#particularly singing and whistling

[quill-pen]

Ebenezer: *grumbles* Can you please stop doing that for five minutes so that I might finish my work? You're distracting me.

Bess: *completely confused* Stop doing what?

Ebenezer: *blushes and melts* Being so wonderful.

Bob:

[sapphicautistic]

In the 1980s in France, musicologists and archaeologists Iégor Reznikoff and Michel Dauvois used their voices to explore caves with notable Paleolithic wall paintings. By singing simple notes and whistling, they mapped their perceptions of the caves’ acoustics. They found that paintings were often located in places that were particularly resonant. Animal paintings were common in resonant chambers and in places along the walls that produced strong reverberation. As they crawled through narrow tunnels, they discovered painted red dots exactly located in the most resonant places. The entrances to these tunnels were also marked with paintings. Resonant recesses in walls were especially heavily ornamented.

In a 2017 study, a dozen acousticians, archaeologists, and musicians measured the sonic qualities of cave interiors in northern Spain. The team, led by acoustic scientist Bruno Fazenda, used speakers, computers, and microphone arrays to measure the behavior of precisely calibrated tones within the cave. The caves they studied contain wall art spanning much of the Paleolithic, dating from about forty thousand years to fifteen thousand years ago. The art includes handprints, abstract points and lines, and a bestiary of Paleolithic animals including birds, fish, horses, bovids, reindeer, bear, ibex, cetaceans, and humanlike figures. From hundreds of standardized measurements, the team found that painted red dots and lines, the oldest wall markings, are associated with parts of the cave where low frequencies resonate and sonic clarity is high due to modest reverberation. These would have been excellent places for speech and more complex forms of music, not muddied by excessive reverberation. Animal paintings and handprints were also likely to be in places where clarity is high and overall reverberation is low but with a good low-frequency response. These are the qualities that we seek now in modern performance spaces.

Sounds Wild and Broken, David George Haskell

[ervotica]

could I please get a Cato x soft/quiet gf reader she’s really good at hiding and when he’s training or even talking with friends she sneaks a kiss when he’s not looking and disappears until one day he finally catches her and gives her a real kiss💓

pairing: cato hadley x fem!reader

summary: you hide from cato when he wants a kiss. he always finds you in the end...

hunger games masterlist

Cato has always thought you're charming in a sort of elusive way; you're not a particularly social creature, quick on your feet and opting to hide and duck out of people's line of sight before they've even spotted you. It's endearing, truly, but it tends to frustrate him when all he wants is a kiss from you.

Cato's practicing his knife throwing in an empty field lined with dummies. He brings his elbow up and over his head before letting the blades cut through the air and thwack as they lodge themselves in the targets every time. You watch, entranced - perched just out of his line of sight - as his muscles ripple and flex with his movements; you imagine how they feel under your touch, his warm skin under your hands.

He's just thrown the last one when your cold fingertips graze his waist; his t-shirt has ridden up to expose a pale sliver of skin: ridged abs and a line of blonde hair that disappears beneath his low hung shorts.

He reaches out but you're too quick, ducking under his armpit and snaking up his front for a chaste peck before you're off again.

"Hey!" he yells as you disappear up a nearby tree. "Come back!"

He crosses his arms and plants himself at the roots of the tree, glaring up as you keep climbing. You giggle, traversing the length of a particularly thick branch and wrapping your legs around the width of it in order to hang upside down. Your hair forms what can only be described as a halo as you swing from side to side and grin.

"Cato," you hum, sing-song voice taunting him. He creeps closer and tries his luck in catching you. You're faster, snapping back up to lay horizontally on the branch, too high for even your hulking boyfriend to reach.

"Come here!" he huffs, brow knit as he stares up at you. You only scrunch your nose and raise an eyebrow and his tone changes like the flick of a switch. "Baby, please. C'mere."

You only shake your head and wiggle your fingers at the blonde boy and he seizes the opportunity, locking his fingers with your own as they reach for him enticingly. Your eyes widen and you shriek as he tugs and you come toppling down rather unceremoniously.

Of course he wouldn't let you fall and you land in a heap in his arms, hair static and frazzled as he sets you down.

“Cato!” You scold. “That’s not funny!”

He presses his chest close, his face burying in the juncture of your neck as he kisses and nips at the soft skin there.

“Wasn’t supposed to be,” he murmurs, big hands squeezing the fat of your hips. “You kept hiding from me.”

You pout and push lightly at his chest, forcing him to take a step back.

“Awh,” he coos, pressing a thumb to the plush flesh of your lip before he’s leaning in for a kiss. No chaste pecks or soft, fleeting moments- he’s determined to get a real kiss from you, all tongues and teeth and heaving chests as he steals your breath.

The only sounds to be heard are the whistling of wind and the soft smack of your mouths as he kisses you with fervour. Your hand comes up to his neck, fisting the short hairs at the nape to pull him closer. You feel his smile against your mouth.

“This is all I wanted from you,” he snarks, sarcasm dripping from his tongue as you chase his lips to keep him quiet.

“Shh,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as he bites into your bottom lip and soothes the pain away with his tongue.

He pulls away heavy lidded and breathing hard.

“Caught you.”

[yueebby]

Ok so this is a random and weird scenario i thought of after watching some INTERESTING videos on YouTube, I know but I just need to tell someone(it involves lovesick!Gojo- and no this isn’t a request, more like a rant😭)

imagine- it’s summer and all the second year students are sweating and want something cool to eat. Satoru randomly brings in a watermelon and challenges the others to try and open it without any cursed energy or a knife, just pure raw strength. Nobody can do it except him and he laughs a bit before reader crushes the watermelon between her thighs and opens it just like that…IDK Y I THOUGHT OF THIS AND IDK HOW HE WOULD REACT TO THAT BUT I IMAGINE HE WOULD BE RED IN THE FACE AND LIKE ‘me next🙋‍♂️’ IM SRY IM AWARE THIS IS VERY WEIRD😭😭

2:35pm — gojo satoru

synopsis. a certain challenge makes gojo go feral for you

contents. fluff, CRACK, lovesick!gojo, he is (highkey) a pervert, everyone in jujutsu tech is sick of him

“The one and only Gojo Satoru is here to save the day~” The familiar drawl of a sing-song voice calls over the sound of the dingy fan that you and Shoko were huddling in front of. Both of you were sprawled on a tatami mat with the door wide hoping, hoping to catch a gust of wind.

The grin adorned on his face didn't falter when his only response was three annoyed groans.

“It is way too hot for your antics Gojo,” You look up from the fan to half heartedly glare at the white haired boy in front of you. He stares at you, blue eyes slightly wider than usual before he gulps. You brush it off, knowing that you probably looked like a mess, considering you had just finished training in the sweltering Tokyo heat.

Your usual uniform is long gone, replaced with the dress shirt that you wear below it. Even with the undershirt and your skirt, you’re still suffering from the particularly hot day, skin glowing in the sun as a silent testament.

Gojo is forcibly kicked out of his trance upon Suguru harshly bumping shoulders with him.

“Show them what we got,” Suguru’s smooth voice says. Your eyes follow down to whatever he was referring to.

Without any difficulty, Satoru holds up a large watermelon proudly. Your mouth nearly waters at the sight of the large green fruit. How refreshing!

“Ah you didn’t have to go through the trouble after your mission, Suguru!” You leap from your spot, a bright smile painting itself on your face.

The pleased look on Satoru’s face turns sour. “I was the one that brought the watermelon?” He lifts the large fruit, flexing the muscles that were showcased from his dress shirt being cuffed up to his forearms.

“I should be the one getting the thanks, it was my idea to get it in the first place,” Shoko wraps an arm around your shoulder.

The taller boys in front of you look sheepishly away under her stern gaze.

You wrap an affectionate arm around her, “You’d make a good wife one day Shoko.”

Gojo’s jaw drops incredulously, leaning closer into your face, “What about me? [Name]! Wouldn’t I be a good doting husband too?”

You lean away, flustered at his sudden confrontation. His intense blue orbs never leave your face, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shoko snorts, shielding you from his heavy gaze. “Anyways, how are we going to cut this thing? You brought a knife didn’t you?”

…

There is a long silence shared between the four of you.

You think you see an irk mark appear on Suguru’s forehead.

“I clearly told you to bring a knife from the kitchen,” Suguru snaps his head to his white haired counterpart.

“Must’ve slipped my mind, heh,” Satoru whistles. “We can just break it ourselves, no?”

TEN MINUTES LATER—

“Ready,” Satoru’s smile grows wide. “Go!”

You watch expectantly as Shoko’s hand descends onto the watermelon in a swift chop. To your shock, the watermelon stays unharmed despite the legs of the wooden table below it creaking loudly.

“Wha–?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

Satoru shrugs, “Better stop smoking and start training. You’re falling behind~”

You and Geto have to hold Shoko back from lunging at the smug white haired bastard.

“Next challenger, step up!” Satoru announces.

Fueled with hunger and the desire to get your hands on the juicy watermelon that awaits, you sit down on the cement floor of the school with the watermelon in your lap.

You gently place the fruit in between your thighs, inhaling slowly.

Squish!

The watermelon breaks in half with a crunch.

“Oh,” You blink in shock, surprised that your plan managed to work. “I did it.”

Your joy is short lived when you realize that your legs are sticky as a result of the juices of the fruit. A sheepish smile makes its way onto your lips.

“Gah–?!” Gojo chokes on air as he watches your thighs glisten with the sunlight. Though his mouth is agape, no words seem to escape. He’s nearly certain that the heat rushing throughout his body is not from the sun.

Shoko whistles, squatting down to eye level with your thigh to assess the damage done. She gives your thigh a good squeeze, “Nice legs.”

You’re too flustered to hear Gojo growl from just a couple of feet away at Shoko’s shameless attempt at flirting.

“My face next.”

extras:

- the only reason why satoru forgot to get a knife was because he was practically skipping to you once he got through the gates of jujutsu tech. suguru was nice enough to spare these details from you.

- despite all sorcerers being able to detect cursed energy, gojo satoru is pretty exceptional, being able to mask his cursed energy usage. that, and you were too tired to even notice it. (he lightly coated the watermelon right when each person went up to break it. suguru noticed immediately, but wanted to see how the prank would play out).

[woso-dreamzzz]

Secret II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You come to training

Ingrid will forever remember the look of shock on everyone's face when she walks into the locker room with you on her hip.

They all wear varying looks of shock on their faces as Ingrid waltzes in, refusing to act like anything is out of the ordinary.

Your head swivels around as you take in everyone looking at you before you grunt.

Ingrid knows that sound well as she places you on the floor, taking that god-awful ladybug toy out of her bag. You slam your hand on the button and it starts singing its jolly tune, the sound echoing around the otherwise silent locker room.

You clap your hands in amusement as Ingrid turns around to change.

"So you finally brought her then?" Frido teases and Ingrid rolls her eyes.

"I was convinced."

She looks meaningfully to where you've now been joined by Mapi on the floor. The Spaniard has no qualms about sitting with you, oohing awwing over your toy as you babble at her.

She nods along like you've imparted the truth of the world onto her and she presses the button on your ladybug when it stops again.

"Really?" She coos at you," That's so interesting! You're so smart!"

The rest of the locker room is completely silent until Jenni speaks.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say...What the hell?!"

"It's a baby," Mapi says before Ingrid can speak," Isn't she cute?" She lifts you up under your armpits. You sag in her arms like baby Simba as Mapi proudly presents you to the others. "She's so cool. She can push buttons all by herself!"

Frido laughs. "I think lots of babies can do that, Mapi. Ingrid's Skatt isn't special."

"Don't say that!" Mapi gasps," You can hurt her self-esteem!" She turns you around so she can look at you. "You're very smart! So, so smart! Pushing buttons and singing all by yourself!"

Ingrid's made peace with the fact that she's probably not getting you back this entire training session. She thinks the coaches have also made peace with the fact that there will be no training being done either.

This training session has been highjacked by you and Mapi. Even the more standoffish girls have been won over by you.

Frido isn't much help either, constantly bringing up things like she had known you for years and not the five months you had been alive.

"Show them the bumblebee outfit! Show them the bumblebee!" Frido cajoles as everyone sits in the shade together on the pitch. "Come on, Ingrid! She looks so cute as a bee!"

You're sat happily in Mapi's lap as Jana and Bruna coo over you. You're particularly interested in the fact that they have fingers, tugging and pulling on them before forcing them to touch the button on your ladybug.

"Bumblebee?" The words catch Mapi's attention who sits up fully as Ingrid goes through her camera roll.

"My mother sent it when she was still little."

She flips the phone around so everyone can see you wearing your special bumblebee sleep suit. You look completely peaceful in the picture and Ingrid scrolls along to show you dressed as a spider and an ant.

"This is the most recent one."

It's you sitting in front of your ladybug, dressed like a ladybug too. You've got your fingers in your mouth and you're staring at your toy with such concentration that it's kind of funny.

"She's adorable," Irene coos," My wife is pregnant. I know it is different but...the club...they are good with you needing to be with her?"

"They pay for her babysitter," Ingrid replies," They're perfectly happy with her. Isn't that right, skatt?"

You turn your head to look at her at the call of your nickname. You stare for a moment before grunting and going back to clapping along to your ladybug.

"She seems very smart. She knows her name," Marta continues.

"Ingrid's got her trained," Frido teases," She whistles and Skatt stops exactly what she's doing to listen. She likes a little dog."

Ingrid swats at her. "Stop calling my daughter a dog."

"Yeah, Frido," Mapi butts in," You're going to ruin her self-esteem."

"I don't think you'll let anyone do that. Is Ingrid getting her kid back or are you keeping her forever?"

Mapi shrugs. "I don't mind keeping this little cutie. She and Ingrid can move into my place. I'll take good care of you, skatt. Yes, I will."

Alexia rolls her eyes. "I think you need to prove you can take care of yourself first, Mapi."

"That's why Ingrid's moving in too, obviously. I can't separate this little beauty from her mama. That would make her sad!"

"Sure," Ingrid hears Leila mutter," That's the reason you want Ingrid to move in."

You whine a little as your ladybug stops singing and Ingrid instantly knows what that means.

"Give her here," She says," Someone needs a nap."

You're passed from Mapi to Ingrid and you conk out fast asleep on her chest almost as soon as you're settled there. Your soft puffs of breath tickle Ingrid's collarbone and she gently runs her fingers through your soft, downy hair.

"Oh!" Mapi says.

Her cheeks go a little red as she digs around in her bag.

"I know she likes ladybugs and I'm sorry if this oversteps boundaries or anything but here. For Skatt."

Ingrid tucks the little ladybug plushie under your arms and you instantly curl into it.

"It's beautiful, Mapi," Ingrid says, pressing a soft kiss to Mapi's bright red cheek," Thank you for thinking of her."

[chibinasuu]

My Jolly Sailor Bold | Straw Hats x Reader

★ requested by @supernatural-hunter1 (see here)

Summary: You found yourself humming an old song from your childhood as you mend the sails of the Thousand Sunny Tags: sfw, platonic straw hats x reader, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

The Thousand Sunny floated on the open ocean, in near stillness due to the absence of the sails upon its masts.

You sat on the deck, humming a tune as old as time as you deftly thread a needle through the vast fabric draped all around you, sewing shut a large tear down its length.

A run-in with particularly violent weather had caused some damage to the ship, forcing the crew to momentarily stop in the middle of the now-calm waters for emergency repairs. Franky and Usopp were fixing the splintered railing, and Jinbe had just returned from his underwater inspection below the ship to check for leaks in the hull. Meanwhile, the others were clearing up the deck from debris brought over by the storm.

Your fingers danced upon the sail on autopilot – in and out, in and out. It had become your responsibility to mend the sails anytime damage occurred, even though you knew that Robin, with her powers, could do the job in seconds. But whenever the crew was not in a hurry, you found yourself volunteering for the task, finding it enjoyable and even calming.

Your hums slowly turned into song as you recalled the words to the tune, passed on long ago by your mother, and her mother before her, and her mother before her. 

“Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be. 

Who love a jolly sailor that ploughs the raging sea” 

The faint call of the seabirds flying high above complimented your voice, and the slow hammering of your hard-working shipwright provided a steady beat of accompaniment as you continued to softly sing, 

“While up aloft in storm, from me his absence mourn

And firmly pray, arrive the day, he's never more to roam”

Some of the crew members near you had started to notice your somber melodies, hands unwittingly pausing in their tasks as if enchanted by a siren’s voice.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing–”

You abruptly stopped singing as you became aware of the sudden silence that washed over the deck. You looked up to see all of your crewmates watching you intently with fond smiles on their faces. Heat spread to your cheeks in embarrassment at their attention, and you covered your face with the sail you were stitching. 

“Oh, please don’t stop, darling!” Sanji cooed loudly, “Please let me hear your wonderful voice again!”

Brook came over to you and remarked, “What a beautifully haunting song. I’ve never heard it before in all my life – or death! Yo ho ho ho!”

The musician pulled out his violin, trying to replicate the melodies based only on what he heard you sing. You helped him by humming the notes, and with the repetitive nature of the song, it only took an instant for the maestro to pick it up. 

With Brook’s silent encouragement, you joined in the violin’s serenade, singing verse after verse of the song for the small audience.

“There is nothing can console me

But my Jolly Sailor Bold.”

The crew broke out in enthusiastic claps, wolf-whistles, and cheers as the song reached its end. You laughed sheepishly and took a playful bow, before shooing everyone back to their respective chores. 

The catchy song seemed to have wormed its way into your crewmates��� heads, and over the next few days, you caught some of them absentmindedly humming the tune, or singing it with jumbled words as they have yet to memorize the lyrics. 

Your heart warmed whenever you heard the melodies coming from your crewmates’ lips, breathing a new life to the previously half-forgotten song – a piece of your hometown carried over to your new home.

↳ masterlist

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | may i have this dance?

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, The Boy, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; none really!!

♡notes; this popped into my brain the other day and i thought we were due for some fluff. i’m writing part two congruently so that’ll be posted soon too!!

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> Micheal Myers does not dance

> He doesn’t know how, and he doesn’t want to learn

> But like with a lot of things, you get him to bend his rules

> He has a habit of looming in doorways to watch you

> At first it’s disconcerting, but you learn it’s just how he is

> So you pay him no mind as he’s watching you dance around the kitchen to some song that’s too popular for him to know

> Sweet and silly and carefree…

> He clicks the speaker off with a quiet huff

> “Hey, I was listening to that-“ You pout

> He rolls his eyes and puts on something a bit more to his taste

> And before you can playfully complain any more, he wraps his arms around you from behind and sways softly

> It takes a second for you to process it- he’s not normally so…gentle

> But in his own weird little way, he’s dancing with you

> He tenses a bit when you turn around- he’s embarrassed but would never admit it- but when you kiss his cheek he relaxes and gives a quiet hum

>And he keeps swaying as you lay your head on his chest

>Just for you, as long as you don’t tell anyone…Micheal Myers does dance. Just a little.

Thomas Hewitt

> Thomas doesn’t think about dancing

> He’s seen it on TV, read about it in books…but the Hewitts aren’t really the dancing types

> Nearest thing to dancing that he can think of ever doing is being held by his mama, when she’d sing and rock him when he was hurt or upset

> And it’s been a long time since anyone could hold him like that

> But one day you’re upset- he doesn’t know why but you burst into tears the moment he walked in, and it has him in a tizzy

> He quickly scoops you up, checking for any injuries but…nothing. You’re just crying and he hates seeing you like that

> So he does what used to make him feel better

> He can’t sing- or at least won’t, his words are always few and far between- but he hums, low and rumbling in his chest

> As he holds you and slowly sways you start to calm down

> You sniffle and all of the sudden giggle

> “Thomas Hewitt; are you dancin’ with me right now?”

> He looks confused but slowly nods as he thinks about it

> “Well thank you. I needed this.”

> He nuzzles you and continues until you’re calm- and far after that if you’ll let him

Bubba Sawyer

> As we know, Bubba is a very sheltered fellow, but he does like dancing!

> He’s not particularly coordinated but he doesn’t need much coaxing to twirl you around and around

> He’ll dance without music, humming a nonsense tune to you, maybe even whistling

> And if you sing to him he can’t help grinning and giggling

> It’s not uncommon for him to sway and spin with you in the living room if the radio got left on

> And he gets shy when you’re caught by one of his brothers

> “Bubba you stop wasting time, you little—“

> You cock your hip and give Drayton a cold look

> “Oh, I’m a waste of time now, cook?”

> Like always a smart remark goes a long way with Drayton, the twins immediately “oooh”ing and teasing him as he flusters

> Soon enough he’s chasing them out cursing and wielding a pair of tongs

> Leaving you and Bubba forgotten and free to sneak off and continue your fun in peace

Vincent Sinclair

> You’d have to ask

> Probably more than once, honestly

> Vincent is an artistic man, that’s not a doubt in the slightest- but he’s not even a little interested in anything that involves performance

> But you have a way of getting your way with him

> “Vince baby?”

> “…”

> “Pretty please?”

> “…”

> “If we take pictures then you can paint us.”

> He perks up a bit and you know you’ve got him

> “Cmon silly!” You drag him into the house of Wax, camcorder in hand

> Having gotten that far, you finally realize you don’t particularly know how to dance either, not really

> But you don’t tell him that, instead turning on the music and pulling him against you

> You’re clumsy and awkward and adorable as you spin around with him, not even a bit embarrassed

> He isn’t sure the reference stills are usable, but he’s more than happy the sweet moment on camera

Brahms Heelshire

> Brahms treats you like royalty- whatever you want is yours

> So if you say you’d like to go dancing, he is more than happy to arrange something

> Though of course, he doesn’t like leaving home… no matter. There’s plenty of room in the manor

> He makes a date out of it- he’s prone to making dates out of lots of silly things

> Silly or not, it’s sweet, and as always you fawn over him and praise him for the thoughtfulness

> He even bought you a cute outfit for the occasion - he loves dolling you up (pun slightly intended)

> After setting the music he bows and offers his hand- being a rich brat he knows a bit of ballroom dancing

> He’s more than happy to teach you, humming “1-2-3” with your steps

> But he’s laughing and giggling and just can’t stop gushing over how cute you are

> So if you fall into slow dancing like it’s the prom, he doesn’t mind

> Any dance with you is more than he can ask for

[alicewrotethis]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞﹒𝐩𝐭 𝟑

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! atsumu misses you while hes away, one call couldnt hurt, right?  ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! timeskip! a. miya x artist! oblivious! reader, nsfw, phone sex, use of good girl, sue me  ﹒ ◠ note!! final part! but if u want a part 4 or more atsumu content lmk! that banner makes me absolutely feral.. ౨  wc!! 3k   ˚ ۪˖𓏲 mood!! series playlist

[part one] [part two] [part four]

The apartment had felt quieter than normal, a stillness settling in that seemed to press against the walls. You sighed as you leaned into the couch, your phone resting in your hand. The sound of the narrators on the TV filled the living room.

He had left early two mornings ago, his departure marked by the sound of his suitcase wheels rolling down the hallway and his usual mix of excitement and nerves barely contained in his voice. The away game was a big deal to Atsumu, he'd spent the entire week leading up to it alternating between trash-talking the competition and pacing the living room as he ran through game strategies in his head.

You'd watched him as he packed, his energy electric as he tossed jerseys and clothes into his bag, muttering to himself about making sure to not forget his lucky socks. His excitement had been infectious then, filling the apartment and masking the thought of how quiet it would feel without him there, but now, with him gone, the absence was sharp and unavoidable.

You couldn't help but think of all the moments he usually filled, his loud singing while he made breakfast, his playful teasing whenever he caught you lost in thought, and the way he had a habit of draping his large body across the couch, leaving you to sit on the floor in front of him, and how you'd talk about everything and nothing until the night blurred into the morning. Two days without any of it, and the apartment already felt like a completely different place.

Your fingers tightened around your phone as you stared at the last text he sent, a picture of his team's pre-game warm-up. He looked so happy, his usual wide grin plastered on his face as he held up a peace sign with Hinata and Bokuto in the background. You smiled faintly, proud of him, but at the same time, you shouldn't shake the growing ache of missing him. His voice, his presence, and all the little ways he made the apartment feel like home.

The arena was alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking against polished floors and the sharp whistle of the referee cutting through the noise. Atsumu wiped the sweat from his brow, gripping a water bottle as he stood with the team during the timeout.

On the surface, he looked every bit the confident setter, but his mind wasn't fully in the game. It's not as if he was playing bad, he just couldn't stop his mind from drifting.

He reached for him phone hidden away in his bag beside the bench and unlocked it to find the last text you'd sent. It was something simple, so you, a casual 'im watching, you'll do great tsum!', but he read it three times already, letting the warmth of your words replace some of the restless energy buzzing in his chest. Atsumu wasn't one to admit things easily, not even to himself, but he felt your absence more than he thought he would.

He hadn't expected it to be this quiet without you. Sure, his teammates were loud and the atmosphere during away games was electric, but it wasn't the same. There was a certain calmness in your presence, even when you weren't doing anything particularly remarkable. Whether it was your clueless remarks when he tried to joke with you, and the way you'd absentmindedly hum as you worked on something. You made the apartment and his world feel alive in a way he didn't think anybody could.

The hotel hallway was quiet, the faint hum of fluorescent lights being the only sound as Atsumu stepped off the elevator, his duffel bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. His footsteps were muffled against the carpet, but inside, everything felt loud, his heartbeat, the rush of thoughts swirling in his head, and the nagging ache in his chest he couldn't quite shake.

The match had been grueling, leaving his body sore and his mind buzzing. Normally, the adrenaline would still be carrying him, the thrill of a victory filling every corner of his being, but as he entered his room, tossing his bag onto the floor, he couldn't help but feel hollow. The cheers from the crowd and celebrations with his teammates felt miles away now, unable to touch the strange emptiness that followed him.

Kicking off his shoes, he collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the stark, unfamiliar ceiling. Atsumu wasn't one to dwell on things, he liked to keep moving, to fill the quiet with noise, jokes, or distractions, but tonight, the silence wrapped around him, heavy and unrelenting. He hated it.

His hand reached for his phone almost instinctively. Opening your chat, he scrolled through the texts from earlier, his lips twitching at the teasing banter and you congratulating him on his win. Even through the screen, your personality came through so clearly, sharp, cute, funny, and effortlessly grounding. But the texts weren't enough. They were just words. He wanted more. He wanted you.

For a second, he hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button. Would you think it was weird? It was late, and he didn't even have an excuse other than the gnawing need to hear your voice. But before he could second-guess himself, he tapped it, holding the phone to his ear as the line began to ring.

Each ring made his chest tighten, the seconds stretching unbearably. What if you didn't pick up? What if-

"Hello?" Your voice came through, soft but tinged with curiosity, "Tsum? Isn't it late over there?"

Hearing you felt like taking a deep breath after holding it for too long, he closed his eyes, letting the tension ease just slightly.

"Yeah," He said, his voice quieter than usual," I just... wanted to hear your voice,"

There was a pause, one that felt like an eternity, before you laughed lightly. It wasn't the full, unrestrained laugh he loved hearing, but it was enough to make the corners of his mouth lift.

"Well, here it is," You teased gently, "How was the win?"

"Didn't feel the same, s'too quiet here without you," He said softly, his grin forming despite the exhaustion weighing on him.

Your silence this time was heavier, but not uncomfortable, he could almost imagine you sitting in your favorite spot on the balcony, processing his words, maybe fiddling with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly or biting your lip in that way that always seemed to undo him.

"I miss you too," You said finally, and it hit him like a wave. It wasn't dramatic, not even particularly vulnerable, but it was enough.

The words settled between you, like a shared secret neither of you wanted to disturb.

Atsumu let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, running a hand through his hair as a faint chuckle escaped him. But this time, it wasn't the lighthearted sound you were used to, it was softer, lower, as if you reached a part of him no one else ever had.

"Wish I could be there right now," He murmured, his voice dipping into something that made warmth bloom in your chest, "Not just to fill the quiet, but... I dunno, to see you, to really be with you,"

The words hit you harder than you expected, the honesty in them leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn't teasing or trying to smooth-talk his way out of an awkward moment, it was just Atsumu, bare and unguarded in a way he rarely let himself be.

"You'll be back soon, right, tsum?" You replied, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow. There was a tremor in your voice, a longing you couldn't quite hide.

"Not soon enough," He shot back, the grin audible in his voice now, though there was a tension underneath it, "You've got no idea how much I-"

He cut himself off, the words catching in his throat. A beat of silence passed, his breathing uneven as he tried to find the courage to finish.

"Tsum?" You asked softly, your voice threading through the phone like a lifeline. It wasn't teasing, not this time, it was laced with something gentler, something that made his pulse hammer in his chest.

His name on your lips was enough to undo him. He exhaled sharply, and when he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher like he was balancing on the edge of restraint, "Ya don't make it easy for me, y'know," He murmured, his words drawn out, heavy with something unsaid.

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, his tone rich with a tension you couldn't ignore. There was no playful edge to it now, just raw honesty, dipped in a yearning that made your breath hitch.

"Every time I hear your voice," He continued, his voice rasping like he was barely holding himself together, "Its like... it's like you're right here, and I cant- I cant stop thinkin' about what it'd be like if ya were. If I could see you, touch you, hear you laugh 'cause yer too nervous to do anything else."

Atsumu's words were heavy, unfiltered, dripping with a longing that practically reached through the phone. You could hear the way his breathing shifted, uneven and shallow like he was struggling against the weight of what he was feeling. And then, a low, guttural groan slipped past his lips, quiet but undeniably raw, sending a wave of heat through you.

"God," He groaned out, "You've got no idea what yer doin' to me, do ya? I can't even think straight when it's you, the way ya talk, the way ya say my name like it's the only thing that matters..." His words trailed off into a shaky exhale as he palmed himself through his shorts.

You felt your face grow hot, your heart pounding so hard it was a wonder he couldn't hear it through the phone. You felt your core pool in your shorts as you listened to his shaky breathing.

"Tsum..." You whispered, your voice soft but laced with an edge of vulnerability you couldn't hide.

"Say it again," He interrupted, his tone almost desperate now, "Say my name,"

The way he said it sent another shiver through you, his voice dipping into something deeper, something that wrapped around you like a vice. And before you could stop yourself, you obeyed, his name falling from your lips in a way that left him completely undone.

"Shit," He let out a breathy moan, his breath ragged, "Im losin' it over here, I don't even care, just- just keep talkin' okay? Dont stop, needa' hear ya,"

His words were a plea, his tone dripping with an unrestrained intensity that left you dizzy. Every syllable seemed to pull you in further.

Atsumu couldn't handle the way his dick throbbed against his shorts, he craved and yearned for the sweet release, the intensity of his need, or his desire to hear you and feel you all too much, all past exhaustion seemingly slipping away with the shorts now wrapped around his thighs.

"Can never get enough of ya," The confession hung in the air like a promise.

You felt your fingers subconsciously trail down your body with soft whimpers as you listened to Atsumu, your noises only pushing him further.

"Ya gonna touch yerself? Wanna hear ya moanin' my name, need it s'bad," He said, his voice desperate as he began slowly stroking himself to the sound of your whimpers. He imagined how much better they'd sound if he was there, touching you, replacing the fingers that were now sliding down your puffy slit.

His words echoed in your mind, sending another rush of warmth through your veins, it made your heart race and your walls clench around nothing.

You closed your eyes, imagining how he looked with his big hands wrapped around his dick, imagining the blush that would spread across his face, how his skin would feel against your own.

"Bet ya look so cute right now, huh?" He let out, the strokes on his cock were steady as he bucked his hips up into his hand, letting the pleasure take over him in shuddering groans.

Your fingers were coated in your own wetness, you couldn't muster up anything, too nervous to form a sentence so you let your sounds do the talking for you. You slid a finger into your aching pussy, a soft moan leaving your lips at the feeling.

Atsumu smirked as he imagined the sight, "Just like that, fuck, ya sound so pretty, say my name," Atsumu mewled through gritted teeth, trying his best to hold onto his composure as his biceps trembled, pumping his cock sloppily, precum leaking from his tip and into his stroking hands.

"Tsum," You said in a low, drawn-out moan, the weight of his words spurring you on, leading you to insert another finger, you were glad he couldn't see the deep red that painted your cheeks.

"Hah, I bet you'd take me so well, wanna show ya how much I miss ya," He panted, feeling the all too familiar feeling of his climax swirling in his chest.

You slid your fingers in and out at a stable pace, the pleasure creeping up your spine as you arched your back, your clit rubbing against the flat of your palm forcing soft whimpers of need.

"Feels so good," You babbled, placing the phone down next to you on speaker so you could use your now free hand to rub circles on your clit. Your thighs trembled and your hips jerked up.

Atsumu's strokes became sloppy and messy as he neared the edge, "Are ya close? W-Want ya to cum with me," His voice wavered, his eyes now closed, fully concentrating on the sounds that were emitting from your mouth.

You felt your orgasm seeping into your core, the shake of your legs, the arch of your back, your mind was running wild.

"Yes, fuck, tsum, want you so bad," You mewled, the sound of your fingers sliding in and out of you filling the room.

The sound of your pussy drove Atsumu crazy, "Cum, baby, cum for me, yer such a good girl,"

His words were enough to make you spill over the edge, your orgasm hit you hard, and you couldn't contain the loud moan that erupted from your throat as your thighs snapped shut, your eyes rolling back in pure bliss.

Atsumu's climax followed soon after, being pushed by the sounds of your orgasm and the chanting of his name over and over. Ropes of white painted his hand and his jersey as groans of pure euphoria filled his hotel room, his hips jutting up into his fist to ride out his high with a shuddering groan.

The silence that followed was thick, hanging heavily between you. You both knew something had shifted, but neither of you seemed ready to acknowledge it. Atsumu was the first to break the quiet, his voice softer than it had been before, tinged with uncertainty.

"Uh, sorry, I-" He trailed off, the words clearly not coming out the way he'd intended. You could hear the tension in his tone and the way he was trying to find the right thing to say, but the weight of everything that had just passed was making it hard.

Another long pause stretched between you. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn't easy either. You could feel your heart beating a little faster than usual, your mind racing with thoughts. What does this mean? Where do we go from here?

"It's okay," You replied softly.

Atsumu let out a shaky breath, "You're sure its okay? 'Cause I... I didn't mean to make things weird,"

It was endearing, the way he still seemed unsure despite how confident he usually was. That vulnerability made the whole situation feel different, somehow. It was like both of you had just crossed a line that neither of you were prepared for, and now you were both trying to figure out what the next step was.

Atsumu took off his jersey and stared into the phone screen at your contact name, waiting for your next response.

"Yeah," You said, finally, your voice quiet, "It's just... a lot. I didn't expect... this," You weren't sure how else to put it, but he seemed to understand, his next words coming out more slowly, more carefully.

"I get it, I didnt either, guess I'm just... not great with this kind of thing, but I don't wanna make you uncomfortable," He admitted, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

Your chest tightened a little at his words, and you found yourself smiling despite the awkwardness, "I'm not uncomfortable, just... processing,"

He let out a small laugh, a nervous one, "Yeah, me too, this is weird, huh?"

You both laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. You weren't sure where this would lead, or if it should lead anywhere, but for now, the air between you had shifted, and there was something strangely comforting about knowing you weren't the only one feeling a little lost in all of this.

"I guess we'll figure it out huh?" You said, your voice was a little more steady now, as you both tried to make sense of the unexpected bond that had formed between you.

Atsumu's response was quieter. but there was a gentleness there, "Yeah... we will."

navigation !

© 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ please don't copy, translate, or post any of my work without my permission !

[part one]

[part two]

[part four]

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

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@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

@thatsassyhufflepuff @rem-ie

[mandiemegatron]

ᴸᵃʷ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ˡᵘᶜᵏⁱˡʸ, ˢᵒᵐᵉʰᵒʷ, ʸᵒᵘ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵘᵖ ᶠⁱⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ. ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᵘˢᵉˢ ˢʰᵉ/ʰᵉʳ ᵖʳᵒⁿᵒᵘⁿˢ.

ᴿᵃᵗᵉᵈ ; ᴳ.

ᴹᴰᴺᴵ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ˡᵃᵇᵉˡᵉᵈ ¹⁸+, ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵇˡᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗ.

ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵈᵃʸ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ʷⁱˡˡ ʷᵃⁱᵗ, ᴵ ʷⁱˡˡ ʷᵃⁱᵗ, ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵈᵃʸ...

It was always at night, Law noticed, when you'd find the solace in the silence of the Tang as she swam through the darkened depths.

With the majority of the crew either sleeping or busy with keeping the Tang a well-oiled machine, you'd be here, and unbeknownst to you, so would he.

The sound was soft, like a gentle whisper on the breeze, that barely echoed in the small kitchen area as you tidied up and finished off the dinner dishes. Your voice chimed along with your baby den den radio, the same sang playing over and over though Law found himself captivated how you'd change harmonies every time it played.

He lost track of time of how long he'd stood off to the side, simply watching you in silence with his arms crossed comfortably over his chest as he leaned on the wall. His heart lurched and clenched as you hit a particularly high note, the sound crawling over his skin like a tingly and warm blanket. He'd never understand why you wouldn't sing in front of the crew, knowing they would lose their minds over having a crewmate that could actually carry a note.

"... some say you will love me one day, and I will wait, I will wait to get your loving one day..." The words tumbled from your lips almost absent-mindedly as you finished washing the dishes and moved onto drying and putting them away.

"Just say you will love me one day, and I will wait, I will wait to get your loving one day... and I will wait, I will wait..."

A small smile ticks up at the corner of Law's lips as he finally pulls himself away from watching your form sway slightly with the music, burning this image of you into his mind before taking that final step and quietly walking out from the kitchen area. The sound of his footsteps retreating pulls you from your mind, and you turn to see Law take the corner, hands in his pockets as he softly begins to whistle the same tune that played next to you.

Your cheeks burned bright red as you realize he must have been standing there, waiting to speak with you, only for you to be locked in your head. You shook your head with an embarrassed huff before going back to the dishes, turning the music up just enough to overtake the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

As Law comes up to his office, he bumps into a yawning Shachi, who gives his best friend and Captain a pointed look as he quietly asks, "Did you talk to her?"

Law presses his lips into a fine line, almost frowning as he shakes his head. Shachi claps a heavy hand on Law's shoulder and grins before the orca hatted man adds, "There's always tomorrow."

The sound of your voice is barely a whisper by his office but Law turns either way, an almost lost look on his face as he gives a sigh. "... perhaps."

Shachi gives Law's shoulder a gentle squeeze before he makes off for his shared room with Penguin. Law barely registers his friend and crewman walking away, too absorbed by his thoughts until the sound of Shachi's door closing pulls him out of it.

Pulling himself into his office, he keeps the door cracked just enough that he can hear the murmur of your voice dancing off the metal walls.

"... There's... always tomorrow..." He repeats to himself as he sits at his desk, sighing heavily as he stares down at his unfinished paperwork.

"... just say you will love me one day, and I will wait..."

Another near nonexistent smile tugs at his lips and he picks up his pen with a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly again as he finally settles in.

Just wait for me... he thinks to himself, sparing a glance at his office door. Just a little longer...

[pablitogavii]

Cumple❤️

“Feliz cumple cuñadoo!!” Two little girls jumped in Pablo’s lap hugging him tightly and you giggled taking the photo they asked for.

“Ai cariño..look at the cake!” You show him his own pictures on the cake and Pablo smiled at you nodding his head trying a little bit of the frosting.

“Not before pictures chaval!” His mom said and all the women agreed while the med laughed at our silliness.

“Alright, let’s sing the song papi” Aurora said and everyone started singing to very red faced Pablo who didn’t particularly like being a center of attention.

After everyone’s applause, he was the first to break the silence “can I eat my cake now!?” He said as everyone laughed.

“Feliz cumple querido mio..Siempre mamás bebé” Belen kissed his cheeks smiling at Pablo who hugged her back.

“Mamá no estoy un bebé ahora! Tengo 20 años! Porfa” he said making everyone chuckle knowing he was always a mamas boy.

“Feliz hijo! Wishing you fast recovery and happy season” his dad said patting his head and kissing his forehead. It’s all Pablo wanted too..to return back home.

“Felicitaciones hermanito mío! Here is my gift..take your girl somewhere nice and enjoy the rest of summer” she said giving him two plane tickets she got for Greece.

“Ai hermana, you didn’t have to” he said and she shook her head pulling you close saying how happy she is her little brother found an angel.

“Feliz cumple Pablo!!” Everyone was heard as I slowly made my way to him and he smiled opening his arms for a hug.

“Now it’s my turn cariño..Feli cumple mi amor. I wish you the healthiest and happiest season and so much love..here is my present” you said into the huh as he kissed your forehead and played with your hair staring with you with big eyes.

“Te amo mi vida..y eso?” He said before slowly opening the box and seeing a bracelet with both of your initials.

“We can be together even when you travel..mine shines when you touch yours. So we know we are thinking of each other” you explain showing his and he smiled big pitting it on immediately.

“Que preciosos!” Belen was crying now and both of you hugged her.

“Te amo bastante..” he whispered leaning to kiss your lips while everyone whistled making you both shy. You hid your face in the crook of his neck.

“Gracias preciosa mía..tu eres mi regalo más precioso del mundo” he said and you smile cuddling into him before continuing to celebrate with his family.

That night when you were already in bed you looked at the precious picture of Pablo with the two girls smiling to yourself.

He was fresh out of shower looking at you while wearing his pajamas.

“Porque reíste tanto mi vida?” He said laying down and showing him the photo that made him smile.

“You look so good with them..and it made me think wild thoughts” you said growing shy.

“Wild thought preciosa?” He slid beside me pulling me on top of him as I giggled.

“Mhmm it made me want to give you a baby..so bad!” You admit making him smirk and kiss you passionately.

“Hmm I know…and I want that baby so bad right now but we’re young cariño” he said massaging your hips.

“So ya se..” you agree pointing and he kisses it

“One day..preciosa” he said and you smile into the kiss

“Me prometes?” You say and he nods kissing you more

“Te pomelo mi vida” he added before you fell asleep on top of his chest freaking about that future.

[seaspringangel]

sparrow in the storm — ais

summary: ais becomes a sanctuary for not only one, but two little sparrows.

word count: 1.1k

content warnings: gn!reader ✦ established relationship ✦ fluff ✦ mild mild suggestive themes ✦ reader wearing ais’s yukata cuz its their god given right

notes: a while ago, @hollana sent me cute ask one + ask two and @danger-bird made adorable fanart for it. they really made my entire month! so this is dedicated to them :) this is also a birthday gift for @danger-bird, as today is their birthday today. i hope they have a wonderful celebration!

The bright melody of birdsong carried you out of the haze of your dreams.

So soft and sweet it was, it wrapped around you like a silken blanket, a touch warmer than the drowsy heat emanating from the fabric of Ais’s yukata that covered your entire body at the moment.

The birdsong was serenading in your left ear, so you languidly turned in that direction, your nose immediately brushing against the thigh of the Monster sitting upright beside you, cross-legged. You peeled your eyes open, and your world delicately smudged red from the eerie glow radiating from the waters of the Seaspring.

Between the cradle of his red horns, an actual sparrow was nesting in the darkness of Ais’s hair.

You stare at the bird for a few seconds, watching the crystalline rain droplets gather like gem clusters on Ais's head. “So you’re finally replacing me, it seems.”

Eyes closed, Ais smirked. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

You roll your eyes so hard that it's a miracle they didn’t become lodged in your skull.

You sat up and yawned, idly fidgeting with the bandages wrapped around your arms. “When did you even get a real sparrow, anyway?”

“She flew in with the storm,” was Ais’s soft reply, and you listen to the din of rain thundering the rooftop of the Seaspring like a barrage of fists striking down from the heavens, the cloudy light seeping in from the outside painting his bare chest in translucent silver splashes. “She was weak. Couldn’t leave her out in the cold.”

You smiled a bit as the bird, still singing its merry little song, fluttered down from his hair to nuzzle against his face. She truly adored him, no different than any other creature that falls in love with Ais when they cross his path. “So you let her nest in your hair?”

“Nothing is stopping you from making a nest yourself, sparrow.”

You roll your eyes yet again. Ais is the only one alive who can make you feel heavenly tenderness and agitation that burns hotter than any hellfire. “You do realize I’m not a real bird, right?”

Ais opened his eyes and turned his head to fully regard you then. Your heart skipped a beat once, twice, and a third time as he looked you up and down slowly as if caressing you with the sharpness of his eyes. You pulled his yukata tighter around your body, suddenly becoming shy. It was almost hard to breathe when his eyes went warm like that and became lovelier than crimson jewels glittering in the light of golden sunshine.

Ais hummed thoughtfully. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You blink owlishly at him. Then, incensed, you promptly smacked his shoulder, hot irritation and a sickening sense of warmth going to war inside you. “You are so incredibly annoying.”

The bastard began to chuckle, and his new songbird had the gall to chirp alongside him as if she were laughing at your embarrassment too. How dare that cute, feathery homewrecker?

…Okay, maybe you were a little jealous, but you would quite literally swallow a thousand teacup shards than ever admit to that, so you opened your mouth to say something particularly acerbic and snarky when suddenly Ais pursed his lips and whistled a colorful melody, cupping his hands together.

You and the bird both reacted as if Ais plucked the string of some latent instinct in your bodies. The bird fluttered down to rest in his large waiting palms, and you couldn’t help but be drawn in by his gravitational pull and the need to be near him and soak up the rest of his misty heat like a flower drinking the last dredges of summer rain.

You press into his side and watch Ais’s calloused thumbs gently smooth through the dandelion fluff of the bird’s feathers, the little thing happily thrilling all the while, before looking up at his face and feeling your heart melt instantly.

There was a certain radiance to Ais when he cared for something or someone. It was like trailing fingers along the surface of iridescent water, yearning to crack below the glowing surface to discover the beauty underneath. You know what you’ll find in those waters will make you feel whole again.

There was a softness to his gaze, a look you knew he reserved for you and you alone, especially when he thought you weren’t looking, embers sparking from the depths of his eyes, keeping you warm when you couldn’t do it yourself. You wanted him to look at you like that always, and you wanted his hands, the same hands that cradled the singing sparrow with a practiced gentleness, the same hands that held you with the same reverence, to always hold yours until the whole world rotten away.

“She has your eyes,” Ais murmured, resting his cheek on top of your head. You softly snorted but did not offer a rebuttal this time. You can let him have his delusions just this once. “You think she’ll let us keep her?”

You nod, and after he lets the bird fly back to her rightful place upon his head, you let him pull you into his lap. “I don’t see why not. It’s safer here than out there, even if it’s the scariest place I've ever slept in.”

Ais chuckled against the crown of your head, a rich sound that sent decadent shivers up your spine. “Y’know, I never had two singing sparrows live with me before. This is going to be nice.”

You snort softly against his chest. He was pushing it with this ‘who is the real sparrow’ contest. “Uh, what kind of song do I sing? I don’t consider yelling at you all the time to be particularly soothing.”

Ais hummed. “You sing a different kind of song, not the kind made for polite company but for my ears alone. I like how needy you sound when I -“

This was a learning moment to stop taking his bait.

You jerk your head back far enough to make contact with his sternum, and he lets out a short huff of startled breath. You pull his yukata over your face, desperately trying to hide the savage scarlet burning of your cheeks. “I hate you. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t wake me up ever again. Have fun spending time with your new lover.”

Even when struggling to catch his breath, Ais still dared to chuckle at your red-hot embarrassment. You would’ve enjoyed the sound of his laughter if you didn’t want to strangle him to death.

Soon, the sweet melody of birdsong, the torrential storm outside, and Ais’s heartbeat—a firm and steady drumbeat against your ear—lulled you into a soft, safe dream where everything you desired was within reach.

[etunpeudevitriol]

A collection of things from various Tally Hall concert video recordings that give me that little kick of dopamine:

The way Zubin trills through the word heterophonic in some live recordings of Welcome to Tally Hall

Rob beating the shit out of the tambourine during Praise You

Praise You tambourine toss

When Andrew plays a particularly complicated piano part and his head gets stuck in tilted position as he focuses

That time period when Zubin's bangs were so long you couldn't see half his face

Joe's double jointed eyebrows (like that megamind "no bitches?" meme) during emotional/intense songs

How Zubin's always grooving and bopping to the song they're playing

Occasionally Rob also bops with the songs, and sometimes when he does his upper body rocks back and forth like a metronome

Andrew using his sound effects keyboard for evil

When Zubin flexes his vocal capabilities during covers. During any song really, but he always turns it up to 11 (out of a possible 5) for covers

Ross going *bongobongobongo clap bongobongobongo clap clap* toward the end of acoustic versions of Spring and a Storm

"Mr. Moon?" "Yeah?" "Tell us about the sky!" "Okay" <-during the Wall Party concert. I now add in the "okay" myself every time I sing along to Spring and a Storm (like the "Où! Ça!" in the Notre Place if you know you know)

Every single shenanigan that occurs when they start playing Just A Friend

When Andrew plays with his face half an inch away from being fully faceplanted into the keyboard

Bora being a jack-of-all-trades. Whistling, accordion playing, bass playing, American Sign Language, saying "Sold!", he does it all

Andrew headbanging so hard that his glasses yeet themselves off

When Zubin turns away from the crowd and plays to Ross

When the other ties hype the shit out of Ross and he gets the wildest applause. And he'll either be doing a crazy drum solo or sitting all proud like :]

Joe's 4-syllable insert during Just a Friend (if only he'd also done one for the studio recording 😔)

Maple Leaf Rag intro with all the instruments joining in

I'm sure there's more but that's all I can think of

[thedemoninme141]

Things she hates...

Was messing with @ortegalvr when I got this idea.

Y/n: Okay, we've already talked about things we love, now tell me things you hate.

Wednesday: ponders for a moment Hmm... giggling, smiling, laughing, flowers, balloons, glitter, rainbows, clowns, small talk, sunshine, daytime in general. Parties, warm weather, loud music, loud people, happiness, high-pitched voices, people who laugh at nothing, baby pictures, motivational quotes, pop songs, cheerleaders, unicorns, birthday cakes, scented candles, socks that don't match, matching socks, bright lights, excessive compliments, compliments in general, overly friendly waiters...

Wednesday: pillows that are too soft, pillows that are too hard, pillows with frills, puns, people who say "literally" when they mean "figuratively," selfies, people who overshare on social media, people who don’t use punctuation in text messages, overly happy couples, public displays of affection, people who take pictures of their food, people who always say "good vibes only," bright kitchen tiles, motivational speeches, surprise parties, people who whistle in public, baby animals, happy endings in movies, happy endings in real life, people who cry at happy endings…

Wednesday: ...happy families, people who use baby voices, themed weddings, throw pillows that serve no functional purpose, anyone who calls their pet their "fur baby," people who are too nice to waiters, people who name their cars, excessive enthusiasm in any form, people who say “bless you” after sneezes, people who ask "How are you?" when they clearly don’t care, people who say "Have a good day!" when they clearly have no idea how bad my day is already going, brunch...

Wednesday: ...The color red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, Enid, Yoko, Bianca, Weems, Y/n...

Y/n: Wait what?

Wednesday: ...Group projects, team-building exercises, ice cream, ice cream trucks, don’t get me started on art galleries that feature the so called modern art, particularly those with “meaningful” interpretations. They’re just a collection of squiggles and splatters. I also despise the tradition of making New Year’s resolutions. They’re simply promises that people will break within weeks.

Wednesday: …and parades, people who wear their sunglasses on their head, people who can't handle sarcasm, fake plants, real plants that die too easily, real plants that live for years, touching without asking, hugs, small children, large children, teenagers, adults, people who hum while they eat, people who sing while they eat, people who talk while they eat, puppies, kittens, bunnies, hamsters, parrots, goldfish, dolphins, squirrels, ponies, butterflies, ladybugs, hedgehogs, pandas, koalas, flamingos, chipmunks, penguins, seals, deer, giraffes, zebras, alpacas… takes a deep breath and ducks. You cannot fathom how much I hate ducks.

Y/n: 💀literally dead💀

Wednesday: Hey! I wasn't finished.

[Author's note: She attacks, she protects but most of all she hates. Can it be called a one shot ? idk. ]

-----Worklist!<------

[writers-potion]

In my older wip, there were a lot of action scenes with serious characters. It was far from great but to me it felt good enough for a first try on long fiction. Now in my new wip I have many action scenes with high-stakes but the characters are supposed to be goofballs, like Team Rocket or the Alpha Gang, but I'm not really good at writing goofiness between action scenes. Do you have any advice on how to mix these things?

Writing Funny (But Intense) Action Scenes 

Goofy Action

Not every swordstroke, pull of the bowstring, or pulling of the trigger have to be intense and serious. Show how characters just casually show off their “fancy” fighting skills just because they can. 

Holding an arrow between their teeth like a rose

Making whooshing sounds as they slash left and right, one sword in each hand. 

Whistling/singing during the fight 

Making fun of their team member during the fight, then nearly getting killed for not paying attention, but then casually deflecting the lethal blow with awesome fighting skills.

Use Snippets of Conversation 

Insert bits of banter in between. This doesn’t necessarily have to be a joke. 

Characters calling each other nicknames

Characters competing with each other while fighting: “I got two monsters while you were pitifully struggling with that green one. It wasn’t even that big!”/ “shut up.”

Use internal Dialogue 

Show characters making fun of their opponents as they fight 

Characters casually cursing and making jokes to themselves 

Characters commenting on other characters’ fighting: i.e. “Just one monster with one spear? I could easily get two!”

Characters complaining: i.e. “I should’ve finished that cocoa. My poor cocoa!”

Make Description Funny 

The tone is in large part determined by word choice/ use of figurative speech in description. Use expressions like:

He jumped over the obstacles quickly like a rabbit with its tail on fire. 

He waltzed into the battlefield, only it wasn’t elegant at all. 

She held off her enemies left and right, which made her look like a string puppet with a particularly mean owner. 

Apart from the fact that his grunts couldn’t be distinguished from the zombies’, he was doing fine.

Lighthearted action scenes are some of my favorites to read! Do remember to balance off all the joking, banter and funny actions with some serious blows, to remind the readers how high the stakes are.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Hello, can I request Arthur x fem!Reader?

I was thinking of this: reader tries to teach how to play guitar to Arthur but it'll be kinda chaotic,something sweet and fun. I had this idea while listening to Javier singing cielito lindo.

Byee <3

࣪ ˖✧ Musical Interlude

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Warnings/tags: None/pure fluff and silliness. ✦ Words: 1,9k ✦ a/n: Alright here it is, I hope you'll like it! NB: I made Arthur right-handed in this when canonically he seems to be ambidextrous; just thought it would be more convenient this way. As a guitar player myself, I loved writing this! (Arthur's pic is from my playthrough, guitar's pic from interest.)

Lately, life had been a little bit easier at camp. People were well-fed thanks to Mr. Pearson and the boys hunting copious amounts of animals, the swamps right next to Shady Belle providing unexpected resources like shrimps, alligator's eggs, or even 'gators themselves if one was bold enough to hunt them (which was definitely the case for some of the risk-takers in the gang.).

Jack had been saved and safely returned to his mother by John, Dutch, and Arthur a few days ago, and it definitely participated in keeping the mood bright and cheerful since his return party.

You were in a particularly happy mood yourself on this sunny afternoon, sitting on one of the boxes around the main campfire, tents and the usual mess of belongings specific to every camp containing a large amount of people surrounding you, making you feel at home. You liked this heterogeneous gathering of people's stuff; Hosea's book next to Dutch's almost extinguished cigar, little rocks Jack had gathered next to Charle's arrows, a half-eaten plate of stew abandoned there by John next to a letter that was probably Lenny's.

You liked this funny combination of objects; it made the camp feel full of life, homey, and convivial. It made you feel even more joyful.

"Hey Javier, you in the mood for a duo ?" You asked your charming Hispanic companion who had just finished eating on the big log around the campfire, putting his plate away.

"Always, mi princesa." The man happily answered, grabbing his guitar and yours that was carefully tidied just behind his and Uncle's banjo. He handed it to you, a big smile on his face.

You grabbed your instrument and placed it on your lap, left hand naturally placing itself around its neck, fingers pressing on the strings to warm them up a bit. Javier and you had always loved playing together; playing an instrument was already funny in normal times, but with another musician, it was even better. You could share the music, talk with each other in a language known only by artists, respond and play with each other in notes and phrases.

The dark-haired man had started playing an upbeat strumming, a fast, gypsy-like rhythm. You liked it, he was carrying you to allow you to solo on his rhythm. You gladly obliged, little grin on your face as your fingers danced on the neck, your other hand skillfully picking the right string every time, creating a harmonious melody on top of your friend's notes.

Some of the other members had gathered around you to listen, some whistling along as you played. Uncle was having the time of his life listening to you both, clapping his hands in rhythm. In the little group watching the show you were putting on, you noticed Arthur, subtle smile on his face, sipping on a cup of coffee, arms half-crossed. God, he was so beautiful even just like this, on a simple afternoon at camp, blue eyes bright with the light of the sun, light brown hair matching a sandy color flannel he had rolled up his elbows. You almost lost your rhythm when your eyes lingered on his bare forearms, and you quickly focused back on what you were doing, a sheepish little smile on your face.

After a prolonged moment of musical interlude, Javier thanked you and went back on with his day, explaining something about going fishing, which didn't surprise you. You were strumming mindlessly now, playing a little melody that was coming to you on the spot instead of an actual song. Most of the gang members walked off, some started around the campfire with you. Of course, Uncle was the first to sit on the white chair next to Javier's green tent, the old man had almost taken up residence on it; then came Hosea, opening a book as often after lunch, and finally Arthur, who came sitting right next to you on the blue box next to the brown one you were sat on, his cup of coffee left emptied on the floor.

You smiled at him, happy he wanted to rest for a while; it was rare for him to just come and sit by the fire, in fact, you were surprised he was even in camp on an afternoon at all, considering he was almost every day on a job or out hunting, coming back only for dinners and nights.

"Mr Morgan." You welcomed him with a sweet smile. Your mood was even brighter than before with him by your side.

"Miss Y/N..." He greeted you back, shifting a bit on the box, as if he was getting nervous. "You an' Javier play really well..." He began, deep voice drawling, always like he was taking his time to talk.

"Thanks, Arthur!" You claimed, genuinely happy he had liked it. With Arthur's usual poker face, it was sometimes hard to know what he was actually enjoying or not.

"I was wonderin'... Erm... Maybe..." He muttered under his breath, his eyes usually sharp and eager to make eye contact were now running away from yours. You could tell he was embarrassed, that piqued your curiosity and even softened your heart. He looked so cute like this.

"Yes...?" You inquired with an encouraging tone, offering him a reassuring smile, wanting him to understand he had nothing to feel embarrassed for.

"Maybe, you could show me some chords? I always wanted t' learn..." He probed you with a soft and interrogative tone. In a way, you had always liked how he acted more carefully and calmly around you.

"Oh! I would love to, Arthur." Your cheerful answer along with your enthusiasm made him crack up a big smile. Your heart felt lighter at this sight.

You gently offered him your instrument, placing it on his own lap.

"Alright, so. When you're right-handed, you put your left hand on the neck, and your right one on the strings." You explained to him, Arthur placing his hands where you told him, holding your guitar as carefully as if it was a newborn.

"Perfect. Now you need to pinch the strings to make a chord. For that, your fingers need to press this way-" You showed him by gesturing your fingers, curling them in the position they were supposed to have on the guitar. "What's good with you is that you already have calloused hands, so it won't hurt too much when pressing the strings."

Arthur tried to place them as you showed, but every time he tried he kept on letting them fall flat on the other strings; which made you laugh a bit.

"You need to curl them more, Arthur, or else we won't hear all the strings." You instructed him, and he chuckled a bit himself.

"Ah, this is more difficult than I thought..." He confessed in an amused tone, making fun of his own inexperience.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Just... Put them..." You bent over to him and gently used both your hands to make him properly grab the neck, and place his fingers how you wanted. "...This way."

Arthur tried to hold this position but it just felt so unnatural for his hand to be tensed like that. On top of that, your proximity and the soft touch of your fingers against his skin were definitely not helping making him more focused, not even mentioning how he could smell your delicate perfume when being close like this.

"A-Alright... Then ?" He asked you, trying to learn some more and focus back on the instrument, not his owner.

"Then, you strum the strings with your right hand, from up to down at first." You explained head tilted towards said hand, waiting for him to make a move.

Arthur did as you told, his fingers strumming way too hard, resulting in a horrible dissonant chord considering most of his fingers had moved on his left hand. You couldn't hold back a laugh at the sound he had made, and he followed you, feeling so ridiculous right now.

"Ah, damnit..."

"Arthur, you don't have to beat up the damn guitar!" You joked in between giggles, unable to contain yourself at the sight of the great Arthur Morgan struggling to play an instrument.

"This... Damned thing is sneaky; thought it was easy when lookin' at ya..." He mumbled, obviously frustrated by not succeeding, but also still a little amused at himself, the corner of his lips curling in a slight grin.

"Told you, you'll get used to it. You just have to keep playin'..."

As if to prove he could do it, Arthur tried again, but his index finger had moved again and was pinching the wrong string. When he tried strumming again, less softly, the chord began nicely, and both of you smiled triumphantly... Until the last string, when a terrible bum note ruined all his efforts.

You looked into his eyes, mouth trembling as you forced yourself not to burst out in laughter; he looked so frustrated, but the moment his eyes crossed yours, you both succumbed and exploded in a cacophony of laughing.

Hosea and Uncle had turned their head to your improbable duo, the sight of Arthur trying his best but miserably failing at hitting the good notes making them laugh too. Hosea's gaze caught yours, with this small knowing grin so typical of him, and you blushed a bit. Was it that obvious that you were spending the best afternoon trying to teach your beloved outlaw to play your favorite instrument?

"Y/N, I think it's useless, I'm way too shitty at this..." He admitted, a small but deep chuckle escaping from his chest.

"No no no, I told you before, you just need some practice. Look..."

You got up from the box and placed yourself right in front of him, grabbing each of his hands with each of yours. With your right one, you positioned his index and middle fingers properly to play the simplest chord, the E minor.

With your right hand, you gently guided his from up to down, making the tips of his fingers gently brush every string.

The chord finally ended up sounding right from start to finish, and Arthur let out a triumphant and sharp "Ah!", looking genuinely so happy it sounded good. You smiled fondly at him. How could a so violent and rough man look so adorable and goofy right now?

"See? You can do it." You asserted him, looking up at him in the eyes.

"Thank you miss, you did all the work..." He acknowledged, still smiling, the subtlest red covering his cheeks.

In the background, Hosea and Uncle were looking at each other with this specific look that was saying "There's definitely something between these two but we're not going to say anything".

You and Arthur spend another long moment trying to make him learn the simplest chords, those that require only two or three fingers. You two would crack up smile and laugh every time he would play a wrong chord, and honestly, it was the best day for you both in a long time.

As the sun was setting down, Arthur sighed deeply, realizing he hadn't done anything considered productive yet, spending his afternoon playing with you. He slowly handed you back your guitar, a gentle expression on his face.

"Thank you for your patience, darlin'. I don't know how you're dealin' with this awful skills of mine..."

"Come on, you've made some progress! Keep on training, Arthur. I'm sure you'll soon be the most famous player in the West, on top of being its fastest gunslinger. " You encouraged him, face as pleasant and lovely as a sweet peach on a hot summer day.

Your words made Arthur snort a last amused chuckle.

"You're puttin' too much hope on me, Miss." He concluded with an amused smile before leaving you, heart lighter, ideas brighter than when he had begun his day.

Arthur knew he wouldn't be very talented at guitar, but he also was certain he was going to ask you to teach him again some other day, and he would make sure to play more wrong notes, just to have the sweet opportunity to feel your tender touch on him again.