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florencemtrash · 2 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twelve

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None! Familiar faces return to Velaris and Y/n finally gets a chance to explore the city...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

I’ve been dreaming again. Dreaming of him.

Thanatos. With his milky pale skin the color of bleached bones. Bold brush strokes of black ink mark his clothes and paint his hair and his marble eyes. I should feel unsettled when looking into the face of death. But I don’t. I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to see his true face and I don’t know why. He doesn’t understand it either, and it frustrates him to no end.

He’s almost as curious as I am. Almost.

He came to the cabin again today, carrying that black lit candle between his spindly fingers like he believed in the Mother and was prepared to pray and sing to her like the rest of us. He says he likes to hear me during the service, tiny and informal as it is, but really I think he’s here because it irks me, and because I’m some tapestry he can’t seem to unravel.

He asked me again whether I’d call upon the Mother for him. He says he has a question that needs answering, and once he has his answer, he’ll be able to tell me how we can defeat Koschei. If it’s even possible.

But I don’t believe that male for a second. He’d sooner carve the world to bits and devour the scraps before helping us like the coyote he is.

Rest assured I will never agree to his bargain. It will take more than that to turn Bethsevah Mordeigh.

Although he said something strange that night, when the candles had dripped and left their waxy marks on the altar.

“You were made to ruin me, Beth,” he said, “And I will let you do it a thousand—a million—times over.”

He spoke in a dozen different voices, but I can’t deny I liked how the sounds came together and became his own.

You jerked awake with your hand still cradling the book against your chest.

Bethsevah Mordeigh.

You had a name.

You had a name!

You burst out of your room.

“Az! Az! I’ve got something.” You beat your fist against his bedroom door. “Az!” There was silence.

The kitchen was empty, dirty dishes scrubbing themselves clean in the sink. A glance at the clock above the oven told you you’d slept in a great deal.

You took the steps two at a time, sprinting down the hallway towards the west wing. The training arena took up most of the second floor stocked with enough weapons to outfit a small army. Wood and stone knobs stuck out from the wall at extreme angles as part of the climbing gym. The ceiling dipped up and down like draped fabric. On any other day you would have seen Valkyries with rippling arms and backs making their way up to the green flag pinned directly above the room’s center point, bodies straining against the pull of gravity. But not today.

Two of the three mats spaced across the room were occupied and you heard the beat of Illyrian wings before you even opened the double doors.

Feyre and Nesta stood against the side wall bracketed by racks of steel swords, glistening throwing knives, and an Illyrian bow as long as you were tall.

Feyre licked her lips, greedily tracing Rhysand’s powerful form as he went toe to toe with Azriel. You couldn’t help but stare as well as they leapt around the ring in a blur of wings and shadow. You’d never seen Azriel shirtless but… well… it was a sight you could get used to.

It was a dance — a dangerous, deadly dance — and although the language of violence wasn’t one you were familiar with, you could read the display well enough to know that Azriel would win this round.

Sweat glistened on his skin, slipping down the curves of his back where leathery black wings fused with his shoulder blades. Tattoos wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest, pulsing with a life of their own as Azriel cleanly side stepped one of Rhysand’s kicks. There was the faintest crease in the High Lord’s brow to let you know he was getting tired.

But Azriel was just getting started. And now that he knew you were watching? He wanted to make it worth your while.

Rhys gritted his teeth, launching out with a strike quicker than lightning. Someway, somehow, Azriel was faster. He dipped to the side, Rhys’s knuckle just kissing his cheekbones and came up for a counterstrike, slamming his fist so hard into his brother’s cheek that he staggered back.

That was unnecessary. Rhys snapped his jaw back into place.

Azriel grinned. Fatherhood suits you. But I can’t let you get soft.

There was a roll of violet eyes. Sure. That’s why you’re trying so hard right now.

Rhys snatched Azriel’s leg out of the air, rolling onto the ground in a move that sent the Shadowsinger twisting in a graceful arch that had your breath catching in your throat. He broke free of Rhysand’s hold, leaping onto his feet like gravity didn’t apply.

You met his eyes, heady and dark, and could have sworn he winked. But it may have just been a trick of the light.

You ducked your head, hurrying across the room towards Feyre and Nesta and hoping they wouldn’t comment on the flush creeping up your neck.

“Fey—” you began urgently.

The High Lady held up a hand and you fell silent. There was a sheen to her eyes that let you know she was honing in on Rhysand’s moves with more than just her eyes.

Nesta smirked at you as you blushed. You struggled to keep your gaze from drifting back to the powerful display, even as you caught glimpses of Azriel’s tan body out of the corner of your eye. Rippling, bold, strong.

“Don’t worry about staring,” Nesta said with a wicked glimmer. “The boys admire us. We admire them. It’s an even exchange.”

One mat over Cassian was sparing with a new female you’d never seen before. Illyrian, but there was something wrong with her wings. They were held strong and proud above the ground, but they dragged in places where Cassian had control over every minor movement. If you concentrated closely enough, you could make out the thin, shiny scars that had snipped the tendon closest to the apex of her wings, just by the arch of her claws.

Your stomach dropped with horror.

Her wings had been clipped.

She held her own against the Lord of Bloodshed. Cassian might have had the advantage of experience and his longer limbs, but she moved with a daring determination. She dodged every blow by the narrowest margin, conserving her energy so when she was able to slip close and find her opening, she slammed her elbow up and into his nose with a sickening crack that echoed throughout the room.

You winced, hands flying up to your face at the same time that Cassian’s did.

“FUCK!” He roared.

“Whooo! THAT’S MY WIFE!” A gorgeous, curvy blond hung off one of the ring posts, legs propped up on the tensioned ropes.

There was only one member of their family that had ever been described as sunlight incarnate. That had to be Mor. Which meant the striking female currently giving Cassian hell on the mat was Emerie.

Emerie blushed, stealing a heavy look for long enough for Cassian to snap his nose back into place. He ducked down and swept her legs out from beneath her, wrestling her to the ground in a tangle of leather and wings. But Nesta didn’t let him have the advantage for too long.

Cassian choked on the teasing words he’d prepared for Emerie when Nesta sent him a particularly candid image of herself in a strip of black fabric.

For later tonight. She whispered down the bond.

Damn it Nes.

Emerie smashed her forehead into his already swollen nose, then her knee surged up with enough strength to crack ribs. She braced her foot against his chest and flipped him over her head and onto his back, wrapping her powerful legs around his neck and pinning him to the ground with his arm forced back in his socket. Finally he tapped out.

“Poor Illyrian baby,” Nesta crooned as Emerie pulled Cassian to his feet. Despite the blood that dripped from his nose, he was glowing with pride at Emerie. “Better luck next time.”

Mor grasped Emerie by the front of her training gear and yanked her close for a long kiss that left the Illyrian stumbling back with red lipstick smeared over her lips and a dark blush across her caramel cheeks.

Nesta yelped when Cassian wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“We could try that move tonight. Your legs, my face? But this time I won’t tap out.” Cassian winked and Nesta leveled a sultry glare in his direction, eyes lingering on the sheen of his muscular chest with unabashed heat.

“Get a room,” Mor called out and Emerie threw a towel in his direction. It landed over his shoulder with comical perfection.

“Says the pair that had to disappear to another continent after their wedding ceremony.”

Mor flung an obscene gesture his way and Cassian returned it with equal fervor. “Says the pair that made Azriel run for the hills when he was left to chaperone.”

“Hey! That’s on Rhysand. He never should have left us with a chaperone at all.” Nesta cut in.

“You rang.” Rhysand appeared sweaty and spent behind Mor’s shoulder and slung his arm around her. The bruises on his cheeks were turning darker by the second.

Azriel hovered on the edges of the crowd, glancing at Mor and then at you. He was mildly disappointed that you’d been too busy watching Cass and Emerie to see him win at the end of the fight.

“Gross, get off of me.” Mor shoved her cousin away.

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with laughter. He smiled at you, eyes gleaming with happiness. It had been so long since he’d last seen his cousin.

“Mor.” He gestured to you, “Meet Y/n—” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

“Halwynn.” You offered up your mother’s last name. Even though you technically didn’t have any right to it as a bastard, it’s the name you’d gone by your whole life.

“Meet Y/n Halwynn,” Rhysand finished.

“The resident intellect,” Mor said, caramel-brown eyes shining. “Well thank the Mother, you showed up when you did.” She looped her arm around yours easily and you caught a whiff of the perfume she’d dotted against her collarbones — amber and vanilla. A ruby the size of your thumb hung from a gold chain, following the dramatic dip in the front of her scarlet dress that left little to the imagination. You thought she might just be the most gorgeous female you’d ever seen.

“We’d be absolutely lost without you. I hope the Library is up to your standards, although let’s be honest, it probably isn’t.”

You agreed a little too quickly.

“Bethsevah Mordeigh.” Rhysand turned the name over in his mind, testing its familiarity and coming up empty. “Any takers?”

You all stood around Rhysand’s desk, the book propped open beside bottles of jet-black ink, eagle-feather pens, and neat stacks of parchment paper.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Fair enough.” He looked disappointed, but not surprised. “We’re only separated by a few thousand years, give or take.”

You paced in front of the windowsill, nervously picking at your fingernails until they were under threat of bleeding. Azriel noticed and one of his shadows gently wrapped around your wrists and pulled your hands apart. You looked at him gratefully and stuck your hands in your pockets.

“The oldest text I’ve seen dates back twelve-thousand years,” Feyre offered. “I’ve also asked Gwyn and Clotho to begin searching.”

“What about the Day Court?” Azriel looked at you.

“I can ask Helion to search the archives. But I’ll warn you, records dating back that far are few and far apart. And priestesses back then were less keen on recording the movements of their members. But we might get lucky with some of her descendants if they ever joined the order. Work our way backwards through history.”

Mor shot Rhysand a look. “Why ask me to come back here now? I could have been of better use searching for this information on the Continent.”

“Now is not the time for you to be traversing foreign lands. Not with Koschei at risk of being let loose.”

You shook your head. “And it wouldn’t matter. Bethsevah wouldn’t have been born on the Continent. If she ever went, it would have only been to trap Koschei. Our best bet is to search for information about her down south.”

The others stared at you in confusion. You blinked as if the answer was obvious. “Organized religion surrounding the Mother emerged in Southern Prythian and her priestesses didn’t spread out to Hybern or the Continent until the Insynthian Age.”

“Your point being?” Nesta folded her arms over her chest. When it came to the specifics of Prythian history, she and Feyre were about as useful as a glass rod in a lightning storm.

“The bit about the candles is a very, very old ceremony. People would write their prayers in blood and have a priestess burn them on a candle made with a strand of their hair woven into the wick. If Bethsevah was a priestess performing this ritual, she would have been an early member of the order. Before the Insynthian Age.”

“That would narrow things down significantly.” Rhysand nodded in approval. “I’ll reach out to Lucien, see if he’ll be able to find anything out for us.”

You pulled a sheef of paper out from your pockets and Helion’s pen. You scribbled down a note to him about what you’d discovered and within five minutes the words were racing south to the Day Court.

“How on earth do you know this?” Mor asked incredulously, looking at you with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.

“I’m a Librarian.” She looked unimpressed by that statement. “I had a religious phase.” You smoothed your thumb over your necklace, feeling for your mother’s seal — a flowering heather and fountain pen crossed over in an “x”.

“A religious phase?”

“Yes.”

She clicked her tongue, red lips turning up in a smirk. “You Day Court fae are certainly something.”

You blushed. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” You went to grab the book, but Mor’s hand slapped down first, pinning it to the table and you with a stare.

“Nope. Work is for tomorrow,” Mor declared, eyes glittering with fondness. “Today, I want to see my city with my family.”

You tapped the book through your robes, counting the rhythmic swings against your hip like a metronome. One. Two. One. Two. One-

Cassian leaned down to whisper, “You’re doing great,” before waving to a male with ash-blonde hair standing beside an apple cart.

Pink ladies, honeycrisps, and ambrosias were piled high into luscious clouds. Two gestures and a flick of a coin through the air later and Cassian was shoving a small, flimsy basket in your hand. Roasted apples covered in burnt sugar and drizzled with caramel seeped into the wax paper.

One. Two. One. Two.

It was still too early for most of the Night Court, but the hustle and bustle in the Palace of Bone and Salt was unperturbed. Now was the time for the owners of small shops to haggle for prices without interfering with common business. The apple cart you just left had a new customer already — a wispy female with candy-floss hair lugging a basket on wheels capable of carrying three bushels for the bakery two streets over.

“Would you like some?” You held the food up to Azriel, but he only stumbled over a crack cobblestone street before shaking his head no.

He was being awfully quiet today. Quieter than usual.

Maybe he’s sick? You thought to yourself. He hadn’t eaten lunch either, but maybe that was just because he disliked the sandwiches you’d made. Or maybe it was because of a certain blond-haired female who kept giving him side glances with questions eating at her from the inside out.

“Come on,” you encouraged, nudging his shoulder. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Azriel looked at the apple slice you held out for him like it was a personal torture.

Cassian grinned and slung his arm over your shoulders, peeling you away from Azriel’s side to his relief. The weight was a comfort coming from him and you felt that thrill in your stomach whenever any member of the Inner Circle touched you.

“Azriel won’t starve. I promise, Y/n.”

Nyx thought he might starve. He was a growing boy, and had a stomach to match. He tapped your elbow and you wordlessly passed over the basket to him, but not before snatching a piece for yourself. The sugar crackled, then melted over your tongue, the sharpness from the apple cutting through caramel in a burst of tartness.

“How is Helion doing by the way?” Mor dropped the question casually. “Rhys says you know him well.”

You blinked at her. What did she care about Helion? “I’ve worked on a few projects for him before this one. And he’s doing as well as he can be, I suppose. Things aren’t exactly perfect in the Day Court right now.”

“Ah, Helion,” Mor breathed out, almost wistfully, “He was one of the few good males I ever slept with.”

You choked on your food, sputtering and coughing for long enough that Cassian started to slap your back. You felt your bones shake with each blow.

So… Mor had slept with your father… figures.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you said meekly. You shoved more food in your mouth before anyone could ask any further questions.

Azriel felt that familiar pool of jealousy bubble in his stomach at the mention of Helion. You kept rubbing that necklace of yours, Helion’s seal displayed prominently like he’d personally stamped you as his.

He allowed himself to get close enough to brush against your shoulder and a few of his shadows creeped onto your body, weaving themselves into your hair. You looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re in a good mood today.” Azriel’s hazel eyes were brighter in the morning light, flecks of green poking through the amber. “You’re smiling.”

And what didn’t you have to be smiling about? You were finally exploring Velaris. Mor, Cassian, and Nyx had touched you, albeit through the fabric of your robes, and you hadn’t been overwhelmed. And you’d finally been able to take knowledge from the book.

It had been a pinch of information as potent as saltwater. You had gotten a name, and names held power.

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with quiet delight.

“I’m just happy,” you said. “I think things are getting better, with—” You glanced down at where your arms swung side by side and you reached out a finger, allowing it to gently brush against the scars at the top of his left hand. You curled your fingers around his for the briefest moment before letting go. “And… you know.” You shrugged.

Azriel stopped walking abruptly and everyone turned to stare at him. The Shadowsinger was strung taughter than an Illyrian bow.

Mor raised her brow in open appraisal. There was a flash of something like shock in her eyes and then she was buried in Emerie’s hair, whispering something into the female’s rounded ears that had her dark carved eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

“Az?” Rhys asked cheekily, “Everything alright?”

Cassian chuckled and even Nesta smirked.

Last year he was giving Elain and Gwyn the bedroom eyes, and now he short-circuits because Y/n brushes her hand against his? I don’t believe what I’m seeing, Cass.

Some females like their males a little pathetic and lovesick.

You would know.

Cassian chuckled, looping his arm around her waist and burying his lips in her hair. He twirled the face framing pieces between his fingers like he always did, and Nesta tried not to think about how she’d first started leaving them out after meeting the Lord of Bloodshed. It would seem she had once been a pathetic and lovesick fool herself.

I love it when you tease, Nes.

Maybe she still was. Nesta couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

They do make a good couple. She admitted and Cassian was in agreement.

Feyre was thinking the same thing as you twisted towards him, hand still outstretched like there was a string tying your fingers to his. You couldn’t help but want to drift towards him as surely as gravity makes rain fall to the earth.

Does she know? Mor grasped Rhysand’s arm, eyes wide and staring. Does she know they’re mates?

Not yet.

Mor groaned. Are you fucking kidding me?

I wish I was.

Damn you, Azriel.

Azriel shook his head and forced his body to move forward. The world had stopped when you touched him, and it was only just starting to pick up again.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Nyx munched on his apple slice, staring at you both curiously before following after his mother and father.

“Did you hear something?” You stayed by his side, no longer interested in the aromas fluttering in the air from the bakery, the soup shop with its stone vats bubbling in the back, the smokehouse with its slabs of bacon crackling on grease. “From your shadows?”

“No. Why did you think that?”

“You had a look in your eye, like you weren’t quite there for a second. My mother used to say that I looked like that sometimes when using my powers. Like for a moment I was untethered from the earth and at risk of floating away.”

Azriel saved that piece of information, storing it away in his mind next to the knowledge that you had always wanted a dustbear for a pet because they were such simple, mindless creatures and you never felt overcome in their presence.

“I do feel that way at times.” He waited until your little troupe passed by the spice shops. The particles in the air always made Cassian sneeze. “But not now.”

Everyone dipped into a paisley blue building, the bell ringing with a soft clang to announce their presence.

“Right now I feel… settled.”

You grinned at him brighter than the sun, moon, and stars combined. “Good.”

You followed after the others, and while your back was turned, Mor took her opportunity. She clawed the back of Azriel’s leathers, hauling him down the alleyway before anyone could notice.

Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise when Mor shoved him up against the wall hard enough for a rain of petals to fall over their heads from the second floor balcony. It would have been romantic if it weren’t for the incredulous look in Mor’s eyes and the fact that Azriel was still caught up in your smile and the feeling of your skin against his. Gods he wished you were the one pressing him against this wall. He couldn’t stop thinking about that hug in Rhysand’s office. He wanted to feel the softness of your body against him once more.

“You idiot!” Mor slapped him across the face and it shocked him back to the present. “Why didn’t you tell me you found your mate?” She hissed.

Azriel looked frantically back to the street, half expecting you to be standing there with your inquisitive eyes. It was still a jolt to his system whenever anyone used that word: mate. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. It was such a fragile word, and the others tossed it around so dangerously.

“I didn’t—” Azriel stammered. Mor and Emerie’s arrival this morning had been unexpected for everyone except Rhysand and Feyre. “There wasn’t time.” “So?! You should’ve made time.” Mor stepped away, letting the Shadowsinger back down onto his feet. He had the good sense to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck while Mor tossed her waist length hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed pink, tanned and freckled from her time on the Continent.

Azriel felt that familiar coil of guilt building in his stomach and he tried to remember the apology he’d been preparing for this exact moment when he and Mor would be alone.

He cleared his throat and bowed his head to the ground in a picture of reverent apology. “Mor, about what I said—”

She crashed into him again, arms looping around his neck and squeezing him so tightly he felt his ribs crack. And she was… laughing?

“You have a mate!” She giggled through happy tears, bouncing on her feet. Her heels clicked against the granite tiles. “My best friend finally has a mate!”

She kept repeating it over and over again, like she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

“Mor, please. Keep it down.” They were attracting attention and Azriel wordlessly summoned his shadows to hide them from view.

Mor finally let him go, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry I just—” She squealed.

Azriel let out a long, heavy sigh. This was closer to the reaction he should have had when Mor and Emerie announced their engagement. Instead he’d gone cold and silent.

He should have known Mor preferred females, and maybe he had known all along that Mor could never love him the way he’d once loved her. But he’d done what he always did when it came to love and ran forward with a blindfold on, hoping his aim was true but never bothering to check.

Mor furrowed her brows. “Are you upset by this? Why do you look like that?”

“What?” Azriel hissed like the question physically hurt him. “No. No! I’m not upset, I’m—” He clenched his fists and said in a small voice, “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He took a deep breath and winced, “And I’m thinking that you must have felt similarly when you got together with Emerie, and that I royally fucked up by reacting the way that I did.”

He could picture it clear as day — Mor’s radiant smile slipping off her face, left hand dropping behind her back to hide the glittering ruby, the tears that gathered in her eyes when all Azriel did was remain stiff as stone before dropping off the balcony at her engagement party.

Mor hesitated then tucked her honey-gold waves behind her ears like she did whenever she was uncomfortable. “I should have told you sooner.” Azriel knew she was referring to more than just her relationship with Emerie. “I knew you loved me and I let you believe for so long that there might be a chance I could return those feelings. But I was scared because… because I wanted to know there would always be someone waiting for me if…” She pressed her hands over her stomach. The nails may have disappeared from her body without a trace, but they’d been hammered elsewhere in her soul and she hadn’t managed to take them out just yet. “It was wrong of me to use you like that. To keep you waiting for so long.”

Azriel rubbed her shoulders. “I think you gave me more than a few hints that it wouldn’t work out. Chief among them, Cassian.” Mor’s gaze dropped to her feet, but all Azriel did was press a gentle kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I still love you, Mor, and I always will. It’s just a different kind of love now. I’m happy for you and Emerie. Truly.”

“Yeah?” She looked up hopefully.

Azriel nodded. He pulled Mor close, wrapping his wings around her to block out the sounds of bartering happening in the square. They stayed like that for a long while, until the shadows on the wall had dropped another inch.

Mor sniffled and pushed him away. “Ok, enough of this now.” She carefully brushed away at the corner of her eyes, “You’re ruining my makeup.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Mor noted how it seemed to come easier to him now.

The whole day you’d felt that something was amiss, but it wasn’t until a flustered artisan carrying bolts of spider silk fabric crashed into you that you realized what it was.

You stumbled into Azriel’s sturdy arms, feeling the strength and power beneath his leathers as he propped you up against his side.

“So sorry, miss. Please forgive me.” The artisan blubbered. His cat eyes glowed a pale orange as they flickered over you from head to toe, “Can’t see with this.” He lifted the bolt. There was something about his gaze that unsettled you, like he was searching for something. Like he was hungry. Or scared.

“It’s alright.” You adjusted your clothes, tucked the book behind your back so it was pressed up against Azriel’s hip.

That look in his eyes disappeared and he huffed in relief before continuing down the cobblestone streets, too much in a hurry to notice the Shadowsinger glaring at him.

“Are you ok?” He let you find your footing, keeping his hand at the small of your back.

You stared at the male’s retreating form. “He didn’t… he didn’t bow to you. To any of you.” You blinked at Feyre and Rhysand.

She wore no crown, no jewelry except the ring on her finger and the diamonds in her ears, but the male must have known he was in the presence of his High Lady. And there was no mistaking Rhysand and his brothers.

“Like Azriel said when you first arrived here, we take the casual approach.” Feyre said, and as if to make the point, Nyx shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side in a manner so like Rhys that Azriel and Cassian burst out laughing. Rhys looked down fondly and brushed back his hair.

Feyre drifted to your side, watching with amusement as Nyx disappeared into the forest of color that was the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Every inch of fabric was too precious to be wasted, and so the weavers collected the scraps and tied them together, end to end, until they became one long chain. They hung from the entrances of shops, from the arches criss-crossing overhead, and from hand-painted signs. They wrapped around doorways and caught on the shoulders of passerbys, whispering of the time and effort spent crafting them.

Nyx weaved in and out of these strands, chased by Cassian and Azriel as they pretended to be tricked by the little boy’s lithe footsteps. You gasped as he turned invisible, then reappeared four inches to his left, jabbing at Azriel’s side before disappearing again.

“He can wrap light around himself as much as he can weave darkness,” Feyre explained, staying close to your side, “I think he might have gotten some remnant of the Day Court’s power from me. It made him an absolute nightmare for about three years when he couldn’t control it. Can you imagine having a toddler waddling around and wreaking havoc that you can’t even see?”

Nesta let out a sharp breath of laughter. “I think that’s an experience unique to you, Fey.”

You had to agree. You’d never turned invisible as a child, although you had to admit it would have been a very useful power to inherit from your father.

“Gotcha! You little rascal!” Cassian said triumphantly.

You heard Nyx shriek with laughter. Cassian and Azriel both had one arm raised above their heads and with a little shake the boy came back into view, dangling upside down from his ankles.

“Don’t break the boy, Cass.”

“I won’t break him, Rhys. Gotta let him grow old enough to beat all those bastards at Windhaven, don’t I?”

Rhys and Feyre’s smiles slipped ever so slightly.

Nyx was lowered to the ground. He kept his arms out and balanced on his hands for a brief moment before walking over onto his feet with a flourish.

“Gwyn taught me that last week. She’s part river nymph. Very flexible.” He brushed invisible dirt from his shirt and continued on, leading the way towards the Sidra like he owned the place — which in some respects he did.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Just another little chapter with more slowburn antics between Y/n and Azriel! And! Mor and Emerie are here! I am slowly but surely collecting characters like pokemon cards because you know I want to have my favorites in Velaris when shit starts to go down...

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel spymaster

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kaladinkholins · 4 months

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We all already know Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils. But you know what? Lemme just say it, here's what I think:

Taigen and Mikio are foils.

Not necessarily to each other as individuals in the way that Mizu and Akemi juxtapose each other, but mostly in the contrast between their relationships with Mizu.

I've covered specific parallels between Taigen and Mikio in other posts I wrote; but as the number of parallels I'm noticing between them keeps piling up, I'm compelled to just compile them all in one post. So! This is, thus, the post in question.

First of all, let's look at their similarities.

1. Their status in society is the same. They are both samurai who lost their honour and have dreams of reclaiming it.

2. They are also both diligent as they strive to achieve this goal, they both care deeply about their work, but here as they begin to contrast, as the work in question and way they go about their goals is different:

For Mikio, his work is in taming and rearing horses; in order to prove himself, he must tame Kai—a willful and strong horse—and present it to his lord. For Taigen, his work is in sword fighting and martial arts; in order to prove himself, he must kill Mizu—a willful and strong swordsman—and present her dead body to his lord.

In the parallel above, not only are Taigen and Mikio contrasting each other, but Mizu and Kai are placed in comparison as well. And of course, Kai is Mizu's horse, and represents her. Which is why, when later, Mikio sells Kai off, it represents the way he is tossing Mizu (and their relationship) aside.

From there, the rest of the details of their character begin to contrast and juxtapose each other more clearly. So let's look at those differences, shall we?

Their backstory:

Mikio was a great samurai who was banished. A somebody to a nobody. Taigen was a fisherman’s son who rose to the top. A nobody to a somebody.

2. The first time we meet them on-screen:

Mikio is an adult. An older man. Mizu's superior in age. He is Mizu's to-be husband. A love interest. Taigen is a child. A young boy. Mizu's peer in age. He is Mizu's bully. An antagonist.

3. Their maturity and growth:

Mikio is mature, but stuck in his ways. Taigen is immature, but capable of changing and learning.

4. Their overall attitude:

Mikio is generally relaxed, easy-going and unfussy. Taigen is uptight, irritable and severe.

5. How they talk to and conduct themselves around Mizu:

Mikio is aloof, soft-spoken, and serious. Taigen is obnoxious, brash, and sarcastic. Mikio is quiet, speaking only when spoken to, even when Mizu turns to smile at him and shows openness to be near him. Taigen is loud, talking while others are silent, even when Mizu turns from him and shows no interest in conversing with him.

Mikio doesn't show much of who he is to Mizu throughout their marriage, despite their growing affection. Taigen openly shares his traumas and life story to Mizu during their brief alliance, despite their mutual antagonism.

6. Their external vs internal selves:

Mikio is calm, gentle, and considerate on the outside. Taigen is hot-headed, rude, and selfish on the outside. Mikio is cowardly and deceitful on the inside. Taigen is brave and loyal to a fault on the inside. Mikio tells Mizu that he wants to know and see all of her. But he scorns and betrays her, the woman he loves. Taigen tells Mizu that he wants to duel and kill him. But he endures torture to not betray him, the man he hates.

9. Their hair, a symbol of their honour:

Mikio's topknot is untied by Mizu during their spar. This humiliation occurs in private, the two of them alone in a rural location where no one can see them. Taigen's topknot is cut off by Mizu during their duel. This humiliation occurs in public, the two of them being watched by many others in the Shindo Dojo.

10. Their power dynamic with Mizu:

Mikio believes he is Mizu's mentor. He teaches her to throw knives, how to ride and care for horses, and about the tactical benefits of using a naginata. Taigen believes he is Mizu's equal. He views Mizu as a samurai like himself who received all the same teachings he did, and who possesses the same values.

11. Their perceptions of Mizu:

Mikio sees Mizu's feminine side first. He sees her as sweet and gentle, but also clumsy and incompetent. Taigen sees Mizu's masculine side first. He sees her as terrifying and deadly, but also strong and skilled.

12. The way they approach sparring with Mizu:

Mikio only spars with Mizu once. As the fight progresses and she is beating him, he tries to put a stop to it. When she teases/provokes him, he starts taking the fight personally and seriously, finding no enjoyment in it. Taigen spars and brawls with Mizu all the time. No matter how many times Mizu beats him, he doesn't back down. When Mizu challenges him with a chopstick, he is eager to compete with her and gladly rises up to the challenge.

Mikio and Mizu's one and only spar is a friendly match; Mizu is smiling and having fun while he grows increasingly frustrated. Taigen and Mizu's last-seen spar is a playful wrestling match; both him and Mizu are having fun and laughing.

Mikio cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, so he scorns her and walks off, avoiding her thereafter. When Taigen cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, he follows her to observe her moves and continues training in hopes to eventually beat her. After being bested by Mizu once, Mikio leaves her and sells the horse he'd previously gifted to her. After many times losing to Mizu and fighting alongside her, Taigen commends her and admits she is better than him.

13. When Mizu pins them down in a friendly spar:

Mikio sees Mizu's whole face objectively. Taigen stares at Mizu's mouth and eyes.

Mikio gets angry when she kisses him, throwing her off of him and snapping at her, calling her a monster. Taigen gets aroused, apologising, so she pulls herself off of him.

14. Mizu's blue meteorite sword is a reflection of her soul. She believes most are undeserving to face it, let alone hold it. And on that note:

Mikio is the first person (chronologically) that Mizu fights against using her sword. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) that Mizu fights against with her sword. Mikio is the first person (chronologically) to ever hold her sword, as she passes it to him, letting him wield it. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) to ever hold her sword, as she passes out, and he picks it up and carries it for her.

15. Then, last but not least, in Fowler's fortress, when she is drugged and in pain, she hears Ringo's voice in the dungeon. She then follows it to an open cell:

Mizu first sees Mikio as a hallucination, the sight of him haunting her and causing her to lose her grip on reality. Her eyes glow a surreal blue to represent this. Her Mama appears then and says Mizu's name accusingly.

Mizu then sees Taigen, but he is real, the sight of him a relief and grounding her back to reality. Her eyes return to their normal blue colour to represent this. Taigen looks at Mizu weakly and says her name softly.

Then, later, when facing Fowler, her revenge awaiting her, she instead chooses to follow her conscience (represented by Ringo's voice in her mind), putting aside her vengeance for a time, in order to save Taigen.

So that's basically all the ones I've noticed so far, but even then, I feel there's already so much that forms a contrast between these two.

What makes it especially incredible about these juxtapositions is that Mikio was Mizu's husband, the man she had fallen in love with, the one person she had ever been intimate with, the man who made her begin to accept herself, to put down her desire for vengeance and instead live a life of peace and happiness.

So for Taigen to have so many parallels with him... Do you see what I'm saying here!

Not to mention that Mizu clearly already has some burgeoning attraction to him, as indicated by how she thinks of him when asked about her desires. And Taigen clearly has shown interest as well (see: him getting a boner after their spar, him holding her hand and telling her, "We're not done yet.").

And on the topic of speculating future possibilities of this relationship, this post by @stromblessed has pointed out yet another parallel between Taigen and Mikio:

Mizu promises Taigen to meet him for their duel in autumn. Mizu fell in love with Mikio and duelled him during autumn.

With all that said, I do believe Mizu and Taigen's relationship is definitely hurtling towards something. But whether they will actually end up together in a sustainable relationship and have a happily ever after? Well, that is a whole other story; we'll just have to wait and see.

#blue eye samurai #mizu x taigen #taigen x mizu #taimizu #taigen blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai meta #hope yall enjoy my thesis on virgin mikio vs chad taigen #this was written last night when i shouldve been writing the new chapter for my taimizu fic that i promised i would work on....whoopsies...#i will get to it eventually but i just have to get a firmer grip on characterisation before i can delve further into it yk #on that note. i kiiinda regret posting the fic on a whim!#my last longfic was written better because i had the whole thing complete and could go back and edit/polish/revise before posting #so it came out much more coherent and consistent ykwim?#this fic might suffer a bit for this reason 🤒#but its fine i have to remind myself im just doing it for funsies #anyway here have another long ass meta post from yours truly #meta dissertations.pdf #shut up haydar #fandom.rtf

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writerslittlelibrary · 20 days

Text

You are a witch

masterlist

summary: you were adopted by Natasha Romanoff, the great Black Widow. But what happens when the truth uncovers? What happens when the three kings of hell are sent to kill you, and you manage to uncover your power and banish them?

pairing: Natasha x daughter reader, Yelena x niece reader, Melina & Alexei x granddaughter reader

warnings: witchcraft, rats?

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2483

a/n: I'm watching an awful lot of the chilling adventures of Sabrina lately, so I wanted to write a little mcu crossover with a witch reader :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

It all happened so fast. At one point you were home, doing your homework like you did every friday evening. Then, at the other moment, the door was broken down, and the demons entered your home.

You did not know how to fight them off. You did not know they were even demons. They looked like humans, and you had no reason to suspect otherwise.

Of course, you knew better now.

The demons had disguised themselves to look like mortals. They were sent to assassinate you. You didn’t know they were demons, but once they drew their swords, you were pretty quick to run towards the widow and climb down using the fire escape.

The attackers followed you, and once you entered the Avengers tower, Wanda managed to banish them. She killed them.

You remember Natasha running to you, assisting you. You were out of breath and terrified. Natasha slept in your room that night. You were scared to be left alone, and Natasha was terrified that someone would come and hurt you. Little did you know someone did.

That same night, another demon entered your room.

However, this time, the demon did not disguise itself. I had come to kill you in its demon form. It did not hide itself. Your mother tried to protect you, but what good were her knives and her gun against an all mighty demon?

Once the demon got ahold of your mother, you lost your temper.

You did not know where it came from. You did not know how it worked. You did not know how you knew how to operate it. But you did.

Your eyes turned red. The wind from outside seemed to pick up inside your bedroom. The demon seemed afraid, even if his body language did not show it, his eyes did. It became afraid. You were afraid, but somehow, you managed to call upon a power hidden deep within your body. You managed to banish the demon for good.

After you had killed it, you rushed to your mother who was bleeding out on the ground. The demon had slashed her side open, and she was running out of time.

You did not understand it, but you had a vision. A flash in your mind that showed you exactly what to do. You covered your mothers’ wounds with your hands, and you closed your eyes. You called upon the power in your body, and Natasha’s wounds sealed shut.

After that, Natasha had decided to take you out of town for a few days.

It was clear that you were not safe in New York, and Natasha did not want to put you in any unnecessary danger. She did not know how the demons knew where you were, but she figured you would be much safer with her family, in Russia.

And so, you flew to Russia, but not before Stephen Strange brought you a little visit. After hearing of your situation, and of your power awakening, he had gifted you a book. This book contained a series of spells, made by witches who were not similar to Stephen Strange, nor Wanda Maximoff. These witches possessed a different kind of magic. The kind of magic that you were now possessing.

You had started practising a few spells, before you left for Russia.

You were now driving towards your grandmothers’ farm, even though you had never met them.

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

“Are we nearly there? We have been driving for hours and my head hurts,” you sighed annoyed, staring out the window.

“Like I told you the other fifty times, we still have a few hours to go. If your head hurts, take a nap,” Natasha answered, done with your attitude the entire trip. She did not want to get mad at you. As a mother, she knew and understood that you had a difficult time these past few days, and that you were unlocking something within yourself that you did not know you had, but as a person, she was entirely done with your attitude.

You let out another sigh in annoyance. “I don’t want to take a nap, mom. Why are we even going to these people? I’ve never met them. Who even are they?”

“You know Aunt Yelena, and she will be there. And Melina and Alexei are my sort of parents, so I expect you to treat them with respect,” Natasha told you.

“What kind of animals do they have on the farm?” you asked.

“What…?

“You said they lived on a farm. A farm usually has animals. What kind of animals do they have?”

Natasha sighed. “Well, Melina has pigs, but I believe that recently she started feeding some stray cats, and they have started to hang around the farm.”

“Did you have animals when you were a child? I mean, in those three years you lived with them?” you asked Natasha, staring at her curiously.

“I did not, but there was a stray cat that I begged to take in. Melina and Alexei would not let me, although they did give me some cat food from time to time to feed it,” Natasha explained, steering the car onto an off road path.

“Really? They don’t have road where they live? What? Is the farmhouse some fallen apart building as well?” you asked, sarcasm lacing your tone.

Natasha sighed, a small smirk appearing on your lips, yet she tried to hide it.

“Go to sleep, or I’ll knock you out myself.”

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

After you had fallen asleep in the car, the car ride took about another hour or two. Once you arrived, Natasha carefully woke you up, helping you out of the car.

Yelena was stood by the door, waiting for you to wake up fully so she could go and give you a hug.

“Aunt Yelena!” you exclaimed in happiness, running towards her and giving her a big hug. “I missed you! It has been far too long since you came to New York.”

Yelena smiled and brushed some hair out of your face.

“I was enjoying spending some time with my other half of my family,” Yelena started, leaning in a little closer so she could whisper in your ear. “Don’t worry, you are still my favourite.”

You smiled, giving Yelena a kiss on her cheek.

“We should go inside,” Natasha then said, handing Yelena a bag to carry inside.

“Sure,” Yelena said, whistling for Fanny, who had slipped past her to get out of the house when Yelena opened the door to wait for you, to come inside as well.

Fanny ran towards you, excitedly jumping on you and begging for cuddles. You, obviously, happily obliged, spoiling Fanny in hugs and pets and kisses while she excitedly jumped on you, licking your face and cuddling close to you.

Once you were inside, Yelena told Natasha that Melina and Alexei were waiting in the living room.

Natasha had gone to greet them and to explain the situation with you, while Yelena stayed with you. Yelena led you to the spare bedroom, where she settled the bags down.

“We only have one guest room, so you and Natasha will have to share. I am sure you do not mind,” Yelena explained, and you smiled and nodded as answer.

“Did mom… tell you? Why we came here? Why she is so afraid?” you asked Yelena, sitting on the bed and settling your shoulder bag next to you. Yelena sighed before joining you on the bed, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke.

“Natasha did not tell me a lot, but she told me that you were now… magical. She told me that something was- is hunting you,” Yelena explained, shaking her head. “She didn’t tell me much more.”

You sighed, looking down and picking at your skirt.

“I am magical. I think I am a witch, but like, a really powerful one. Two demons came to attack me. They were aggressive, and they spoke about doing something for their master. They were sent to kill me, to assassinate me. My magic, or my powers, unlocked when the second one tried to hurt mom. And after, after he had hurt her and she was bleeding, I suddenly knew how to heal her, and my powers did. Someone powerful is trying to get rid of me, and I don’t even understand what I am,” you explained, looking at Yelena carefully, hoping you didn’t scare of confuse her.

“Okay, so what you are saying is that my little niece is an ass kicking awesome witch?” Yelena said, smiling when she saw the relieved smile form on your face.

After a moment of silence, Yelena moved to sit a little closer to you, indicating that whatever she was going to say next was probably serious.

“Listen to me, y/n. You are Natasha’s daughter. You are my niece. You are family, and no matter what you turn out to be, you will always be our family, and we will always be yours,” Yelena promised, cupping your face in her hands to get you to look at her. She smiled kindly, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss on you forehead.

“Thank you, Auntie Yelena.”

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

After your talk with Yelena, you had showed her your new book. The book that Strange gave you. It was full of spells and knowledge, and after reading some of it, you had started writing your own notes in your notebook.

You also showed Yelena a little taste of your magic. You had managed to effortlessly change an eraser into Yelena’s favourite cookie, which disappeared the moment you took your eyes off of it. Not because the spell failed. Simply because Yelena had eaten it…

After about an hour, Natasha had come up to the room, knocking on the door and letting you know that it was time to meet your grandparents.

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to be feeling. You were nervous, sure, but everyone is when they meet someone knew. You were most nervous about their importance. You knew how important Melina and Alexei were to Natasha and Yelena, and you did not want to say or do anything that might upset any of them.

Natasha took your hand, rubbing reassuring circles on it to hopefully soothe you.

“Everything’s gonna be okay. They are going to love you, and you will love them, I promise,” Natasha assured you, leading you downstairs.

Once you entered the living room, Melina and Alexei were sitting on the couch. Melina stood up immediately when she noticed you entered.

“Y/n, dear, we are so happy to finally meet you,” Melina said, walking over to you and embracing you in a hug. When she pulled back, she placed her hand on your cheek, taking a good look at your face. “What a beautiful girl you are,” she said, and you smiled.

“Thank you, Melina,” you said, and Melina smiled stepping aside and motioning her hand towards one of the other couches.

“Please, sit down. Would you like some tea, or another drink?” Melina asked, going into the kitchen to get your chosen drink while you sat down.

Natasha sat down next to you, while Yelena chose the couch across from you.

“It is very nice to meet you, my granddaughter. Welcome to the family!” Alexei exclaimed happily, laughing at the stern look Natasha gave him.

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

After you had settled in, and you had gotten used to being around Melina and Alexei, you had all decided on some pizza for dinner. Slowly but surely you grew to like being around Melina and Alexei, even though Alexei was painfully loud and unaware at times.

After you had settled at the dinner table, you sat beside Natasha, Alexei at the head of the table while Melina sat across from Natasha, and Yelena sat across from you.

“So are you liking Russia, y/n? I believe Natasha told us you have never been here before?” Melina asked, and you nodded.

“It’s very beautiful, definitely more beautiful than the busy city,” you responded, and Melina smiled.

You reached forward, about to grab another slice of pizza from the pizza box when a strange wind picked up inside the house, and the squeaking of mice could be heard.

You froze in your actions, looking around the house cautiously.

“What’s wrong darling?” Natasha asked concerned, laying her hand on your arm.

“Don’t you hear that? Don’t you feel that?” you asked, looking at Natasha with wide eyes while she shook her head no.

“Do you need some water?” she asked, but you didn’t respond as you looked down at your feet, standing up quickly when you recognised the rats running around your legs.

You gasped in surprise, taking a few steps back while Natasha and Yelena looked at you with concern.

“Are you okay? What are you feeling?” Natasha asked, and you looked at her confused.

“Can’t you see the rats?!” you asked surprised, pointing at the rats that ran around your legs. Natasha shook her head no, but once the door to the living room slammed open, Natasha head turned towards it. What came through was something she could see.

“What the hell is that?!” Yelena said in surprise, standing up herself.

Through the door walked a disgusting looking demon. His skin looked rotten and old, almost as if his body had been dead and rotting for weeks.

“I AM BEELZEBUB, DEMON OF VERMIN, ONE OF THE THREE KINGS OF HELL. MY BROTHERS HAVE FAILED TO SUCCEED, BUT I WILL FINISH THE JOB!” the demon, Beelzebub spoke loudly, raising his arm out towards you. The rats charged at you, and you quickly ran to the couch to grab your bag.

You pulled you spellbook out, going through the pages quickly to find the banishing spell that you had researched before.

“Y/n what the hell is going on?!” Yelena yelled at you, but you ignored her as you found the right page, raising your own hand towards the demon Beelzebub.

“Beelzebub, I shall banish you as I did your brothers. You shall burn in the pits and fires of hell! Exilium, gehenna, evanescet. Beelzebub I banish thee!” you yelled out, lowering your hand when the demon Beelzebub disappeared into dust.

“That was awesome,” Yelena spoke quickly, after assessing that you were not injured.

“I need a nap,” you said, dropping the book and letting yourself fall down onto the couch. Natasha ran to your side quickly, holding your head in her hands.

“Are you alright?” she asked, a confused look overtaking her when she noticed your smile.

“I just banished, not just a demon, but one of the three kings of hell, with my own magic,” you explained proudly, letting your eyes fall close. “But it was exhausting, and I really need a nap now.”

Natasha smiled softly, nodding.

“Go to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @hor1zond1ar1es @lorsstar1st

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alexa-fika · 1 month

Note

I don't know how but I had these ideas while working out

1- Rayleigh x winged!child!reader (w)

W gets sent back in time and meets his grandpa and Roger Pirates

2- sanji x ghost!child!reader

Okay so the reader is basically Danny phantom and he doesn't die (because he's already dead yohohoho sorry) and doesn't need to eat so a story about that idk

3-law x son!reader

Okay you wrote a story about laws son being able to see dead people so he gets kidnapped by Doffy and ghost Corazon trying to reassures him until his dad rescues him

🐼💕~

Adventures in the past ( Roger Pirates x gn!child! Reader)

A/N here we gooo, Im kinda meh on this one and I ‘ll be honest I din’t even noticed that it was a winged!reader request until I was done so I had to kinda mix it in? But regardless here we goo, I can’t tell you how many times I went back and rewrote it again and again cause I kept getting stuck 😩

Reader here is Replaced by Dokucha which means reader in Japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

Dokucha groans, wriggling their way out of the barrel they had found themselves in, looking around their surroundings, shaking their wings

“Grandpa is gonna be mad that I ruffled them again,” they mutter

They squeak as a knife flies past them, digging into the wooden walls behind them

They slowly turn around, staring at the entrance of what looked to be an office of sorts, spotting two kids, a red-head with a straw hat holding a sword menacingly and a blue-haired boy with a red nose, holding an array of small knives between his fingers

The two seemed to be young but still relatively older than they were

“Um… hi”

“Who is it, Shanks, Buggy?” a voice calls behind the two young boys

“Uh…” Shanks lowers his sword, staring at the scared child in front of them

“It’s a Bird-kid!” buggy, never one to be at a loss for words, exclaims

They stare at the man for a few seconds, their eyes glancing at the familiar marks on his chin and grin, flying towards the man and crashing into him

“Grandpa!”

The boys give the man a side eye from where they stand

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know this kid!” he exclaims, looking down at the child who was now holding onto him and hugging him

“Kid, I think you got the wrong person…”

“No! You are Grandpa Ray!”

“How do you know my name,” he says slowly, looking at the child hugging him

“Because you’re grandpa!” They cry

“How old do you think I am, kid.” he frowns at the child clinging to him

At those words, the child pauses, taking a closer look at the man before him; it was their grandfather, that was for certain; the scar and the markings were unmistakable, not to mention the powerful aura their grandfather carried.

But the closer Dokucha looked, the more they noticed something was not okay; the silver-white long hair was now short golden yellow locks. The markings that characterized him, although there, rather than framed by his beard they, were now inked on his chin, the beard nowhere to be seen. And his face that was before marked by time was now much younger

“Um, Granpa Ray…. This joke is not funny. Why do you look so different?” They said, poking the man’s cheek, trying to find their ‘disguise.’

“Wait, wait, you actually think I’m your grandpa?” he asked in disbelief

“Who put this idea in your head?” he asked before letting out a slight chuckle

“Shanks, Buggy, is this your doing?”

“Hah? I didn’t do anything!”

“Not me either.”

Dokucha turns their head at the mention of their names, glancing down at the two teens

“Uncle Shanks? Uncle Buggy?”

The two looked a bit surprised; how did this kid know their names

“Uh, yeah,” Shanks said nervously

“How do you know who we are?”

“Umm, what year is it?”

The two exchange glances before looking back at the little kid in front of them; it was an odd question

“It’s… 1486.” the teen with the hat said

“Uh oh”

The two look at each other again a, very concerned looks on their faces

“W-what do you mean, uh oh?”

“W-Well, Grandpa Ray said it was 1522.”

Dokucha now had found themselves on Crocus's lap, the latter performing a quick examination on the latest visitor of the Oro Jackson

“I'm okay, Uncle Crocus,” they said, inching back at the cold feeling of the stethoscope

“Are you sure?” He asks, repositioning the stethoscope

“Your wings seem fine, no broken feathers or anything embedded in them, no lacerations or damaged blood vessels.”

“No fever, Heartrate is good, breathing is good, the pulse is normal.. they’re good,” he said, giving the rest of the crew his approval as he put his tools away

“Yay! I'm free!” They said hoping off and flying off

“Not so fast, Sweet thing!” laughs Roger, effortlessly picking up Dokucha

“Awe”

“So, what brought you here?” Roger said while carrying Dokucha in his arms

“A barrel did,” Dokucha responded

“You got yourself trapped in a barrel?” Cuts in Buggy

“Yeah, I couldn’t get back out because of my wings.”

Shank lets out a slight snicker at that

“Hey! It’s not funny!” Dokucha exclaims with a pout

“It’s quite funny, you got yourself trapped in a barrel,” Shanks said, snickering harder

“Haha, yeah, it’s quite funny.” Buggy joins, laughing along with Shanks

“Fight me!” They said, lunging at them

Roger lets out a belly laugh, holding back Dokucha

“There, There”

“They’re being mean, Uncle Roger!”

“I think they’ve only teased you lightly; they haven’t really been mean per se,” he responded, patting Dokucha’s arm

“Your future self sure raised a wild one, Rayleigh.”

Rayleigh rolls his eyes, walking closer to his Captain and plucking Dokucha from his lap

“Grandpa Ray!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re back to Grandpa Ray now?”

He chuckled, patting the kid on the head

“Grandpa Ray looked so handsome when he was young,” the child exclaimed, moving Rayleigh’s head around and inspecting the younger version

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment now and an insult in the future…”

“Don’t worry, Grandpa Ray looks handsome as he is now, too; he got to be with grandma after all,” they said, giving the man a thumbs up

Rayleigh rolls his eyes at this

“You’re something else, kid

“Now-Grandpa Ray says the same!” They chirp

playing around with his sweatband

“I'm sure he does,” he stated, putting the sweatband over their wrist

Dokucha smiles at this, glancing at the new addition and, sliding down his arms and walking to the two teenagers

They observe them for a while until a pout comes on their face

Shanks just stares at the kids as they pout

“What? Is something wrong?” he asks

“I wish I had gone back farther… I'm still shorter than Uncle Shanks and Uncle Buggy.”

Shanks chuckles a little before giving a small pat on Dokucha’s head.

“It’s alright, kid. You’ll catch up to us soon.” Shanks’s voice is kind and reassuring

Buggy just giggles at the situation

“No, I won’t; when I'm as tall as you are now, you’ll be all grown up, just like you are in my time! And then I ‘ll still be smaller.”

“Why do you wanna be tall like us anyways?” asks Shanks with a raised eyebrow.

They shrug

“to make fun of you.”

Buggy lets out a hearty laugh

“That’s the most honest reason anyone could give.”

Shanks snorts at this and lets out a laugh of his own

“I know”

“You are something,” said Shanks

“A lil brat,” says Buggy

They gasp,

“Says the red nose!”

Buggy’s eyes light up with pure rage.

“What did you say, bird-brat?” he growls

They stick their tongue out of them and running of between Rayleigh and Roger, who just observed the situation amusedly

“Are you going to let a little kid get to you, Buggy?” Rayleigh chuckles with a raised brow as he watches Buggy’s rage get the best of him

“Dokucha!” He growls

“Come and get me then!”

Buggy shoots off like a bullet, lunging for the small child

“Come here Dokucha!”

The kid laughs and giggles as Buggy tries to snag them.

Roger chuckles at this scene, watching the two

“Dokucha!”

Dokucha looks around as Buggy’s voice soon begins to shift, becoming echoey and distant, changing into two familiar voices

“Dokucha!”

Dokusha blinked their eyes open, looking around and finding themselves in their room, Their grandfather and grandmother glancing down at them

“Good morning,” smiles Shakky, puffing out a wisp of smoke

“Geez kid, that was one heavy dream you were having,” Laughs Rayleigh

“Grandma, Grandpa?”

“Look like you’re still half-asleep. I'm going to get breakfast going,” Shakky says as she leaves the room

“What did you dream about?” asks Rayleigh, lifting the child from the bed.

“…”

“Still asleep? Hmm? Say, Dokucha, when did you get that sweatband?”

“Huh.” they look down, confused, only to look at their wrist and spot the familiar red and white wristband, a grin growing on their face as they realize what it meant

“Someone gave it to me!”

“Huh... I used to have one just like it; it brings me back.”

“Hey, Grandpa?”

“Yeah?”

“You looked really handsome when young. I can see how you got with grandma.”

“Hah?!”

Here we go thoughts? It’s not kicking your legs type but hopefully you got a chuckle, I will start working on the other one’s now 👀

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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witchxxjpg · 2 months

Text

im happy that you liked my previous lestappen hunger games au🥳🥳🥳 and asked for a part of it. it is alive purely because of you, so enjoy!!

******

Charles got picked when he was just 12 years old. It was rare for a tribute to be that young but it happened sometimes.

Jules volunteered for him that year. He could've been 18 the following month but he stayed 17 forever. Charles would always remeber staying up all night to pray for him.

Charles would forever remeber seeing another tribute slashing his throat with a sword.

The whole 10th district mourned his death that day, raising a finger to the sky, pointing to the place where all people went. He was a caring and passionate guy. Even some other districts said their sorries. He was loved by everyone. And by Charles the most.

In just 5 years Arthur was picked. And Charles knew exactly what he needed to do.

The Capitol played his life as a tragic story of a boy who repayed his debt by volunteering himself for his little brother. He knew that Jules didn't want that, but he also knew that Arthur was too small and scared to be a tribute.

He won his games.

He portrayed the role of an innocent brother with angelic face and a pure goal. He wanted to believe the lies that the Capitol made him play. But everyone saw how Markus, a boy from district 4, died. With a dagger in his heart.

Charles was always good with daggers and knives. In his district he was terrible at caring for animals that his family was all looking after. But he was extremely good with skinning and preparing the meat to be sent to the Capitol. He used his skills well during his games.

He never had nightmares. But he saw traits of lost tributes in faces of all people.

Charles lived peacefully for 6 years.

He was more or less lucky with how the Capitol treated him afterwards. He was well aware of how pretty looking tributes ended up. But his role was to motivate all the districts to behave. They filmed a lot of videos with him that they called 'promotional'. To show what happened to people who disobeyed and to people who behaved themselves.

Charles was sick of doing all these lies, but it was better then being a toy for some moneybags.

After 6 years the 75th Hunger Games were announced. The Third Quarter Quell.

There were only three male winners from District 10. Sebastian and Kimi. And Charles.

Charles was picked again. He said his goodbyes to his family.

He was aware that these games would be different and he knew that he won't walk out of them alive. He at least was happy that Sebastian agreed to be his mentor this time too.

******

Max was born to win. That's what his father always said. He was trained all his early childhood to become a winner of the games.

That's why as soon as he turned legal age he volunteered.

His father pressured him into the games and never helped. Max was lucky to have Daniel as his mentor.

He won his first games of course. The youngest winner ever and with a record of most tributes eliminated.

He'd thought that he'd never have nightmares. But now he knew.

Max was just 13 when he won, but as soon as he started to understand the world he knew that he was doomed.

Doomed ro relive memories of his father's puppet.

Max dreamed of his snowy arena. Of all 12 kids that he killed with his axe. Of their distorted faces and hoarse screams. He never wanted to fall asleep again.

After the games he continued to study in the academy to be a peacekeeper. He wanted ro do at least something good. He finished with the highest grades and best results. He was offered a position as a Head Peacekeeper. He chose District 10.

He saw people from District 10 selebrate its win when that boy returned home. He saw them raising a finger to the sky. 'The chosen one'. That's how they called him. Charles.

Max saw him sometimes. When he went to the central fair or left to the Victor's Village. He saw how people treated him. Like a son or a close friend. And he treated them the same.

He was their victor.

All winners had perks and Max saw how he gave them all away to people of his district.

Max had to suppress his inner urge to reach out for him. To ask if he felt the same way.

Like a broken tool that no longer had a purpose to serve

Probably he didn't. He helped his people. And Max was a peacekeeper, wearing a mask to hide his face that's outlined by all the deaths that he'd caused.

He tried to reduce people's suffering.

He was a peacekeeper for 8 years.

When the time of the 75th Hunger Games came closer, Max knew about the Third Quater Quell and how it would be like.

There were a lot of winners to compete for District 2, but during the reaping Daniel was chosen. Max didn't doubt that Daniel would've won the quill, but Max saw the trace that the games had left on him. He saw how the games had treated him. He knew Daniel's story.

Max volunteered again.

Long time ago he cared about himself. But he didn't anymore.

He saw that boy from District 10 being chosen too.

******

Daniel was born in District 2, but his parents weren't.

He never felt like he fit with all the others.

Since young age he had to attend the academy to train there like every child of the second district muct do. He always hated it.

He read once in some old book from the library a phrase that made him understand what he felt. 'Like a bird in a cage'. His 6 year old self was very impressed.

Daniel liked all his survival classes, the ones that didn't include murders. All of his classmates hated them.

He was never like the others. When he first got to his class he tried to make friends. That's what his parents advised him to do. He tried to smile and tell stupid jokes, to share home-made food with the others and help them study. He tried to be himself.

But it never quite worked.

Everyone laughed at him and not with him. They pointed at him, calling him 'a dumb weirdo'. They took his food away and threw it in a garbage bin. They locked him in storage rooms to skip classes that caused him a lot of warnings and later detentions.

Daniel tried not to notice them but he couldn't. He spent most of his life in the academy with bruises on all his body parts and tears on his cheeks. He knew that he was not like the others but he didn't think that he was so difficult that people can't be in the same room as him.

Until he turned 17.

All students from the academy had a queue for games. Everyone fought to have a chance to win the games. And when the reaping started someone from the list of volunteers would go.

Daniel was picked for the 64th Hunger Games. He thought that someone from the careers would volunteer as they always did. But everybody kept silent.

It felt like a death sentence.

His mentor was Mark. He was fun and helpful. He advised to make friends.

On the first meeting with tributes Daniel decided that he liked only Jev from District 8 and Jules from District 10. They were both nice and didn't laugh at his attempts to be nice too. It was the first time that he thought he could have a friend.

It didn't last long.

Jev was one of the first to get eliminated. Daniel and Jules tried to stay together. But one day into the games they had to part ways to get food and water.

The next time Daniel saw him was with a sword slashing his throat.

He tried to heal the wound but his knowledge wasn't enough.

Before Jules passed away he gave Daniel his lucky charm - a small wooden statuette of a bird. Daniel wouldn later return it to his godson.

Daniel won the games. He knew that nobody from his district expected that.

The following year he decided to become a mentor. For 13 year old Max.

Max was always angry with his bright icy eyes shining with rage. But he also wasn't like others.

He was one of the careers, but Daniel didn't see their traits in him. Max didn't want to win for glory and pride.

He just wanted to make his dad happy with him.

Daniel tried to teach him how to live in this world. He tried to make him realise that he didn't need to kill all 23 of tributes for his dad to be happy with his son. He tried to make him feel better. He tried to joke and make him laugh as all early teenagers his age should do.

And he felt pretty cool when he succeeded in that, hearing his small laugh with a shy smile.

He knew that the boy liked him but he didn't know what to do.

And then Max won his games.

He stood there on the podium with a prideful expression on his face, but all Daniel saw were his empty eyes filled with something.

And Daniel was well aware what was that something. He saw it in himself every time he looked in the mirror.

Daniel tried to reach out when Max told him that he's going to be a peacekeeper. They even met sometimes when he was still studying in the academy.

After Max graduated he was sent to District 10 to serve there. And Daniel tried to still talk to him. Even when Max was very busy with his duties they called each other. And Daniel was always happy to hear his voice.

Daniel made friends among other winners. He had Lewis and Sebastian. But there was still something about Max that made Daniel care.

The next time they saw each other was right before the reaping for the Quarter Quell. All of the victors from District 2 were in the same hall, and there were a lot of them.

Daniel barely recognized Max with all the years that they spent apart. He looked broad and tall, even taller then Daniel. Nothing like a 13 year old boy that had won the games. His face was completely different, a strong jaw and no chubby cheeks.

But his eyes. They were still empty.

They shared an awkward hug and Daniel felt too good in his arms. He wished they could stay together for longer.

And he felt fine until his name was called.

He was picked.

Almost third of all the winners were from District 2, so Daniel thought that he wouldn't be in the games again.

He didn't have the time to think because Max volunteered.

When he looked at Daniel his face didn't hold a trace of uncertainty. He looked calm and sure. And his beautiful eyes flickered with something. But it wasn't the same something as after his games. It was something different.

And in a week he found himself in the same situation like 10 years ago.

Helping Max win.

******

Sebastian though he was a good mentor.

He took this role after his win at the 61st Hunger Games. He was the second male victor from District 2.

Kimi was a good mentor too. He was always calm and confident. Sometimes he felt distant but Seb never had a feeling that he didn't care about his tributes.

Sebastial saw a lot of good children that competed in the games. He saw all of them die.

He was a mentor for 8 years until he met Charles.

Everyone in District 10 knew Charles. His family had one of the biggest farms and Charles was extremely skilled with daggers. And everyone knew his story.

Sebastian still remembered mentoring Jules.

For Charles he decided to go for a sad story. That's how they can get more sponsors.

Charles was a pretty good actor and quickly understood what worked the best to get a reaction from the audience. He played well with his adoring face and big eyes.

Even before the games started they had enough donations for Seb to sent him daggers as a sponsor dift, so he didn't need to fight for the weapons.

And Charles won.

It wasn't something that Sebastian was surprised about. But he didn't think that he'd ever experience some kind of happiness. And here it was.

They both lived in Victor's Village. It was almost empty except for 5 houses that were also occupied by Kimi, Silvia and Lily. Both women preferred to live in the Capitol, so usually there were only three of them.

They even met every day for dinners together. It could get lonely sometimes.

Kimi had a family. A beautiful wife and two amazing kids. Seb loved them.

He didn't understand how Kimi could live knowing that his children might go through the same thing in the future. Seb knew that he didn't want kids because he wouldn't be able to live if one of them was picked for the games.

Sebastian waited for the Third Quarter Quell.

When it was announced Charles said that he would go for them if he or Kimi were chosen.

It wasn't necessary. Charles' name was called.

Sebastian knew that it was his duty to protect him.

They decided on the same strategy. Play nice and innocent for the sponsors.

When asked about alliance, Charles said that he wanted Carlos and Max. Seb would've advised on Lewis. But knowing that Nico from District 1 was participating, he would be too occupied fighting his biggest enemy.

Sebastian thought that Carlos was a good option. He was strong and not that arrogant. His help would be great.

But Max was different.

Even though Seb trusted Daniel who said that he was good, he still wasn't so sure.

Max was always quite complicated. He was too aggressive and forward, and despite everything that Daniel told him Seb didn't like him.

The games started in no time.

Charles knew their strategy well. He teamed with Carlos as soon as everything started.

They ran together.

They did pretty good during the first couple of days. Even succeeded in stealing an axe for Carlos and a knife for Charles.

This time the arena was a forest and it got pretty cold fast. They had to help each other.

They found a beautiful lake and a well-hidden cave nearby. There was also a small field with a lot of growing poppies that made it look as it was cowered in drops of blood.

On the first day near the lake Carlos made a small bouquet of them and gave it to Charles.

Sebastian thought that they were a good team. Trusting each other. He saw that something was growing between them.

Until one day Carlos got a spiked arrow in his right shoulder.

Everyone understood that he wouldn't be able to walk out alive.

Sebastian saw Charles trying to help him with all his herbalism skills, Seb himself sent them some good ointment to heal the wound. But it still wasn't helping.

He saw Carlos screaming in agony and Charles crying over his feverish body. Carlos begging Charles to kill him and end his suffering.

They all saw Charles putting his knife on Carlos' throat, choking on tears.

Charles buried him near the shore of the lake, filling his grave with bright red poppies.

The next day Charles decided to go search for the others. He packed all his things and took Carlos' axe. He was shit at working with it but it was his only great weapon as his knife had become dull. And he still remembered some of the tips that Max had shared with him during their training out of the blue.

He walked the whole day and thought that he wouldn't see anyone. But just as the sun set he saw a flicker of light in the distance. As he quickly and quietly approached the bonfire, holding the axe at ready, he noticed him. It was Max.

And Max noticed him too.

"I don't want to kill you", Charles said.

And Max answered, "I don't want to kill you either".

They were awkward at first but Max reached to his backpack and pulled three daggers. "They might suit you better then me. I have no idea what to do with them".

Charles took the gift and decided to give Carlos' axe away in return.

They didn't sleep at night, not really trusting each other yet, and talked. And appeared that they had a lot in common.

Sebastian saw all of this.

He just hoped that it wouldn't end up terrible. And that he wouldn't need to mourn another friend.

#lestappen #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #max verstappen #cl16 #daniel ricciardo #mv33 #mv1 #my art #carlos sainz #f1 fandom #f1 art #formula 1 #digital art

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ageingfangirl2 · 7 months

Text

If I Have To Ask You One More Time! Zoro x Reader (OPLA)

y/n is in charge of cleaning the ship and a certain swordsman makes their job just that bit harder. Zoro x Female Reader.

Y/N

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, the waves had been smooth, and you'd docked on a small island to restock before heading towards The Grand Line. You'd decided to stay on the ship to get some odd jobs done, in particular, a good mop of the deck before heading inside to clean. You'd been on the ship a couple of months but you knew Nami appreciated having a) another girl around and b) a clean ship because guys could be messy. Zoro was the worst offender, after fights letting blood from his swords drip all around the ship which meant more work for you.

After mopping the entire deck, you head to your hammock to take a short nap before continuing your tasks. However, a loud thud on the deck directly above you startles you awake, because you didn't expect the others back for a few more hours. You grab your knives just in case someone else is on your ship and quietly make your way back to the deck.

You spot drops of blood from the gangplank and follow them towards the kitchen, nostrils flaring enraged because you'd just mopped and you knew who was responsible.

'ZORO!' you growl, as you rush into the kitchen.

The swordsman looks up at you blankly from where he is sitting at the table cleaning blood off his swords, 'you okay y/n? something wrong?' he asks, oblivious to the fact he is the problem.

You take one of your knives and plunge it into the wooden table glaring at him, 'If I have to clean one more bloodstain from the deck I'm going to kill someone, I'm going to kill you Zoro.'

Zoro tilts his head, eyes a little wide at your raised voice, 'sounds a little counterproductive y/n.'

You pull out the knife and shake your head, 'poison would do the trick.'

You didn't like getting angry, and now your emotions were taking over making you upset at how oblivious Zoro was to your hard work. So you storm out of the kitchen, wanting to be alone.

ZORO

y/n didn't get mad, so their outburst at me took me by surprise, and then they left without another word. What were they going on about when they talked about blood, murder and poison? Girls were confusing, maybe Nami could shed some light.

TIME SKIP

I pull Nami aside when she returns, and see her staring at the blood on the deck with a frown, 'I thought y/n mopped the deck.'

I shrug my shoulders, 'I guess it was wet when I came back.'

Nami looks up at me and I explain the encounter with y/n, but what she does next annoys me because she slaps me across the back of my head, 'You're an idiot Zoro. y/n has taken it upon themselves to keep this ship clean and you continue to mess it up without thinking about their feelings. Almost like you forget they are even a part of the crew. I'm surprised it took them this long to snap.'

I rub my head after the scolding. I guess I could get lost in my own world. Nami was right because y/n was always quiet and always quick to help I might have taken them for granted, but I had to show each crew member respect and that included y/n.'

Nami goes off and I head below deck to y/n's little space to apologise. I never wanted anyone to be mad or upset because of me, and I guess I was thankful for y/n making the ship a nicer place to be.

'Zoro, what are you doing here?' y/n asks, sitting up in their hammock with puffy eyes.

'I'll try and remember to clean my swords before I come back on the ship, or clean up after myself if I make a mess. I'm sorry, I respect you and am thankful for all that you do for us,' I ramble, all my words coming out at once.

It wasn't like me to ramble, I was reserved and stoic, but I never liked seeing girls cry. Not wanting to be here any longer I turn to leave, but a hand grabs my wrist stopping me in my tracks.

'Thank you for apologising Zoro, I know it's hard for you so this will stay between the two of us,' y/n says softly and I feel the tension leave my body because y/n was trustworthy.

I click my tongue, 'You might want to talk Nami out of telling the others.'

y/n nods and starts to drag me back to the deck, 'I'll talk to Nami and you take this.'

They thrust a mop at me and wink before skipping off to find the navigator. I had to mop the deck quickly before the guys saw me and asked questions.

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poisonlove · 5 months

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To trust.... you? | Lucy Gray

Lucy gray x fem reader

The gray of the sky reflected in tense faces and streets still marked by war marked the tenth anniversary of Capitol's Victory over the districts. Ten years of oppression that still echoed in the open wounds of society.

That year, in the insidious game of the Hunger Games, the 12 districts found themselves facing amplified cruelty. No longer were two tributes randomly drawn, but an intricate and ruthless tournament with separate female and male competitions in arenas.

In this special edition for Capitol City, each district had to send not one, but two tributes of both sexes, bringing the total to 48 tributes. The stakes were higher, and the air was tense as the boys and girls from District 12 faced an even more uncertain fate in this game orchestrated by Capitol cruelty.

Y/N Y/S and Lucy Gray were the girls destined to fight in this arena.

Y/N Pov's

My breath is ragged as I stare anxiously at the Arena screen. Every countdown from the charismatic host Lucky Flickerman tightens my heart, creating an atmosphere laden with anxiety. Each second lost in those numbers is a step closer to the unknown, a uncertain dance with destiny.

I quickly shift my attention to my District 12 companion, Lucy Gray. The only thing I knew about her is that she's an excellent singer, as she demonstrated during the tribute selection.

I see her on the other side of the Arena, eyes as black as coal gleaming with challenge as she watches the screen. Her ruffled, colorful skirt stands out remarkably in this dark and colorless environment, making her almost a visible beacon to the enemy.

And speaking of enemies, there's no doubt that the girls from Districts 4, 2, and 7 are the most dangerous. Not because of social matters, slightly better off than ours, but due to their impressive physical presence. They are robust, muscular, and in this lethal context, their strength makes them formidable adversaries.

"I just need to run and hide," I mutter distractedly, recalling the words of my mentor Coriolanus Snow. Lucy Gray, with her mentor Sejanus Plinth, prepares for the sound of the gong, and the fierce struggle among the girls begins.

I find myself almost disoriented in that area, intimidated by the cries and the sounds of swords and knives among the girls. I widen my eyes and throw myself to the ground, seeing a trident flying in my direction.

"Please, don't do this!" I exclaim in terror.

The girl from District 6 walks determinedly toward me, retrieving the trident she had thrown. "There's no room for mercy here. We survive or die, and you're in my way," she declares venomously.

I retreat in fear, dragging my palms on the arena ground, aware that my end might be imminent. The girl from District 6 raises the trident, ready to strike when suddenly a knife lodges in her neck. Her gaze instantly fades, and I find myself staring at the scene in wide-eyed surprise.

I quickly get up, ready to flee, when a sharp pain in my leg stops me. With gritted teeth, I turn and see the girl from District 11, with a sly look and a barely perceptible disappointment for missing the shot.

"You'll be mine… girl from 12," she murmurs with an unsettling smile, announcing my imminent death sentence.

I pull out the knife and, with the other hand, apply pressure to my leg.

With determination, I begin to walk towards the underground, trying to avoid further unpleasant encounters. The pain in my leg is a constant reminder of the brutality of this Arena, and my determination ignites as I seek refuge in the darkest recesses of the hostile environment.

I sneak into a room, the escape from the Arena's fury etched in my tired eyes. I slump near a wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion and the throbbing pain from the leg wound. The room offers a moment of respite, but the labored breath reveals physical and mental fatigue.

To my surprise, Lucy Gray is there, also seeking refuge. Our eyes meet in an instant, a palpable tension in the adrenaline-charged air.

I shaky point the knife at Lucy, eager to defend myself. In a gesture of surrender, she raises her hands.

"I don't want to hurt you," Lucy whispers, her gaze fixed on the knife in my hand.

I flash a sarcastic smile. "And how do I know that? We're in the Hunger Games; you can't trust anyone," I murmur, holding back the pain in my leg.

"I understand… but I have no reason to attack you… of course, if you do, I'll be forced to defend myself," Lucy says, cautiously advancing in my direction.

"Stop right there," I state seriously, the hand still unsteady.

Lucy looks at me with eyes sparkling with curiosity. Her gaze lands on my bleeding leg. "I could help you," she murmurs softly. "It doesn't look like a good wound," she adds, grimacing.

"Don't even think about it," I retort through gritted teeth.

"We come from the same district… can't we have a truce?" she asks, sounding annoyed.

I consider her proposal, recognizing that help would be advantageous at this moment. "We're destined to kill each other sooner or later, but maybe we can make the journey a bit more interesting," I exclaim, looking at her carefully, my vision starting to blur from the effort.

"You made a wise choice, girl from 12. We're stronger together," Lucy exclaims with a small smile on her lips.

"Y/N," I murmur, shaking the knife, pointing it at Lucy. "If I die, at least you'll know my name," I confess, and she looks at me attentively. "Lucy," she whispers, and I chuckle weakly.

"I know who you are, Capitol's songbird," I murmur and suppress a groan of pain, feeling a new stab in my leg.

It's the first time we've spoken since we were drawn from the urn.

I lower the knife, allowing Lucy to approach. The truce, uncertain but necessary, casts a strange shadow on the competition. Lucy kneels, examining my leg carefully. "I need the knife," she suddenly exclaims.

"You can forget about that," I assert with determination.

Lucy huffs and looks up at me, her eyes staring into mine with intensity. "I just told you I don't want to hurt you," she retorts firmly.

I huff in return and hand the knife to Lucy. In the gesture, our fingers brush, generating a shiver that runs down my spine. Cheeks tinged with red as I avert my gaze toward the knife, watching her cut a piece of her ruffled skirt.

"What are you doing?" I ask with curiosity, and she continues to cut the fabric of her dress.

"I'm trying to keep you alive," she whispers weakly. "I had to ruin my mother's dress… but I think it will help with the wound," she continues, wrapping the fabric around my wound to stop the bleeding.

The silence shatters with the sound of screams from outside. The fierce competition continues, but in this room, our moment of truce is a fragile flame burning against the cold reality of the Hunger Games.

***

Three relentless days have passed since the games began, and now, in the dark theater of the arena, only four of us remain. Me, Lucy, the unstable girl from District 11 with an obsession to kill me, and the fierce one from District 2.

Lying in our refuge, I feel my body slightly heavy from fever and the pain in my wounded leg. Lucy, with her determined kindness, has taken care of me as if I were precious. I find myself playing with a small pebble, wrapping my fingers around the cold stone as I wait for Lucy's return, each moment growing longer.

The Capitol's nightingale had gone out to fetch water and food, but her prolonged absence fuels my concern. The sound of approaching footsteps grabs my attention, and my heart flutters at the thought that other tributes might have discovered our hiding place.

I rise to my feet with cautious timidity, brushing my hand against the knife at my belt, preparing for the worst. Tension creeps into the air as I wait in silence, eyes fixed on the iron door. I release a sigh of relief when I finally see Lucy's figure emerge through the door, holding a water bottle in her hands.

Her genuine smile and the sparkle in her eyes reassure me in an instant.

With graceful steps, Lucy approaches, but the unusual light in her eyes doesn't escape my notice. "Why did you get up despite the fever?" she asks with a slightly reproachful tone, but her gaze reveals genuine concern. "I was worried there might be another tribute nearby," I reply with a faint smile.

Lucy nods, understanding my unease.

Lucy comes closer and sits beside me, looking at me curiously. "Sit," she says gently, indicating a space next to her. Reluctantly, I obey without complaints.

With a small smile, Lucy rests my head on her lap, gently stroking my hair. "I feel useless," I confess in a low voice, "I haven't done anything in these three days," I add timidly.

Lucy looks down at me with unreadable eyes. "You kept me company," Lucy murmurs gently, smiling sideways. She leans down and kisses my forehead, a gesture that makes me blush. When she pulls away, Lucy widens her smile. "Well, the fever is gone," she breathes a sigh of relief. "How do you know?" I ask curiously, and Lucy smiles widely, "Your forehead is cool now. Sit, and I'll change your bandage," she murmurs sweetly.

I obey without hesitation, feeling grateful for Lucy's care. As she changes the bandage on my wound, our silent dialogue continues, and in that moment in the heart of that ruthless arena, I find comfort in Lucy's kindness.

"Done," Lucy murmurs weakly, lifting her head. Her smile fades when she notices the proximity between our faces, her eyes relaxing, looking at me seriously through long lashes.

Lucy bends down shyly, and my heart begins to beat faster as she gently places her lips against mine in a sweet and unexpected kiss. A thrill of emotion runs through my body, and for a moment, the arena and the cruel reality around us seem to fade, replaced by the sweetness of that unexpected gesture.

Lucy withdraws shyly, almost instantly breaking the kiss.

"Don't you think there's something wrong?" I ask breathlessly, still stunned by the effect of the kiss.

Lucy tilts her head sideways, curious. "Because we're two girls? If that bothers you, no one is seeing us..." Lucy murmurs softly, almost disappointed by my reaction.

"No... it's not strange for two girls to kiss... but the fact that sooner or later we'll have to kill each other," I exclaim with terror.

Lucy sighs and firmly grasps my face, looking at me with bright eyes. "In one way or another, you and I will get out together," she whispers almost against my lips.

Her thumb gently strokes my lower lip as she bites her own before leaning in again. Our lips meet in a quick movement, a kiss that conveys a promise and a challenge, all within the context of that merciless arena.

After our kiss, I notice that Lucy's black hair is tousled, and a radiant smile paints her lips. It's a moment of sweetness and vulnerability, as if for a moment, we've stolen from the brutality of the Hunger Games a fragment of normalcy.

"And what if we got out, put an end to these cruel games?" I suggest with vibrant voice.

Lucy nods, her eyes tired but determined. "Yes, it's time to end all of this," she responds with a firmness that betrays her exhaustion but also her desire for freedom. The agreement between us forms in silence, a tacit understanding that in this distorted world, our union is our only salvation.

"We'll face whatever awaits us together," I say, trying to convey hope. "Our bond can defy the rules of this arena, offer us an existence beyond this cruelty."

Lucy, with eyes reflecting a mix of weariness and resilience, replies, "Yes, together we can make it."

With Lucy's smile as our guide, we prepare to conclude this struggle, aware that the strength of our union is our ace in the hole.

Lucy grasps my hand, intertwining our fingers with a grip that conveys solidarity. The sensation of her hand in mine brings a smile to my face, a ray of comfort amidst so much uncertainty. Timidly, limping due to the leg wound, we move together towards the entrance of the arena.

We walk slowly through the dark tunnel, our figures moving cautiously like blurred shadows. The sound of our footsteps resonates dully against the cold, damp walls. Lucy, with her determination, leads the way, while I, with a mixture of anxiety and hope, follow.

When we finally emerge from the darkness of the tunnel, I am blinded by the glaring sunlight. I raise a hand to shield my eyes, accustomed to the dimness of our illuminated refuge, but not to such intensity. The light, so bright and vivid, is almost a surprise, a revelation after days of darkness.

My figure emerges, outlined by the sun's glow, and for a moment, I stand still, as if the outside world is a new and unknown place. The arena's landscape unfolds slowly, and the warmth of the sun is like a caress on my skin, a welcome after days of cold and dampness.

Lucy, with a radiant smile, tightens her grip on my hand even more. Together, with determined steps, we head towards the uncertain destiny that awaits us, ready to face whatever comes next, but determined to do it together.

"Here's a sweet surprise in the arena! It seems a new love has blossomed in this bloody period. Ah, love, how beautiful even amidst arrows and knives!" Flickerman's surprised voice resonates in the arena, noting our intertwined hands.

The host's voice catches the attention of the girl from District 11, just coming off the killing of the tribute from District 2. When her eyes meet ours and see our intertwined hands, she genuinely smiles, savoring the hunt.

Lucy Gray watches the girl from District 11 closely.

"But look at that, two lovers in the arena. It will be a shame to separate you," says the girl from District 11 with false innocence.

"Better focus on what matters now. Survival," Lucy Gray murmurs venomously.

The girl from District 11 pushes Lucy away with a determined gesture and charges towards me. With a swift move, she manages to disengage from me and, surprisingly agile, positions herself astride my legs.

Lucy Gray, distant but watching attentively, rises from the abrupt fall she experienced earlier. Her eyes scan the scene with concern, our alliance now put to the test.

I try to recover from the surprise, feeling the pressure of the girl from District 11's legs over me. Her axe glints threateningly, and the awareness of vulnerability pushes me to find a way to defend myself.

"Looks like love doesn't protect from everything, does it?" the girl from District 11 murmurs with a sneer. Her laughter is sharp, and my struggle to recover is hindered by her skill. I watch Lucy Gray with a silent look, hoping our connection is strong enough to face this threat together. The situation becomes critical, and my hope focuses on every resource I can exploit to turn the tide of this ruthless battle.

I raise my arms, skillfully avoiding the descending axe. I look at the girl from District 11 with concern, ignoring her cutting remarks.

"Better focus on yourself now, don't you think?" I murmur firmly, giving a quick glance behind the girl from District 11.

Lucy, with determination, thrusts the trident into the back of the girl from District 11, the prongs emerging from her chest. A hiss of pain blends with the silence, followed by a final breath. The fight was short but intense, and the body of the girl from District 11 gives in, overcome by the fierceness of the clash.

The voice that echoed in the arena proclaimed: "The games end with the victory of the individual district!" The voice belonged to the strategist.

I turn to Lucy with overwhelming joy. My smile widens to 32 teeth, and in her black eyes, I find the same pure happiness. The awareness that I no longer have to try to kill my District 12 companion translates into a tangible relief that permeates the atmosphere.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I rise and stride with long steps towards Lucy. The trident is thrown to the ground, the metal still damp with the blood of the fallen tribute. Lucy, aware that only the two of us remain, launches herself into my arms with a mixture of fatigue and triumph.

From the euphoria of victory, Lucy firmly takes my cheeks, the warm contact of her hands contrasting with the cold of the trident just used. Her eyes shine with happiness and relief. Without words, but with an intense connection, Lucy kisses me with a passion that conveys the weight of the just-survived struggle. It's a moment of joy and survival, a celebration of a connection that has withstood the trials of the arena.

Lucy's hands, covered in dirt, firmly rest around my cheeks. Despite the dust and the fatigue of battle, I feel a strange sense of comfort.

Lucy, with eyes shining with vibrant intensity, looks at me as if she wants to read every emotion crossing my gaze. "It's just us two left," she says with a warm voice, a mix of emotion and relief.

I respond with an intense look, gratitude palpable in the air between us. "Yes, Lucy. We're still here."

Her hands move slowly from my cheeks, descending along my neck and delicately settling on my shoulders. "We've overcome all of this together."

"Also you, Lucy. Your strength has been my guide," I reply, smiling slightly as I feel the warmth of her hands on my skin.

Lucy, with a radiant smile, nods. "I couldn't have done it without you." Her hands move away, but only to grasp mine, intertwining our fingers in a gesture that underscores our connection.

Our gaze locks onto each other, and in our eyes, there's an awareness of what we've faced together. "Now that we're alone, we can make it, Lucy," I say, trying to convey the determination I feel inside me.

Lucy nods with seriousness. "Yes, y/n. We're strong together." With a sudden movement, her hands return to my face, and she kisses me again, this time with gentleness and gratitude. It's a gesture that speaks more than a thousand words, confirming the bond we've built through struggle and survival.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #district 12 #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x reader #female #lesbian kissing #War #ribelli

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thecuriousquest · 6 months

Text

Mind Jack’s Late Night Catch

Yandere Hitoshi Shinso x Fem!Reader

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug @palesweetscherryblossom

Warnings: Yandere themes, SFW, kidnapping, Hitoshi is an incel, sexism, violence, blood/bleeding, chains (not sexual)

Prompt Request: G1 of any character of my choice “Here kitty, kitty”

@weowmeow I hope you enjoy!

Master List

Yandere Alphabet Prompt List

I haven’t written for Hitoshi in a while. Thought this would be a good one to do for him!

—————————————————————————

You race down the dark alleyway, bolting in different directions as your life depends on it. Of course it was him who had to find you! Fucking Mind Jack of all pros!

You wipe the sweat from your brow, jumping on a dumpster to reach an apartment’s fire escape. You hear him below you, the rustling of garbage beneath heavy boots.

“Here kitty, kitty. Why are you running from me?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. It’s unnerving, the potential holding deadly threats.

You clasp the bars of the fire escape and hoist yourself up. You hear his monotone voice trailing right behind you.

Running up the narrow stairs, having to turn in different directions, you move your body numbly, speeding towards the roof. You pull yourself forward with as much momentum as you can, but you feel something wrap around your ankle, yanking you down.

You smack your forehead and nose on the iron step. “Fuck!” you scream, blood spilling from your nostrils, the beginnings of a bump forming just between your brows. You look down at your ankle and see his scarf slowly unraveling as he makes his way towards you at an unhurried pace.

It’s as if he believes you won’t get away from him.

You stand, naucious from the violent fall. Still, you press onwards, not stopping. You know that once you get up to the roof, you’ll be able to unsheathe your wings and fly away. They’re too big and broad to let out of your back on the streets, and they’ll only weigh you down if you try to run with them out.

Damn oversized wings weighted down with what feels like swords instead of feathers.

Once on the roof, you focus on expanding your wings from your back. You feel your skin open up as the feathers begin to protrude, unfolding themselves bit by bit as they were stored up. You grunt, suppressing a cry at their release as you feel the blood spilling down your spine, gathering up in the back of your shirt.

It hurts. God, it fucking hurts. The pain making it feel like knives are dragging along your flesh. You feel like you weren’t made for this quirk. Yes, you love flying, but you fucking hate the process of letting your wings out to flap around.

Just then, as you’re only a third of the way through the process of your wings showing themselves, you feel that damn scarf wrap you up from ankle to shoulder. With one quick tug, you fall over, and your wings start to shove themselves back inside due to loss of concentration.

“No…no!” You look all around for an out. Your eyes scatter the vast roof, needing to find a way to get far from Mind Jack.

He squats down in front of you, taking your chin in between his hands. You don’t look at him. Your eyes still trying to find an exit.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance and shakes your jaw. Your orbs finally land on his violet eyes.

“There we go. Why don’t you just keep looking at me while I explain what’s gonna happen, cute face.”

Instead of seeing his dark grin under his mask, you can hear it in his tone.

You glare at him, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“You, my little criminal, are coming home with me so I can…teach you some manners. Yeah, a woman like you thinking she can get away with whatever the hell she wants? That’s the problem with you females these days. No regard for male authority.”

He lets go of your face to grab you by the hair.

“What kind of bullshit are you spewing?” You sneer at him.

It only causes him to pull you up by your H/C locks and into his chest.

“And that filthy mouth. I’m gonna have to do something about that too. It’s only fair, you know? I’m a hero after all. Heroes are supposed to help. I’ll help turn you into a proper young lady.”

The feminist in you straightens her back and bares her sharp teeth at him.

“You…you fucking pig. Incels like you need to die off. You should’ve been dry come on your mom’s tits.”

Mind Jack slams your face into the concrete below, right next to his boot. You reel with nausea for a second time, grogginess overloading your body. You can now taste metallic in your mouth, slippery and building up until it spills over the corner of your lips.

“You fucking asshole,” you gurgle around a mouthful of blood.

“For now, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Go to-“ but your sentence dies off in that instant as your mind goes blank, and you don’t even realize how he is releasing you from his scarf and hoisting you over his shoulder with ease.

You’re completely unaware of the journey home as he uses his capture weapon to get there. Tucking you into his bed, shackling your ankle to the footboard, he looks down at you as he removes his mask.

“Go to sleep now.”

And you have no choice but to obey. Unconscious under the covers, you don’t even notice him pressing a kiss against your forehead before he crawls into bed next to you, holding your warm body close to his muscular build.

Tomorrow will be a new beginning for you, and he will turn you into a proper young lady.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #my hero acedamia #my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #boku no hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #hitoshi shinso #mha hitoshi shinso #bnha hitoshi #yandere hitoshi shinso x reader #yandere hitoshi shinso #yandere shinso hitoshi

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howtofightwrite · 6 months

Note

I have read your post about how size doesn't really matter if the two fighters are equally trained, but I wanted to ask if the same holds true in an armed fight? Like sword fights and the like? Sorry if this has been asked before, or if it is not your specific area of expertise. Thank you!!!!

I'm pretty sure we've covered this before but I'll go again.

The way you've phrased it is a little vague, and the answers are different.

If you're asking about to fighters with roughly equivalent gear, then, no, their size and weight won't matter that much. If you have a thirty-six inch razor blade, and your opponent has a thirty-six inch razor blade, it doesn't really matter if you're an inch taller. Hell, at that point, it really doesn't even matter much if you're a foot taller, yes that means your effective reach is going to be a little longer (about 6.2 inches in this case.) But, the difference between being able to take a swipe at someone standing seventy-eight inches away from you, versus being limited to a mere seventy-two inches, isn't a huge deal. Now, that extra six inches of reach isn't nothing (and, realistically, those numbers will be a little lower overall (I'm halving average arm/span, and assuming they're six and seven feet tall, which does result in one abnormally high number. When you start looking at more nominal height ranges, like 5'7 vs 5'11, the actual difference in reach will drop around an inch. Bluntly, that doesn't matter.)

Now, if you're asking about their weapons, this is an entirely different situation. A specific case we had in the past was someone who wanted their dual wielding dagger user to go toe to toe with someone armed with a greatsword. In the real world, greatswords tend to have, at least, a sixty inch blade, while most knives are going to be under a foot long. In a situation like this, the greatsword creates a five foot kill zone around its user that the dagger wielder cannot traverse. As a result, they cannot attack the greatsword user without some serious creativity, or the element of surprise.

This is true for all weapons. They all have both a maximum and minimum effective range, and while the wielder can often do things to keep the weapon, at least, partially functional at very close ranges (such as pommel strikes, or half-handing), the effective range of a weapon is extremely important to understand. Also, and I hope this was clear already, but this applies to melee weapons. It's pretty common to think about ranged weapons having a max effective range, but this is just as true of a sword or spear. Similarly, as I mentioned, they have a minimum effective range as well. A lone spear user can keep themselves safe from a dagger wielder if they can keep the knives out of reach, but if the dagger fighter manages to get past their spearhead, that weapon is going to be far less effective (though, it won't become completely useless. It is still a staff, with pointy bits.) (Also, minimum effective range does apply with ranged weapons as well. Again, not something we think about often, but it is true, and why things like the eight foot rule exists for handguns.)

It's a little out of scope here, but the weight of your weapon is also extremely important. The heavier a weapon is, the faster it will tire out its wielder. And, to slightly oversimplify, an exhausted fighter is a dead fighter. This is why swords are remarkably light, frequently weighing less than two pounds, with the upper end of the spectrum (the greatswords like the Claymore or Zweihander) still weighing than a well fed, adult, housecat. Heavy weapons can easily become a death sentence to their user. And you do not need a lot of weight to get the job done. An eight pound hammer is both shockingly heavy (as weapons go), but it will do unspeakable things to anyone it solidly connects with.

In a competitive sense, if your weapon is heavier that will turn into a disadvantage over time. It's difficult to exploit in a one on one fight, but on an afternoon battlefield, where the fighting has been going since dawn, that will have had a chance to wear down the wielders.

So, yes and no, it depends if you're asking about the fighters, where it doesn't matter, or the weapons, where it becomes extremely important.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #starke answers #how to fight write

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sphireath-wisp · 1 year

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#just for me.

Sypnosis: Things that remind you of them that they keep for themselves (O.P. version)

Warnings: Messy interchanging tenses, not proofread

Featuring: Monkey D. Luffy, Roronoa Zoro, Vinsmoke Sanji x GN! reader

Monkey D. Luffy

I feel like this guy is always covered in bandages. I just feel it. With the amount of trouble he literally leaps himself into, he is almost always covered in injuries 24/7. Chopper would always nag him and chide how reckless his captain can be. It's always 50/50 with Luffy. It's either he totally forgets that the bandages are there or peels them off whenever he has the chance. "The bandages feel so itchy, they always get in the way whenever I fight!" or so Luffy would whine. You know how much of a hassle it can be to keep bandaging him up to Chopper because he'll almost immediately rip them off - not to mention the waste of Chopper's already limited bandage supply on the sea. If your lover wants to act like a kid, you'll treat him like one. You scribble on drawings of you and him and even let him help decorate. Whenever you bandage him up, he doesn't rip them off because he genuinely likes the doodles on them. Though, he's gotten attached... too attached. His wounds should have already healed by now, but he continues to wear them with pride.

"The king of pirates should look like one." Something Luffy firmly believes in. He loves to collect anything Pirate-related. Gold and jewels don't fascinate him as much as that pirate hat or golden hook. Luffy will hoard everything he feels like the king of pirates would or should have. He doesn't care about fame, power, or money - but he wants to feel that rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, that hunger for the next adventure that makes his heart race, and that wave of joy and relief once he wins a battle. You know how much he loved such an idea, so you couldn't help but buy him a gold necklace, with a miniature fake skull in the middle. You'll watch as he fidgets around with it or shows it off to the crew, beaming with pride. It's like his treasured straw hat, it's almost always on him.

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro likes to wear Bandanas. He doesn't wear them often, but he does like to wear that black bandana he keeps around. You've noticed how dirty and torn up it's gotten, and it would look more like a spider web on Zoro's head rather than a bandana if he wore this. You recently bought a red bandana for Zoro and Chopper picked out a pink one for him, just for shits and giggles. He appreciates the thought you put behind it and you'll notice both of the bandanas tied around his upper right arm. He's started to use his left arm to fight more other than his right, it's almost as if he doesn't want the bandanas to get scraped up in battle. Of course, when there's an actual capable opponent facing him, he will fight will all three of his swords.

You often place bentos next to his swords, insisting that you were just helping Sanji give the bentos out. Being so focused on his training, he almost never properly takes care of himself (like taking showers). His main source of energy is always sake, but there's no way that's good for him. Sanji will help you make bentos for the whole crew, but you feel like he knows it's an excuse to sneak in reminders for Zoro to take care of himself in his bento. Zoro feels like these notes are too precious to throw away, so he has this noticeboard in the crow's nest to stick up all of your notes. Often when you walk in to check up on him, you'll catch him staring at the board of sticky notes signed by you.

Sanji

He probably has a whole collection of knives that he uses to prepare food for the crew, but I feel like a lot of them have already become dull. Obviously, Sanji could just sharpen them again without much time or effort. However, you've heard him grumbling under his breath about being unable to cut up tough parts of meat. You can still remember the struggle he went through to cut open a coconut with his knife. Being the sweetheart that you are, you gave him a whole new knife set for him to use to his heart's extent. He loved much happier while cooking. While he was always focused while cooking, he almost seemed... satisfied to cook with a gift from you. "A kitchen knife is the soul of the cook and my darling, you are the love of my soul and the key to my heart."

I just know this guy keeps a camera around, snapping photos of you from the best angles ever. It's like... when did you get so pretty??? He always keeps at least one in his wallet and because of that, whenever he pulls his wallet out to pay for something in a store, he has to fight that overwhelming urge to buy something for you. He loves to treat you in the best way possible. You are royalty, you are the sun, you are life. You make him the happiest and he could be when you're around. If you wanted to buy out the whole store, there wouldn't be a single second of hesitation before he's emptying his wallet for you.

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stizzysupremacy · 9 days

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okay. Okay so. This is ridiculous but. The idea won’t get out of my brain ever since I started rewatching an old sitcom:

Izzy Hands as The Nanny

no no hear me out.

Izzy works in his bf Ed’s tailor shop (vs a bridal shop cuz even in an au I can’t stretch to see Izzy doing anything bridal for a living) until Ed wants to give Jack Rackham Izzy’s job and oh also he wants to start dating Jack too. So Izzy is out of a job and a relationship that’s been in the pre-engagement state for years. Izzy gets a part time job selling fine chef’s knives door-to-door (instead of makeup. Because it’s a good excuse to slip Steak Knife into the story and also because my bestie used to sell knives and I love him)

Izzy happens to show up at the Bonnet mansion household around the time they were expecting their newest nanny to come for an interview. Izzy thinks he is being invited in to give his sales pitch. In classic sitcom misunderstanding it takes a while for Stede to realize that Short Dark and Handsome here is not actually a manny with a resting rage face.

But by then Izzy has had a chance to interact with Stede’s kids and his household staff. Stede has fondness for anyone who is kind to his kids and has a secret awe for anyone who seems to get along with less awkwardness than he himself does. Izzy just talks to the kids like they are adults because he doesn’t know how else to deal with tiny people except to treat them like big people. Alma appreciates it.

The rest of the household (Buttons as the butler? Lucius as a PA? Roach as chef, Jim as driver, etc you get the idea) are surprisingly on board with hiring the guy who came to the door with a briefcase full of knives to provide daily childcare. He’s got no experience or qualifications but Izzy clearly does not take shit from anyone and won’t get scared off in under two months like the last nanny.

and look, the pay is really good. Even if Mr Bonnet is supremely annoying, he pays well and the kids seem fine, old enough to entertain themselves most of the time and not be very interested in interacting with some greying old man. He can get them to school and home from school, and deal with the occasional snotty cold or scraped knee for such a huge salary, with room and board on top! plus staying in the rich part of town cuts down on the chances of running into Ed and/or Jack.

So Izzy moves into the mansion and chases the Bonnet children around for a living. (Izzy quickly learns that the kids are still young enough to love playing pirates, something Stede started with them but has been too busy to do. Izzy, wearing an eye patch and brandishing a plastic sword, taunts Stede into joining their play by challenging him to duel (yes Stede smacks his ass with his sword))

obvious stede would never get full custody lol so there’s plenty of time when the kids are with their mother and Stede’s only company in the big empty house is Izzy Hands 😮😀

#stizzy #gentlehands #a modern au with an ‘izzy hands is good with kids’ agenda #Izzy hands

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city-of-ladies · 10 days

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The dangers of the combat zone

"Women accompanying the military were in what military historian John Lynn calls the combat zone, which is

best defined by the intensity and immediacy of danger and by the ability to do direct harm to the enemy… the full reality of war lives here. Modern armies regard it as an innovation to send some women into combat, but in the campaign community all women stood in harm’s way.

It would be odd to imagine that the women accompanying an army, exposed as they were to all the dangers of the military world, didn’t pick up arms and fight. In 1643, in the earlier stages of the English Civil War, a regiment of troops was recalled from Ireland to support King Charles. Rumours swirled that they were accompanied by a regiment of women, and that ‘these were weaponed too; and when these degenerate into cruelty, there are none more bloody’. Indeed, when 120 Irish women were taken prisoner at Nantwich they were discovered to have long knives with them, causing a furore in the press. The dubiously named True Informer excitedly reported that the knives in question were half a yard long, with a hook at the end ‘made not only to stab but to tear the flesh from the very bones’. The likeliest explanation for these knives, however, is that the women weren’t soldiers; they were camp followers, and they needed the knives to help them with pillage and self-defence.

The women of the campaign community did fight. The Bishop of Albi, on the battlefield of Leucate in southern France to administer to the dying in 1637, came upon the bodies of several women in uniform. ‘These were the real men,’ he was told by the Castilian soldiers, ‘since those who had fled, including certain officers, had conducted themselves like women’.

Madeleine Kintelberger was a vivandière accompanying the French Seventh Hussar Regiment at Austerlitz in 1805, along with her soldier husband and their six children. The regiment was under heavy attack from Russian forces when her husband was killed by a cannonball, and her children seriously wounded. Madeleine herself had taken a cannonball to the arm, virtually slicing it off below the shoulder. As the Russian Cossacks approached, she scooped up a sword to defend her children, receiving further wounds in both her arms before the family was taken prisoner. Madeleine was six months pregnant and gave birth in captivity. Her bravery was rewarded with a pension from Napoleon. Examples of cantinières fighting are ‘legion’."

Forgotten Warriors, Sarah Percy

#history #women in history #women's history #19th century #17th century #women warriors #warrior women #madeleine kintelberg #european history #historical figures #historical #france #franch history #england #english civil war #napoleoni

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becausesomething · 2 months

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Maybe in another Life - ZoSan OneShot

just a smut and touchy oneshot after getting into the zosan zone and got obsessed! 🚬x🗡

-Wake up, mosshead!

Zoro just opens one eye and yawns.

-You're the only one awake and I could use some help cleaning up the mess that Luffy and the others left in the kitchen.

-tsc, I'm woken up to play maid?!

Sanji lights a cigarette to ease his irritation and having to swallow his pride to ask for help. But also suppressing emotions he struggled to ignore.

-There is a bottle of sake from the special stock waiting for you.

Zoro gets up, grabs his swords and heads to the kitchen, without thinking or looking twice at Sanji.

As usual, they divided the tasks naturally and helped each other. Zoro had finished tidying up the dishes and sits at the table, while Sanji finished cleaning the counters.

-More sake Ero-Cook !

-I'm not your employee, marimo, go get it yourself!

Zoro snorts, but gets up and goes to the cupboard to get another bottle. As he turned to go back to the table, Sanji, who was passing by, bumped into him. Their faces are very close and the tension they both feel is noticeable.

-Are you blushing for me, nosebleed boy?

-Shitty swordsman, be aware of personal space!

Zoro, in the heat of the moment, grabs him by the waist and leans him against the closet, supporting himself with one hand.

-Those lips...

-What do you think you're doing, idiot?

Zoro continues to look at him intensely, without letting him break his gaze. In that moment of tension, Sanji loses his temper and begins the kiss that would change his routine. As he had imagined, Zoro's lips, despite being rough, were delicious to feel, especially with that sake flavor. For Zoro, that kiss was necessary, he needed to have those thin, soft lips against his. What was supposed to be just a kiss ended up in both of them prolonging that moment so desired and repressed. Zoro lets go of his waist and moves away from him, picking up the bottle he had placed on the counter and sitting back down at the table.

-Will you accompany me, er-Cook?

Sanji, still glued to the closet, takes a few seconds to assimilate what had just happened. He puts his fingers to his lips, lets out a smile and prepares to light a cigarette as he walks to the table.

That spring night, when they had left Arabasta, emotions finally spoke louder than shame. Words that were never said, because actions spoke louder. During the day they continued their constant rivalry, but when night came and the rest of the gang went to rest, they both allowed themselves to let their guard down and enjoy each other's company.

(...)

Sanji wakes up and doesn't see Zoro anywhere, his heart pounds with fear. He goes looking for it and that's when he finds it. Standing, with torn clothes, covered in blood, and a lifeless look. "Nothing happened", those words cut deeper than knives or glass. That vision of the person he was beginning to love caused a pain he couldn't understand, but he didn't want to feel it again.

(...)

-Dumb browns, I missed you in bed.

Zoro finds him standing on the deck looking at the sea that night when the moon was not shining.

-You're an idiot, an idiot swordsman.

Zoro tries to grab him to steal the kiss, but is stopped by a kick from Sanji that almost hits him, if he weren't faster even though he was injured.

-tsc, what's wrong with you?

-You. The way you took that pain and are here you are looking for me, as if you weren't all hurt.

-I only did it to save you, to save us all!

Zoro, taking advantage of being more muscular, grabs Sanji by the arm and in the movement of pulling him towards him, steals a kiss from him. A kiss that for Zoro was a drug to calm the physical pain. A kiss that for Sanji was bittersweet, because it was also a drug that he couldn't get enough of. When the lips come apart, their eyes meet, but soon Sanji looks away again to the sea and lets go of Zoro.

-Zoro-kun

The only sounds that could be heard were the waves hitting the ship and their hearts beating hard.

-I don't think I'm able to continue this...

Sanji lights a cigarette and expels the smoke, avoiding Zoro's surprised look.

-The pain of thinking that I had lost you when I woke up, the anguish of having found you in that state, the weight of knowing that you are too much for me.-I knew you were an idiot, but not as much as a weak-ass cook.

(...)

After Sanji finds Zoro in Sabaody, his heart doesn't fit in his chest. It had been two long years of living a miserable life and the thought that helped him overcome that hell was that his idiot mooshead was still alive, so there was still hope in trying to remedy the terrible mistake he had made. He just didn't expect to find a completely different man in front of him.

-I thought a lot, all this time... I still have feelings for you. No, I mean, what I felt never went away, no matter how much I tried to deny it or bury it. When I look at you... I still feel butterflies. I can't describe how happy you make me.

Sanji closes his eyes, feeling emotional as he remembers all the moments they both spent together. Zoro crosses his arms and looks him in the eyes.

-Listen Cook, ... Sanji ... After you rejected me ... more than two years ago ... I got over how I felt about you.

Sanji exhales deeply, in an attempt not to be crushed by those words that hurt like knives.

-Sorry - says Zoro, placing his hand on Wado.

-Damn, maybe in another life - says Sanji, lighting a cigarette and looking passionately into Marimo's eyes one last time before facing the rest of the gang.

-Maybe... Ero-Cook - says Zoro who is already ahead, hiding his expression.

english is not my first language, even thought I use it more than my native tongue. I try my best to adapt it 🫣

#onepiece fanfiction #zosan #one piece zosan #zosan fanfic #zoro #sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #fanficbiiyue

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mysadcorner · 2 years

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Peter Pan Dating Headcanons

- Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about characters wanted for requests -

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• Peter would be very possessive of you, especially if you’re new to the whole concept of magic and the world he comes from. To everyone around him and especially the lost boys you’re something brand new to be around and for them this is exciting, but he doesn’t want them to like having your company - if anything he wants them to be indifferent to you so that he can have you all to himself.

• The two of you go on a lot of walks together away from everyone else as there aren’t many opportunities for the two of you to have some privacy. It’s during these walks that you have deep conversations and are able to enjoy the beauty of nature which always uplifts both of your moods.

• Peter holds you to the same status and respectability that he holds himself to, which is much higher than any of the other lost boys. He’s well aware that he’s in charge and absolutely maintains his authority, and in doing so you also become a leader type but more of a figure to be by Peters side rather than making any plans or actually being able to tell others what to do.

• If you’re not experienced in fighting or how to use swords and knives then Peter will personally train you. He’s always got the threat of pirates and anything else hurting you in the back of his mind, so nothing makes him feel at ease than knowing you’re able to properly defend yourself in the case of a dangerous situation or attack.

• Peter is one of the biggest teases you will ever meet in your life. Not only is he a big fan of teasing you to your face by making embarrassing comments and jokes but he also likes to hide your thing so that you purposefully need to beg him to give you your belongings back - especially if they’re important.

• You’re always being gifted little trinkets by him as one of the ways he wants to show his affection to you. He knows that he isn’t able to give you as much as you would probably have if you were living a normal life, but that’s the beauty of his lifestyle; everyone appreciates the little things and the sentimental value to the stuff they have means much more than their value in money.

• Peter would be practically glued to you whenever he isn’t in need somewhere else or has something urgent to attend to. He loves your company just as you love his and he never feels happier that when he’s with you, so why should he leave and not be by your side when that would only make him feel terrible.

• Both of you become almost dangerous by how often you’re prancing each other (and joining each other in prancing other people). Peters filled with childlike excitement for these kinds of things so there isn’t a day that goes by that someone isn’t being pranked, and if the long day is coming to an end and nothing happened yet, everyone is always waiting in anticipation for what will happen by the end of the day.

• Peter would never want you to leave him no matter how long the two of you have been together. He could have had you with him for 100 years or more and he still wouldn’t be ready to let you leave. He’s grown to need you, and if something ever happened then he wouldn’t never be able to forgive himself, and would probably also spiral into completely delusional and terrible behaviour at the same time due to the amount of pain he’s in.

• Peter tries to shelter you as much as possible and purposefully doesn’t tell you things as to not worry you or let you know that things may be going wrong. He very much believes that he can do anything and will stick by this no matter what, and as he believes this fully he doesn’t see why he should worry you over things that will soon fix themselves if he’s involved.

#once upon a time #once upon a time headcanons #once upon a time x reader #once upon a time x you #once upon a time x y/n #ouat #ouat x reader #ouat headcanons #ouat x you #ouat x y/n #ouat peter pan #peter pan #peter pan headcanons #peter pan x reader #peter pan x you #peter pan x y/n #pan x reader #pan #ouat pan

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leighsartworks216 · 5 months

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I Come With Knives Pt12

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Had this idea out of nowhere, and I thought it would be a good filler so I'm not jumping super far ahead very suddenly. I may do another part with the love test, but I wanted to go ahead and share this bit

Also, I know this is not at all like the fair or w/e in-game. I haven't played the game yet (😔) and so I based it mostly around my ren fair experience(s)

Warnings: food, eating, reference to starving, references to past abuse, references to emotional abuse, hints at torture methods, social anxiety, crowds, mentions of loud sounds and strong smells, honestly very fluffy I promise

Word Count: 1,906

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

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The sights and sounds and smells were overwhelming. Crowds of people, young and old, wandering from stall to stall for food and merriment. Barkers beckoned them over for games, promising prizes for any who dared to test their luck.

It made your head spin. You stepped closer to Astarion, tentatively brushing your hand against his.

It was supposed to be fun - it was fun. Karlach had bounded on ahead with Wyll in tow, eager to test her skills at one of the games with loud proclamations of her imminent victory. Gale and Shadowheart were tempted by the wine tasting, whether to find the best of the bunch or to drink as much as possible before getting kicked out, it was impossible to tell. Lae’zel was particularly intrigued by a display of Dwarves demonstrating how they build weapons, the best way to sharpen them, and how to care for them so they last a lifetime and a half.

And here you were, at the very cusp of it all, seeking safety in Astarion.

“Ah, another first?” he asked, taking your hand in his and running his thumb along your knuckles. He wasn’t so bothered by the loud body of people or shouting and laughter - he’d been in the thick of it back when he sought victims for Cazador. Besides, he found it rather easy to blend in… And slip some tokens from the pockets of unsuspecting passersby.

You let out a long breath. “I don’t think so,” you admitted. “I feel like I’ve been to one of these before, but it’s all fuzzy. Maybe I just dreamt it.”

You both watched, amused, as Karlach cheered and whooped, excitedly taking the stuffed toy from the vendor, before turning bashful as she handed it to Wyll. They made a rather cute couple. Certainly the most normal of the bunch - and that was saying something.

Astarion snorted. “It would be rather difficult to dream up a place like this out of nothing.”

A couple passed by, brushing against your shoulder as they did. You instinctively stepped closer to Astarion to avoid the strangers’ touch, squeezing his hand. He frowned down at you.

“We can always go back to camp, love. They know the way back. And we’d get the whole place to ourselves.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

You chuckled, slightly strained. “You just want to read Shadowheart’s diary.”

“She has a diary?” he gaped, overemphasizing his words and pretending to be shocked. “Why, I had no idea! We should ensure it doesn’t get stolen by any unsavory types that might be lurking about.”

“You can’t read her diary.”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Spoil sport.”

The idea was tempting, though. It would be quiet. There wouldn’t be people to bump into you or crowd you in. You could spend an entire day forgetting what lay ahead of you, what trials you had to face, what foes were sharpening their swords and awaiting your arrival.

With a deep breath, you took a hesitant step forward. And another, and another. Your friends were enjoying themselves… surely you could too, right?

“Let’s just… look around.”

Astarion followed along, close at your side. As you began wandering, glancing at stalls that offered handmade trinkets and jewelry, ciders, and even face painting, he worked to make the experience more bearable. This meant subtly directing you out of the paths of heedless fair-goers. Every now and again, he’d whisper snide little comments in your ear; snickering observations of an obviously rigged game upsetting a child who screamed for their parents to let them try again, remarks on intriguing tidbits of information overheard from loose-lipped conspirators, scowling growls at annoying vendors who tried to get your attention to look at their random nonsense.

He was your anchor, grounding you to the experience. His comments eased your anxieties little by little. Your shoulders relaxed, you looked around with wide eyes that sought to capture everything going on. You didn’t feel the need to run. Not with him there. You wished you could show how truly grateful you were for it.

You stepped into a tent toward the center of the fair. Immediately, a flood of smells hit your nose - smoked meats, tart fruit, something floral you couldn’t quite pin down. Chatter filled the air until it devolved into a wordless humdrum, buzzing ceaselessly in your ear like a persistent bug, but there seemed to be enough space to walk about. Astarion followed as you followed the empty space like a path.

Stalls all aligned against the walls presented various foods from all over Faerûn. Delicacies, both appetizing and slightly disturbing, sat next to chef specialties. Wood elves and druids with various prepared mushrooms and herbs, orcs with meat piled high, farmers from the surrounding area that gathered with their fresh-grown crops. There was something for everyone here, guaranteed.

You leaned closer to Astarion to speak without shouting over the noise. “Shall we find a booth for you?” you teased.

He laughed. “Darling, this is a veritable buffet. None quite compare to you, however,” he flirted with a seductive grin. He reveled in the way your heart skipped.

You both scanned the stalls a bit longer, until something caught Astarion’s eye. Excitedly, he tugged you along. “What is it?”

He grinned over his shoulder. “Something as sweet as you, dearest.”

At the end of the row, tucked away in a corner, was a mess of hobbits, cherry-cheeked and full of mirth. Their entire stand was full of baked goods, from cakes as tall as Astarion with a multitude of layers and intricate detailing, to itty bitty cakelets that would be the perfect size for a mouse decorated simply.

“Ah, here we are!” He plucked up a tiny cakelet and tossed a coin to a hobbit that was all freckles. When they thanked him, the rest piped up to thank him, too. He paid them no mind, instead tugging you somewhere quieter and more private, despite the bustling people that filled every inch of this tent. He held it up to you between his fingers, an offering. “A sweet treat for my sweet treat.”

You laughed despite the corniness of it, cheeks warming with affection. There was something about hiding away in a dark corner that felt like some cheesy romance novel directed to young teens. But you liked it. A rare moment of peace away from the world, with Astarion and his rounded eyes and his charming grin. “You don’t even know what it tastes like,” you teased, eyeing the cake warily.

He hummed as though the thought had never crossed his mind, but his smirk said otherwise. “Well, I had rather hoped to try it myself.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned in until his breath brushed your ear. So close to your neck, and yet… you didn’t feel the need to pull away. “From your lips, of course.”

His words had an immediate effect on you - your heart raced wildly, your breath hitched, your thoughts spun. His red eyes watched you intently as you looked at the little cakelet. It was innocently iced white with a small red berry on top. But it wasn’t what it could taste like or what it could be laced with that made you hesitate. Hells, it could be fish paste and roe and you’d try it if he looked at you with those big, pleading eyes.

When you were behaving, when she acted like you were her most precious thing, she would feed you. Countless fruits and sweet meats had passed from her long fingers to your mouth, and now here Astarion was, doing much the same.

But it wasn’t the same.

She adored you as an item - a little plaything she could dote upon and torment as her mood dictated. Astarion truly cared about you, in ways unique to him. He was rude and demanding, but you never had to do anything. He’d be horribly needy for a hug or a cuddle, with no proper, easy way of asking, so he’d demand it, lamenting about how terribly lonely he was. But even then, despite his theatrics, you could turn him down with no consequences. No dark rooms or scold’s bridle awaited you. Even now, you could refuse entirely and he’d smile politely and tug you back into the throng of people. You could even feed yourself the cake and still accept his kiss. She would never be so kind. You would eat what she offered, or you would starve.

He could almost see the mental war you fought written on your face. The slight crease between your brows, the way your throat bobbed with an uncertain swallow. After a second too long, he panicked. He’d done something wrong, overstepped or ruined this entire relationship altogether. Whatever it was, he was about to step back and make a witty remark to laugh it off, and pray to all the gods who cared enough to listen that whatever he did the relationship was still salvageable. But you looked at him, and he froze, waiting for you.

You inhaled, gathering yourself. When you exhaled, you smiled, soft and sweet at him. “I trust you,” you whispered.

Somehow, by pure accident, he’d uncovered something horrible. And yet you seemed to be willing to press through it, to experience it anew with him. He was honored. Truly, genuinely, honored. You’d trusted him with so much already, and here you were, doing it again. Oh, he could kiss you without need of the cake to bolster his intentions.

Still, he held it up to your lips. The world around you disappeared as you glanced at the cake again, and opened your mouth. He watched your mouth attentively as you bit down, the juice of the red berry on top staining your upper lip. It was sweet: A vanilla cake covered in white chocolate with a tart red filling. But what truly made it wonderful was Astarion, when he tilted his head and slotted his lips with yours.

His tongue was quick to slip out and lick your lips, seeking the flavors you’d just experienced. You opened your mouth to him with a soft sound that made his undead heart seem to beat once more. His tongue dipped inside to taste more. He groaned quietly as the red berry hit his taste buds. Tilting his head to kiss you deeper, he caught a hint of the chocolate. Cupping your cheek with his free hand, he found the vanilla. You tasted sweet on your own, but this was heaven - if such a thing existed. He wondered what the rest of you would taste like if he spread the hobbits’ confectionaries along the rest of your body.

Unfortunately, the raucous laughter of a drunk couple reminded him of your surroundings. He stroked his thumb along your cheek as he eased off, and finally, reluctantly, pulled away. Your cheeks were all flushed, burning with hot blood against his hand. Your eyes stayed closed a moment longer. It was as if you had to find your way back into your body after the kiss. When they fluttered open, your eyes found his immediately, pupils dilated. He had to force himself not to kiss you again.

He grinned and pulled away, leaving a somewhat respectable distance between you. He fed you the other half of the cake, and licked his fingers with a devious smile.

“Absolutely delicious.”

---

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#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #i come with knives

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