aware that you were alone with Hypnos. You have been before but it was different this time. One that you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Thanks but I had it under control.” You told him, stacking the last bits of paper and sitting it aside.

”I don’t doubt that for a moment but I never get to play the hero.” Hypnos grinned at you. It was so boyishly sweet that you actually were a little charmed by it. “Beside, you and I are going to go get a drink, I need to thank you for saving my behind from Master Hades.”

You shook your head but Hypnos held up his hands. His fingers were spread out a little, each one was slender and long. Hands that artists would craft into marble. Unlike your rough hands, ruined by years of creating herbal medicine and cleaning them with harsh soaps.

”I won’t push.” Hypnos said quietly. “I would like to thank you. I usually get yelled so much, my ears would ring for hours but the making a list thing, it really did help. But I understand if you don’t want to.”

His words struck you as sincere. You bit down on your lip, torn. Did you really want to share a drink with Y/n’s lover, to act like you and him were friends? It would be the adult thing to do, but you might only be sitting youself up for a world of hurt.

“Why are you trying to be so nice to me?” The words spilled out before you could stop them. You slapped a hand over your mouth as if that would help take them back.

Hypnos cocked his head. “I’m curious about you.”

You blinked, surprised at his honesty. “You are?”

”Aren’t you curious about me?” Hypnos asked, his golden eyes watchful.

You considered his words then slowly nodded. “I am actually.”

At those words, Hypnos reached into his cloak and pulled out two bottles of nectar.  He wiggled one of the round bottles at you, the liquid appeared like melted gold in the lighting. “So how about those drinks?”

~

(Y/N’s Pov)

Hypnos had vanished. 

Among the partygoers, he saw Zagreus along with Thanatos and Megarea, sitting on one of the temporary chaise, set out just for the parties. They looked cozy, with their heads close together as they talked in low voices. One of Zagreus’ hands was in Thanatos’, and his thigh pressed against Megarea’s

Y/N didn’t want to interrupt, besides they probably didn’t know where Hypnos disappeared off too. 

After making a quick loop, he still didn’t find Hypnos. Unfortunately, he had to work during the celebration, leaving Hypnos by himself. If Hypnos decided to call it an early night, he would usually let Y/N know. 

With a frown, he scanned the great hall one last time. He pretended that he also wasn’t looking for another face among the crowd.

Guilt settled deep in his chest. He didn't like this side of himself. He always thought of himself loyal, he didn’t have a problem keeping his dick to himself unlike many others he knew. 

Yet, he found himself wanting to talk, to make sure that Genuis- no- No. Reader. He had lost the right to call Reader by the little pet name Y/N gave him so long ago. That had hurt like a knife to the guts. It hurt far more than it should have considering everything.

Sighing in annoyance at himself, he turned to go to Hypnos' chambers when he caught the cast of lights coming from the administration chamber. 

No one was supposed to be there right now. 

He began walking toward the doors, just one more thing to deal with before getting to see Hypnos. He didn’t know what he would say if he saw it was just you.

It was until he was a few steps away that the sound of laughter reached his ears. Two distinct ones, both of them were so different but wonderful to hear together. He froze in place. 

For a moment, he considered being a coward and turning around. He didn’t, his own need to know was far more powerful. He needed to be sure.

Quietly, he pushed the door open just a crack. 

Hypnos sitting on your desk, you in your chair, giggling like children. Hypnos’ sleepmask resting on your head, your fingers brushing on the cloth. 

“I don’t think I can pull this look off.” You told Hypnos as you returned it. Hypnos placed it back on, resting his cheek on his palm as he leaned closer to you. You began telling Hypnos something but your voice was too low.

The sight of Hypnos and you sitting together, smiling and laughing warmly, was like lightning bolts shooting down his back. The contrast between you and the god was beautiful, the dimness in the room softening the difference, bringing two separate pieces together.

He swallowed. 

Hypnos saw him first. His smile grew, bright and cheerful. He also looked quite tipsy. “There you are! All done with work for tonight?” 

Reader jolted upward, blinking at him in surprise. You swayed a bit, cheeks flushed red. It was then he saw the four bottles of nectar sitting on the desk. That would explain a lot then.

“I thought I was but then I found two troublemakers.” He teased, trying to hide the shock to his system. 

That caused you to scoff and you pointed at him. “Hypnos, did he tell you about the time he nearly got killed by a bull because he kept sneaking out at night?”

Hypnos whipped back to you with a dramatic gasp. “Are you serious right now?”

”Wait- don’t tell him-“ he tried to speak over but you went off, telling Hypnos all the sordid details.

“So after killing the bull, they had to pay the owner for lost income and Y/N had to stay in his parents’ tent for three weeks.” You finished the tale. Both pairs of eyes rested on him. 

It caused his guts to twist, a heat clawing up the back of his neck and he scowled at them.

Hypnos shared a pointed glance with Reader, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So him being bull headed isn’t a new thing, then?”  

That got a genuine laugh from you. Gods, he had missed it. He shifted, trying to shove the unwelcome thoughts away.  He was a grown man, he wasn’t going to play these games.

“Nope.” You replied, giving the ‘p’ a loud pop. 

”I don’t like this.” He grumbled, crossing his arms. “Why are you ganging up on me?”

Another shared glance between you and Hypnos and the pair broke down in loud, drunken laughter.

Despite him being the butt of their jokes right now, it warmed something in his stomach to see them getting along. Even if it did take alcohol to help smooth the process. 

~

It didn’t take much coaxing to get Hypnos and You to call it a night. He walked behind them, readying to grab one or both everytime they swayed a little too far. Both of them were chatting over office gossip - One of the shade was leaving to work as a blacksmith, there was a rumor of an affair between two of the HR workers and so on.

It wasn’t until they stopped in front of the Reader’s dorms that they went quiet. 

Hypnos shamelessly pulled you into a tight embrace, his cloak enveloped you and him in soft red. You gave Y/N a surprise glance, silently asking and he nodded. If anyone understood the unusual process of becoming friends with Hypnos, it was him.

After a beat of hesitation, you returned it. 

A knot formed in his throat. He should have looked away but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. There was something beautiful in this moment, two halves of his soul embracing under the warm candlelights.  

He knew that he would be returning to this memory again and again, saved between quiet heartbeats, admiring a sight that only he got to see. 

Hypnos broke the hug, his hands on your shoulders and beamed at you. “Friends?” 

Returning Hypnos’ smile, you nodded, carefully not looking at Y/N. 

“Friends.”

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

Your name is PANGUR KELWAY.

As jadebloods go, you are an UPSTANDING EXAMPLE, to the point of being considered somewhat of a WET BLANKET by your cloistered peers. What can you say? You like to do things BY THE BOOK, and you have a LOT OF THEM. Your collection of JADEBLOOD LITERATURE AND APOCRYPHA have been passed down since the beginning of TIME. Some speak of PORTENTS OF THE HEAT DEATH OF THE UNIVERSE. Others recount the entire HISTORY of your caste, especially the horrible bits. History is, as you know best, WRITTEN IN GORE. Literally.

You spend your holy duty METICULOUSLY TRANSCRIBING the works of your ancestors to be preserved for generations after your death. Every manuscript is decorated in ILLUMINATED ILLUSTRATIONS laid with gold and every color of the rainbow. Sometimes you like to add your own EMBELLISHMENTS and FOOTNOTES, but you don't know if you really have a gift of PROPHECY or if it's just a vague sense of ADOLESCENT DREAD.

Your trollTag is gildedAnchorite and 1. You 2. Have 3. A 4. Need 5. To 6. Always 7. Count 8. The 9. Hours 10. So 11. To 12. Speak

Crayola Color: Illuminating Emerald

Pronouns: She/her Sign: Virtock, Sign of the Timekeeper, Derse Sway, Timebound Lusus: Oriental Longhair cat Ancestor: The Timeworn Bookkeep / The Endtimes Watchdog Strife: Penkind Theme Song: Big Houses by Squalloscope

[cinnamoontopography]

"Eldest daughter" discourse (esp if you add on part of an immigrant family) that is present on Instagram is so cringe. There could be points made about parentification and parents who pop out more kids than they can handle, so they give their elder daughters mommy duties when they should instead be enjoying their child or teenagehood. Instead, there is cringe about how "eldest daughters have 'masculinized' behaviors/personalities because their fathers would raise them the same as they would an eldest son" or something similar to that point.

This line of thinking has the same root issue with the dummies who think domestic labor isn't actually labor and that they would totes be relaxed and eating bon bons if it wasn't for evil feminism forcing them into the workplace. What they consider "masculine" personality traits or "masculine" roles is literally what mothers without hired help do on the daily basis. Leadership, caretaking, bookkeeping..etc while also not necessarily having the coddling/worship an eldest son (or to make the parent parallel, a father) would.

If femininity is in relation to women and womanly traits, as what a lot of these women would argue, then how effective is it really as a concept if like 90-99% of women worldwide deviate from it in a significant way? How many women globally can operate being passive idiots who take no initiative?