#guh

[lazy-ahh]

PIECES OF YOUR HEART

pairing phainon x (merchant) gender neutral reader

phainon has grown used to your playful, flirty nature—always teasing, always lingering a little too close. he tells himself it’s just how you are with everyone, so he brushes it off. but when you keep giving him little gifts—things he’s only mentioned in passing, things he never expected you to remember—he starts to wonder. maybe it’s not just friendliness. but you’re not exactly the most trustworthy person, and the rumors about your shady dealings make others keep their distance. phainon doesn’t care, though. not when you’re the one who teaches him about antiques, who laughs at his jokes, who looks at him like he’s worth sticking around for.

phainon isn’t sure what to make of you.

you’re always there, materializing out of nowhere like some mischievous spirit—leaning into his space with a grin too sharp to be innocent, nudging him with your elbow like you’ve shared secrets for years. your words are always laced with playful exaggeration, your tone dripping with charm, as if every conversation is a performance and phainon’s the lucky audience. he’s grown used to it by now, the way you tease and prod, how your laughter lingers in the air like the scent of a deal too good to be true.

he tells himself it’s just how you are. friendly. too friendly, maybe. the kind of person who treats everyone like an old friend, even if you met them five minutes ago—but then again, that’s just good business, isn’t it? a merchant’s gotta be convincing, after all. if you weren’t this smooth, who’d buy what you’re selling? (and you are always selling something, even when it’s just a smile.)

phainon still remembers the day he first met you.

it had been a few months since he'd arrived in okhema, the holy city, and he was taking a rare free day to wander the market streets when he spotted you—lounging against a vendor's cart like you owned the place, holding up some shiny, useless contraption between your fingers with a grin that promised miracles.

"behold, friends! the latest in amphorean innovation!" you'd declared, waving the gadget like it was made of solid gold. "one-of-a-kind, guaranteed to sharpen blades, polish shoes, and brew the perfect cup of coffee—all at the same time! who among you has the vision to see its true worth?"

phainon had stopped in his tracks, one eyebrow creeping up as he leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed. he watched, equal parts amused and impressed, as you worked the crowd like a seasoned performer—flashing winks, dropping exaggerated gasps ("only five thousand credits? for this masterpiece? i'm practically robbing myself!"), and somehow, somehow, convincing a particularly eager buyer to bid double.

the moment the credits hit your palm, you vanished like smoke, leaving behind a proud new owner who immediately tried to demonstrate their prize to the onlookers. phainon bit the inside of his cheek as the gadget let out a pathetic click and did absolutely nothing. the crowd groaned. the buyer turned red.

"it—it must need charging!" they stammered.

phainon had to press his face into his sleeve, shoulders shaking, but a tiny snort escaped anyway. the buyer whirled on him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. suddenly, the pillar he was leaning against became fascinating.

later, as he meandered through the market, he spotted you again—this time at a food stall, happily munching on two skewers (probably funded by your latest victim). you caught him staring, and before he could react, you were sauntering over, holding out the second skewer like an offering.

"hey, handsome. you look like a man who appreciates fine cuisine," you said, grinning like the two of you were already partners-in-crime. "tell you what—this one's on me. call it a... goodwill investment."

phainon should've walked away. but the sheer audacity of you—scamming someone blind and then immediately trying to butter him up—was too entertaining to resist. he took the skewer.

"so," he said, biting into it, "does it also sharpen blades and brew coffee?"

you laughed, loud and unapologetic, and just like that, phainon knew you were trouble.

(the kind of trouble he didn't mind sticking around for.)

at first, it was difficult to have you stay for longer than 10 minutes.

you were always in motion—a whirlwind of deals and schemes, already halfway out the door before phainon could even ask where you were rushing off to. every conversation was the same dance: a flashy greeting, a dramatic sales pitch, and that infuriatingly charming grin as you leaned in like you were sharing a secret.

"for you, kind mister," you'd say, pulling some bizarre gadget from your coat, "half price. no—sixty percent off! a steal, really. i’m practically losing money here, but how could i say no to that face?"

and for some reason phainon still couldn’t explain, he’d always cave. even when the trinket was clearly useless. even when his soldier’s wages were already stretched thin. ("it’s a limited edition," you’d whisper, as if that justified anything.)

now, a whole shelf in his quarters was dedicated to your "merchandise"—a growing collection of odds and ends, half of them broken, all of them overpriced. (except for the ones you’d given him later, free of charge. those, somehow, felt heavier.)

slowly, though, something shifted. the nicknames started first—"dear customer" melting into "dear hero," spoken with a lilt that made his ears warm. then came the pauses, the way you’d linger just a heartbeat longer than before, as if phainon’s doorway was a place worth staying in. as if he was a deal you wanted to take your time with, but not for the profit. never for the profit.

time softened you, sanded down the sharp edges of your performative charm. you were still all grins and grand gestures, still spinning tales taller than the buildings of okhema—but there was something quieter now, in the way your laughter settled, in the way your hands hesitated before brushing his arm.

like you were trying to impress him without tipping your hand. like you were afraid, just a little, of what might happen if he saw too much.

and at the same time, phainon noticed the shift—

your usual stock of questionable gadgets and flashy trinkets had slowly been replaced by things that made his breath catch. no more "self-stirring spoons" or "everlasting glow stones" that died after two days.

instead, you'd appear with a weathered but well-crafted dagger perfectly balanced for his grip, or a set of engraved bracers that wouldn't interfere with his sword arm. once, you'd even produced an antique compass—the kind veteran soldiers swore by, its brass edges worn smooth by decades of use.

"found this beauty tucked away in some forgotten corner," you'd said, flipping it open with a showman's flourish before pressing it into his hands. "practically screamed your name. look at that needle—steady as a heartbeat. none of that cheap wobble the new ones get."

phainon had turned it over, thumb brushing the intricate scrollwork along its edge, and realized with a start that it was exactly the sort of thing he'd been eyeing in shops but could never justify buying.

and then there were the smaller things—a cloak pin shaped like a prowling fox (his favorite animal, though he couldn't remember telling you), leather straps dyed the deep blue of his uniform's accents, even a whetstone that fit perfectly in his field kit.

each item was practical, yes, but carried a weight beyond function. like you'd studied the way he moved, the way his eyes lingered on certain displays in the market, and pieced together a map of his preferences without him ever saying a word. the most unsettling part? you never even hinted at upcharging him for the effort.

(he kept them all. wore them too. and if the compass never left his pocket, well—that was just good sense, wasn't it?)

but this wasn’t fair at all.

now that you’d stopped trying to scam him—now that your silver tongue had softened into genuine advice when he needed it, now that you’d appeared out of nowhere to back him up in fights he never asked you to join, now that you’d somehow carved out a space in his life like you’d always belonged there—phainon felt like he owed you something.

not in the way of debts or transactions, but in the quiet, stubborn way he’d always operated: if you gave him kindness, he’d return it tenfold.

so he did.

he started buying extra portions of your favourite street food, pretending he "wasn’t that hungry" when he pushed the skewers toward you. when you showed up at his doorstep late at night, shrugging with that too-casual grin about how your "temporary arrangements fell through again," he’d sigh and step aside, letting you trail in behind him like a stray chimera that refused to be shooed away.

(and when, after weeks of your clothes piling up on his chair and your trinkets colonizing his shelves, you stopped mentioning finding another place altogether—well. phainon didn’t bring it up either.)

he even learned to cook, clumsy at first, burning more meals than he cared to admit, but persistent. because you’d eat anything he put in front of you with exaggerated delight, declaring it "gourmet" even when it was barely edible, and—titans help him—he wanted to earn that praise. wanted to see your eyes light up for real when he set down a dish you genuinely liked.

and if sometimes, when you were half-asleep on his couch after a long day, he draped a blanket over your shoulders or nudged a cup of hot chocolate into your hands—if he let his fingers linger a second too long when passing you things, if he memorized the way you took your coffee (sweet, with a ridiculous amount of cream)—well. that was just fairness, wasn’t it?

(you’d given him so much without asking. the least he could do was love you back.)

phainon isn’t stupid. he knows what this looks like—the way your shoulder brushes his when you lean in too close, how your laughter lingers a beat longer when it’s just the two of you. he knows what it could mean.

but he’s also heard the whispers—the way merchants and citizens alike clutch their purses tighter when you pass, how aglaea had pulled him aside just last week, her voice hushed but concerned.

"that one’s trouble, phainon," she’d warned, fingers firm around his wrist. "the council lost half of their funds dealing with them. some people have even said that they’d trade their own family member for the right price."

phainon had just shrugged them off, stubborn as always. "they’ve never lied to me."

(not anymore, at least. not in ways that mattered.)

phainon knows exactly why you do this. you'd told him one night, half-drunk on cheap wine and the quiet safety of his dimly lit apartment, your voice softer than he'd ever heard it before.

"it's just how the world works, hero," you'd said, twirling a coin across your knuckles with practiced ease. "you take what you can get before someone takes it from you first." the way you'd smiled then—sharp at the edges but tired underneath—had made his chest ache.

he understands. titans help him, he understands even when he shouldn't. knows the scams are wrong, knows he should probably care more when tribbie sighs about your latest scheme or when mydei glares at you across the marketplace with weariness.

but the thing is—you'd trusted him with the truth. you, who spun lies like silk, had given him something real. and phainon, sweet, stubborn phainon, would sooner cut off his own arm than make you regret that.

so what if you fleeced half the city blind? you brought him stupid little trinkets just because they made you think of him. you remembered how he took his coffee (too sweet, just like you teased). you'd learned to pick locks just to break into his apartment and leave warm pastries on his counter when he was having a bad day.

"you're ridiculous," he'd told you once, tone way too fond and exasperated, watching you dramatically clutch your chest as if wounded when he caught you red-handed.

"but you love it," you'd shot back, grinning, and—

well.

he did.

(he really, really did.)

૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ

now, standing beside you on the balcony as the city lights blink awake below, he lets your voice wash over him like something precious.

"you know," you say, elbows propped on the railing, "if you really want to learn appraising, start with the small stuff. the details people overlook." the glow from in front of you catches the curve of your smile, turning it golden.

phainon tilts his head. "you’d teach me?"

"who better?" you bump your shoulder against his, grinning like you’ve already won. "i am the best, after all."

he huffs a laugh, but he listens. he always listens. because despite the warnings, despite the rumors that cling to you like shadows—you’ve never steered him wrong. not where it counts.

(and if the others can’t see what he sees? well. that’s their loss.)

phainon remembers those first few meetings vividly—how you'd slid up to him with that razor-sharp grin, pushing some "ancient relic" into his hands while spinning tales so elaborate they'd make a bard blush.

the first time, it had been a "cursed amulet" that was clearly just tarnished brass. the second, a "dragon's scale" that flaked paint when he rubbed it. each time, he'd fixed you with that patient, knowing look until your performance cracked into laughter, bright and unrepentant.

"ah, you got me again!" you'd crowed, wiping imaginary tears as the crowd around you dispersed. "what's your secret, dear hero? x-ray vision?"

after the third attempt, the scams mysteriously stopped—at least when it came to him. you still fleeced others with that silver tongue of yours, but for phainon?

suddenly your wares were genuine. suddenly you were pointing out flaws in antiques he might've bought, warning him about dealers who'd take advantage. it was... confusing.

what's more confusing is the way your mask slips when you think no one's watching. how your shoulders slump ever so slightly when merchants suddenly remember urgent business as you approach.

how children are pulled away by their parents when you flash them that practiced, charming smile. phainon's seen the way your hands curl into fists when you turn corners, how quickly you school your expression back to careless amusement.

it makes something in his chest ache.

so he does the only thing he knows—he becomes the exception. lets you drape yourself over his back when you're bored, humours your terrible bartering attempts at the market ("three hundred for this? my dear hero, for you, i'll suffer the loss of two-fifty!"), doesn't pull away when your fingers linger while passing him tea.

and when you show up at his door with some new treasure—a book he'd mentioned once, gloves lined with fur for expeditions to cold places, a ridiculous novelty spoon because "it made me think of you"—he takes them all with the same careful reverence, even the joke gifts.

(especially the joke gifts.)

the warmth that blooms under his ribs when you're near? the way his pulse stutters when you lean in close, your breath tickling his ear as you whisper some ridiculous joke or outrageous claim? he'll ignore it. for now.

just like he ignores how your eyes soften when you think he isn't looking, how your voice drops to something quiet and vulnerable in those rare moments between midnight and dawn when the masks finally come off.

but what he can't ignore are the gifts. each one a puzzle piece of you pressed into his hands—a battered copy of "the art of war" with handwritten notes crammed in the margins (your handwriting, messy and eager), a hand-stitched pouch for his coins because "a hero shouldn't be digging through his pockets like some common pickpocket", even that stupidly soft scarf in his favorite shade of blue that you swear you "just happened to find" (though the uneven stitches at the hem suggest otherwise).

every trinket, every little thing you press upon him with that careless grin is another piece of your heart you're trusting him with—and phainon, sweet, devoted phainon, treasures them all.

he wears the scarf even when the weather doesn't call for it, uses that pouch until the fabric wears thin, keeps your annotated book on his nightstand like scripture.

and in return? he learns to brew your favorite hot chocolate just right, stays up late listening to your schemes even when he's exhausted, becomes the steady presence you lean against when the world gets too heavy.

(he doesn't say it, but his actions are a language all their own—i see you. i keep what you give me. you are safe here.)

there's time. there's always time.

(and when the day comes that he finally stops ignoring the way his heart races when you're near? well. you've already given him yours, piece by piece. it's only fair he returns the favor.)

a double upload today!! though mostly because i couldn’t resist writing more for phainon. this 2.7k one-shot came together while i was (distractedly) playing valorant with friends—yes, valorant, the game i swore i was done with until my friends collectively decided we all needed to suffer through ranked again. somehow, between the chaos of competitive matches, this one-shot happened. probably because i was trying to cope from my skill-issue... perhaps i shouldn't have taken that one year break from val, i've legit fallen off. i had so many ideas for this at first, but as time went on, my brain decided to go suspiciously blank. there were scenes i wanted to expand, little moments i wanted to flesh out more, but sometimes the words just... don’t cooperate. still, i hope you enjoyed it regardless! i’m really fond of this dynamic—phainon and a merchant reader who’s equal parts charming and morally questionable—so there’s a good chance i’ll revisit it someday. i’d just need to figure out how to make the next one even more engaging. maybe more banter? more soft moments? who knows :]

[buwheal]

There’s this barrier stopping us from interacting with you. We don’t know how we got here, either. We can’t do anything but watch. If there wasn’t, you bet we would’ve already bought your entire stock.

But despite the barrier, I’d say it’s been worthwhile getting to know you, and it seems you’ve been enjoying us too. Perhaps we were meant to know each other at a distance. Maybe we don’t HAVE to interact to help you out? Or maybe our interaction can happen in other ways…

[dovewingkinnie]

i dont know if i mentioned this but whimsinoia will be getting a pilot first instead of like, an episode one or something just to test things out yknow

[mischieviem]

Wdym this wasn't the ending. I watched the movie. This is totally real and canon 🙄

[cactarunii]

shitposts from like last week

[mipexch]

peeping eyes where they shouldn't be

[rudzcrudz]

WHY IS THIS GETTING SO MANY NOTES 😭😭 LMAO I DREW THIS IN LIKE 1 MINUTE

See, I was thinking about how in the early seasons of Bleach, Ichigo's dad would like fucking pounce on him.. then I thought, "I know who else would do that."

(Except lovingly and also not trying to crush his chronically ill husband)

[forthekeres]

next time they might even get along

[burnt-sierra]

What what!!!! What. Whay….. (the ramblings of an old man)

[forlorn-crows]

okay but rains tits also:

rain’s tits

[sicklymuttz]

another shittily thrown together comic from your favourite freak

[fence-time]

The creator

[kowbojki]

the bbno$ jayvik brainrot is so real m'afraid

[rudzcrudz]

hey if I wrote something about this...... would anyone read it. (as in I'm already writing it)

hello hello hello 🎀 it has once again come to my attention that I can post whatever I want, but also I'm vomiting and shitting at the idea of posting something cringe but then I realize I've shared so little information that no one knows me and I don't have to worry about people judging me because they don't even know who I am

Mpreg post where I talk about As Nodt and his baby. Warning for doodle blood and a somber postpartum scene/description

Okay.. so... I have multiple versions of this in mind, but here are my main hoes: 1. As Nodt & Nnoitra (Although I can't see them having a functioning relationship with a baby so I probably won't do toooo much of that) 2. As Nodt chosen as the carrier for Yhwach's kid, which is the main one I like to go with, and also the one I'm about to talk about.

I haven't thought of a reason for why As Nodt would be the chosen one, but I guess it could be for his powers and devotion to him. (I HAVENT FINISHED TYBW DONT SPOIL ANYRHING GRAYYHHH) But, I do know that only after being impregnated with what's basically his god's kid, he'd have.. other thoughts. Of course, he'd do anything for Yhwach, and was more than honored to be chosen, but he got some sick feeling of "wrong" from being pregnant with his king's child..

After giving birth alone (Todoroki gives birth alone flashbacks LMFAO) since Yhwach had better things to do (allegedly, but really being there for him would be below him, and if he couldn't do it on his own, what good is he?), the postpartum would hit him like a train. This is no longer some prince, this is his baby, and he can't let anything happen to them.

After having this sudden realization of maternal instinct, his new life's goal is to get his baby out of Yhwach's reach, at all costs. This little prince was supposed to be Yhwach's successor, but As Nodt doesn't want Yhwach's violent tendencies to threaten them. (Afraid she won't please him and he'll kill her and be like "Welp, time to try again!!!😋")

...now. this.. was actually really funny, because it was supposed to be an egg!!!!

In a story that I'm likely never going to share because I don't have the balls to; Ichigo and Uryu have an egg (with my idea tha Quincies are intersex/hermaphrodites and all of them are able to carry and since its an egg, they typically give birth at the 6th month) 🐱

I mainly drew As Nodt with a baby instead of an egg because I thought there would be more feeling to it, but an egg would be the same since it's more fragile and not fully developed like a human baby (it spends like ~2 months developing in the egg),, so I suppose the baby being born outside of an egg would give Nodt even more of a reason to be protective, since that must mean something's wrong with him (but it's actually something wrong with Yhwach's wrinkly deflated balls)

I'm not going to reread this to correct any information or grammar because if I do ill get too embarrassed and not post it LMAO😭😭

[stiffyck]

the way this gave me such insane brainrot it made me actually draw something shippy

[whalesharkstho]

been listening to a helluva lot of stevie wonder recently so i had to draw something silly and dancey or else i'd die here ya go jazzop nation <3