#Stock market opening bell

[irisintheafterglow]

Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard. 

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake. 

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar. 

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords. 

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper. 

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone. 

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun? 

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins. 

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.” 

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.” 

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?” 

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily. 

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?” 

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.” 

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives. 

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless. 

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you. 

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is. 

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.” 

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch. 

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?” 

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.” 

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking. 

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you. 

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?” 

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.” 

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers. 

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.” 

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.” 

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered. 

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?” 

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.” 

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

[genderfluid-insomniac]

"Why are you stealing my ducks?!"/// Lucifer Morningstar x reader

A/N: I had an idea and ran with it. I know someone out there isn't pleased with the lack of ducks in the market.

First off it was your day off and you were simply trying to find more rubber ducks to give to the kids at the daycare you ran for hellborns and sinners. Strangely enough, it was fairly financially stable with parents and minorly tolerable sinners dropping off kids (either their own adopted or otherwise) until the end of the day when you would lock up the place.

Because this was a daycare and you carried the cash back with you to your apartment there wasn’t any reason for anyone to break into or ruin the daycare. Even if they did their parents or guardians grew to be very protective of the place and you for honestly keeping their child safe. You were told by some others that one of the parents wouldn’t hesitate to protect their child by any means necessary and they refused to tell you which one strangely enough.

You had a feeling though of who it was since one of your favorite kids was an adorable blonde demon with bright red eyes who seemed to light up everyone around her. Unfortunately, she rarely was dropped off. But when she was her dad usually picked her up who you knew (via his daughter Charlie telling you he was the “best dad and inventor ever”) and you’d get to see the heartwarming scene of him catching her as she jumped to him and resting his forehead against hers.

He was quite handsome too and his devotion to his daughter never failed to put a smile on your face, often finding one of you staring at the other with a smile only to get caught. You never got his name but his theatrical apple-themed clothing stuck with you but you didn’t see him since his daughter had grown up.

Opening the door to the familiar sight of the toy store, you walked to the front to see the owner looking bored as they swiped through their phone until they saw you and lit up. “Hey! You here to see if I have any more rubber ducks in stock?” You looked hopeful for a second until they looked nervously at you and slid a clipboard over to you which had the clear stamp of “OUT OF STOCK” on the duck column. Groaning and letting your head fall tiredly onto the counter. Your day is now ruined as you’d planned to organize them in the daycare to let the kids go home with them as a gift after the disaster of this year’s extermination.

You heard the bell to the store ring signaling that someone else was now here and didn’t care since you were still upset about this being the 4 or 5 times in weeks that you’d tried to get at least 10 or 15 rubber ducks. The person walked up beside you and seemed to be very happy and a bit nervous by the way he rocked back and forth on his heels. They must have spotted you looking distraught because they tentatively poked your head. “You okay there? You seem kinda down.”

As you lifted your head you locked eyes with a very familiar man who you knew, the same white suit and pants with the decorative top hat and matching apple cane. Both of you had the same second of silence before saying “You!” and got interrupted by the owner coming back with 5 boxes labeled “RUBBER DUCKS” in Sharpie on a trolly. The man turned to the owner for a second after he gave you a timid smile and thanked them, signing his name at the bottom of the receipt and startling you at what his name was.

Lucifer Morningstar. Meaning the little girl Charlie was Charlie Morningstar….the princess of Hell. You were going to address your heartbeat picking up however seeing the boxes flipped a switch in your brain and looked between the king and the boxes of rubber ducks. “You- You motherfucker! You’re the one who’s been buying out their entire stock of ducks!” You said frustratedly and stalked up to him, poking a finger into his chest. Even if he was the King of Hell why would he need that many ducks?

Lucifer wore a tentative expression when you realized who he was until you angrily poked him in the chest and accused him of purposely screwing with you over. It wasn’t his fault that he ran out of ducks and duplicating them wasn’t good since the mechanics never fused with his magic well. He didn’t even know you came here and had seen you since Charlie had gone to daycare. Getting embarrassed when you asked about why he needed that many rubber ducks.

“I- I fail to see how that’s your business!” He spouted as he tried to put off an intimidating aura but it failed miserably seeing as how you just raised an eyebrow at him. The atmosphere quickly became calmer as he let out a sigh and mumbled something under his breath. You couldn’t hear him and leaned closer to hear him. “What did you say?” You asked very confused at the sudden change of attitude.

He blushed noticeably and ran a hand down his face, confessing something he hoped he’d never have to tell others. “I need them to invent more ducks.” Refusing to look at you, Lucifer wished he could just teleport back to his workshop but that would mean abandoning the person he never thought he’d have the opportunity to talk to again. The person who seemed to make his heart speed up and matched your reaction to seeing him. You smiled and let out a small chuckle, seeing how this wasn’t too surprising since you’d been told by his daughter that he was the “best dad and inventor ever”.

You put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft look. “I should’ve guessed. Your daughter always said her day was the “best dad and inventor ever”. It’s nice to see you again Lucifer.” You outstretched your hand and saw him smile in turn, taking your hand and shaking it firmly. He ran a hand through his blonde hair which had gotten disheveled during his “pitiful” confession and fixed his hat. “It’s nice to see you too! I missed- I mean I wished I had gotten in touch with you sooner!” He said before nearly slipping up and flushing at your unchanging beautiful appearance. It’d been so long since he’d seen you.

What you said registered to him and it seemed like you hadn’t forgotten about him either which was a good sign for him. Lucifer blushed remembering how Charlie always had a habit of bluntly saying things which sometimes backfired like it situations like these when he wanted to seem charming and alluring to someone he liked. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and letting out a short laugh. “Yeah, she’s always been very kind and honest to people. Which isn’t a bad fault at all! Just uh- in hell it’s normally not the greatest quality to have but she’s done so well with her hotel.” He explained and unconsciously started smiling as he talked about his daughter which warmed your heart completely.

You were still a bit frustrated with being bought out of rubber ducks but this excursion went better than you’d possibly imagined. His smile mirrored yours as he realized he’d started to realize he was rambling. “Sorry I-” You interrupted him and stopped his hand waving by putting yours on his. “No! No. I think it’s really touching hearing how much you love Charlie and I’m glad we got to see each other even if it was by accident.” You said. He was teetering on asking you out or at least saying “Can we meet again?” because he wasn’t going to leave it to chance to see you again. He would force himself if he had to. He moved his cane between his hands and knowing he’d be here all day if he waited.

“Do you want to go out- I mean see each other again? Maybe meet up somewhere.” Lucifer spit out what he’d wanted to say and took a deep breath, sighing out most of his nerves. “It would be nice to catch up after all these years. I’ve missed you.” He smiled and ignored the obvious shock and excitement of the owner standing beside them. You were equally shocked for a second before flushing at the implication of everything and nodded. “I’d love to. Just name the time and place. Preferably not during my work and I’m sure you can roughly remember the daycare’s hours. Unfortunately, I still need to find rubber ducks for the kids.” You spoke with a grin and laughed.

The devil was so happy you agreed but panicked briefly when you said you still had to find rubber ducks. However, hearing they were for the kids gave him an idea. “I think I can kill both birds with a hammer. I have more ducks back at my place, probably too many, many of them would be great for the kids if you wanted to take a look. Probably the non-fire-breathing ones should stay with me though.” He brightly suggested and then turned to the boxes currently full of ducks, suddenly getting another idea which he could also show off how creative he was while spending time with you.

“If you want we could make the ducks for the kids together since you know them and I can tinker with mechanics to make them do cool things!” Starting to become noticeably excited about the entire thing and how well this entire conversation was going compared to others. To everyone in the room, his actions were adorable, and unspokenly wouldn’t leave this room ever. You stopped him mid-sentence and laughed to grab his quick-moving hands. “I’d love to, Lucifer. It’d be more than happy to. How about we meet up at your daughter's hotel? The Hazbin Hotel right?” You asked and got an enthusiastic nod, bittersweetly parting ways and agreeing to meet up your next free day.

~~~~

Bonus:

To say Charlie was excited to see you again when Lucifer, who was living in the hotel himself, reintroduced you to her was an understatement. The princess had stars in her eyes when she saw you and you didn’t have any time to speak because she tackle-hugged you to the ground much to everyone but Lucifer’s surprise. She started crying happily and refusing to let you go, luckily you ended up getting helped by her father who chuckled and rubbed her head. You were asked to explain why you had reduced Charlie to tears and incoherent babbles of “I’m so happy to see them”. Your “hangout” with Lucifer went better than expected and both of you agreed to go on an official date. Needless to say everyone grew fond of seeing you around more often for several reasons.

[lowkeycasanova]

private lesson

Plot: Sanji is a huge flirt, talking about doing private cooking lessons with him. And to his surprise, you actually agree.

pairing: opla!sanji x fem reader

word count: 1.8k

------------------------------------------------------------

Early one morning, the Straw Hat Pirates anchored their ship on a new island. And as usual, they were eager to explore new uncharted territory. Sanji was left with finding groceries to stock up on.

He wandered through the bustling market. A hand in his pocket and a freshly lit cigarette in the other as he took in the vibrant colors and sounds. The exotic spices, fresh fruit, strange seafood, and beautiful women all piqued his interest.

Heavy on the beautiful women.

Sometimes he had to stop and remind himself why he was there in the first place: finding ingredients for the crew's meals and any other culinary inspiration.

He bought his usual main meats and vegatables and a few things to experiment with later, but what really grabbed his attention was the aroma wafting from a nearby restaurant.

**

You were the sous chef for the restaurant you worked at. But make no mistake, you worked your way up to that position. Starting on dishes, then the plate line, and finally, you got to cook in the kitchen and craft dishes yourself. You also went to culinary school for a bit, so you did have some formal training under your belt.

The head chef was getting older and had a few health problems, so you'd pretty much take over. It was impressive at your young age. Although it could be stressful at times, you were nice to everyone. Everyone had a lot of respect for you.

It was going on brunch time and surprisingly, it wasn't all too busy. So you spent your time behind the counter at the bar, wiping down the area and trying to perfect a new dish.

The bells above the door jingled. You looked up from what you were doing and made eye contact with a young blonde guy, about your age. He smiles at you. You give him a small smile back, but not sure if it was directed at you in the first pace.

He exchanges a few words with the host and makes his way to the empty seat at the bar across from where you stood, setting his bags down next to it and getting comfortable.

"Hi, welcome in." you greeted him. "What drink can I get you started with today?"

"Just a glass of water, love"

You'd never been called that before. He definitely wasn't a local.

"Here you go." You poured him the water with a friendly smile and slid him the menu. "Let me know when you're ready to order, or if you have any questions."

Sanji looked at you with geniune interest, taking in your professionalism and the surroundings. He couldn't help but be captivated.

As his eyes pursed the menu, his eyes occasionally drifted back to you, the beautiful woman behind the counter who caught his attention. The menu was filled with great dishes, each sounding more enticing than the last.

After a few minutes, he looked up and caught your gaze again. "I'll try the sobrasada brioche."

"Excellent choice." You write his order on your little notepad that you pulled from your back pocket and relay it to the kitchen.

**

"This is amazing." he beamed. "The texture adds a nice touch."

"I'm glad you like it." you chuckled as you handed a drink to another man who came and sat at the bar a few seats away.

"You know, I didn't catch your name, love. I'm Sanji." his eyes twinkled and he flashed you yet another radiant smile.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"And you as well, madam."

A blush creeped up on your cheeks. It was somewhat unusual to be called "love" and "madam". There was a certain charm to it that you couldn't deny.

"So Sanji, you're not from around here, are you?"

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, taking a second to answer. "My crew and I anchored here. I was looking around, trying to find ingredients for our meals, as I am the cook. But I couldn't resist the alluring aroma that was coming from this place. And I'm glad I didn't."

You opened your mouth to respond when a youngster from the kitchen came out looking for you. Excusing yourself from Sanji, you turned to the boy and allowed him to go on and talk.

He just wanted to get in extra hours and wondered where you could place him.

"Cool, thanks chef." he said after you two came to an agreement and went back between the double doors.

Sanji wasn't the one to eavesdrop but he couldn't help but hear that last part.

"Chef?" his eyes lit up when you turned in his direction again, referring to the title the boy gave you.

"That's me." you smiled proudly. "Well...sous chef."

"It's a pleasure to meet someone so beautiful and talented.

You nervously looked down at your hands. He was direct.

“Have any signature dishes?”

“Well,” you started. “I’m working on this dish.” You grabbed the plate off to the side that held the small entree to show him. “It’s a lobster roll that I want to add for the seasonal brunch menu. It’s…not quite right yet.” you admitted with a bit of self-critique in your voice.

His eyes locked on the dish and he studied it intently and then brought his gaze back to you. "Mind if I try it?"

"Sure, go ahead."

He took a bite, his expression thoughtful as he savored the flavors. "It's exquisite. However, it is missing a certain...kick. And I'd be happy to help you, if you like."

You tossed the dish rag over your shoulder and put your weight on your forearms, leaning closer. "You? In my kitchen?"

Sanji smirked. "If you'll have me."

It was intriguing. He seemed genuine and he definitely had knowledge based on how he spoke and his reaction. You contemplated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of having him help.

"Alright," you finally replied, with a playful glint in your eye. "But you're not getting paid."

**

After you instructed another member of the kitchen to watch the bar in your place and getting confused looks as Sanji followed your lead through the area, you both spent the next two hours working, experimenting with ingredients and techniques. He took control, and you let him. The prep area was a mix of different fixings. You worked diligently beside him, chopping the garlic like he asked, your hands moving in unison.

The garlic, along with some white wine vinegar, egg yolks, hot water, salt, olive oil, and spice, he drizzed the sauce (which had a mayo like consistency) onto the dish.

"It's a saffron aioli." Sanji described.

You took a bite. It definitly added flavor as well as color. With a touch of elegance.

"You're incredible!" you told him. "You should write a cookbook."

"Well, you know, a true artist never reveals his secrets. But, I could be talked into offering some private lessons." he replied, leaning against the counter with a mischievous look in his eye.

"Oh gosh." you groaned. "That was so cheesy."

He chuckled. He couldn't help but flirt. Of course, he thought you were gorgeous, but he also saw a lot of himself in you. Someone who seems to love food the way he does and the appreciation for little details.

"Sure."

Sanji blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Yes, I'll take you up on your offer."

He was a bit caught off guard. A woman has never given into his advances. He was always met with soft or harsh rejection everytime.

You knew he was being coy, but if he was actually serious, you could learn from him.

More like, you could learn from each other. What's the harm in that?

He smiled. "You won't regret it. Cooking is a pleasure that's meant to be shared."

The restaurant started to get busier, so you and Sanji had to wrap up the impromptu cooking session. It was time for him to go as well as the crew was probably wondering where he was at this point. On a napkin, you gave him a description of your house and how to find it with the plan to see each other again the following night. He put is safe in his pocket.

**

You said your goodbyes and Sanji went back and met up with the crew again. He couldn't help but gush about the encounter he had at the restaurant. Luffy listened with interest, Zoro couldn't care less, and Usopp and Nami teased him.

The next morning, he found himself eagerly anticipating what was to come. Although Nami was the skilled navigator, she was also the avid shopping connoisseur and offered to help Sanji find something suitable to wear.

She had an eye for fashion and wanted to make sure Sanji made the best impression possible. Together, they scoured the markets, looking for the perfect attire.

**

Sanji made his way to your house, per the instructions you provided. After hearing a soft knock on the door, you opened it swiftly. And there he stood.

Clad in a blue sweater and black pants, holding a bouquet of blue flowers to match, two loaves of french bread, with his blonde hair neatly covering his eye and signature cigarette in his mouth. He looked so adorable, you had to admit.

His eyes sparked in enthusiam, mixed with anticipation and hope that you would appreciate his effort.

"You clean up nicely." you complimented, inviting him in and taking the flowers and bread from him. "These are beautiful, thank you."

"My pleasure. Your outfit is nice too."

You look down at your regular ole tshirt and shorts then back at him. "Oh, it's just my usual." You weren't expecting anything fancy. But maybe that was just his style. "So, what do you have in mind?"

"Anything. Just tell me what you want."

At first, you didn't know what to expect from this "private lesson". You were a little nervous and were expecting to say no to anything you weren't comfortable with, if it came to that.

But the night seemed to fly by. The kitchen was productive and filled with laughter. You knew that in due time, Sanji would eventually leave with his crew, but it was nice to have an experience like this.

With the ingredients you had, Sanji managed to make a cigala fideua. A dish that consisted of prawn, baby squid, and garlic aioli served on top angel hair pasta. He was going to serve it with rice but the pasta was your idea. You also sauteed shishito peppers tossed with sea salt as a side dish.

"Mhmm, this is my new favorite thing in the world." you say, mouth full of deliciousness.

Sanji sits across from you at the table, a glass of wine in his hand, smiling at you.

"What?" you raise an eyebrow after you swallow.

He shrugged. "There's nothing better than watching someone enjoy food."

----------------------------------------------------

a/n: someone on tik tok said they had the sanji cookbook and posted pictures of it. it was there where i got the idea for his outfit.

from @/surogori8 on tik tok

[caelyn08]

The boy across the street

Summary: You move to Stars Hollow as a senior in highschool. While unpacking your boxes, you look out your bedroom window, a glimpse of a tall brunette catches your eye.

You've just moved to Stars Hollow with your mom and cat, Toffee. After a long day of traveling, you finally made it to your new place on Main Street.

"Hun, please come help carry some of these boxes in from the car?" Your mom asks, standing outside digging in the car boot. You place down some bags of groceries on the counter top and make your way back outside.

"Thanks love." Your mom says, kissing you on the cheek as she passes you on her way into the house. You grab the last box and close the boot door, locking the car as you make your way back inside. Walking up the pathway leading to the front door, you see a tall guy walking down the street. You share a quick glance as you carry the heavy box through the front door.

"Anything else you need help with?" You ask your mom. She shakes her head with a smile, so you decide to start unpacking.

You stumble upstairs, a box of books in hand. You place the cardboard box down on your bed and cut the tape, opening it. You had sorted your books by genre, the romance books lay on top. You paced the room back and forth, placing books neatly on your shelves. On your way back to the bookcase, you glance out your window, noticing the boy that was walking alone along the street earlier. He had now gone into the house opposite yours. He peered out his window, noticing you looking back.

You quickly spin around, hoping he didn't notice you looking into his window. You close your eyes tightly and then turn back slowly, praying he's left. But there he stood, a gentle smile plastered across his features. You smile back, your stomach consumed with butterflies.

{the next day}

Your mom had to leave early for work, so you had to walk to the bus stop this morning. On your way down the hill in the road you hear someone catching up to you. You turn your head around to see the boy who stays across the street from you, jogging in your direction you.

"Hey" he said, slightly out of breath.

"Hey" you respond, with a smile.

"I saw you moved in across the street from me." He brings up, looking back to your house over his shoulder. "How's that going?"

"Yeah, my mom got a new job working at the Dragonfly Inn and so she moved us from the outskirts of Connecticut to Stars Hollow. Unpacking is going well for the most part, just got a little left to do."

"Cool" he responds. "You on your way to school?"

"Yeah, I'm catching the bus though."

"Where do you go?"

"I've been sent to Chilton. You?" You ask, looking up from the ground and in his direction.

"Oh, I go to Stars Hollow High."

You both continue walking down the street, making conversation. He accompanies you to the bus stop and then offers you his hand. "I'm Dean, by the way."

"I'm y\n, it was nice meeting you." You smile, shake his hand and then climb onto the bus.

After a few weeks of living in Stars Hollow, you and Dean have become quite aquatinted with one another and he walks you to the bus stop every morning. You've been to the local store, Doose's Market, for "things" on a regular basis, but in all honesty, you've only been going so often because you know Dean works there.

One afternoon after school you went to Doose's Market to pick up some groceries your mom had forgotten to get. The little bell above the door jingles as you step into Doose's Market, scanning the shelves for the few items you need. You grab a pint of ice cream, a loaf of bread, and a box of cereal - you know, the essentials.

At the counter stands none other than Dean, looking bored, leaning one elbow on the register. His floppy hair is a little messy, and the green apron tied around his waist only makes him look more endearing.

As you approach the register, he straightens up, flashing you a quick grin.

"Stocking up for a wild Friday night?" Dean asks playfully.

You smirk, setting the items on the counter.

"Oh yeah. Cereal for dinner, bread for breakfast. Ice cream is just... a lifestyle choice."

Dean chuckles, scanning the ice cream first.

"You know, I read somewhere that cereal for dinner is the ultimate sign of giving up." He says with a slight grin.

"Whoever said that clearly doesn't know how satisfying Lucky Charms can be."

He raises a brow, glancing down at your box. "Frosted Flakes. Classic. Respect."

"Thanks. I live life on the edge."

Dean bags your items, but his hands slow deliberately, as if he's in no rush to end the conversation.

"So, this is what, the second time this week I've rung you up for ice cream." Dean mentions.

"What can I say? I'm consistent." You say with a slight smile.

"Or predictable." Dean says, looking down at you.

"Touché. What about you? You working every time I come in, or just waiting to catch me at my weakest moments?"

Dean leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the counter, "Maybe a little bit of both." The playful smile on his lips makes your heart skip a beat.

"Well, glad to see my grocery habits are keeping you entertained."

He shrugs, handing you the bag.

"Hey, anything to make this shift a little less boring." Dean says, looking at you with his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Glad I could help." You say as you grab the bag. Dean leans in just a bit closer, his voice dropping low enough that only you can hear.

"Same time next week?"

You can't help but smile. "Only if they have a sale on Frosted Flakes."

Dean chuckles as you turn to leave, the sound of his laugh following you out the door.

"I'll save you a box."

The little bell jingles again as you push your way out of Doose's, groceries in hand. The sun is now dipping low, casting the street in warm, golden light. You're halfway down the block when you hear rapid footsteps behind you.

"Hey! Wait up!"

You turn just as Dean jogs toward you, breathless but grinning. His green apron flaps slightly as he slows to a stop, hands on his knees for a second to catch his breath.

"What, forget to charge me for something? Or did you miss me already?"

Dean straightens up, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly trying to play it cool but failing adorably.

"Both. I mean - wait, no. Just one of those."

"Smooth, Forester."

He steps closer, a little shy now but determined. "Look, I've been thinking. I keep seeing you come in, and we talk, an it's... fun."

"Aw, is that your way of saying you like me?" You tease

Dean chuckles, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Maybe, I just- okay, here goes. Would you want to, I don't know, grab coffee with me sometime? Or dinner? Or.. whatever people do when they're not buying cereal or ice cream?"

You cross your arms, pretending to think it over. "Hmm. I don't know. I've heard dating your checkout guy is pretty risky."

Dean smirks, leaning in just enough to make your pulse race. "Risky how?"

"Well, what if I agree, and it goes badly and then the next time I'm in the store, you give me expired milk out of spite?"

Dean laughs, and you couldn't help but join him.

"Id never. But I can promise free paper bags for life."

"Now that's a tempting offer." You say in a mock serious tone.

"So.. is that a yes?"

You smile. "It's a yes, but only because I was promised free paper bags."

"Of course." Dean plays along, with a slight chuckle. "Pick you up at seven?"

"Sure, see you then." You say, turning to leave.

{later that evening}

You're all dressed up and ready for your date. You look out your window and watch Dean walk across the street and before you can second-guess your outfit one more time, the doorbell rings. "I'll get it!" You call out to your mom. You head downstairs and open the door, Dean's eyes glisten as he sees you. He's leaning against the doorframe like the leading man in a romantic movie. He's wearing a plaid button-up, his messy hair slightly tousled in a way that makes him look effortlessly handsome.

"Hey, you. Ready for the best date of your life?" He asks, grinning widely.

"That's a pretty bold claim, Forester. Let's hope you can back it up." You say with a smirk.

He chuckles, tilting his head toward his truck across the street. "Come on, skeptic. I've got a whole night planned just to impress you."

You grab your bag and step out onto the porch, and Dean immediately offers his arm like some old-fashioned gentleman.

"Are you always this charming?" You say teasingly.

Dean pretends to think "Hmm.. mostly for you. But I do try to keep my standards high."

You role your eyes playfully and let him lead you to the truck. As he opens the passenger door for you with a flourish, you can't help but laugh.

"Wow, chivalry isn't dead after all." You play.

"Told you. Best date ever."

The drive through Stars Hollow is slow and cozy. The autumn air smells like fallen leaves and cinnamon, and the lights from the town square glow softly as you pass by. Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm with the music playing on the radio - a familiar indie tune that makes you hum along.

Dean glances over at you "You know, if this date goes well, I might even let you pick the radio station next time."

With a mocking gasp you reply "A second date? Are we moving too fast, Dean?"

He laughs, a deep and warm sound that makes your heart flip. "I'm just trying to plan ahead. Gotta make sure you stick around."

The truck pulls up on the edge of town, where a small carnival is in full swing-string lights, food stands, and laughter filling the cool night air. Dean hops out and runs to your side to open your door, offering his hand like you're royalty.

With a grin you mention, "I could get used to this."

Raising a brow, Dean replies "You better."

He tugs you along to the entrance, where the smell of popcorn and fried dough immediately makes you sigh with happiness.

"Okay, Dean. You win. This is already pretty perfect."

Teasingly Dean replies "See? And we haven't even gotten to the cotton candy yet."

He buys two tickets for the ferris wheel, and before long, you're sitting side by side in the small carriage, the town below growing smaller as the wheel lifts you higher. The air is cooler up here, and without thinking, you scoot a little closer to him.

Softly Dean asks "You cold?"

Teasingly you answer "Nope. Just strategically stealing body heat."

He chuckles and drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in tighter. "I don't mind. Steal as much as you want"

As the ferris wheel carries you both to the top, Dean looks over at you "So.. second date?"

"If you're lucky."

Dean smiles softly at you and then places a hand upon your cheek. He slowly closes his eyes as he pulls you in. He kisses you softly as if you were glass that could break at any point. He pulls you closer and deepens the kiss. You slowly pull back, leaning your foreheads together. You bite your lip softly, a smile soon overcoming your lips. This definitely was the best date you'd ever been on. You and Dean spend the rest of the night laughing, joking and smiling, all mixed with the occasional kiss.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Analysis: Cannery Row (Cultural References)

John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row (1945) opens with the following declaration:

“Cannery Row in Monterey California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream” (1).

Set in a fictionalized version of Cannery Row in Monterey, California, Steinbeck uses his cast of homeless people, drunks and prostitutes to express profound truths about humanity. 

Abacus (6): A counting device that was used before the creation of calculators.

Belles-lettres (64): A type of literary work, one that is usually expressed in essays, poetry and deals with intellectual subject matter.

Beret (123): A soft hat that has no bill and no brim. Often worn in the military.

Billings, Josh (61): The pen name for Henry Wheeler Shaw, a respected humorist of the 20th century.

Black Marigolds (171): A poem written by E. Powys Mathers.

Bloomer League (140): A baseball league that was comprised primarily of women that started during the early 1900’s.

Carborundum (90): Another name for silicon carbide, which is the sole chemical compound of carbon and silicon.

Chalmers (154): A type of car that was created and sold during the early 1900’s.

Chorea (144): An illness that causes involuntary movement in various parts of the body.

Collier’s (magazine) (139): Founded by Peter Collier, Collier’s Once a Week debuted in 1888 and went on to become one of America’s most popular magazines.

Count Basie (114): A prominent figure during the swing period of jazz, as well as a good example of big band style.

Dadaist (122): An artist or a writer who practiced Dada, a movement that rejected traditional art and contemporary culture.

Daisy Air Rifle (104): A brand of rifle created by the historic Daisy company.

Distemper (134): An infection in dogs that can be diagnosed through symptoms of a runny nose, poor appetite, and coughing.

“Fighting Bob” (111): A reference to Robert M. La Follette Sr. fight against Washington and other politicians who choose to enter WWI.

Ford Model T (61, 106): A truck built by Ford Motor Company.

The Great Depression (16): A result of the 1929 stock market crash, which left many Americans without money or jobs.

Great Fugue (163): A musical work by Beethoven.

Goiter (97): The enlargement of the thyroid gland.

Influenza (89): An infection more commonly known as the “flu.” It was responsible for claiming the lives of millions worldwide before effective vaccines were created to treat and prevent it.

Knights of Columbus (130): A Catholic organization that seeks to aid family members within the organization who are in financial need.

Knights Templar (130): A group of knights who originated in Jerusalem during the year of 1119. Though shrouded in mystery, the Knights Templar are believed to have protected the Holy Grail.

Laudanum (107): A mixture of opium and derivatives of alcohol.

Masonic Lodge (104): A meeting place for Freemasons or former Freemasons.

Mastoids (89): The skull bones that house the ear.

Mastoiditis (90): Mastoiditis occurs when an infection in the middle ear spreads to the mastoids and then causes an infection that produces fevers and headaches.

Monteverdi’s Hor ch’ el Ciel e la Terra (119): A song by the Italian musician Claudio Monteverdi, who lived in the 16th and 17th century.

Novena (88): A prayer that is said over a nine-day period that requests a special favor from God.

“Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915” (111): The 1915 Worlds Fair that was held in San Francisco, California.

Petrarch (119): A famous writer of the 14th century who is credited with being the founding father of Humanism.

Point Lobos (64): A state reserve on the central coast of California in Monterey County.

Prohibition (72): A move by the United States government to reduce the amount of alcohol consumed in the United States through limiting individuals and businesses who sold alcohol.

Purse Seiners (67): Fishing boats equipped to fish with a purse seine, a kind of fishing net.

“Remember the Maine” (111): The sinking of the U.S.S. Maine, which was the catalyst for the Spanish-American War.

Rimbaud (124): A 19th century French writer who is most remembered for his contribution to the symbolist movement.

Robert Louis Stevenson (61): A Scottish author who is most famous for works such as Treasure Island and The Black Arrow.

Saturnalia (112): The week of December 17th-23rd during which a feast was held by the Romans to celebrate their dedication Saturn’s temple.

Scarlatti (129): Last name of Giuseppe Domenico Scarlatti, an Italian harpsichordist born during the 17th century who later moved to Spain and continued to practice music there.

Sculpin (135): A kind of small fish.

St. Francis (of Assisi) (144): A saint in the Catholic church who is known for his great love for God, animals, and the sick.

Treasure Island (64): A book written by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Vaudeville (109): A form of American variety entertainment that marked the beginning of popular entertainment as a lucrative business.

“White Sale” (103): A sale either of household goods, or when a store drastically reduces their prices for a short period of time.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[shmowder]

I'm in such a Valentine's Day mood despite it being so far away so here's this

Daniil

Claims he doesn't care for frivolous events, too busy for it. Definitely doesn't have it marked on his office calander or anything. You're just imagining things.

He already picked a gift months in advance. Stopping at the window of a store when an item on display caught his eyes, how you were the first person which came to his mind. The jingle of the bell announcing the shopdoor opening as he stepped inside, swallowing the steep price of this purchase, asking for it to be gift wrapped, safekeeping it inside a locked drawer in his desk.

Quietly leaving it atop your bedside table just before he leaves for work, a letter neatly tucked beside it with his initials at the bottom.

-

Vlad the younger

Everyone likes flowers. It's statically plausible that a bouquet would get him into your good graces. Or should he risk it with a more personalised gift that may backfire?

Like everything else in his life, he weighs the cons and pros of every gift with the same meticulousness as one would dealing in the stocks market. He doesn't mean to come off as detached from the whole romantic aspect, Vlad just happens to see its value through a different perspective. It's a special day for sure, but not for the reason most people assume so.

It's a test of trust, of devotion, and showing the other where your priorities lay. An investment of love, plain and simple, it just happened to come with a pink dresscode and a red heart theme. But at its core, it is still an opportunity that he'll shamelessly take advantage of. All is fair in love and war. Now, which gift would reap him the best benefits when it comes to sowing his affection into your heart?

[imaginedreamwrite]

Since you seem really intrigued by the ceo/mob soft!dark!Ari sending his planned wife a wedding invitation to announce their relationship…

“The man is off the market,” a chipper entertainment news anchor had relayed the news with a falsified voice and a plastered smile, “the bachelor famous for running three successful corporations in Boston and New York City is engaged.”

“Exciting news for the infamous Ari Levinson-”

“That guy is gorgeous. Lucky bitch.” Jessa had scoffed with a roll of her eyes, spite and envy dripping from every word while she hastily wiped at the countertops.

Though the cheap vinyl surface wasn’t dirtied since the last time she had wiped them down, Jessa was trying to waste time until it was quitting time. It was a tactic, nothing more than a chance to stall after she’d finished all her side jobs and tasks.

“That guy is dangerous. He’s a monster,” you drew your eyebrows together and pursed your lips as the anchors continued to speak, “he’s the devil incarnate.”

“Still,” Jessa sighed airily and wantonly, “imagine a man like that, being so fucked out that your back is blown-”

“When speaking about the future Mrs. Levinson, Ari had nothing but praise and affection for his future wife, declaring her quiet, demure and beautiful.”

“Try not to miss me too much!” Jessa threw the cloth down in victory, her shift officially over and you left to finish off the night.

The urge to roll your eyes and curse after her was only prevented by the bell above the door chiming as a man wearing a four piece suit stepped inside. He seemed entirely too out of place in this dump, this hellhole suitable for a class he seemed to be out of.

“Y/N L/N?” The man approached you with a cautious glance at the cleaned counter, and then slowly sank onto the torn leather stool.

“Can I help you?” You questioned him, speculative and unsure of his intentions.

“Yes, Miss L/N.” he withdrew an envelope from his suit and slid it against the surface until the edges grazed your fingertips. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

Confusion abound, you ripped open the envelope to read what was given to you.

On the thick card stock etched in black cursive letters was the invitation to celebrate the nuptials of yourself, your full legal name ensconced, and the devil you’d just been speaking of.

“This is a mistake, some sick joke-” the door chimed again, another three men stepping into the cafe.

“-Mr. Levinson is waiting for you. The bridal suite is nearly finished being decorated.”

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2024 :: Day Six

Prompt: Halcyon Characters: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Estinien Varlineau, Bayarmaa Sagahl Word Count: 788 Notes: Digimon AU

Master List

Visits from Estinien had become common enough at the hospital that when he passed it this time around, he had to take pause. As he stared at it, Gonetomon huffed in thought, his breath becoming steam in the winter air. Where Estinien would have taken the time to visit Nomin, he remembered the text he had received just a couple days ago.

‘I'm finally being released from the hospital!’

A small, gentle smile crept across Estinien’s lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets and continued on his way. His response at the time asked her if she had plans on celebrating at all.

‘I'd like to! But only if you celebrate with me!’

And so, Estinien received an address and a date. On the map on his phone, the address showed a grocery store front called ‘Buckthorn’ -- odd, but he doubted Nomin was leading him astray. He was thankful, however, that he only needed to use the bus as he normally would have coming to this part of town.

Passing the hustle and bustle of the daytime hours, Estinien eventually found his way to the unmistakable storefront. He had never been here before -- it looked like a humble grocery market. Pulling on the door, he and Gonetomon stepped inside as the electric bell signaled his entry.

“Welcome to Buckthorn!” one of the employees called out. Estinien only slightly brought up a hand out of habit in greeting. However, the employee caught sight of Gonetomon and gasped before hurrying her way over. “You're Nomin’s friend that visited her in the hospital! Oh, thank you for that! She was so elated to have a friend come by and keep her company as visiting hours allowed.”

For a moment, Estinien was a bit too flustered to speak, only casting a brief glance in Gonetomon's direction. When he looked at the woman again, he realized he had seen her before -- once. She had been leaving the oncology ward a while back. When he saw Nomin that day, she had some stuff from home brought to her by her…

“You're Nomin’s sister…?” Estinien asked.

“The one and only,” the woman replied with a grin. She then grabbed her name pin, emphasizing it for a moment. “The name's Bayarmaa. But, goodness me, I shouldn't keep you here. Nomin and Teiamon are upstairs with some of their other friends and Digimon.”

With that, Bayarmaa pointed in the direction of a door marked ‘No entry’. Estinien then put two and two together: this building was a joint business front and home.

Bayarmaa leaned in slightly, dropping her voice to a whisper, and bringing the back of her hand to shield a side of her mouth. “You can just walk right in and go. No key necessary or anything. VIP access,” Bayarmaa said, giving a playful wink before straightening up, her voice returning to a normal volume. “I have more things to organize and stock, but try not to have too much fun up there! I need to make sure I can also enjoy my baby sister's release from the hospital, too, y'know!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have her all to yourself soon, I’m sure,” Estinien said, attempting to keep his tone lighthearted.

With discussion coming to a close, Estinien and Gonetomon both made their way for the door indicated, opening it and then heading up the stairwell. Chatter could already be heard from above, and as Estinien crested the top of the stairs, he saw a living area with a kitchen on the opposite side, a counter to separate the two areas. The sofa in the living area had three people on it, one he recognized, and the other two he did not. On the floor were two other people, as well as a number of other Digimon.

Nomin’s gaze immediately met Estinien’s as he appeared, and her already radiant smile became even more so, that elation making itself evident even within the crinkle of her eyes. At that moment, Estinien felt his heart skip a beat. He had often seen Nomin with a medical mask on, so her smile was not often one he got to see anywhere except reflected in her eyes.

“Sorry for not getting up to greet you, but…it’s really nice to see you, Estinien!” Nomin chirped. All that time in the hospital meant that she still needed physical therapy to combat some of the atrophying that came with being bedridden.

“N-No, it’s fine. I get it. I, uh…” Estinien glanced from Nomin to the others in the room. The overall vibe was joy and relief for having Nomin back; it cast a palpably halcyon atmosphere. “Sorry that it looks like I’m late.”

“I’m just glad you made it!” Nomin replied.

[cb-writes-stuff]

THE SNIPPET!!!

I am so excited to share this with y’all. This is the opening scene of the novel I’m working on, which at the moment doesn’t have a proper title. I don’t really have much to say about it, so I’ll just get right to it.

Edit: Added a cut. This post is only for the dedicated

There was barely time to react.

Stepping through the door, Nauth caught something in the corner of his eye. Something glinting in the dark. Instincts kicking in, he jumped back, but it wasn’t enough. A dagger blade cut through tunic and shirt, met skin, stung his arm. The attacker took another stab and swung, forcing a retreat.

Nauth grabbed a stool, flinging it at the black figure with the dagger. He ran out the back door, not waiting to see if it connected.

Hopping over the parapet of the small courtyard, he looked to his left and right. The sun had set and the streets were lit by soft lantern light. The streets were empty. The streets were quiet.

A clatter. A glance. The attacker in the doorway.

Nauth turned left and bolted down the street. A second set of footfalls was coming closer.

Sprinting through the gate, guards shouted at the both of them. Nauth ignored it. Turn down this street, and that one, weaving his way west. In the Market District, he could get lost in the crowd.

The streets were stained in rainbow hues by the light filtered through multicolor canvas canopies. However thin, the crowd would be enough. Turning a corner, he looked back.

The figure in black was gone.

Nauth stopped running. Panting, he looked around. His arm stung. His lungs burned. He scanned the crowd. No figure in black.

Finally, a moment to rest. He inspected the cut through the hole in his clothes. Only surface-level. It would heal. He looked down one street, and shook his head. Turning down another, he walked. Quickly. Leaving the Market District, making his way east. He couldn’t be sure he was safe.

On the way, he took stock of what he had. His cloak. A water bag. A satchel, and a couple belt pouches. A coin purse, light. His sandals. It would have to do.

At the stables, he picked out a brown gelding, sleek and quick, saddled it, and mounted. The horse obliged. Nauth did his best not to look nervous guiding it through the streets.

At the north gate, white-cloaked men and women made vigil, ringing soft bells at regular intervals. They gave Nauth warm smiles before shifting to an expression of concern. He repaid their smiles with a grimace. He didn’t want to flee on such a night, but he had no choice. He urged the horse on, into the dark.

What had happened? How had it happened? Nauth shook his head, trying to make sense of it. The past week had been so normal. Why now? And why at all?

[fallinforerling]

Could you write Erling Haaland x reader

Reader meeting his dad and being great friends before she ever meet Erling and she didn't connect that they are related. So maybe her going to Norway with Erling to meet his family and his dad being happy to see her. Just a lot of fluff

-🌹🌹

HAVE YOU MET BEFORE? | chapter 1 - e.h

A/N: My 🌹🌹 anon, it wasn't my intention to actually create a mini series with this request but... IT'S HAPPENING. Hope y'all enjoy this, because it's so ADORABLEEEEEE. Thank you all for 722 followers, love you all xx

ೃ⁀➷ erling's taglist

ೃ⁀➷ erling's masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The fun part about owning any kind of shop was the fact that, after some time, you gained regular customers. Of course, they weren’t a lot, but they were yours. And you loved every single one of them. Well, most of the people. Some customers were just insufferable. Luckily, that wasn’t regularly the case. 

Nonetheless, it was weird when a new one joined the group; most of the customers that you saw during the week never came back more than twice per month, and you didn’t know what to do to keep them coming more often. Maybe a type of promotion? 2x1 on cupcakes? Buy two books and get breakfast out of the selection? You sighed, looking out of the window. You needed to think a bit harder about it. 

Just when you were starting to get deep into the analysis of the market and the endless options you possibly had in front of you, the little bell by the door rang, letting you know someone just came in. 

“Welcome!” You said, smiling at the man who was still by the door, looking around with curiosity in his eyes. “May I help you?” 

He retrieved his eyes from the few shelves full of books to his right, focusing on your face, and then on the counter, fully stocked with fresh pastries and cookies. You smiled again when his eyes focused back on your face, feeling somehow proud of the attention he was giving to your goodies. 

“They are all fresh; I baked them this morning.” 

“Oh, are they homemade? That’s amazing.” He finally spoke, surprising you with a little bit of an accent. “What do you recommend?” 

“If I were you, I’d totally get the butter cookie, a good croissant filled with cream cheese, and a cappuccino.” You made a little gesture with your hands. “It all wraps up pretty nicely; it’s my go-to thing when I want a good breakfast before work.” 

“Very well, I’ll take that.” He got closer to the counter, still eyeing the rest of the options. “And you know what? Let me get two nutella croissants and some of these little ham pastries right there. Oh, and maybe a couple of cookies... Mmmh, two with oats, two with chocolate chips, and two butter ones.” He smiled when he saw your surprised expression. “I have a son that eats a lot.” 

You laughed along with him, still writing down his order. 

“I can’t blame him, food is the best thing in the world.” You paused, doubting a bit. “Would you like all that to go?” 

“Please.” He sat down on one of the stools next to the coffee machine. “But I’ll have the cream cheese croissant and the coffee here. He’s training, so I’m free for another hour.” 

“Oh yeah? Training for what?” You liked to chat with clients whenever you could. They always had the most interesting stories.  

“He’s a footballer, you know? Just like his father.” He seemed very proud of it. 

“That’s so cool! I hope he does well.” You smiled at him after leaving his coffee in front of him. “I’ll give you some sugar if you want.” 

“Oh no, I’m fine... By the way, is this your shop?” 

“Yep, I opened not so long ago, but it’s going well. I really enjoy being an owner.” 

“That’s very good, I’m happy for you. It’s difficult to start a business when you’re young, but if you keep your mind on it, everything will go exactly as you plan.” 

“Thank you, sir.” He really seemed like a nice person. “Here you go, all packed up for the big boy. Make sure he eats some of it warm, it’s better like that.” 

“I will, I will. He’ll be thankful for this treat, I can assure you that.” He laughed along, and you hoped for him to come back more often. You could be happy with just one more nice customer like him. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You were annotating some orders you got by phone, a reservation made by Thomas, a regular customer who really wanted one of the tables for him by lunch time, and counting how much milk you had left before you actually ran out when the bell rang. Your eyes immediately went from the notebook between your hands to the door, smiling a bit when you saw the person already walking towards the counter. 

“Hello there, Alfie.” 

The blonde man made a little reverence, making you laugh. Weeks passed by, and he, as you suspected, became a regular. Every time he could, he passed by and bought some breakfast for him and a big amount of things for his son, who you grew more and more curious to know more about. You didnʼt know why, but you already felt like you knew this son of his pretty well, although you hadn’t asked for his name, because it seemed a bit overbearing. Plus, the man was very funny, which made your morning bearable. 

“Hello dear.” He sat on the same stool as always, already eyeing the freshly baked items. “The usual.” 

You nodded, grabbing a cream cheese croissant and the milk, ready to make him his daily cappuccino. 

“Howʼs the big boy doing? Did that pain on his leg went away?” 

“Big boy” was the nickname you gave Alfieʼs son. None of you ever mentioned the fact that you didnʼt know his real name or age, but both of you seemed fine with it. You didnʼt want to appear extremely curious or anything like that, although you were. Alfie seemed to be a bit famous from how much he was recognized in the shop the few times he stayed longer than his usual hour, when it was just him and you. He also said he was a footballer when he was younger, but you didn’t dare to google him. It felt disrespectful. 

“Ah yeah, that thing was just a little discomfort, but the physio already said it was nothing. Heʼs good now, back on the field. Stronger than ever.”

“Iʼm happy to hear that.” You said, assuming that was all the information you were going to get. “Make sure he rests a lot and drinks water, the pain will be back if he doesn’t give himself a break.” 

“Ah, I try to, but the boy is as stubborn as I was back in the day. I guess thatʼs what I get by educating him with my mentality of never giving up, huh?” You giggled when he raised his eyebrows. “Oh, by the way, my dear. Iʼm going back to Norway a little bit earlier than expected. So I wonʼt be around here a lot for the next couple of weeks, take care, mmh? Iʼll miss these pastries you make.” He said after he finished his plate, already grabbing the box full of sweets to take with him. 

In the past few weeks, you learned that Alfie was from Norway, lived in the country-side for most of his free time, had five children, and hated Manchester United. It didnʼt seem like a lot, but since he was a private person, you knew it was a lot of information coming from him. 

“Aw! Well, make sure to take care as well. And say hi to your wife, she seems like a lovely person.” You doubted for a second before speaking again. “Why donʼt come here before you leave? Maybe you can take some of them with you?” 

“Iʼll think about it!” He finally got up, smiling at you one last time. “See you later, darling.” 

“Bye! Have a great trip!” 

Aw, youʼll miss that old man.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * ERLING’S TAGLIST @questionable-behaviour | @koufaxx | @xjval

[tinycol-a]

The start of everything Ch1

content warning: Prey and pred, trafficking, sexual themes, fear, neglect, horror, strong language, family issues.

For as long as Cola had known he was the prey of the world, the undeserving and the unwanted. Prey like him were sold and traded to predators marked as something as cruel as meat for dinner, a pet for your birthday, or possibly a toy to fill out your dirtiest fantasies. That's how Cullen found the star servant of Culinary Cove, a 4-star hotel that had been owned by his family for as long as anyone could remember. Back in his early 20’s Cullen had been wandering the crude streets of his home city, not a very pleasant place for the faint of heart. In the deeper pits of this hellish place, you would find plenty of open-air markets selling off prey. 

Cullen let out a scoff at the gross smell of these markets, pulling out a cigar from his left pocket and lighting the dark leaves at the thin tip. The pred took one last glance at the order placed on his phone before putting the smoke to his lips, taking a deep inhale tasting the tobacco that swirled in his mouth. The spice dancing across his taste buds…cinnamon, a hint of sweet vanilla, the earthy taste of chocolate and coffee…the suffocating feeling of something foreign finding its way into his lungs before he exhaled. He had been sent off by his father to go retrieve dinner for the hotel's 5th successful year, a prey dinner. 

Wandering into the open-air markets or locally known as prey dens he glanced at his options…most prey were small little creatures not much bigger than 9’in tall, maybe 1ft if they were lucky to grow up. Cullen ran a pale hand through his short dark hair looking down at one of the more suggestive stands, the preys were tied up in very ‘interesting’ ways to promote their bodies. He thought about it…he hadn't gotten laid in a while and could use it but in the end opted out. Not because of the price, hell he could probably buy this whole place but because he didn’t feel like giving these poor fucks his money. Pushing his way through crowded streets he eventually made a halt at the butchery…this would work. Cullens expensive shoes tapped against the damp ground as he made his way to the dimly lit building, a bell chimed as he walked in and along with a small hint of mold in the air. He looked at the menu noticing nothing special, the corner of the walls chipped making him roll his eyes before noticing the butcher, Disgust plastered on his smooth pale face.

“Welcome in sir, what can I get you?” An older man asked in a numb tone…eyeing him up and down.

“I'm looking for 2 male prey and 3 females…still alive and I want them plump, none of your scrawny shit.” Cullen huffed snuffing his cigar on the counter. He would have preferred to ask for them already sliced up but his dad was a sick bastard who liked to kill them himself. The Butcher gave a sharp nod and headed to the back where they kept the prey in stock…while waiting, Cullen looked down at the display prey…Some were already dead placed on hooks while other carcasses were stuffed with pre cooked food for those who liked them raw… The live shelf was empty except for a small male, a name tag slapped on the glass labeled ‘Cola, 50% off!’...The guy was scrawny, his ribs visible under his thin short pink fur, two stubby red horns and a slim pink tail, on top of that he looked like a young one. The little prey weakly picked up his head noticing something looming over him...his soft hazy eyes filled with a bit of fear but also…acceptance. It was like a weak plea for help. Cola pulled his tiny body up, he had been displayed on a plate and fake food to make himself look more appetizing.

Cullen was surprised when he saw the little beastie put his hands up on the glass, his lips moving slightly like he was trying to say something under all the thick glass but he quickly got snapped out of his trance when the butcher returned with his order.

“All good to go sir…cash or card.” he asked, pushing the bag on the counter.

“Cash is fine.” Cullen huffed, pulling out his wallet.

“Your total is $256.09.”

Cullen let out a small hum of acknowledgement and handed the butcher $260 and told him to keep the change, looking in the bag to make sure the order was correct he saw three female prey, tied up and gagged along with two males slightly larger, They all had clipped ears to signal they were produce prey like the one in the display case. As he was getting ready to leave his eyes kept drifting over to Cola…his little pink hands still on the glass and his soft teary eyes watching him. Cullen didn’t know what it was…if he was hungry or just straight up horny and needed something to put up with his crap but he returned to the counter.

“That pink one in the display case. It says he’s 50% off…how much?”

The butcher furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before shrugging.

“Ah cola..? I've had him for quite some time, no one really wants that scrawny shit except for you it seems. just take him because if anything i'm losing money on him.”

Cullen suppressed a small growl from escaping his lips as the butcher's choice of language. Watching the guy get up and unlock the case he noticed Cola didn’t even squirm, The little guy only tucked his tail between his thighs and put his ears down. His body visibly trembling in the man's palm as he clung for security…this one was obedient…tame. That was something you usually didn’t see in prey. As the butcher was about to head to the back to package the little beastie Cullen spoke up.

“I don’t need that one packaged, just give it here.”

“Whatever dude.” The butcher huffed.

Holding out his hand Cullen took Cola…the little guy didn’t let out a peep, didn’t squirm or bite. He simply nuzzled into the preds warm calloused hand. The soft trembling of his body could be felt, the fear radiating off him. The way he hid his face to try not to show tears. He decided this one wouldn’t be eaten..not today at least, he wouldn’t give this one up to his father. Narrowing his eyes he unzipped his left pocket and shoved Cola in along with his Cigars hoping the overwhelming scent of the tobacco would knock the little guy out or at least work like a sedative..and with that he walked back out of the butchery, the soft patter of rain hitting the concrete below him, the musk of sex and death in the air, And tonight's dinner…

His ride home was quite other then the patter of rain on his windshield and the sounds of his whimpering food tied up in the paper bag, not even a squirm from his pocket,

“Fuck…Fuck myself and my bastard of a dad…Fuck his hotel and his whore of a wife” Cullen suddenly hissed out gripping the steering wheel hard. The veins in his arms tensing…He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to work at the hotel. To become the new owner after his father's retirement. He didn’t want this pathetic prey in his pocket. This feeling felt like Rust, slow but powerful and it was slowly eating him alive…He had expectations to live up to and goddamnit he wouldn’t fail.

Next chapter…

[genericpuff]

(about the bell post) i dont know anything about lore olympus but is there something inherently bad in using free stock images? like, thats what stock images are for right? i know that its probably lazy or whatever but is that the only problem? /genuine

Part of the issue with using stock photos is licensing. Like fonts, they're in abundance online and easy to snag for "free", but as soon as you enter commercial work, it becomes a legal minefield. Stock photos typically belong to either individuals or corporations that rely on people buying the rights to those photos to use them; if they don't, they could very well be sued for copyright infringement.

In that respect, emojis fall into a similar grey area. Some emojis are public domain/open source meaning they're free to use for everyone. But many are not. It's why different social media platforms and different phone providers use different emoji's - it's not purely for branding (though that is a factor as Facebook emojis have become distinguishable from Android emojis) but also for ownership.

So, in the legal sense, I do not know if the bell emoji that Rachel used in LO is legally hers to use, or if it's even subject to such laws (it could be an open source image meaning it's free-for-all). I'm hoping for her sake she's not breaking any sort of copyright ownership laws, but I'm also not a lawyer and wouldn't know how to get that information even if I wanted to lmao

Aside from the legal, it's also just... sigh I'm gonna get into more opinionated territory here, but even if something is open source, even if you're legally free to use a stock photo or other tool to create your comic, there's also the ethics/integrity of it. Lore Olympus is not a Canvas comic. It is not an indie hobbyist project. It's a commercial product with multiple people working on it behind the scenes, book deals, merch deals, a TV deal, and an upcoming feature at this year's SDCC, with Rachel headlining alongside Cassandra Claire (Mortal Instruments) and Jeff Smith (BONE). Webtoons is trying very hard to market LO as a 'flagship' series and convince the public that it can stand alongside other literature juggernauts.

What I'm trying to say here is, if Rachel did legally use it, it doesn't make it any less cheap. There's a lot of discussion in the art field over the usage of external tools and assets in art creation, especially here in the west. 3D models, AI shaders, gradient maps - there are tons of things that exist now that stand to benefit artists, but can be abused or used poorly, being used as less of a tool to benefit an artist with pre-existing skills and more as a cheap shortcut to circumvent actual skill/effort.

The bell emoji isn't the heart of the issue I pointed out in that post. If it were an isolated thing, if LO were an otherwise impeccable comic with high-effort art and just one little picture of a bell, it wouldn't be that big of an issue.

But LO isn't that comic. The recipe of its art development week after week has become very cheap and low-effort, and the bell is really just the cherry on top.

And just to make it clear, I do stand by artists being able to use tools that make their lives easier. None of this is to say it's wrong to use stock images, or 3D models, or gradient maps, or whatever have you. Those tools exist to help and can be used in fun and experimental ways to bring new perspectives and life to your work. And I'm not going to scrutinize whatever shortcuts are being used in a comic that's being made for free by a hobbyist or someone who's still learning.

But like all tools, there are still ways to use them to the detriment of your own work, either due to a lack of understanding as to how that tool works, or lack of effort to blend it into your work. It can make it glaringly obvious that third-party assets are being used, and can often distract from what you've drawn (the complete opposite of what most people are trying to achieve).

When I think of art shortcuts and tools being used poorly, I think of Let's Play and its stock photo background characters.

I think of Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH]'s stiff default 3D models that result in lifeless poses and restricted body types, which I am VERY eager to move on from LMAO

I think of LO's 3D backgrounds with only 1-2 colors thrown in and the characters floating in front of them. Or sometimes no characters at all even when people are speaking.

And of course, I think of the emoji bell, which could have easily just been drawn as a door or an actual doorbell, and not some random grey bell copied and pasted from a Google search.

All that's to say, too much reliance on poorly-implemented assets can take a great piece of work down to a mediocre one. Of course, the assets definitely aren't the only issue with LO, but they are definitely a piece of the problem. There might not be anything 'wrong' with using assets, but they can still be used poorly or result in cheap-looking work and that's primarily what I'm calling out here.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Brazil government details budget plan, but doesn't avoid market jitters

The Brazilian real opened on Thursday at its lowest-ever nominal value against the U.S. dollar. At 11:45 am, it stood at BRL 5.99, after briefly going above the symbolic BRL 6 threshold. The country’s 10-year yield, a gauge of market trust, topped 13 percent.

Markets reacted poorly to the government’s Wednesday night budget cut announcement, made by Finance Minister Fernando Haddad in a televised speech. Brazil’s benchmark stock index, the Ibovespa, immediately dropped 0.78 percent after the opening bell, although not as steep a decline as the day before in anticipation of the announcement. 

On Thursday morning, Mr. Haddad provided further details on the government’s plans in a press conference. 

The plan estimates a reduction of BRL 71.9 billion (USD 12.3 billion) over the next two years. On a longer-term basis, the government estimates BRL 327 billion will be cut between 2025 and 2030. 

Continue reading.

[simp-is-here]

The Outcast and The Angel Simeon x Reader

(Thank you @juhlydrawsblog for the title)

Summary: One self-filled prayer after the other, it seems as though that’s all anyone ever cares about. So when the words of you’re selfless prayer touch his soul, Simeon just has to know you

Warning: possibly OOC Simeon, Doesn’t really follow the plot of Obey Me, Simeon’s Angel ranking is changed, very much inspired by Hunchback of Notre Dame, angst, possible mistakes with religion writing, creepy guardian person (I don't know the name of someone who keeps a ward), not historically accurate clothes, set around the 1500 and 1600's, going with Obey Me being set in England, yes I know that Notre Dame is in Paris but the design is what I'm thinking of for this, will do my best to make this gender neutral, if there’s anymore I shall add

The market flooded with townspeople desperate to sell their stock, voices talking over one another in an attempt to negotiate what they want before the days end.

Two angels on the top of the cathedral cast their gaze on the humans below, silent in voice but many words are exchanged through their eyes, an agreement between the two of them.

These people are hopeless

"When the first bell of Evening Mass chimes come find me here." the ash blonde angels voice calmly spoke,

"I understand."

The toll of the bell cued the angel to leave, only a quill and scroll in his remaining. Townspeople scurried to the church, not wanting to miss their last chance to talk to God. Simeon picked up the items, wings fluttering while he dropped into the cathedral roof, preparing for the words of the people.

. . .

Here high in the rafters of the stone church sits an angel, doing his assigned task of collecting the prayers of the humans below him, finally obtaining silence as each one left. The sound of the church doors opening caused his hand to pick up his scroll, readying for another uncharitable request to God.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re even there. I don’t know if you would listen to my prayers”

Simeon hands lowered his eyes drifting towards you who gazed at the cross in front of you, leaning against the stone pillar, uncertainty fixed your eyes.

“Yes, I know I’m just an outcast. I shouldn’t speak to you. Still I see your face and wonder, we’re you once an outcast too?”

Your fingered trailed behind you, running across the pews while your feet carried you. The falling sunlight that shone through the coloured windows reflected in your eyes, drawing Simeon in like a welcoming embrace.

His wings fluttered softly, following you from above, completely enchanted by you.

“God help the outcasts hungry from birth, show them the mercy they don’t find on earth. God help my people, we look to you still. God help the outcasts or no body will.”

He was taken aback from this request, he had sat on those rafters many times, but hardly ever had he heard someone pray for someone else without demanding something in return. Earlier’s prayers repeated in his mind, seeing just how different people could be.

‘I ask for wealth’

‘I ask for fame’

‘I ask for glory to shine on my name’

‘I ask for love I can possess’

‘I ask for God and his angels to bless me’

The selfless words spoke over them, drowning out the prayers in his head.

“I ask for nothing, I can get by. But I know so many less lucky than I.”

The angels feet barely made a sound when they touched the floor, his chest beating like a melody to your words.

“Please help my people, then poor and down trod. I thought we all were children of God.”

The cross loomed over you once more, falling to your knees as through the weight of it was pushing you down.

“God help the outcasts, children of God.”

You lingered there for a moment, tears falling down your cheeks. A gasp left your lips at the feeling of a finger gently clearing the tear from your face.

He is infront of you, eyes that held a gentleness as he knelt beside you, his hand never leaving it’s spot.

“Don’t be discouraged.”

In the blink of an eye you were no longer in front of him, slightly hiding behind one of the pillars you steadied your heart from the scare.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." His soft voice called to you, unmoving from his place, the fear of frightening you any further lingering in his mind

"I'm... I'm not supposed to talk to people." Stammering warily while pressing your hands against the textured stone separating the two of you

"Why not? his eyebrows furrowed with his hush tone

You stayed silent, fingers digging further into the pillar. His softness was like a rope pulling you in, but the warning of your guardian stuck your feet in place.

Further silence endured before a small breath of air left his lips, mind running fast with different approaches he could attempt.

"You're prayer... it's not often one hears a prayer like yours."

Your eyes widened with the words leaving him, your voice refused to come out while you hid your face with your palm, the strange man had not said it mockingly yet the impact was the same.

"I've never prayed before, there is no need to point out that I didn't do it properly."

"I don't mean to mock you. On the contrary, your words spoke to me like none before."

Against the voice in your head trying to lead you out and away from the man, your feet carried you past the pillar. There he stood, a warm smile on his face at your reveal.

"Well hello there."

“Who are you?” you asked, continuing to maintain your distance 

“Simeon, it’s very nice to meet you.” a slight bow followed his words

“And, what are you doing alone in the church?” your eyes gazed with suspicion but were also filled with curiosity

“Not to be rude, but you came to be alone in the church aswell.” his answer was rewarded by the chuckle that escaped your mesmorizing lips

“You’re quite strange. But not wrong.” 

The moon now fully risen in the sky shone in the skylight, alerting your attention. Though a strange conversation, neither wanted to stop listening to the other, with a bite to your lip you prepared to say goodbye.

“May I ask your name-”

“I must be off, it was quite nice meeting you Simeon.” his words interrupted by your rushed voice, your body no longer infront of him

“Will you be back tomorrow?” He asked, stopping your hand from pulling the door open

You pushed down the flutter in your cheeks, slightly turning to meet his bright eyes once more. The ghost of a smile playing on your lips as the thought of seeing this strange man again crossed your mind.

“Perhaps.”

Simeon stayed in place an extra few moments, eyes lingering on where you once stood. A smile on his face for a moment before his wings came back out, bringing him to where he had sat, your words replaying as though they were still being spoken.

“Perhaps is alright.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Thank you for reading. If you have any requests just send them to me and I’ll try to write them to the best of my ability

It has been a long time since I’ve written an actual fanfic without abandoning the project, so I apologize for this not being too long, I hope you all enjoy this.

And remember you are a fantabulous human being and that is my opinion to which you can not change my opinion so better just accept that you’re an amazing person who is doing a fantastic job. Keep up the great work. Have a good day or night or whatever you’re reading this at

Thank you @juhlydrawsblog @obey-me-posts @poetofthedyingstars @siriuslyblackonback @syzxu @coffeeandtealol @somany-fandoms-solittle-time @a-rat-that-loves-cheese @nwaml for your comments and reblogs. They really helped with having the energy and love for this idea and helped with me not abandoning this idea!!! So yes, thank you once again

[echoing--stars]

Rowan and Link's soldier buddies hanging out while Link has to work

This was a fun one to write! Martin and Talyn are always up to chaos, and Crin tries to pretend he's above it (but he would definitely fight the other two for his favorite pastry.) These OCs come from my fic Friends in Low Places!

(If you read this and would like to request a short snippet, see this post!)

Rowan set the tray of the day’s last pastries on top of the display case. He was getting ready to close, so the remaining pastries would be sold at a steep discount or given away if they still didn’t sell in the next hour. The bell hanging off the door knob chimed and the door swung open, breaking the peaceful atmosphere of the bakery. Rowan looked up to see three of Link’s friends — Crin, Talyn, and Martin — walking in. “Hey guys. Sorry to say that I’m just about out of stock for the day, but help yourself to anything left.” Martin and Talyn immediately went to the tray of pastries while Crin leaned on the counter near where Rowan was cleaning the shelves. “Good day for the bakery?” “Pretty good. Not too many leftovers today.” “I guarantee that there won’t be any left by the time those two get through with them.” Crin gestured to where the other men each had a pastry in both hands and were trying to talk with their mouths full. Rowan laughed, shaking his head. “Better get something before they’re gone, then. I think there’s an apple tart left.” Crin kept up his usual facade of seriousness for just a few seconds before he broke down and turned to the pastry tray. He pushed the other two out of the way to take his chosen pastry. Rowan went to the front door and flipped the sign to ‘closed’. He knew the three men would polish off the pastries soon enough, and he was more than happy to let them. It meant that he could get an early start on cleaning up. He’d been running the bakery by himself since day one, but he’d gotten used to having Link around to help out. With him being on an extended trip to the far reaches of the kingdom, Rowan’s days had gotten longer and more tiring. He still loved the work, but that didn’t change the fact that the bakery was busier than ever and being the sole worker was getting harder. Rowan gathered the utensils and trays still left in the front of the bakery and took them to the kitchen. Crin, Martin, and Talyn’s voices drifted in from the front as Rowan started washing up. It was a few minutes before his guests joined him in the kitchen. “How can we help?” Martin asked. “It’s okay,” Rowan said, setting one of the trays beside the sink. “I got it.” “We want to help, though. Help you get out of here a little early today.” Rowan looked over his shoulder. Crin was already wiping the counter, clearing off the flour and dough scraps. Martin and Talyn were practically standing at attention, waiting for orders. Rowan tried not to smile — they both looked so earnest. “All right, as you wish. One of you can clean the displays out front. It’s okay to just wipe stuff onto the floor, we’ll clean those last. And the other can dry these dishes and put them away.” He trusted Crin to keep working at the counter behind him. Of the three friends, Crin had spent the most time in the bakery, coming to check on Link and helping out on occasion. The others hadn’t come back to the kitchen very often. With all four of them working, the bakery was cleaned much quicker than normal. Since the bakery was closed tomorrow, Rowan didn’t have to start making anything. Instead, as Martin finished the floors, he wrote out a list of ingredients he needed to restock at the market and his order for his supplier for the following week. “Alright, Rowan, I think we finished everything. Are you ready to go now?” Rowan looked up from his list. “Go where?” “We’re going to the tavern for dinner. Did we not tell you?” “No?” Martin pointed at Crin. “You were supposed to tell him!”

Crin grinned sheepishly. “Well, he knows now.” Crin turned to Rowan. “Anything else we need to do first?” The bakery was perhaps the cleanest it had been since Link had left, but when Rowan glanced down, his clothes were definitely not. Despite the apron he always wore, there was flour everywhere and he couldn’t imagine that his hair was in any way presentable. “Maybe I should get changed first. Want to come upstairs?” At their nods, Rowan led the way up to the apartment. It was cool and dark upstairs, so Rowan took a moment to open the curtains before heading to get washed up. After getting changed and washing his face, Rowan redid his hair, brushing a finger through the curls and tying it back up.

By the time he made it back out, the others had washed up in the kitchen and were waiting by the door. Rowan pulled on his shoes and gestured for them to head back downstairs. Afternoon was turning to evening as Rowan locked the bakery doors and walked beside Crin towards the tavern. Martin and Talyn walked ahead of them. “It was nice of you guys to come help out. Did Link ask you to?” Crin looked over at him with an eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?” “I just thought that with him being away…” Rowan shrugged. Crin hummed. “You’re our friend too, you know. Maybe we haven’t been very good friends if you think we’d only want to hang out with you if the captain asked us too.” Rowan blushed and smiled sheepishly. He supposed he hadn’t realized how close they’d all gotten, but he had to admit that this was nice.

[thepoeticbubble]

Here the world wakes up, the sky unfolds, the clouds unclog like active acne, bloody hearts throb with a heaviness, salts seep in, amidst the freezed viens and cemented bones , everything is solid from the outside but gnawed from behind.

Infront of our house,few miles ahead there used to be a lake, the lake is orphaned , the stream about to be silenced , the birds about to be subjugated by thirst, the skin about to be parched.

I grow timid at prepositions else there's more to describe, what's beneath, behind,infront and after you. theres more to envision through imagery , but I can't figure out how to photograph it in words.i cant put everything in language even if I want to, I can't bake poetry everytime ,the oven of mind gets in distress ,sometimes the chimney doesn't clear the smoke off efficiently enough that I can cook the next prose. i wish someone would arrive and let open the windows to bring gush of fresh air without intervening my thoughts ,you will be Noticed not by my eyes but heart .

But my door bell doesn't ring anymore, its throat is lacerated and I don't think anyone visits here either, so it could make even the faintest sound.

It's not like city is out of stock , there is a plethora people but I think I exist remotely.

On days , I yearn to fix the bell but the thought of not being visited deliberately seems more repulsive , so I let the broken door bell follow the code of conduct ~ somebody might have tried to reach me but ughhh curse this doorbell

It is unjust for Inanimate things that surround me,dismembered by the loudness of my Grievances , sinking in a air of loneliness. I never ask them if they are fine because what if the reply is blasphemous.

But Some day some one will knock for sure, and i don't intend to send them back without a cup of tea , send them off annoyed by the smell of flashbacks of burning bread crumbs in fire , I intent to offer hospitality.

So, I mop the floor of my heart, scrubb off the dizziness , measure the diameter to have an idea of space left empty , I could be clear enough but why should I, I estimate the entire fleshy landscape is vacant and not even one thirty-sixth of yard is available in yours, I don't expect you to evaluate my measurements, how would the world care if my sound echos paradoxically, my thoughts appear convoluted , my mind a labyrinth where people stray in search of an exit but are Incapable of , where hope sits aloof and inert .

Here the walls are painted red with a mural that pictures thin blue branches stretching in and out the blind walls. Certain fissures depict that this framework has been susceptible to severe earthquakes from years.

In between the cracks, love's left a goodbye letter , an unredeemable heart ache , a kiss of death , verses of ill-omen never to be read by these fragile lips of life.

The realisation jolts my consciousness in exceedingly high S.I units that i decide to depart as soon as possible.

The road is forlorn, no busses are on business, no one promises a lift to home. It's said when you are overwhelmed, you must reminiscent memoirs from your good books , like a thought that would pacify the quarrels of your mind.

I sit on bench nearby try to recollect my address, which doesn't pass on through my head and i feel defeated down to my bones again. The pickle is what people say should be done , doesn't really compensate for my troubles because to retrieve a congenial memory at times of crisis means to uproot the brain and implant a fictitious spray of dopamine without thinking, this quick aid of "not thinking" vigorously mocks at me.

So, I take my head in my hands to wave off the ridiculous resolutions and again count the shops that come in the way of my home.

The numbers do not stop because cities are always on display and to be found in a market is such a farce, you will sold for sale. I wonder if anyone else was this absurd while being on fright and flight mode~nonsence

The bats babble , you see no life in human form and you ought to get panicked in an amount never metered, the leaves clap and claw out your heart,a strange laughter comes from the wild and you are in the middle of road that doesn't have a board to assure you where you are. Your mind has no gps, and location was never mapped too. The lake has perhaps migrated flushing your home or the lake never existed.

So, to scream just for the sake of hopelessness that adheres you seems the only option. When the tears are about to be delivered, you are called by your mother and the glass shatters, you are home , pulled back from your nightmares

Hope is sometimes cloaked in hopelessness, the cry is made to reach to ears and that is what hope is, to subconsciously believe that your tears will be harvested even when you are in your worst dream, that you will be found from the unknown and unnamed roads.

Home is somewhere in the hearts of those who take this responsibility of holding your hand in times when your identity card is lost, those who come uncalled , those who won't let you be lost when you have lost the address, those who remember you .

Home is always nearby ,you are never estranged from it, just know that while you are fidgeting in your worries somebody is looking for you. Someone is searching you and someone's going to hug right after you are traced . You are homed in hearts that aren't dead

-tabish.j