a11sunday

[a11sunday]

God I love these two so much. Why are they the besties of all time. This moment between them is one of my favorites.

[a11sunday]

[a11sunday]

Mary Oliver, from “Three Poems for James Wright”, Devotions

[a11sunday]

The Princess Bride (1987) dir. Rob Reiner

[a11sunday]

"just stay." she huffs, rummaging through her cabinet for something that might be to his taste. she has a penchant for grabbing oddly flavored things for the heck of it, and that included alcohol. seeing as her beer ran out a couple days prior, it would have to be one of the liquor options she has. not that there's very many.

she settles on one of the less ... strange of them, quickly discovering she doesn't have a common option. "hope you like peanut butter." iselda pours each of them a glass of the flavored whiskey. there's a small counterspace where the kitchenette is. she slides the glass to his end.

the space is decorated with earthy colors, exuding a cozy warmth. along the walls in various places are a few sketches of maps, islands, ship blueprints, and landscapes, some framed and some just pinned in place. there's a photo of the docks, the first ship she ever assisted on building, and one of her and her mother when she was a kid all framed on a small table in the living space. there's a smattering of memories everywhere you looked.

"yeah, guess i got a touch for interior design, huh?" she breathes a short laugh, sipping the liquor. "so, who do you owe this time?"

His shoulders relax at Iselda's ( somewhat begrudging ) kindness bestowed to him. " Listen, I'll be good on my promise. Would prefer it's not a financial favor. I'm…. already deep in the hole as it is. " Her place was a curious one, but a good one, given their city's sinking situation for some time now. Actually, since he's thinking about it, he has even really gotten to see the insides of her place ?

Paulie didn't carry much when he heads to work, other than the occasional change of clothes if his work clothes were too dirty or sweaty to be comfortable walking all the way back home in. A bit of spare cash even, somewhere in the pockets of his backpack. Paulie sets his bag down once inside, near the entrance && continues to walk further into her abode.

" If you're offering, who am I to deny somethin' like that ? " Especially since he needs to calm the nerves that those guys would be so desperate to try && track his scent with how much he owed. He might have missed the fact that his presence here was not an immediately welcomed or accustomed thing here. Though he always seems to miraculously find himself crawling back to a debt-less life, time && time again he falls back into those old habits. " Look, I'm not picky where I sleep. I appreciate you just letting me in as is. Don't even know if I need to stay the whole night here. " Not to take up too much of her time. " … You got a decent looking place. Not sure what I was expecting for your taste in what makes your home a home. "

[a11sunday]

it's almost mindless this part: buffing out the wood to prepare for paint. her shoulder aches--- has been aching for the past few hours, but she pushes through it, determined to get at least this portion done before they're forced off the docks.

sweat beads and drops, either against her arm or on the ground below. but, her face is drawn together in focus, mind elsewhere, thinking of everything and nothing at all. but, lydia breaks through the focus, arriving with food that iselda can smell through the paper bag.

it's easy to forego food once you got into the groove, even if iceburg constantly reminds them to take their breaks, not to overwork themselves. he's a good man, genuine and attentive to the needs of his workers. learning from her own mistakes, she always has a couple snacks tucked away into her coverall pockets, and once she felt that pang of hunger, very little could keep her from seeking out a bite to eat. still, she's grateful.

"not doing too shabby." iselda sets her tools down and wipes her hands down on a cloth, hung on the belt around her waist. "smells good. ---tell me you got me a meatball sandwich. the one with the red sauce?"

she finds iselda easily - working the day away on account of a new ship request that came in recently. it's a particularly complex one, with lydia also struggling to get her part done ( too many variables, too many ways it can go wrong). she doesn't realize it's well past dinner time until she drops a wrench on her foot with a yelp, her grip having faltered after too many hours standing up without food or water.

maybe iselda was having better luck and actually remembered to take care of herself -- but just in case, lydia grabs an extra portion when she drops by to grab some food near the shipyard.

"do you feel like pulling your hair out too? or just me?" she jokes in lieu of a greeting, walking over to iselda's side and setting down the small bag containing a couple of sandwiches. "don't know if you ate already, but i got you some food."

@a11sunday | starter call

[a11sunday]

mythology moodboards |  nüwa

chinese goddess who created mankind and repaired the pillars of heaven

requested by anon

[a11sunday]

arc: your choice. setting: helio, luna hides you [and possibly anyone who is with your muse] somewhere on palace grounds.

"you can't--- shhhh!" she presses her finger to their lips, azure brows pinched together in brief irritation. "how many times must i tell you that we must keep our voices down. it is impossible for me to conceal you if you do not cooperate." this likely isn't the wisest decision she's made, harboring strangers on the palace grounds. but, she would say that in her defense, should they actually pose a danger --- she could summon every member of the island's militant power at a moment's notice. that, and ... her people aren't very open to strangers, not open at all to getting to know the world outside their own. "now, are you going to be very quiet??"

[a11sunday]

a nod of understanding is given, chin resting between the valley of her knees. she remembers the awe she experienced upon seeing the lower world before. the solidity of the earth, the cresting and tumultuous waves, the people ... both by appearance and culture, such vast differences. while luna immediately understood the reason for barring their visits to the world below, she couldn't help but feel it was of utmost importance to understand it, at least. what would happen should their worlds collide? it wasn't an impossibility.

their next question catches her attention once more. straightening her back, she exposes her abdomen once more in view. her torso is where most of the luminescence is concentrated, though it can radiate over her whole body too.

"emotions, feelings, thoughts. if i am feeling confused, then a deep purple will illuminate and as understanding is gained, the color will lighten and shift. it is constant. i suppose that makes lying difficult."

Having someone suddenly in their face was a common occurrence for Alpha, they barely blinked as Luna rattled off a bunch of questions at once. “Hm.” Ignoring the question for a moment Alpha instead watched the luminescence that was common place on the people here. They didn’t know what the colors meant but it was interesting to see that they didn't match the colors their voices made.

“I am merely thinking of how different the worlds are.” Alpha finally said, turning their attention back to the white sea. “There is a vast difference in how the sky islands are in comparison to how things work on the land I am used to.”

“What do the colors you are currently displaying mean?”

[a11sunday]

🥥 – cracks open a coconut, offering your muse a piece of the fresh fruit inside. “Fresh from the market. You’ll love it.” Rose to Iselda

from: meme. verse: shipwright.

she's seen sanji use it before in a variety of dishes. mostly, desserts and beverages, so she's familiar enough. while it isn't her favorite, iselda is far from picky, so she takes the coconut @sirensofthefiveseas offers her and cradles it in one hand. using the provided spoon, she scoops the fresh white meat, slippery against the curved form of the utensil, but she successfully brings it to her mouth. "mmph, goo' s'uff." well, she shouldn't really be talking with her mouth full, huh? "our cook makes it with --uh, m'not really good at all the terminology. it's a dessert i've never had before. it's all these sweet fruity layers, lots of gelatin. it's good."

[a11sunday]

I am never coming back. Alpha to Iselda

from: meme. verse: main.

"oh?" a smirk cuts across her lips, golden-hued gaze slanting towards them. of course, clarification is needed as to their meaning. but, gaining agency ... that's certainly something iselda would be proud of should they take the step in that direction. it shouldn't matter so much to the naval captain whether or not @sirensofthefiveseas take the leap. what she's done thus far is more than enough, attention diverted to a cause that served her nothing. while alpha could prove to be an asset ... iselda is not so heartless and incredibly narrow-minded to use another who has been under the thumb of an organization for so long. "and, where will you go?"

[a11sunday]

denjiro is another underrated hottie. his pompadour is stupid as heck, but it's just stupid enough to enhance the appeal.

[a11sunday]

she's no stranger to becoming engrossed in one's work, enough to forego the necessities. that fact, and the sour look that has already taken over his expression hinders her from saying anymore. what mattered most now was working to alleviate the symptoms. so, she chooses to continue running the cool water, dampening the cloth just enough and then handing it over to him. "maybe this will help." an amiable smile accompanies the gesture. "what is it you're working on?"

cont. @a11sunday

he knows she's not wrong. the loud music that he plays would not have worked in his favour when he struggles to eat when he is too into his work. law should know and do better to keep himself going - but, he doesn't. it takes someone saying something for him to remember sometimes, especially if he's too into his head. "tension." law answers simply, brining his hand up to his head to rub at his temple where the pain felt like the centre point. there isn't a lot of people law let's his guard down around, he can count the amount on one hand. "nothing new. it's what i get for ignoring the signs in favour for my work."

[a11sunday]

the opinions of others never really mattered to him. why would they when the only truth that he cared for anyone else to know was laid bare for all to see? all anyone needed to know about him was that he was the strongest swordsman, that he was untouchable. those two facts alone gave way to rumors and half-truths that usually benefited him. it meant people left him alone, cowered before him, and anyone who dared pose a challenge to him gave him the variety he needed on a boring day. what lied beyond that ... mihawk couldn't bring himself to care. he has not cared in a very long time what others might think of him.

yet, when her sentence is left unfinished, he finds himself hanging onto the silence. ( it shouldn't matter. it doesn't matter. )

mihawk crouches down, plucking a few ripe berries and adding them to his basket. his back is turned to her, seemingly inattentive. then, his voice pierces the quiet, head slightly turned, gaze locked onto her knelt form. "finish what you were going to say."

Drucilla's tail swished this way and that as she stalked away from him, cutting a sharp line through the air, in a way calling back to their very first conversation. Her sore spots, buried beneath a learned facade, rose like the tide washing against the shore. She always laid herself bare without fault, years of practice all falling away in an instant.

She stuck a paw in the dirt, claws jutting out to help. In a breath, Drucilla changed back, knees pressing into the dirt. No matter her grief, she was not an animal. Not in any way that mattered, that form reserved for naps and battle. She could face Mihawk as a human.

Her fingers wrapped around the cool steel of a gardening hoe. Sticking her hands into the soil, watching it coat her skin in a fine sheen, was grounding. There was peace in the quiet of manual labor, something to tend to with determined hands and a focused mind. Even if only for the span of this second.

“They’re good for you, you know. I’ve seen Zoro make you laugh." Mostly at Zoro's expense, but a laugh nonetheless. "You're so..." Why did she care? She didn't know him, and he didn't know her, not really, beyond the slivers of truth they'd shared. He knew her devotion, but not her heart. He didn't want to. "Forget it."

[a11sunday]

the princess turned assassin listens to his guarded answer. she could control it --- the ability to peer into mind and heart, to discern whether truth has been spoken or lie. she could choose to employ it ... seek for what he really felt, whether he meant to deceive her or not.

back when she had first consumed the fruit and realized its ability, her father had told her that while it was extremely useful and there would likely never be a moment in which she could be truly deceived, it was always best to exercise what her eyes could observe outside of her abilities. learning to read people and their intentions without having to peer inside their minds, but by observing minute expressions ... this could aid in saving her even more trouble. ( do not rely only on your power, viola. be cautious. )

additionally, it added authenticity to her conversations. if she always peered into the minds of her companions, then ... there would be no real need for the verbal back and forth. of course, that's not to say she was never tempted or that she didn't use it when she ought not to.

now, however, viola opts to merely observe him, watch him formulate his answers and listen to his tone. he was telling the truth. a version of it, at least. one that left out details. there was an air of discomfort and tension that was more or less expected with such a weighty question. curiosity and lack of understanding parts her lips, but words are cut off by the disruption, a well-placed smile as she thanks the server.

"not really. well -- not, specifically. this is how i like to, though." her tongue brushes over the rim, collecting the grains of salt before tipping the drink to her lips. salty, sweet, and a spice that spreads throughout the mouth and leaves a hot trail down the back of one's throat --- it's a new favorite of hers. there's the bitter twinge of the alcohol, adding to the warmth that settles in her belly, but more than a couple of these would be needed to muddle her inhibitions. "how do you like it?" a more genuine, though still faint smile, comes to her lips, watching for his reaction.

ㅤㅤThere’s a raise Corazón’s brow, evident amusement present given the bold choice of drink, a combination which he hadn’t sampled before yet maintained elevated intrigue - in between carrying out tasks befitting of his placement in the crew, he has certain skills that are indulged in in measured amounts  (  no tanto como al hombre le gustaría  ),  a gifted palate that could conjurer interesting composites of flavour. The Young Master would wade into certain recommendation from time-to-time, but he understandably had his set tastes, opting for food he primarily enjoyed to a point of sheer gluttony before giving the younger a chance to really wow him. And as such, it felt like a gift to have Viola introduce Sanji to plentiful regional varieties, each one broadening a desire to build upon them  (  il se demande si elle sait à quel point il apprécie ces petits moments  ).   “ If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk. ”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe upward tug of garnet lips conveys playful humour regardless of the tough job ahead, a hand raising nonetheless for the pair to be brought the beverage, thoughts partially with the brunette as well as the tinkering going on behind the bar, a vague albeit undeniable look of  distance present about blue eyes - the blond can’t help it, anticipation conflating with caution, the latter being an unwanted consequence of Corazón’s bearing and its deduced ties. Despite the means of distraction, there are a few nods as she explains the knowledge she’d obtained, mentally gearing himself up for a challenge when—  A small frown commences to form  (  quelques secondes trop tôt  ),  noting how Viola’s demeanour gradually grows more pensive. The creak of the rickety chair sees him leaning forwards with the aim to comfort, the arching figure almost avian with a caring cant of the head, a factor that does little to negate from the fact that the man had gotten his own hands more than a little dirty over the years, culpability present despite quelled impinging twinges of remorse threatening to poke through.

ㅤㅤ“ I, uh… ”  Corazón knows he can’t outright lie given the princess’s capability of seeing all forms of deception, ardent gaze reduced to a husk with a slow breath expelled, peering away towards nearing footsteps to settle on a semblance of the truth instead.  “ Might be hard to understand but… ”  Teeth graze against the blond’s lower lip, warm pigment peeling back to create a fine coating about incisors.  “  …what I have here’s better than where I came from. ”  There’s a weight to Sanji’s voice, and while neither the utterance of the North Blue nor his home kingdom fall from his tongue, an aggrieved chill is always present when thinking of either, one that physically manifests with a painful ripple along the man’s spine. The glasses are promptly placed down before them to unwittingly cut through the tension, fingers gladly grasping a hold while peering into the vibrant pools, the dusting over the rim and the floating slices of jalapenos a much needed distraction. Sanji manages to force a questioning smile.  “ So, is there a special way to drink this, or…? ”

[a11sunday]

it's so crazy how you actually have to live through everything

[a11sunday]

a slight frown tilted on his lips when she hopped up on the counter, but he refrained from chastising her. instead, he continued his delicate work, positioning the slices of tangerines just so. stepping back from his creation, it was a tangerine and honey sorbet, accompanied by almond tuile. there were small glass cups for each of the staff.

he scrutinized each one, using a long tweezer to adjust each of the slices to his satisfaction. he learned early on that while food is food going down, it must appeal to the eyes first, to whet the appetite.

"then, we'll have time to enjoy a snack." finally, the concentrated pull on his countenance melts away into a smile, handing her the first cup and the appropriate spoon. "be honest." he anticipated her response. of course, her criticism might be more lax than that of the head chef, but he trusted her to understand the level of excellence he aspired for.

“Perfectionist.” Reiju teased though she really didn’t have any rights to speak,  not with the fight she had with some of the men if they moved one of the tables in inch to far to the left. Humming softly she watched his hands work, thankful in these quiet moments he had grabbed her hand and begged her to come along with him. He wasn’t wrong, there was nothing waiting for her back in the castle. A lifetime abuse was all she had to look forward to if she hadn’t come along.

“None left for the morning.” She corrected herself with a laugh. “We don’t have anything until after lunch, almost supper time.” It wasn’t common to have no reservations at all keeping them packed, but every so often there was a day where no one seemed to want to come in. On those days everyone usual got told they were scrubbing some part of the restaurant, but apparently Zeff was feeling nice.

Releasing him from her grip Reiju moved to sit up on the counter next to him, swinging her legs in the air.