#dinning room ceramics

[elipotmysterygifts]

EliPOT.com, EliPOT decorative ceramics, Kitchen ceramics, dinning room ceramics, serving ceramics, Ceramic Bowls and Plates, Ceramic Accessories, Vintage and Gold Plated Jewelry, Vintage style bracelets and Brooches, Vintage style Rings and Earrings, Gold Plated Necklace, Turkish Style Jewelry Sets, Unique Gift Idea, Buy the best Gift.

[wakandas-vibranium]

Planet Earth 2023 || Part Two

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, guns, fighting, fluff, cursing, slow burn

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please like, comment, and share!

part one

part three

part four

part five

part six

You raced back inside just in time to close and lock the sliding glass door. The space pirate sprinted into the door but was knocked down by its own brutal force. Your home has hurricane-proof doors and windows, so naturally they would have been resistant to space pirates as well. 

As you got a better look at the space scoundrel, your mouth dropped open in a flabbergasted "O." The alien did, in fact, have the appearance of an alien. It didn't look or sound somewhat human like Mando did. It was an ash brown color, and rather than a chin, it had long tassels growing out of its face. 

As Mando inspected your back door from his position next to you, he emitted a small sound of appreciation. He continued, "I'm starting to really like this place," as he pulled you away from the doorway just as the pirate started to scramble to his feet. 

It slipped your mind that you left two of your front windows open this morning to let in some of the cool breeze. “Mando, check the windows in the front of the house and make sure they’re closed!” You called out, pointing him in the right direction. You sprinted the other way into your office, punched in the combination to your safe, and pulled out your handgun. 

From the sounds of scuffling, it seemed like Mando didn't close one of the windows in time. The space pirate had made it inside your home. 

Pew. Pew. Pew. 

When you turned back, red and green flashes of light were bursting through the opening to your living room. Were those supposed to be gunshots? Space gunshots. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, stifling a laugh. There was no reason to find the current situation amusing, but today's events were becoming increasingly far-fetched.

You shook your head in fascination as you removed the magazine from the gun, gliding the slide back to check the chamber for rounds in the firing cartridge. You didn't want to look foolish in front of Mando by shooting blanks. You've experienced your fair share of stupidity for the day. The weight of the semi-automatic pistol felt familiar in your hands. It wasn't the first time you'd held it, but it had been quite some time since you'd last used it. 

Punches were thrown, and vases fell and shattered against your ceramic tile floors. Not even three hours ago, the atmosphere in your home was completely peaceful and tranquil. It was now bursting with the sounds of grunts, broken glass, and curse words shouted in a language that you didn't understand.

You were captivated by the Mandalorian's agility and speed. He must have taken part in an extensive number of battles while clad in armor. Despite the pirate's substantial size advantage, Mando was able to hold his own against him. And well, you should add. Mando had such grace and confidence in his movements. It seemed like the man was practically dancing.

You needed to concentrate on the task at hand. The baby's safety came first, and then you had to help Mando in his fight against the space pirate. You left your study cautiously but as swiftly as you were capable of in search of the little green one. 

The child was hiding behind the ottoman when you spotted him, and he whined as he looked up at you. "It's okay, little one," you reassured him as you crouched down further. "Stay right there." 

As you made your way over to the dispute, he simply cooed at your retreating back. Mando's gun was scattered across the living room floor, but he appeared to be winning the hand-to-hand fight. His blows were landing. The pirate appeared disoriented, advancing far more slowly in his pursuit of Mando. Mando threw a powerful punch, but the pirate caught it, used Mando's weight against him, and hurled him against the wall where your Prince poster was hanging.

With an involuntary gasp and a roll of your eyes, you screamed, "Goddamnit!" flailing your arms wildly, "Not my Purple Rain poster!" While music was substantially important to you, nothing could compare to having an original poster signed by The Man himself. The frame shattered under Mando's weight and was now in pieces on the floor.

While you and the pirate were standing there with your weapons drawn, Mando crawled across the floor to get to you. You took aim and fired twice; the first bullet went wide right but the second struck the pirate square in the right shoulder. He grunted in pain but didn't falter as green goop slowly trickled down his front. 

Holy shit, you thought. They bleed green, too? Just when you thought you had a grasp on everything space-related, new information was thrown at you.

“Get down!” Mando shouted as he tackled you to the floor behind the couch. As he landed on top of you, you sputtered.  He was quick enough to cup your head in his hands before you dropped but you hissed in pain as you absorbed the brunt of his weight. His timing was impeccable. You'd have been shot directly between the eyes had it been a split second later.

"Are you okay?"  He inquired, peering down at you. You're not sure why, but you brushed your fingertips across the metal helmet and nodded, "Yes." Through the helmet, you could hear his sharp pants. They were filtered to be quieter than they actually were, but you could still hear them.

A distressed shriek from the baby pulled your gazes apart. You looked back to where you had last seen him, and he wasn't there. Mando peeped over the sofa and stopped in his tracks. Oh, no, you thought. The pirate must have grabbed the baby. 

“Shabuir!” Mando hissed as he rushed to his feet, raised his palms in surrender, and took a hesitant step towards the pirate. "Don't hurt the child." 

When the pirate saw him move, he yelled, "Don't take another step!"

You inched your way to the far end of the sofa and took a peek at the scene before you. When you saw the pirate holding the baby and pointing his space weapon at Mando, your mouth set into a hard, frigid line.

The alien pirate was so big that you decided to forego your handgun in favor of a shotgun you kept tucked away in your hallway closet. You took advantage of the small window while his attention was focused on Mando to slip away to collect your shotgun. You pulled open the door of the closet, reached inside the hidden left-side compartment, and retrieved your shotgun. 

The pirate was harping on about how this was all Mando's fault and how he should have surrendered his ship immediately. From his never-ending speech, it seemed like all he cared about was stealing the ship and showing off to his fellow lousy pirates that he had taken one from a Mandalorian.

"You've lost, Mando," the pirate exclaimed angrily. "How about we make a deal?" — The Razor Crest for this ugly green kid you seem to care so much about," the pirate snarled as he brought the weapon closer to the baby's temple. 

This shotgun was far heavier than your handgun, but you still made sure to clutch it correctly behind the grip of the gun with your dominant hand. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to suppress an irritated groan. The space pirate was, once again, a major letdown. His rhetoric resembled that of a villain from Scooby Doo. What?  He must have been crazy to think Mando would hand over his stunning ship to some scallywag pirate. The pirate was so full of himself. Even though you wanted to kill him right there, where he stood, you had to make sure the baby was safe first. 

"Put the baby down or I'll blast you back to whatever planet you came from," you said as you rounded the corner of the hallway and stood beside Mando, shotgun pointed at the floor. You double-checked that the gun's butt was properly positioned in the crook of your shoulder before aiming it at the pirate.

Mando snatched his gun from the floor and pointed it at the pirate as well, saying, "And put him down gently." 

"Now!" you yelled, because he was moving too slowly for you, probably trying to come up with an escape plan, but there wasn't one. You were planning to kill him as soon as the baby was out of the way. 

As soon as he placed the baby on the floor, the little one ran over to his dad as fast as his tiny legs could go. Mando scooped him up in one hand, gun still raised at the pirate in the other. 

The pirate raised his hands and took a cautious step back, “Just take it easy.” 

"You come to my house, attack me and my new friends, and destroy my beloved Prince poster, and I'm supposed to relax?" you sneered carelessly. You made a jerky motion with your head. 

“Look lady—“

"—Fuck you!" You barked before flipping the safety off and squeezing the trigger, shooting him once in the chest, and he fell to the floor with a sickening thud, lifeless. 

"You've got two blasters?" Mando questioned as he double-checked the pirate’s body before he placed the kid on the ottoman.  

He was dead. You had no doubt about it.

You were a single woman living alone in the middle of nowhere in Florida. 

Of course you did.

“This is Florida, man. Pretty much everyone has a gun.” 

Mando was torn between nodding his head in agreement and shaking it in disbelief.

"Is your baby all right?" You inquired, bending down and running your finger across the baby's cheek.

“Grogu,” said Mando.

You looked up at him in confusion. “What was that?”

“His name is Grogu and yes, he’s okay. Thank you.” 

“Grogu.” you said and the baby cooed at you. His enormous eyes and ears, together with his adorable infant babble, melted your heart.

"I would say you're welcome," you said as you rose up and assessed the damage done inside your home, "but those words don't seem appropriate for killin' your first fuckin' alien." 

“Dinii,” Mando chuckled softly, shaking his tin head at you. 

You cut your eyes at the amused man, “You think this is funny?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “A little.” 

"I finally got my vacation time approved," you started ranting, "and on my second night, some enticing masked alien man with his adorable green alien son came crashing in my goddamn front yard." 

“You think I’m enticing?” Din asked as he looked you up and down. You had a warm feeling in your chest at your Freudian slip and his question to confirm it. You really hated that you couldn’t see his face. 

Never one to shy away from a challenge, a faint smile crossed your face as you nodded and said, "Yeah, I do." You hadn't even known them for a day and you were already smitten with the spaceman and his adorable son. 

Mando took a step closer to you before asking, “Can we lay low and stay here with you for a few weeks?”  

Oh, what the hell, you thought. It couldn’t get any worse, could it?

You nodded your heat at him, “Sure.” 

“Do you want to bury the body or clean up the house first?” Mando asked. 

You shrugged and plopped on the sofa beside Grogu. The baby giggled as he tilted a little with your sudden weight. It didn't matter to you which problem y’all cleaned up first, but you needed a few minutes to decompress. The adrenaline was wearing off, and your rattled nerves had your fingers shaking. 

The Mandalorian noticed, bent down on one knee in front of you, and took one of your shaking hands in his gloved hand before asking, "Are you okay?" He cupped your chin with his free hand, making you look at what must have been where his eyes were and said, "You aren't hurt, are you?"

You shrugged your shoulders and said, "I wasn't hurt." You squeezed his comforting hand and said, "I just never killed anyone before." 

"So, that was your first murder, huh?" He asked in a hushed tone, removing one of his gloves so that he could rub tiny circles in the middle of your palm to soothe you. It worked almost immediately. You could only nod, unable to string together a complete thought. You were surprised with how gentle he was being with you.  

“How about you let me do the killing from here on out?” He said, still caressing your palm even though you stopped trembling minutes ago. You weren't going to say anything about it. It felt too good. It had been far too long since you had been touched in this way, or actually touched at all.

You let out a deep sigh and said, "Sounds good to me."

[beels-burger-babe]

Sister's Keeper pt. 7

*** And we're back with my favourite series again 🥰 Can I just say THANK YOU for all the love you've been giving Harlow and this series? It means so much to see all the love you've given this. This series has become so much more than I intended and that's all because of you 🥰❤️ -B ***

Summary: MC wasn’t pleased about being forced out of their home and into the Devildom for this so-called exchange program, however, they were pissed that their little sister Harper was brought with them. MC wants nothing more than to make sure their sister stays alive and safe while in the Devildom, but first they need to figure out why these Demon bastards won’t stop gawking at her.

CW: Mentions of abandonment and the foster system.

Previous Part, Series Masterlist

The scratching of silverware against ceramic echoed awkwardly through the dinning room.

There was no giggling from Harper, or gentle instructions from you. There were no quips from Leviathan or scolding from Lucifer. The table was filled, not only with food, but with a choking silence that held all of its occupants in a muting hold.

All, with the exception of Mammon.

"Oh wow!" Mammon cheered awkwardly as he shoveled food into his mouth. "This meal is some good, huh? Really outdid yourself today Satan. It's um, very tasty, that's for sure. We could totally sell your food to like the lower demons or some shit. Imagine the Grimm we could wring it! And they're stupid enough that once we get 'em thinkin' that it's always gonna be top quality we can start cuttin' a few corners here and there an-"

"Mammon," Lucifer hissed through his teeth. "Enough."

You rolled your eyes as Mammon huffed and Harper sent a harsh glare over to the older demon as Lucifer continued to very pointedly ignore you.

Silence hung like a guillotine over your heads once more.

Across from you, Leviathan pouted into his morning eggs — you got a sick wave of pleasure from the darkened bruise that surrounded the bridge of his nose. He stiffened as your eyes met, and quickly looked down in what could almost be called shame.

You couldn't help but scratch at the new orange mark branded into the back of your hand.

Satan eyed the movement, the corners of his mouth digging into a deep frown as he sipped his melancholy coffee. He hadn't spoken a word to you since the incident, other than checking to make sure you were unharmed — a quick checkup had determined that while you had a mild concussion, you were otherwise alright. There was a heavy tension that he carried on his shoulders like a cape, and you couldn't help but feel uneased by it.

You quickly pushed back the feeling, and wrapped an arm around Harper. You couldn't allow yourself to become distracted down here. Not by Leviathan, or Satan, or anyone else. You needed to focus on Harper and staying alive; last night had only further proved that.

Your sister nuzzled in close to you as she nibbled on a piece of cantaloupe. You ran a hand through her hair as you looked down at both of your empty plates. With a quick squeeze to Harper's shoulders, you shifted out of your seat and scooped up your dishes. "If anyone needs us, we'll be in our room," you explained in a flat tone as Harper clung silently to your hip.

"One moment," Lucifer interrupted, gaining the attention of the room. "I have been informed that Diavolo will be having an exchange party at his castle. We are all required to go to his castle for the weekend and partake in the activities he has planned."

You sighed and nodded, "If it's required for the program, then I suppose we don't have a choice."

Asmo giggled and leaned into the palm of his hand. "Don't act so glum, MC, this will be fun! A weekend at Diavolo's castle means a weekend of utter luxury. And who knows! Maybe we'll even get to be roommates!"

You resisted shuttering from the mere thought. "Let's hope not," you mumbled as you finally left the room, dishes in one hand and Harper in the other.

The two of you quickly swung by the kitchen — taking care to wash and put away your dishes, before moving to retreat to your room.

"MC!!!"

You yelped, jumping back and shoving Harper behind you as you whipped around to the shadow that had just leapt out from the hallway.

A sheepish Leviathan stood before, hands up carefully in defense.

Your eyes instantly hardened as a venomous scowl fixed onto your lips. "What do you want?" you spat, holding tightly onto Harper.

He chuckled awkwardly, maintaining his 'I-mean-no-harm' stance. "Woah. I'm not here to hurt you,"

"Only because you can't anymore, meany!" Harper shouted from behind you. "You have to listen to MC now, which means you don't get to be a bully anymore!"

Levi's nose scrunched as he physically reeled back, his shaky eyes remaining glued onto Harper's face. "I'm not a bully! Y-You ... You can't say that!"

"Well, you can't be one anymore," she huffed with her nose held high. "Meany."

A pained wheeze pressed from Leviathan's lungs.

Despite knowing that Harper's words were true, you couldn't help but hold her just a little closer to you. "We're trying to get back to our room so I can recover from the concussion you oh so gracefully gave me, so if you don't mind,"

"Will you wait?!" Levi hissed as he moved in front of the two of you once more. "I'm trying to- to um ..." he let out a heavy sigh as you swallowed down the fear climbing up your throat. "I'm sorry, okay? I took things too far. You ... You won that quiz fair and square and I never should've lashed out at you. I never even gave you a chance," a bubble of disgust formed in your gut as he smiled at you. "But now that I know that you really aren't a normie, I can help you out like the other two!"

You froze at the statement.

Leviathan wanted a place in your life. Him. The man who yelled at you. Who hurt you. Who demeaned you all before you had the chance to even show him who you really were — not some weak person. Not this fictional MC that he made of you in his mind already. You.

An ancient crack fractured deeper across your heart.

Your lip curled into a snarl and the demon took a step back, his eyes widened at the unsteadiness behind your gaze. "You are not forgiven," you whispered despite yourself — you were horrified as you recognized drops of grief trickle down your spine. "Pretty words mean nothing to me. You say your sorry? Prove it," his breath caught in his throat as you held up your hand and revealed the orange symbol glowing brightly on it. "Only apologize if you genuinely mean it." you ordered with ease as the demon shivered. "Well?"

Leviathan, quite literally, began to gag.

You placed a hand on Harper's head as she pulled herself closer to you. "That's what I thought," you mumbled, ignoring the confusing disappointment that settled in your stomach. "We're out of here. But in the mean time, don't pull that shit again unless you actually mean it."

Harper gently pulled on your hand as the demon whined. "Can you tell him to be nice to everyone too?"

Another strangled cry from Levi as continued to woefully open and close his mouth, attempting to force the words out. The light tears brimming his eyes as he starred, heartbroken, at your fearful sister made you hesitate.

You sighed, letting go of Harper's hand as your marched forward and grabbed the demon's face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. "Look. It's like Harper said. Right now, you're a bully. You've done nothing but antagonize us, so obviously, we aren't going to want you around. Think about that. Change that. The first time I went to your room, it was because Harper wanted to play games with you and watch TSL."

Levi's eyes widened at the relevation, the amber irises, momentarily flicking behind you. "I ... I-I didn't know that."

You scoffed as you dropped his face. "Yeah. Because instead of building a potential allyship, you burned it before I even had the chance to make an offer," you crossed your arms over your chest as the demon's head hung in shame. "Don't give me worthless apologies. Think about what you did. Do better," you finally looked away as you took Harper's hand back into your own and began to walk away. "Then we can talk ... I guess."

Leviathan pulled his freshly, marked hand to his chest as he watched you go — both of you unaware of the voyeur hidden in the doorway.

***

"Wait, you punched Leviathan and then basically scolded him for actually apologizing?" The man in the attic demanded with wide eyes as you finished recounting the weeks events.

You huffed as you leaned back against the railing. "Yeah, he fucking well deserved it," you raised an eyebrow as annoyance flickered across his expression. "I'm sorry. Is there a different way you would've done it?"

He shrugged falling slouching into the cross-legged position you had found him sitting in when you arrived. "I don't know. I mean, punching Lucifer I get. He's the reason we're both stuck here, but ..." His bangs hid his expression from you as he fiddled with his fingers. "The others don't even know what he's doing. He's ... He's insufferable and they're all just morons."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You'd think that you'd have it out for all demons after they imprisoned you up here like this. I know I would."

"Well I'm not you," he spat, his purple eyes almost glowing as he glared up at you. "Forgive me for having a heart."

You couldn't help but bristle at the comment. You bit down on the inside of your cheek as you looked away. "You sound like Harper."

The man tilted his head. "Who's Harper?"

You laughed at the question as you whipped your head around to him. "No. No, no, no, no. You don't get an answer to that when I don't even know your name!"

His eye twitched with every laugh that spilled from you. "It's just a dumb question!"

"So is asking for your name! It's like the first thing people tell people! Look, I'll even show you. My name is MC, and you're ..." you dramatically swept your arm towards him for him to continue.

He pursed his lips, crossing his arms before he answered. "You can call me Bel."

You gasped as you pressed a hand to your chest. "And the sketchy attic man has a name! I have truly been blessed."

He winced at your choice in words as he shook his head. "You are seriously an asshole. How the hell you managed to get three of them under your pact already is a fucking miracle."

The insult was hardly one you hadn't heard before, but still stung none the less. You shrugged off the pain. "I may be an asshole, but I'm an asshole who's going to get your ass out of here."

The two of you sat in tense, midnight silence, tangled in your own mental swirls.

It was Bel, who shifted first, wiping his nose before clearing his throat. "Why are you helping me? I mean, don't stop. I really really want out of here. But what do you get out of this."

"Wow. So grateful," you snidely spoke as you stared at the ceiling. "To answer your question, I'm not just going to leave a person to imprisoned. That'd be screwed up in so many ways," you sighed running a hand through your hair as you shook your head. "I don't know. You mentioned your family and ... Family shouldn't be separated. They need you. And it sounds like you need them. So ... here I am."

Amethyst eyes observed you in the darkness. "Harper ... Are they your family?"

You instinctively stiffened at the question, silently nodding your head even as your stomach knotted.

"And what? Did they die or something?" He chuckled as you swiveled around to glare at him. "What? It's just a question. Us humans have to stick together, right? Maybe if we know a bit more about each other we could trust each other a little more."

You groaned, pressing the palms of your hands into your tired eyes — it had been much too long of a week for this.

"Fine," you gave in as exhaustion numbed your common sense.

"Harper is my sister. She isn't dead," you were nauseous at just the thought. "She's here with me. But ... It ..." You swallowed thickly, hugging your arms tightly around yourself. "It wasn't always like that. Things went to hell for a while and there was- was a few years where ..." you shook your head, trying to alleviate the burning behind your eyes. "Child Protective Services took her, okay? Is that what you wanted? We had been getting on just fine after th-they ... a-after Mom and Dad left, nobody even noticed, and then some nosey old crank next door reported us and we were thrown into a home."

You sniffled, trying to hold back the tired tears that were welling up in your eyes. "I was only there for two weeks at most. The one right thing my folks did with this whole thing was file for emancipation for me before they took off. But even if I was an adult on paper, it wasn't enough for the courts," your eyes squeezed shut as Harper's phantom shrieks and cries filled your ears. "I didn't see her for three years. I fought tooth and nail every single damned second of it to try and get her back, but no one wants to listen to a kid," you let out shaky breath as you wiped at your cheeks. "It doesn't matter though. She's with me now. She's not going anywhere. I'll make sure of it."

Bel looked at you with a complicated mixture of sympathy, understanding, and confliction. "I get it. You'd do anything for those you love. Even if it meant your down fall."

You nodded and tiredly pointed to him. "That."

Silence fell once more as you regathered yourself once more. You offered Bel one a sad smile as you shook out your now-numb-feet. "I will help you get back to your family, okay? I promise."

"I'm counting on it," he murmured, avoiding your eyes.

You made your way back down the metal spiral staircase to the main floor.

There was something so peaceful about walking through the hauntingly luxurious halls of the house with nothing except your thoughts and the steady sound of two sets of footsteps.

Wait. Two sets of-

You were cut off as you banged into a firm chest, "Ahhhhhhhhh!!!" You screamed as you scrambled back from the stranger.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!" Mammon screamed right back at you as he scrambled to catch the strange bag he was holding.

"SHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" You both simaltanously shushed the other as your hearts pounded in your chest.

"What are you doing?!" You hissed in a hushed whisper as you tried to will your pulse to slow.

"Me?! What are you doin'? You're the one who's concussed! You're supposed ta be restin'!" He whisper shouted, flailing his arms about. His eyes narrowed down at you as he poked your chest. "You ain't pullin' that all night patrolin' crap again, are ya? Cause I ain't gonna to take care you as a zombie again!" His gaze focused in as he got closer to your face. "Wait. Have you been cryin'?"

You scoffed and slapped his hand away. "You didn't take care of me; I took care of myself. Besides, I just wanted to take a little walk to clear my head. That's all," you raised an eyebrow as you eyed the bag he was holding. "What's that?"

Mammon's eyes flickered between you and the bag as he slowly hid it behind his back. "If I tell you, will you tell me why ya were cryin'?"

You threw your head back, letting out a loud groan as you began to make your way towards your room. "Forget it. It's too late for this. Goodnight."

"Woah, wait!" Mammon called out as he matched pace with you. "I'm serious. I ... It's not like ya to get all emotional and junk, so I'm ... I'm curious. I-I guess."

It didn't take a genius to read between his bolden lines. "I'm fine, Mammon. You don't have to be worried."

He growled and spun around to walk backwards in front of you. "One, I ain't worried! The Great Mammon don't get worried about nobody except me!" You rolled your eyes at the lie. "And number two, you and Harper been actin' weird since the quiz. Which, I get, ya know? It was scary, f-for puny humans anyway," he frowned as he stopped in front of you, putting an end to both of your movements. "Ya could'a died, MC. Like ... for real. And I ... I was your first pact, ya know? I shoulda been there to protect ya. And I know ya had Satan, and I know you were just tryin' to keep Harper safe too, but ..." he paused, gently butting a closed fist against your shoulder. "Don't do that again. Don't ... Don't ask me to leave ya to get hurt like that. It's my job to protect you. Me. Mammon's."

You blinked at the surprisingly genuine demon. "What are you saying, Mammon?"

His face turned bright red. "Just ... These past few weeks with you and Harper ain't been so bad, I-I guess. Sure, you're both brats and I'm clearly way more superior but ..." he finally met your eyes. "Don't go gettin' in the habit of doin' stupid shit and gettin' hurt. It freaks Harper out."

The 'and me' was translated as his hand unfolded from a fist and squeezed your shoulder.

"Harper's my priority, you know that, but ... I'll see what I can do."

Mammon let out a loud breath of relief as he let you go and started walking along side you again. "Phew. Good. Not that I'm concerned. I'm not. Never worried. Nope. B-But, uh, Satan! Satan was! He's been poutin' and pourin' over his books like crazy ever since the whole quiz thing started. You have him really shakin' up."

You rolled your eyes as you finally made it back to your door. "Then he can stop ignoring me, and scold me himself," you quietly opened your door, peaking in to see Harper still sleeping peacefully in the room. "I'm going to get some rest. Goodnight Mammon."

"Night, MC," he replied, peering around your shoulder to check on the sleeping girl himself. You didn't miss the way his shoulders relaxed as he spotted her. "I'll swing by ta help ya pack for Diavolo's tomorrow, since I'm so great and awesome! The castle's the best. There are all kinds of goodies hiding away in there. Mark my words! You, me, and Harper are gonna have the best weekend ever!"

A shiver ran down your spine as the demon happily marched away.

The best weekend over ...

You closed the door with a heavy thud, and allowed the lock to click into place.

We'll have to see about that.

*** And with that, we begin the Asmo/Dia's Castle arc! Stay tuned, and let me know what you think about the series so far! I love hearing your guys's feedback, comments, theories, questions and more, so don't be afraid to drop a comment or ask to tell me what you think! Love you guys! Thank you so much for all the support you've given this series! -B ***

TAGLIST [CLOSED]:

@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @salvationprodigy @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @mcx7demonbros @bloopthebat

@greenlit-mess @k1ngan0n @tanspostsblog @kadythethief @l0v3r666 @siniy606 @porgs-are-space-puffins @attackonhoseok @darkfaethedestroyer @amaya-writes @sutsuxan @hobin-gnoblin @cubandevil04 @dweeb-central @marvelous-maniac @bestblob @gallantys @liminalimmortal @devotedlypleasantangel @shizunxie @kiriattka @vernasce-blogs

[missmungoe]

I couldn't help myself, so here's my take on the Elbaf scenes in 1076, featuring pirate!Makino. Follows a pirate's idea of peace.

This is what the kids call couple goals

“Kyaa! He’s so cute!!!”

“And so charming!!”

“And those cheeks!”

From his seat beside her, Shanks pouted, his eyes trained on the spectacle happening across the tavern. “That used to be me. And my cheeks.”

On the other side of the bar, their son’s shrieking giggles lifted over the din, hoisted in the air as he was passed between the giants who’d flocked around him. For his part, Ace seemed as unperturbed by the attention as he was by the giants, but then as in so many things, he was his father’s son; Makino knew of no one else who could become an attraction simply by setting foot somewhere.

Patting his back, warm through the fabric of his cloak, “I'm sure they haven’t forgotten you,” Makino said. “But you can't blame them, he is ridiculously cute.”

“That’s not the point! I used to be ridiculously cute!”

As though on cue, Ace made an adorable little coo, which had the whole tavern of hardened warriors erupting into a frenzy.

“You’re still popular, my love,” Makino said, with a nod at the boy seated by the bar, wearing a similar pout, his petition to join their crew rejected. “See? There's someone who still looks up to you!”

His shoulders sagging, “It’s not the same,” Shanks sighed.

“Give it up,” Ben said. “You’ve been replaced.”

“But it's too soon! I'm still in the prime of my life!"

Grinning around his toothpick, Ben looked like he was having the time of his life. Makino almost asked him to go easy on him, but given what he’d put up with for so many years, a little schadenfreude was probably warranted.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," their first mate said. "Aren't you the one always going on about the new era overtaking the old?"

"First of all, so not the same," Shanks said. "And secondly, these cheeks can't be out of date, they're still firm! You could bounce a coin off this ass!"

"Don't," Makino said, when he turned towards her, his mouth already open, and when he pouted, spluttered, "I'm not bouncing a coin off it!"

"I think the barmaid would if you asked her," Yasopp said, a grin flashed at Makino that had her averting her gaze demurely, but then those shrewd eyes missed nothing, least of all the fact that in spite of their captain's griping, their son wasn't the only one drawing longing looks from across the tavern.

Shanks didn't seem to have noticed, and with a wolfish grin, told her, "There's only one barmaid I'd want to bounce a coin off my ass."

Her laughing sigh didn't succeed in being as suffering as she'd hoped, but then it was hard when he was beaming at her like that. "You say the most romantic things," Makino sighed.

Shanks just grinned, his look adoring, and she held her tongue from saying that if he kept looking at her like that, she might actually take him up on the coin thing.

Her gaze swept the crowded tavern, the rough wooden floorboards and the burning braziers warming the room, the cheerful din like any other bar they'd visited, and it might have fooled her into thinking it really was just any other bar if it hadn't been for certain noticeable differences.

Observing the enormous tankards and ceramic cups on the tables, not to mention the giant-sized plates and cutlery, Makino tried her best to look like a fabled island of giants had been what she’d expected when she’d gotten out of bed that morning, to the sound of their ship’s bell announcing the first sight of land. Shanks had already been up, their son on his hip where she'd found him at the helm, observing their approach, and that alone should have told her it wasn't just a normal island, but his smile hadn't surrendered anything as he'd kissed her good morning and told her to get ready to disembark.

And from afar, it had looked like any other island, and only when she'd asked where they were and Shanks had told her, breezily, "War-Land", had she realised something was up, although hadn't been given the chance to ask what that name suggested when a tuna the size of their ship had breached the surface right next to the hull, and she'd screamed so loudly she'd nearly sent Fen tumbling out of the crow's nest.

So yeah, the giants had been a surprise.

She jumped when a massive ceramic cup was dropped on the table before her, the mead within sloshing against the sides like waves in a pool.

“For the little Empress!” the giant whose name she'd learned was Brogy announced.

“Drink up!” his companion laughed, lifting his own cup in encouragement; Makino had learned his name was Dorry. “Knowing how you drink, Red-Hair, your wife must have quite the stomach herself, ge gya gya gya!”

Makino stared into the vat of mead. It could have fit her. “Er―”

“I’ll take that,” Shanks said, lifting the giant cup with ease, a grin flashed as he told her, “Since I’m drinking for two.”

She was about to point out that it wasn’t how it worked, when the two giants blinked, exchanging a look, before their eyes shot back down to her, and it took everything she had not to flinch, but then either one of them could have easily plucked her from her seat with a single hand.

Then, in booming timbres that shook the table where they were sitting: “Apologies, lady!”

“We didn’t realise you were with bairn!”

Their bellows had drawn the attention of the rest of the tavern, and holding up her hands, her laugh was predictably flustered, but then even terrifyingly big, their blustering personalities were hard not to like. “That’s alright,” Makino said, smoothing her fingers over the bump glimpsed between the gap in her cloak, the fire in the copper braziers dancing over the silver and the velvet. "But I hope you don't mind that I don't partake. The mead looks very―", she glanced at the giant cup again, and the daunting amount of mead, and was suddenly thankful her pregnancy had saved her from attempting to take a sip, when she doubted she would have been able to lift it, "―refreshing."

Grinning down at her, “I’m sure you’d show us your drinking prowess if you could!” Dorry declared with a booming laugh.

She caught Shanks’ smile, which knew full well she got tipsy after a single human-sized cup of sake, but, “Oh, you know it,” Makino said, with a laugh that sounded unconvincing even to her own ears, but the giants only looked delighted.

“Barmaid!” Brogy bellowed, and so forcefully she jumped. “Some meat for Red-Hair’s wife! An expectant mother must be kept well-fed at all times!”

“Aye!" Brogy agreed. "She’ll need it to birth a strong warrior!”

"To the little warrior maiden!"

Rousing hollers sounded from around the tavern as they all thrust their tankards and cups into the air, their crew included, whose beaming delight at her predicament hadn't escaped her.

For her own part, Makino tried her best to gracefully endure the attention, while also politely declining the continued offers of food, their table already filling up, with cuts of meat as big as she was, and pickled herring, and a bowl of stew so big she would have needed to climb it to see the top.

“Are you pleased?” she murmured, catching Shanks’ grin as more giants appeared to offer their congratulations, and their wishes for the child in her belly to grow big and strong, to which she was tempted to say that after her last birth, a twenty-hour pelvic nightmare, "big" was the opposite of what she was hoping for.

“For the delight showered upon my tiny warrior wife?” Shanks asked, nodding his thanks to the barmaid who appeared with another plate of food, even as he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “It’s what she deserves.”

Makino huffed, but lowering her voice, murmured, “I think they’d be disappointed to learn the truth.” That unlike her husband, she didn't have the constitution to hold her own in a drinking match against humans, let alone giants, or that while she carried a sword, she'd just started learning. She wasn't a warrior. Not like the ones on this island, anyway.

“What truth?” Shanks asked, his head tilted to look at her. “She’s one of the strongest people I know. And if anyone knows the value of strength, it’s these guys.” Lifting the ceramic vat like it weighed nothing, he raised his voice to call across the tavern, “To my wife!”

The toast was returned with cheers so deafening it shook the foundation of the whole building, the sound like a battle-drum where it reached up through the bench where she was sitting to fill her chest, and despite her immediate instinct to retreat from the centre of attention, her smile was helpless, subjected to their rousing approval now.

Shanks just grinned, although his look was gentler, holding her eyes as he tipped the cup back.

The din from his toast was still settling, and observing the tavern, she felt a moment of displacement, the kind that had become increasingly common in her new life, as Makino wondered how she’d ended up here, on an island of giants with one of the most feared crews in the world.

Her eyes drifted in the direction of the bar, and the boy who’d so proudly proclaimed his desire to join them, the image resurfacing memories of her own bar, and another little boy pouting into his glass. And for a brief moment the wooden walls and furs and braziers were replaced with summer green paint and soft curtains, and her neatly stacked shelves, the glasses polished to gleaming. Even the barmaid behind the counter had changed, smaller now, her fair hair darker and drawn back by a kerchief, a shanty hummed on her breath as she polished the glass in her hand, stealing a glance across the crowded bar to the handsome captain at the nearby table.

She blinked, and Party’s was gone, the noise of the Elbaf tavern rushing back around her, and the giant barmaid polishing a glass behind the counter was the same as she had been, although her gaze remained fixed on their table, Makino saw; one of the few whose attention hadn’t been stolen by their son.

But in spite of his earlier dramatics, Shanks didn’t appear to notice, his eyes on her, but then even if she'd grown accustomed to the attention her husband compelled whenever they were in port, he never indulged it. And she knew he hadn’t missed where her thoughts had gone when he asked her gently, “Thinking about Party’s?”

Her smile gave her away, she knew, but, “I’m just not used to being on this side of the bar,” Makino said. But then, her voice lowered between them, "But I miss it sometimes."

His smile understood, but then he always did. “I miss flirting with the barmaid there,” Shanks said, a finger hooked under her chin to lift it, and her eyes where they'd lowered. “But now I get to flirt with my wife, so I’m not complaining.”

Despite several years of marriage, her reaction wasn't any smoother than when she'd been nineteen, and she couldn't help her flustered grin, or the gratifying little flip her stomach did, hearing the envious sighs from the women around them, and saw Shanks had caught it when his grin widened.

“Oh?” he purred, and gripped her chin before she could turn her face away to hide the evidence. “Is someone preening over being the captain’s girl?”

She huffed, puffing up her cheeks, although it was hard to look serious when he looked so delighted. And so instead she asked, prim, “And what if I am?”

His grin had forgotten all about his earlier dramatics, but his chuckle was softer as Shanks told her, “You know, this might actually make up for our son stealing my spotlight.”

Makino shook her head, although his gratification made it hard to keep a straight face, or to look directly at his, handsome in a way that never failed to steal her breath, and most of her thoughts, observing the chiselled angles of his jaw and the clear grey eyes, hooded under his scars, and the dark stubble of his beard ruggedly sweeping his cheeks. The silver scar on his lip, tugged by the roguish smile that stretched along his mouth, wide and made for smiling. Well; that, and other things.

But it wasn't about his looks, even if it was hard to explain the feeling, one she’d been intimately acquainted with ever since their very first meeting but that had only grown stronger since coming out to sea with him, and witnessing the way he was greeted wherever they docked; the kindness and grace he showed that was returned in equal measure. To be chosen by someone like him...

The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, but they'd never needed an excess of words to understand each other, even if it felt important to say this, and so, “I’m proud to be yours,” Makino said simply.

She’d caught him by surprise, she saw, and for all his confidence and years of being accustomed to the fawning attention of strangers, it was an uniquely gratifying feeling to be able to catch him off guard with her honesty. But then even confident, he’d never taken her feelings for granted.

Taking his hand to kiss his fingers, Makino felt how they shook. And if it was a claim, let them see it.

His eyes hadn’t left her, gentle under his scars, but then for all the adoration he garnered, he made no secret of where his own affections lay.

Of course, it wasn’t just his fawning supporters competing for pieces of him.

There was a commotion happening outside. Makino had been trying to ignore it, already suspecting what it heralded, although wasn’t given the chance to ask Shanks what he planned to do about it when Rockstar appeared in the doorway.

“Boss! That bastard’s actually attacking us!" He sounded genuinely offended on his captain's behalf, but then Makino had always liked that about him.

"So far they’ve just been scraping with our youngsters, but what do you want to do about him?" Rockstar continued, with a glance over his shoulder. "At this rate it’ll turn into a full-on battle soon!”

Her heart stuttered, but then unlike her husband's fan-club, this was something she had not gotten used to, the months she’d been at sea with them.

Shanks sighed, although took the news of an impending battle in characteristic stride. “I don’t know whether to call this good or bad timing. We were just about to head out. Mah, guess I lost track of time catching up with everyone,” he said, his hand falling from hers as he rose from his seat. “But it can’t be helped when you suddenly come across old friends who you thought were dead.”

Holding out his hand to her, Makino smiled as she placed her own into it, allowing him to draw her to her feet. And she knew what he was doing, but indulged him, feeling how her stomach fluttered, and when he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles, heard the dreamy sighs from the surrounding crowd. Their attention had shifted away from their son now, but even flustered by the attention, Makino could only laugh, seeing the rakish grin stretching over her knuckles.

“Catering to your adoring fans, Emperor Red-Hair?” she murmured.

“Our adoring fans,” Shanks corrected, with a pointed look. “Or have you failed to notice that it’s not just our son who’s been causing a spectacle ever since we came ashore?”

A glance around the tavern room proved him right, noting their starry-eyed onlookers, although they appeared enthralled rather than envious, she saw.

"She's so beautiful!" someone whispered, to vocal agreement from the room.

"They look so good together!"

"The cloaks!!"

Her heart skipped, and looking up at Shanks found him smiling. And even if she wasn’t used to this kind of attention, Makino found she didn’t mind being in the spotlight all that much, if she could share it with him.

Their eyes held, the din of the tavern fading like the watchful gazes of the crowd, but then for a man who drew people around him like a magnet, he’d always had a way of making her feel like the only person in the room, a peace under that hooded look that made the rest of the world disappear, leaving only the two of them.

Releasing her hand, his fingers brushed the high collar of her cloak where it enclosed her neck, tracing the silver embroideries, before his smile warmed, his eyes lifting as his hand did, to the red scarf holding back her hair. But then while she'd adopted a pirate's lifestyle, sword and cloak included, she was still a barmaid, even if they called her something else now.

A crooked knuckle tipped her chin, his eyes curving with a look she knew intimately, and her breath hitched when his hand reached to cradle the back of her head, a display that was a little more public than she was usually comfortable with, but she wasn't thinking about their audience now.

And maybe she wasn't the only one staking a claim, and she felt the flutter in her chest as Shanks bent his head, his beard scuffing her cheeks with his smile, but just before their lips touched, a throat was cleared loudly.

"Um, Bosses?”

The voice dragged their eyes from each other to their crew, on their feet now and watching them, their arms crossed and their expressions somewhere between patient and shamelessly delighted.

“If you’re done inventing romance over there, there’s a battle going on,” Yasopp said. "Remember? Angry guy, missing arm, vowed revenge?"

“Oh, right,” Shanks said, with a bashful grin. “Should probably deal with him first.”

The little giant who’d asked to join their crew jumped from his seat, his eyes round with an awe that made Makino think of Luffy, and felt a pang of affection as he exclaimed, all wonder and no fear, “You’re going out there to fight, Shanks?”

Smiling, Shanks nodded, and when he spoke, it was to the whole tavern, the warm timbre of his voice lifting with an authority that seemed to come as naturally as breathing, and that could compel even a room full of giants into silence. “I’d never let this island become a war-zone.”

The barmaid cupped her cheeks, sighing wistfully, “He’s so dreamy!”

Makino only smiled, although watching him, privately agreed, but then she was right: he was dreamy.

“They won’t be happy you’ve kept them waiting,” Ben said, as they prepared to leave. He looked like he needed a smoke, and Makino felt a pang of sympathy, knowing she was the reason he'd quit, but the smile he slipped her left no room for guilt as he moved to stand beside her; his usual place, if he wasn't guarding his captain.

“Do you think Kidd will appreciate hearing that it was because Boss was too busy making googly-eyes at his wife?” Yasopp mused.

“I say we send Makino to deal with him,” Lucky Roo said. “That’ll teach him some manners!”

“Honestly, if anyone could teach that guy some manners, it would be you,” Shanks agreed.

“From what you told me, he’s probably right to be angry,” Makino said. “He did lose his arm.”

“So did I, but unlike someone, I handled my amputation with grace,” Shanks said.

"The first thing you lamented when you were lucid enough to speak was that you now had to use your non-dominant hand to get yourself off," Ben said, as Makino's cheeks flushed. She had, regrettably, been in the room at the time.

Shanks ignored him, turning to ask Rockstar to deliver a message to Captain Kidd: to leave his poneglyph rubbings and scram, or to risk fighting him. It was a more generous offer than any of the other Emperors would have given, at least barring one other.

Their crew had gathered around them, although she felt how her breath shivered, but then she’d only witnessed him dealing with enemies from afar. This time, they’d be sailing right into the breach.

She touched a trembling hand to Siren’s pommel, the sword’s presence at her waist another thing she hadn't yet gotten used to, and even then she'd only ever sparred with Shanks. She'd never used it against a real enemy, even to protect herself.

Shanks had noticed, his scars furrowed above his eyes, and looking towards their son, in Bonk Punch’s arms now, “I don’t want to cause any major trouble here,” he said.

A bit too late for that, my love, Makino wanted to say, but before she could, “Dorry, Brogy,” Shanks said, with a smile at her. “Mind helping me make sure my wife stays out of harm's way?”

The grins from the two giants might have sent her bolting in the opposite direction if Makino didn't know them, as with bellowing laughs, they agreed,

“Aye, brother! We’ll keep the little Empress safe!"

“Ge gya gya gya, and the littleuns!”

Smiling, Shanks took the lead, his cloak flaring as he turned for the door. Makino fell into step beside him, the rest of their crew and the giants following behind them as they made their way towards Red Force where it waited.

Outside, a crowd had gathered to observe their departure, only this time their attentions weren’t on the baby in Bonk Punch’s arms.

“Look at them!!”

“Make way, the chief and his wife are coming through!”

"What a power couple!!"

"We love you!!"

Their eyes met, and when she ducked her gaze, he grinned and kissed the top of her head, to the shrieking delight of the crowd.

They’d reached the water, and she could see the ships covering the horizon now. And these were different crews than the one she knew and loved, although they’d pledged their allegiance to her all the same. And even if she knew now what it meant to be Emperor of this sea, like the attention he compelled, her Emperor, it stole her breath, seeing with her own eyes the forces he commanded.

And that was something else she'd had to come to terms with. That however highly regarded he was, her husband had as many enemies as he had supporters, and that being his wife meant they were hers, too.

“You can stay behind if you’d rather,” Shanks said, his eyes lowering to hers, and she knew from the serious look in them that for all his outward ease, he wasn't taking their opponent lightly. “It would be safer ashore.”

His knuckles brushed her belly through her cloak, before he splayed his fingers over the bump, his bigger frame shielding her from their audience now, but then unlike his display in the tavern, this wasn't for the benefit of the crowd.

The broad spread of his fingers was warm through her shirt, but the child beneath his hand was quiet. And there was no judgement in that look, his eyes anchored in hers, although beneath the seriousness, Makino saw what he hadn't shown the crowd in the tavern. Not fear, never that, but the feeling still threatened to sweep her feet out: a protectiveness that carried the same promise he'd made their adversary, of just what he risked, facing him.

She felt a moment of hesitation, but then he had a point. This was Elbaf, the fabled island of warriors. Even without Dorry and Brogy, there’d be more than enough warriors to protect her if she stayed, and out at sea, there were a lot of things that could go wrong even without factoring in an all-out naval battle.

The memory found her, recalling the Admiral they'd encountered outside of Wano Country. The way his haki had singled her out, like she'd been marked, and that had confirmed, and more than any wanted poster or bounty ever could, just what she was now.

And if it had been her bar behind them, she would have stayed, Makino thought. She would have gone back to polishing her glasses, waiting for news of the battle, her lonely court held from behind the safe enclosure of the sturdy wooden counter. Her bar, and her shield that had always protected her from the wider world.

But it wasn't her bar, or even her island, and she knew where her place was now.

And where she felt safest, above anywhere else.

“No,” Makino said, and moving to stand on his left, wrapped her fingers around Siren’s pommel. “I'm right where I want to be.”

Then with a glance at the crowd behind them, she lifted her eyes to his, hooded under his scars as she said, “Besides, if we’re catering to the crowd, we should probably give them what they want.”

Shanks grinned, his cheeks lifting with boyish delight. “Battle couple?”

Her smile was her answer, and drawing her sword from its sheath, the steel-song stirred the air, her grip around the hilt still a little clumsy, used to glasses and dishrags, but the way he was looking at her, Makino thought she might have been a master in that moment.

And while she'd once thought that behind the counter of the bar was where she'd felt the most like herself, there was something to be said for this feeling, standing beside him, nothing but danger ahead, and yet she didn't feel afraid.

"So then, Captain," she said, with a glance towards the sea, and the new ship she could glimpse through the mist.

"Should we teach him some manners?"

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 6

The Song(fic) Challenge prompt for today was "A song that comforts you". As a person with a brain that is occasionally pretty bad, I have a whole host of songs I could have chosen, but I decided to go with the song that has single-handedly (single-notedly?) brought me out of a mental slump more times than I can count: "00:00 (Zero O'Clock)" by BTS.

Today's fic is also my first continuation within this challenge! Picking up a few years from where "a gentle wildness" left off, we encounter a Zelda who is struggling immensely with her workload and life as Queen of Hyrule, and the lover who is there to comfort her.

growing in the dark

Game: Twilight Princess, post-canon

Pairing: Zelink

Word Count: 1912

Keywords: angst, hurt/comfort, breakthrough, fluff

“Do you think it will be different?” Her voice was a raspy, choked croak. Hardly recognizable. “Not at first.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she accepted it with only a slight pang of pain. “It will take time for the changes you want to take place. But this day will be over. You won’t need to live this moment again.”

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

Night fell over Zelda’s office in a spectrum of indigo. Twilight melted into gloaming; gloaming subsided to moonrise. Her eyes stung from squinting at the papers, even when she sparked Din’s Fire at her right index finger to light the trio of candles at the head of her desk. There was a pounding in her head like hoofbeats towards the breach. 

It was just such a mess. Her desk was only the visual representation of her affairs: papers scattered; ink splotched on important documents that she had to redo, else she risk derision; stacks of correspondence higher than two of her handspans. She had vowed that morning that she wouldn’t leave her desk until she got through all of the grant requests and legislation proposals at least, but here she was, the hand on her wall clock approaching midnight, and she had gotten through less than three-quarters of it. A trend, of late, no matter how she tried to fight it.

‘A whole three-quarters!’ Link might have said, had he been there to see it. Her partner always was a glass-half-full sort of person, and doubly so when encouraging her. She denied the allegations of being a pessimist—and wouldn’t I have reason to be, given how my life has gone so far?—but tonight…

No, it was just the late hour. She was just tired. This night didn’t mark a trend towards unhappiness in her manner any more than any other night did. She was sure of it. 

She dipped her quill into the ink pot, only for her fatigue-trembling fingers to nearly knock the squat ceramic over. Swearing, she threw the quill to the floor in an attempt to avoid ink droplets raining down on the second copy she’d made that night of the granary permissions form. Raven splotches bloomed over the simple rug. 

That’s it. Her work may not have finished, but she needed to be done. She needed to take a break for the night, to let sleep revitalize her aching head and shaking frame and sluggish mind. She stood abruptly, pushing back her chair and sending the desk rattling. At that, she swore again, but with rather more defeat in her tone than before.

Her office wasn’t far from her suite. It was a purposeful choice, when she’d first taken the weight of the crown. Her life was to be spent in service to the people, after all; she needed to be closest to the place where the majority of her work was truly carried out. (The distance from the throne room that this additionally provided was certainly not at all intentional, of course.) When fully awake and refreshed, she could stride down the three hallways in merely three minutes. 

Tonight, she only reached the doorway to her sanctuary after five stumbling minutes, one hand bracing her against the cold stone wall.

“Your Majesty! Are you quite well?”

The night on duty was…Fledge, she thought, although the name came more slowly to her than she would have liked. 

“I am, Sir Fledge. Merely tired.” She attempted a weak smile that even to her felt more like a grimace, and tacked on, “Thank you for your concern.”

“I hope your sleep is restful!” Under the half-mask of the knight’s helmet, she thought she saw him bite his lip. “And…it’s Pipit, Your Majesty.”

Oh, fires of Din, had she truly mistaken one of the guards she encountered every day?

Oblivious to her internal self-degradation, Sir Pipit had begun to panic. “I don’t mean to accuse you, Your Majesty! Only, you told me when I began my tenure as a personal guard that I should correct you were you to mistake me for someone else. I thought that might extend to now, but of course I may have been mista—“

“Sir Pipit, I appreciate the correction greatly, and I apologize for my blunder,” Zelda said wearily. “There is no need to fear my wrath. You have done nothing to earn it.” And there is no need for it to weigh more heavily on you than anyone else’s, regardless. 

“Understood, Your Majesty.” He granted her a tentative wisp of a smile. “I bid you a good night, then.”

“A good night to you as well, Sir Pipit.”

Zelda turned the doorknob, barely noticing Pipit’s salute in her peripheral vision as she fumbled her way into her suite. 

Her shoes came off at the door, on the woven-reed rug Link had received from Uli as a gift the last time they’d gone on holiday to Ordon. Link’s were there as well, although haphazardly, with one muddy brown boot sitting up straight and the other flopped on its side like a dying fish. Craving nothing more than her partner’s casual warmth, she crossed the sitting room into their bedroom as swiftly as she was able, without tripping over her own leaden feet. 

Link was asleep, but she could tell immediately that it hadn’t been intentional. Besides the candle burning low on his bedside table, he lay over the bedclothes rather than beneath them, and had a book still held open against his chest. Tired eyes squinched in an irrepressible smile, Zelda gently lifted it from his loosely clenched hands, and placed it next to the candle—although not so close that any wayward wax would drip on it. 

She could hear him begin to stir as she removed her day dress and pulled a clean chemise over her head, the fabric of her nightclothes and the sheets he rested upon rustling in tandem. 

“You were up late,” his voice murmured from behind. Zelda stopped, but didn’t turn. “Did you finish everything you wanted to?”

Her shoulders collapsed, and her chin drooped down toward her cotton-covered chest. “...No. I failed to do so.”

“Zelda.”

The warm weight of his hand rested upon the flat of her shoulder blade, fingers curling lightly up and over. Her lip quivered, but she did not permit the moisture in her eyes to fall.

“You didn’t fail, my love. You got, mm, thousands of papers further in than you were before. Every bit counts.”

She burbled a laugh. “Hundreds, maybe. But…” 

She turned to face him, burying her face in the soft, worn fabric of his sleep shirt. One blink dampened it beneath her cheeks. 

“Every day lately has…” Her breath caught. “I was thinking earlier that tonight wasn’t an omen of unhappiness more than any other night. And I was right, but…in the opposite direction, I believe. I…” She took a shuddering breath. “I find myself desperately unhappy lately. I feel as though I am a horse leaping endless hurdles, without an end to the road in sight. My heart crumples under the strain of this endless pushing.”

Wordlessly, Link’s lips came to rest on the crown of her head. The soft pressure gave her the strength to speak on.

“I can’t help but think that…I’m not suited for this role. I can’t handle all the work that comes directly to me. Even with a council, it’s not enough. My eyes must be on every document; my ears must hear every citizen and leader’s concern…it’s exhausting, Link!” She pushed back from his chest with a sudden burst, wildly seeking the solace of his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. And I–I’ve failed my people, I’ve failed my pare—”

“Zelda, Zelda, no!” Hands came up to cup her face. “You haven’t failed anyone. You haven’t.”

Her breaths, which had been coming so quickly and sharply, broke into a sob.

“It’s my fault. Why couldn’t I just stay as happy as I was when I was crowned? When you and I first fell in love? How could I let myself fall so far? To care for this kingdom is my born duty!”

“You can’t expect yourself to stay at the same heights of happiness forever,” Link murmured. “It’s unfair to you. Especially under such a heavy burden.” He took a breath. “You are at fault for the mistakes you make, but—” Seeing her mouth open in shocked hurt, he pressed a finger to her lips. “—but, sweetheart, no one can be suited for a role like yours. Not alone.”

Tears coursed down her face. “I–I. You…you’re right.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You…you’re right. I…”

“Yes?”

“I want…”

“What is it you want, Zelda?”

Her name. “I want to—I want to be just Zelda. I don’t want to be Queen anymore.”

Though the words were loosed from her own lips, Zelda was the one who flinched on their release, at the simultaneous gut punch and weight lifted from her shoulders at the confession. 

“I want more than a council for me to consult, but ultimately rule over unilaterally. I want more than a single mind’s attention on half of the documents that directly impact the people of Hyrule. I want representatives from the provinces to be able to speak for themselves, rather than necessarily speaking to me. I want—I want fewer papers on my desk, dammit!

“I don’t want to be Queen. I want something different, for myself and for Hyrule.”

She chanced a look into her lover’s eyes. They glowed brighter than the candlelight, and twice as warm.

“I’m so proud of you, Zelda.”

She crumbled.

Her knees gave out at the same time as another sob—this time, of relief—tore from her chest, and Link let out a sharp breath as he caught her against his chest. He stumbled backwards to the bed and sat her down like a child, as tears streamed down her face with such velocity that she couldn’t see, no matter how she wiped at her eyes. Wails echoed against the stone walls of their bedroom, and the slap of shame she felt at her wanton noisiness only made her louder.

She wasn’t sure how long she cried, curled against Link’s increasingly damp torso, wiping tears and mucus on his shirt and her hands and chemise. The only thing to tell time by was the glide of his comforting hand up and down her back, and even that felt random. Still, the flow began to slow, so gradually she only noticed it when she realized her breaths were no longer shuddering out of her chest like windows in a pane.

“Do you think it will be different?” Her voice was a raspy, choked croak. Hardly recognizable.

“Not at first.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she accepted it with only a slight pang of pain. “It will take time for the changes you want to take place. But this day will be over. You won’t need to live this moment again.”

Cool, blue relief. 

Taking control of her body for the first time in what could have been minutes or hours, Zelda scooted back on the mattress to assume her normal place on the left side of the bed. She gently guided Link down beside her. He followed gladly, only pausing in his pursuit to blow out the candle. 

In the dark, his arms found her waist and wrapped around her. Close. Warm. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, thrumming against her own chest, coaxing her own to meet its rhythm. 

“Link?” she whispered, after a few moments in the sanctimonious dark. 

“Mm?”

“Do you…think I’ll be happy again? Someday?”

His embrace tightened, and she sighed lightly and snuggled closer to his warm bulk as his lips found the place where her neck and shoulder joined. 

“Yes, my love. You will be happy.”

[lightsinthedistancee]

Breathless: Din Djarin x Reader

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Words: 2.4k

Excerpt: “You’d kissed him for the first time that night, eyes tightly closed beneath the dim light of the moon, ears mostly deafened by the roar of the ocean.

“You’d come to know him by touch, by feel, by soft lips. He’d been so gentle, so different than what he first appeared to be.

“And then, it was inevitable. The act had become more familiar over time with each passing meeting, an instinct. A softness in the midst of everything else, a simple comfort that seemed to grow and grow into something more.”

“Stay….”

Your voice is like velvet in the darkness—soft and gentle and easy on his senses.

It’s dark. He’d just left the bed, leaving you behind in the sheets.

“Can’t.”

The word is clipped, all-business.

The air lingers with a pervasive melancholy, an inescapable visitor each time he incites that finality, heavy footsteps bound for the door in the early darkness of morning.

You let out a soft sigh, sitting up on your knees and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “I figured.”

He gently removes your hold, and it’s not lost on you when he presses a brief, tender kiss to the inside of your wrist. You rub the spot, a ghost of a smile on your face, as he goes about the room collecting his things—weapons, clothes, armor.

“Where to next?” you ask quietly.

“Manaan,” he responds. “You want anything?”

You shake your head. “But I know you’ll get me something anyway.” You smile at the thought, hidden to his eyes.

He chuckles. It’s a beautiful sound you still can never quite get used to. “You know I will.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

There’s a wooden, hand-carved Utupauan varactyl on your bookshelf. A small, intricately woven Bazaarian tapestry on your wall. A ceramic, Naboolian-made red flower in an empty jar on your dining table.

Little pieces of the galaxy gifted to this obscure apartment, in an obscure city, in an obscure system—gifted to someone who’d never even left the planet.

Where’s it from? The flower was the first thing Din had ever brought you.

Naboo.

You remember the fascination you’d handled the thing with. The thought that it’d hurtled through millions of miles of space, across all that was known to sentience—only to find home with you—is almost reverential.

It is not so much unlike the one who’d gifted it.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

You see the spaceport as a place removed from the inevitable familiarity of things that comes with time.

It’s a place of new beginning, long-awaited endings—churning out new beings for you to see every evening at work, where you pour their drinks, serve their food. The position’s not ideal, but it’s enough. There’s certainly worse options with worse views than endless ships flying off into the horizon, reflections sparkling over the sea.

And of course, the spaceport is what had brought the Mandalorian to you.

It’s rude to stare. It was what he’d said the first time he approached you.

You’d been behind the counter, appraising the metal man just like many others in the room. You must say that to a lot of people, then, if you’re always walking around in that get up.

That had been the extent of your interaction the first time. But he comes again. And again. And so forth. Quips back and forth turn into brief exchanges, then conversations that had slowly revealed more and more—everyone calls him Mando, he’s a bounty hunter, he’s always flying across the galaxy, he loves the water here.

You must admit the last one was a compelling revelation, a curiosity, for after that, the next time you’d seen him was by the sea. You’d been taking a walk, the wind in your hair, waves crashing against the cliffs, jacket pulled tightly around you to guard against the cold. He was in the middle of the sand, legs crossed, staring out. It was almost laughable—the sight of him sitting there in full armor—but at the same time, something about it makes you feel so achingly sad. Him, a lone figure on a gloomy day, eyes out across the increasingly violent waters.

What’re you doing here?

What does it look like I’m doing?

You’d laughed. Come.

He’d faltered in confusion for a moment, but as you’d kept walking, the slightest smile graced your lips as he got up—heavy footstep catching up to you in the sand.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

He comes back from Manaan. Just as he always promises he will.

He’d brought you a sea glass necklace. Green. I wasn’t sure what color, he’d told you. I…I noticed you have a lot of green around your apartment?

I love it.

It now hangs from your neck as your fingers tighten on the sheets, the soft mattress under your knees. The pendant drags along his chest, where he lays beneath you, mouth pressed to yours. You’re practically resting on him, hands digging into his hair.

If you’d quickly learned anything after he’d allowed you near him in this way, it was that he loved to be kissed. You suppose it’s the forbidden quality of it, or the vulnerability. He’d known the pleasures of the body plenty of times in his life, but not the gentleness of a simple kiss.

He shivers slightly as you graze a newfound spot on his neck that’s apparently quite sensitive.

“There?” you whisper. He only lets out a nod and a strangled groan as you seal your lips around the spot.

He chokes out your name, followed by a quiet ‘cyare’—a plead in its purest form.

Your only response is a teasing shush, your lips beginning their path downwards.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

It’s beautiful here, he had told you when he’d finally risen from the sand to walk by your side.

You’d smiled, eyes hesitantly cast to the ground. There are certainly worse places to be.

Are you from here?

Yes. I’ve been here since I was a child. Never even left. There’d been perhaps a distinct hollowness in your voice at the last sentence, something you couldn’t quite hold back.

You’d thought maybe he’d faltered slightly at that, silence teetering back and forth, unsure of who was supposed to break it.

And where are you from, Mando? Where’s your home? The air had shifted from you to him, your intention complete, yet it was arguably not a shift to something better.

Somewhere the complete opposite of this, he’d answered gruffly. But I don’t really go back anymore.

So you spend your whole life on that ship of yours? Just…in space?

He’d nodded.

You’d finally looked over at him, gaze intense on that impenetrable visor, an examination. Doesn’t seem like much of a home to me.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

You stand on the balcony, under moonlight, fingering at the pendant of the necklace still around your neck. The stone is smooth, sharp edges slowly softened by the water that had crashed over and around it for years.

Quiet sounds come from your bedroom, Din getting back on his helmet and some of his clothes.

The night is humid, and you savor the breeze as it blows through your hair, sipping cool water.

You hear him approach, and when he comes up beside you, you lean in closer, arm brushing his, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. It’s skin—not cloth, not armor—but skin.

The both of you say nothing. The silence is a comfortable place.

The street is dark, all the windows shuttered but one. There’s two people inside, distinctly personal belongings around them. The warmth of the lights in their apartment scatters across the street.

“Don’t you think there’s a reason people settle down?” you say quietly, breaking the silence. You stare only at your hands, fingers thoughtfully twisted together. “A reason they find home wherever they are, always—even if they think they don’t want it.”

He shifts beside you at the randomness of the statement, a subtle question of where you’re going with this.

“And of course there are outliers,” you continue. “There always are.”

He says your name, not a warning, but perhaps an objection, and you continue anyway.

“And why are there such outliers, Din?” He sucks in a quiet, sharp breath, barely audible from under his helmet. “Why are you one of them?”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

The subsequent meetings had come spontaneously at first. You had continued to take your walk every day along the ocean. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he wasn’t. Simple as that.

But soon enough, you’d begun to hope that he would be there each day, that you’d see that lone figure in the distance, slowly coming into focus as you grew closer. You’d dismissed the nagging feeling at first, but time inevitably wore that down. You’d completely let into that bright hopefulness eventually.

After all, those meetings had become something special to you—a meaningful, more personal portal to the outside world.

He’d traveled all up and down this galaxy, seen every walk of life imaginable, and of course, in your curiosity, in your longing to leave this ground, you had wanted to know every detail about it.

He’d gladly obliged.

You’d figured he never did much talking, never really saw much of anyone, and therefore, you’d discovered that when you really got the ball rolling, Mando could actually talk quite a lot.

He’d told you all his stories, all his experiences, all the dangers and oddities and beauties he’d seen in the presence of the foreign.

Now, looking back, you’re unsure of how many times you’d seen him, how long you’d spent with him. It was a pleasantly messy blur of so many thoughts and ideas and imaginations filling your head. The pleasant feelings were at first about the stories he told you. Later on, they were about him.

He’d told you of all the good he’d done, somewhat played down. But unable to be fabricated nor hidden was the compassion, the sincerity, the thoughtfulness he spoke with, of all the wonderful, kind people he’d met amongst the mess of everything else.

His kindness had swept you in, holding onto you tight, and you’d gone willingly, gravitating towards him with a dangerous certainty.

It’s beautiful here. You’d sat close to him the particular meeting he said that, in the sand, the lick of the waves just meters away.

You hummed in agreement. You’ve only mentioned that once or twice, you teased, digging your fingers into the ground, feeling the rough grains against them.

He chuckled in response. It’s true. I can’t think of another planet in the galaxy as beautiful as this one.

There’s water everywhere in the galaxy, Mando.

Not like this, he’d quickly replied, voice nearly…softer. Gentler. Not so vast. Not so powerful.

You’d moved closer to him at that, just barely brushing his beskar. His breath had quickened ever so slightly, and when you’d felt his fingers brush your arm, you immediately pulled back, afraid you’d read something wrong.

But instead, you’d watched as he’d quickly removed his vambrace, his pauldron—giving you a space less harsh to rest upon. Upon completion, he’d looked at you, as if waiting, a silent ‘come back.’

And you’d done just that.

I’m leaving tomorrow.

You’d swallowed, pushing down the sadness at the revelation, the fear for him. When’re you coming back?

Not sure.

You’d said nothing at that, just resting your head on his shoulder. It’d been eerily silent, just as it was every night when the city went to sleep. The sound of the ocean dominated, churning, crashing, beating against the cliffs with a violent foam lashing out in response.

Mando?

Yeah?

This might be a odd question…but does it ever scare you? How…risky…what you do is?

He’d paused, seemingly giving it serious thought, helmet tilted up, maybe looking at the stars. I suppose it scares me sometimes. But you get used to it.

You’d let out a quiet breath at that, eyes unashamedly on him, hoping you could see inside him and unpack every mystery he held. It was sad…what he’d said. You’d been unable to think of a more eloquent way to put it, a less painful way to put it. Perhaps there were none, for that rawness and pain was the reality of it.

I always figured I wouldn’t die painlessly, he’d said softly, helmet tilted downwards, tracing mindless circles in the sand. Though I always hoped I’d spend my last moments somewhere beautiful. At least that.

You’d faltered, simply staring, something unreadable in your eyes. He’d been emitting that energy again—that conviction—tinged by a sadness you yearned to sweep away.

Your hand had come up to caress the side of his helmet. He was shivering.

Mando, you’d whispered.

Din.

You’d kissed him for the first time that night, eyes tightly closed beneath the dim light of the moon, ears mostly deafened by the roar of the ocean.

You’d come to know him by touch, by feel, by soft lips. He’d been so gentle, so different than what he first appeared to be.

And then, it was inevitable. The act had become more familiar over time with each passing meeting, an instinct. A softness in the midst of everything else, a simple comfort that seemed to grow and grow into something more. It’d been one that blossomed—till you murmured a few words to him one day, your apartment in mind.

Come with me.  

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

You let out a quiet breath, woken gently by a soft pressure. The room is pitch black—a product of the blackout curtains you’d gotten just for him, so he can sleep in peace, safe from the light of the world outside that may expose him.

You savor the feel of his fingertips tenderly tracing along your side—up and down, up and down, unceasing and rhythmic.

The clock tells you it’s just past five, the sounds of morning not yet woken.

“I need to leave,” he says quietly, words seemingly too loud in the silence. It feels as if he’s just returned from Manaan, feels as if you’ve barely gotten to be with him before he has to be off again. His voice is still rough with sleep, and the way he lies relaxed despite his intentions tells you he’s still tired.

You just want him to rest. It seems he so rarely does.

There’s a protest on your lips, but you know it’s no use; he’s got a job to do. You fumble for his hand, lacing his fingers with yours, asking the usual question instead. It’s tinged with a familiar hopefulness, one that’s never fulfilled: “When are you coming back?”

“Not sure.” The usual answer.

You pull yourself up with some effort, propping yourself up on your elbows. His rough stubble is like gentle pinpricks against your previously dormant nerves as you rest your hand on the side of his face. Even if he can’t see you, you know he’s looking at you.

“I’ll be back,” he adds. “You know I will.”

You hum in thought, ultimately dipping down to press a kiss to his lips. “Promise?” you ask softly. It elicits a quiet chuckle from him.

“I promise, sweet girl.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Taglist: @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl @princessxkenobi @djjarins @jitterbugs927 @whovianayesha @iamskyereads @dessinemoiunehistoire @damerondala @laura-naruto-fan1998 @something-tofightfor @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mandosmistress

A/N: so…I’m back obviously! I have definitely not been on here as much as I want to be - life’s been a little crazy the past several months. But I’m trying to get back into writing because I do miss it. I hoped you guys enjoyed my little re-entrance into writing!

If you’d like to be tagged on any future works, let me know or do this form that can also be found on my masterlist with all my other works! Also don’t hesitate to ask to be removed from the taglist if you’d like.

[azertyrobaz]

Dank Farrik Drabble #46

I can’t believe it’s been so long, I’m so sorry! I promise to write more in the future, if only to keep me busy until the start of Mando S3 and stop me from stressing out too much. I hope Din & Grogu will have the chance to do fun things together but I somehow doubt it, so I guess I’ll keep writing those domestic scenes... Please enjoy Mug/Keen, and here are the rules in case you want to participate.

************

“Starcaf!” Grogu exclaimed as they were slowly making their way back to the ship, pointing a tiny hand towards the brightly lit store. Din had hoped he wouldn’t see it, but they were hard to miss, and the child had always been extra captivated by the color green.

“You wanna go now?” Din sighed, as it was bound to delay them – again. But the boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright,” he eventually agreed – a shot of caf wouln’t hurt. “You know they might not have them,” he reminded him as they entered the store, in the hope that it would prevent a tantrum should it prove to be true – it sadly wouldn’t be the first time. But he exhaled in relief when he spotted the colorful tiny mugs near the register.

It was a good thing their new ship had room to spare, because Grogu’s obsession with Starcaf cups was getting concerning. The cafhouse chain had stores all over the galaxy, and although he could find cheaper, better caf in some places, they had the advantage of being open at all times and provide a decent enough brew.

And as his son had also discovered, they sold small ceramic mugs depicting the specific city or planet of most of their locations, the bright graphics catching his eye every time. It was a nice enough way to keep track of the places they visited, he supposed, even if they were not all equally memorable. The cups were only big enough for a shot of caf, but they were just the right size for the kid to drink his soup or his milk.

Din grabbed a new cup with a roll of his eyes and ordered a caf to go, Grogu already bouncing happily in his arms.

Maybe he shouldn’t have encouraged this in the first place. But then those mugs did have a purpose. He just never thought they’d need more than two or three. And now they owned a grand total of –

“Thirty-five!” the child uttered as they made their way out. The boy counted them. Often. With the use of his six fingers it always took a while, and yet Din felt pride every time at the boy’s simple but essential achievement.

[thelegendofefscot]

/:\ I /:\

. ' . . ' .

' . ' ' . '

. ' ' . ' ' .

Es ist gefährlich, alleine zu gehen! Ich werde dich mitnehmen! - AGRIPPA

-.- ( o ) -.-

Eyes awake. Before dawn, you were the only light.

In the pitch, your hand crept along the soft-shaved edges of the wood as a caterpillar clinging to a branch.

As though by the probing of some unseen, but always sifting feeler, you let yourself be guided to the matchbook and flint. Ricochets off your roundabout wrists as the serrated edges fly through the abyss in an invisible arc iotas before your eyes. Caught in the slits of well-oiled hinges. Fanning and descending. Ascending and catching.

A rush of air swift as the cry of a slain spirit, the phosphorous roars to life. From the din of the spark, all whispers leave your ears, some shimmer of the linen, some sheer of the weave, distinguishes itself from the brickwork of the wall, and all the world is lines and edges, as you -- cradling flame in hand, by the shield of your young and calloused paw -- guide the light to the candlewick, to see it smolder and part the dark.

Rising to the edge of the bed, your head falls forward, and in your guts some corrosion anchors and boils, some dross in the crucible dissipates, the nausea rising, and in a daze you silently watch the flame revolve through a carousel of hexagonal lenses, stupefied by some omen of disturbed sleep, still half-clinging to memory, some guilt of the previous day -- dimming your vision, yet not crystallizing into sight.

You were up. You were down. The stones cold against your palms. You kissed them. Pore smooth to pert of lip til, by the flickering light, you could see them beaded with the splattering of your sweat, feel some waters running down the ridges of your obliques, hand-irrigated to the iron-cut marble-sculpted civic sewers of your abdominal ridges.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

You held the pattern. Held the tension. Until the ache of your chest, the pressure on your back -- the burning lead in your arms -- outpaced the morass of what still clung to your sleep-addled brain. Your sight was sharp. Protracted. Magnifying every grain of the porous stone.

Now you stood. By your own light, you knew this darkness.

Your room as you'd left it. A desk to dedicate yourself to what studies you were able. Your tablet. Your lead. A reed and drum to practice rhythm and percussion. Anvil and plates for variation in stance and pressure.

Uncluttered chambers gave way to an uncluttered procession of thought, freeing one of distraction before sleep, shine and task.

You let yourself linger -- on the hand-illustrated portrait on a sheet of goat-skin which was your latest. Though perforated by increasingly pin-point exposure to high-velocity arrowheads, you could still admire the finer details of vein, anatomy and perspective which gave this muddy and frenzied abstraction some semblance of daemonic reptiloid form, which cemented it -- at certain half-glances -- as startlingly real.

The door was to your left. You went through.

In the halls, the smell of the seas swept through the open archways, the columns still framing what shone of the descent of the moon, the smells of salt and storm rising from the battering surf, bathing the portico in dissimilar silver which was as muted as the steam which rose from your body as you marched, loined in your undergarments, still tarred with the grime of sweat and sleep, into the song of the rolling sea.

Plunging down. A vastness so dense, a murk so thick, though you could peer miles ahead, you could not penetrate by sight one hand before your eyes, though leagues below there were no floors -- only drops and steps, a maw of trenches into which one would fall only through what folly they willed, and yet tempted themselves seemingly always so willingly.

Pulling up. The grey so dense, all light snapped and banded. A shield which was the bow of a ship, ceramic in the lattice of seafoam, held howling waters in invisible skins, stiff and glossy as the fold of an always-crying eye, from which crystal spires sliced the scintillated pulp.

You would trudge. Trudge forward until the feeling relented.

Though your arms hung heavy and your back unracked itself, your legs propelled forward by the frenzy of unstationed liberty, and in your heart and in your head, you could not dispel some deeper certainty pertaining to what you had dreamt -- some notion sliding over awareness sleek and deceitful as a tasseled curtain skimming tiled floors upon retreat, beckoning always hidden chambers in which you longed to lie awake.

When you were dreaming -- it was already tomorrow.

At his desk, he sat with his back to the window. At his vanity, you peered into the mirror, seeing past him, and looking out the window.

Looking through the window, back at him. Back at yourself in the vanity.

He had removed the stopper from the vial of ink. An albatross dived into the flowing obsidian. Beaches arose from around the rim.

The room seemed temporarily bereft of doors.

Only upon noticing the lack of doors, and the lack of certainty you felt with regard to the windows, did it occur to you to question if you had known this room at all, for it had no immediate analogue in memory, and yet you experienced it with a familiarity so placid you would never think to question it, but for your now inability to place any of the specific details of the architecture into a viable chronology of sequential experience.

In the black well, his quill was stirring.

You were certain you could trust in your own certainty, certainly.

A man who was not capable of acting with certainty by exercising his own judgement could be driven mad in the attempt to humor all-manner of obscene fringe possibilities and non-probabilities, and yet certainty was often a symptom of diligent experiential procedure, and if a man could not trace his circumstances or his whereabouts, and so account to himself as to how he'd gotten in the position he's in -- and why -- it's not likely he would be as capable of acting with the certainty he needs to permit himself the bold action necessary to complete the task at hand.

Certainty reveals itself in practice, with keen observance and certain considerations. Watch and permit yourself. You will attain union with the sensible through surrender to the sensory, when all is censured in you.

From his desk, he could see into his vanity. Were the back of your head not there, he could peer into his own face, miniaturized by the distance.

Had you turned his desk to the window, you could see the back of his head. He could stare out, at his own face, so close behind the glass.

Had you turned his vanity from the mirror, you could be facing him. Eye to eye. A flurry of silent tongues. A flutter as he dropped his pen.

He would look up from his notes. He would smile.

On your knees, you would be already at his feet. He would forget. His hand would brush his face. He would think himself arbitrary in the abuses of his station, enfeebling himself by acceptance of your voluntary surrender, and yet sultry and half-resigned to stagnation.

He would be slow to contradict himself.

He would be on his knees near-simultaneous with you. His hand would brush yours as you seized his pen.

Down here. In the shelter of the hardwood, the heat of the air hangs heavy with veils of dust, kicked up by the pressures of your breath and his. The current quickened to a stream. His smile echoed yours and yours too his, losing sight of him as your eyes sire freshwater springs. You fail to look away as you can only dare , with the hand he did not pin, which did not cradle what was rightfully his -- with your free hand, throwing the weight of your arm around his broad and brotherly shoulders, feeling the mutual collision of your cheek and collarbones; for you longed most to affirm your kinship, so taken by the passion it propelled you out of time, out of space, that you arose prematurely to bash your skull against the stiff and impenetrable underside of your new and hard-won covenant.

A vessel spun, leaping of its own volition to shatter to the floor, cresting out a wave of emblems, hues of molten ore all his likeness.

Warm exhalations of laughter. A morning breeze billowed from his nostrils. Soft percussion flattened the air from his lungs.

The tears were running down your cheeks. You could see clearly soon.

He saw you well-enough. His hand clasping yours.

"For you have been with me so long, and have come to treat me so well, I would forsake any obligation to the contrary. For though it may be, at this juncture, too much for me to endure, I can make no claim of you, for you are not me, though a gift to me and this land. You remain, in spite of my uncertainties, a man of rare moral courage, and virtues the like of which I had not henceforth found perceptible. Do me this honor, for you could do me none greater. For though it aches, and though it is leaden, I wish to let it lay here now upon your brow... That I may see it ablaze upon you?"

On the beach, veils of steam poured off your arms. Veins puckering as worms fresh from the morning soil, taut as lute strings in the skin.

Beneath the soles of your feet, rock crystal studded palm clusters in the warm sand. The land glowed, by the torrent of the storm which would herald the dawn. The moonscape of cinnabar and sulfur, torches in conical welt, a banner of seaweeds braided and battered.

Howling roared around you.

An eye saw little and all. The air parted and danced, cleaving itself into embers. Cloister-bursts and toad caps of billowing fire.

It was becoming clear.

You were with him -- some moments later -- in the hall.

You were looking for the doors. It wasn't that you wanted to run. You needed to be certain -- you could escort him out of any situation, be it strange or stranglehold. You needed to be certain this place you recognized was the place you were acting as though it were.

What you saw in front of you -- could be nowhere else.

The high windows shone in pale luminosity where all was more silver than light. More pastel than rustoxide, castiron and chrome.

Around them the walls were as a gradient, casting rays of vantage point onto themselves, emblazoning the deep singularity of every voided surface with an openness beckoning the impossibility of entry.

You would remain at his side. Though the walls were worlds within themselves, and the procession down the aisle a fog of faces which were only mouths, only limbs, some vestigial mass of pelt and pink meat more air coagulated from corrupted waters than living wills alive with love and fascination, the daring to dream and to deem. These tendril-masses of antennae, tooth and tine lay fit to constrict, to consume, to putrefy and puree, tear the fat fruit dangling overripe from these well-hung branches hanging so low, they let themselves forget only to spare themselves the anguish of confronting what futility was their own.

You would remain at his side.

You wouldn't be afraid. What reason would you have?

It was your will, to fight on. To fight on, even when he was gone.

Every step.

Every step you walked would hurt.

Words such as hurt, such as fear, as shame -- these registered nothing in the mind, only in the guts. There, on the nausea, you floated in the seas. Eyes peering up into the night, blacker than black waters, something in the ice, sweet and cloying as berries and barbitters. Your eyes were open. You moved. You were not pushed, for you were the pusher.

Endurance begot euphoria, and exhaustion was an unknown to you -- too distant a land to be staked in this life, or the lives of our sons.

You were not falling.

For you had carried him up the steps, and saw him above the neck, could still feel his clavicle warm and exposed to the sun. All around the airy chamber hummed, and the arches of the hall were open to the air, and the vault of the heavens descended by fire to columns of strut.

It was time. It belonged to you.

You bowed your head, and you bowed to him.

As your hand brushed his bone, basking so nakedly in your rightful humility, the quire lilted and clanged, some thunderhead of sound -- and in simultaneous trumpeting, you felt yourself rise higher, rise above him, out of the tabernacle of his seat, its columned panels, rising above the murals, past the carvings of the rosewood, down the steps of the pleated roots, the forking trunk which rose to spiraling tusks.

Upon his seat, he was sat and waiting.

Upon his seat he rose, and all the heavens billowed away as formulae from a blackboard, for a veil of dust had come between you, and before you the coils of the serpent faces hissed and snapped, and behind them he was standing, for you saw -- across the hall, he presented his head.

In hand, in yours, the light haloing out -- you could not believe, the actuality of the evident reality before you. The weight of the stars. The tones of metal above your palms. How they burnt, but did not scald, charred, but did not consume or corrugate the flesh.

Their eyes were on you. The eyes of the all in one.

His kingdom was there. His kingdom had come. You were the doer, now doing, and were not done. You were not falling. No matter how much you fell, or did not, you never seemed to reach him, though he was never getting farther, and yet must have been impossibly far.

What was that, some shade sulking the mid-distance? Some silhouette of an arm, airy and white, which seemed to rise lilting from the shadows? A smile hairline, beyond the cloak of your eye's own lenses?

Onto his, the vault of his crown. Every hair laureling out. The straw spun gold, ravished by wind and wheat to sun. From out a nest, it stared. An opalescence which swallowed the light as it polished its eggwhites.

You could not look away. Into it, whispers crystallized into cubical barbs.

Out of your hand -- you felt nothing.

In the vacuum, you were suspended without orbit or momentum. Before you had felt anything, you'd realized... you were holding on to nothing.

\ : / o ( ) o \ : /

The bottom of the drain. All flowing into.

A pearl around the rime. A spire of quartz.

Drifting grooves. Round the winding city walls.

( )

[logarhythm-bees]

To Unearth and Back Again; ⛅Chapter 9

Chapter Eight | Table of Contents | Chapter Ten

A very merry unbirthday to you! Who, me? Yes, you! Oh, me! Let's all congratulate us With another cup of tea A very merry unbirthday to me!

-The Unbirthday Song, Alice in Wonderland

See ronithesnail's absolutely wonderful art for this story!

Janus groaned, lifting his head up. Ugh, he had a headache. What happened? He was definitely sitting up, and he didn’t usually sleep sitting up unless he was extremely tired, which was entirely possible considering he didn’t remember falling asleep, but he didn’t feel particularly rested despite his evidently deep sleep, which was rare.

He realized also that he felt rather cold, which was definitely out of the ordinary, because any time he fell so deeply into slumber it was because he was being held by one or both of his partners, and he didn’t feel any sort of warmth around him- not even the residual warmth of someone who had gotten up for coffee or to go to the bathroom.

Scrunching his face up, Janus blinked his eyes open to a dark room, faintly lit by the small scratch of sunlight that was making it through the blackout curtains. All he could see in the din was a plastic table in front of him and his own arms on the chair’s armrests, which he noted, resignedly, had been tied to the chair with cooked spaghetti. 

To anyone else, this would have been an insane hostage situation. To Janus, this was just one of the many unfortunate side effects of sharing a mindscape with Remus.

“It’s rather dark in here, if you wouldn’t mind opening the window,” Janus called, because he did enjoy being able to see.

In the quiet, a sharp blast of confetti took him off guard, leaning back and blinking rapidly in his chair. The curtains shot open, overviewing a rather beautiful landscape, especially considering Remus’s standards. The side himself stood on a chair across the room, wearing a party hat and doing jazz hands in front of a banner that seemed to have once read ‘Congratulations, It’s a Boy!’ but now said the words ‘Congratulations, It’s A Kidnapping!’

“Surprise!” Remus grinned, jumping off of the chair and blowing a party horn at Janus. “Did it work? Did I surprise you?”

“Everything you do manages to surprise me, Remus,” Janus said sarcastically, lifting his arms experimentally. The spaghetti came off unceremoniously, splitting into pieces of limp noodle as Janus shook them off of his hands and sleeves. He rubbed at his wrists, more for drama than anything else, as one cannot be restrained to a chair particularly tightly when said restraints are made of boiled strands of wet flour dough. “Any particular reason for kidnapping me this time, or am I just here for the fun of it?”

“Oh!” Remus exclaimed, beaming at him semi-maniacally. “Yes! I’ll be right back!”

Janus watched as Remus darted out of the room, which he now saw was made of marble brick, polished into a clean, round space. The door and window were bracketed with wood, almost medieval, and Janus realized that they must have been in a castle. Another glance out the window confirmed his suspicions, and judging by the view, they were in a rather high tower.

The twins had always liked those stories of prisoners held in high castle turrets, he thought distantly. Rarely for the same reasons, but the same fairytales nonetheless. 

His train of thought was interrupted by a clatter of plastic and ceramic as Remus rushed back into the room with a plate holding a teapot and various cups stacked on top of saucers. He placed it almost gingerly on top of the table and set a mug in front of Janus, pouring the tea in before Janus managed to even speak. 

“I- ah.” Janus exclaimed. “Tea party?”

“Tea party!” Remus confirmed extremely enthusiastically, setting the rest of the saucers and mismatched cups around the table, which Janus realized was encircled by various inanimate objects sitting on chairs. Remus quickly placed and poured a cup of tea for each, before slowing to a stop and carefully picking up the one matching ceramic teacup and saucer and setting it before a bucket with googly eyes glued to it. 

“Your tea, Your Highness,” Remus said, tilting the teapot’s contents elegantly into the cup, which shocked Janus the most out of the whole scene. Before this moment, he hadn’t known Remus was even capable of being elegant.

“Hey, how come the bucket gets the matching set?” Janus asked, trying to get past the bafflement of seeing Remus doing something gracefully.

Remus gasped in offense, drawing his hands to his chest. “How dare you! That is the queen you’re talking about here, and you are a mere peasant in her realm! Of course she gets the matching set over you!” Remus huffed indignantly, leveling Janus with a stare that implied what he’d just said made any sense whatsoever.

“Right.” Janus said. He was still utterly astonished by whatever was happening here, but he could deal with the astonishment of Remus naming a bucket the rightful queen of his land more than he could deal with Remus showing genuine elegance, so he let it be. 

Remus huffed in affirmational agreement, pulling his own chair up to the party and across the table from Janus. He picked up his own plastic neon green cup of tea and took a sip, smacking his lips dramatically and making an exaggerated “Aah~” noise.

Janus lifted his own ‘Don’t talk to me until I’ve eaten this mug’ cup cautiously, sniffing at the liquid inside. He flicked his tongue out, snake side showing through his senses. It didn’t smell weird– it just smelled like normal green tea, in fact– but that didn’t mean anything when it came around to Remus. He squinted at Remus suspiciously, gesturing towards the tea, and Remus rolled his eyes, drinking the rest of his tea down with a grotesque slurping noise. 

“It’s normal tea,” Remus said. “How am I supposed to get you to stay and chat if I serve you anything else?”

That gave Janus pause. “You want to…chat?”

Remus rolled his eyes again, even more exaggerated than the first time. “Well duh. What else are tea parties for?”

Janus blinked at him, thinking. “I…suppose you’re right.”

Janus leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink. He hummed as warm green tea flooded his tongue, considering the flavor of the leaves. Considering what else it could have been, it wasn’t half bad. It was rather good, actually.

“I think you should introduce me to your friends,” Janus said, gesturing around the table.

Remus beamed. 

[mikauzoran]

Art Update

Hi, guys! I haven’t blogged about my art journey all month, so I wanted to give you guys an update. I feel like I’ve sort of been in a funk, but, at the same time, I’ve gotten better? Anyway. Here are some highlights from the past month. (Confession: I’m only showing you the ones I’m happy with. I’ve actually made a lot of art that was rubbish too. XD Oh well. All part of the process, right?)

Above is a watercolor landscape that I did along with an instruction video series. I’m happy with the puffy cloud in the center. I also like the colors of the grass in the foreground and the mountains in the distance. In the video, the instructor said they were supposed to be a line of trees, but mine are mountains because I said so. I think mountains look better at the end of a vast grassland.

I also started doing acrylic. I think I’m kind of getting the hang of watercolor, but acrylic makes more sense in my head with putting the darker colors down first and adding the lights and highlights on top of that, so I’m giving it a try.

I have a video series for acrylic painting too, so in one of the lectures we painted an egg in black and white. For my first acrylic painting and not knowing what the heck I was doing, I think this turned out really well. I really like the shadows.

I’ve also been doing a lot of drawing. Below are two pumpkins. They make me happy. The real ones are sitting on our dinning room table now looking all festive for the autumn season.

So, the below was actually a picture in a book I got from the library on drawing techniques. It’s three different ceramic kitchen jars and a coffee mug. It was featured in the lesson on hatching and crosshatching. I thought it looked cool, so I tried drawing it. It turned out really well! The image in the book is probably copyrighted, so I can’t show you a reference photo. You’ll just have to take my word for it that I did a good job with my reproduction.

It’s funny. It doesn’t look like I drew it. I feel like it’s too early for me to have a distinctive “style”, but when I look at the below, it’s obvious that this image didn’t come out of my head. So I must have some sort of basic, cohesive elements that characterize my work. I have no clue what those could possibly be. XD 

So, I’ve heard about this thing called “gesture drawing”, but I’ve never learned how one goes about doing it. ^.^; Below is a quick “gesture drawing” I did of my daughter Eiko as she was lying out in the yard. (Yes, she does lie with her leg sticking out in back like that. She also only eats lying down. She’s a strange, beautiful creature, and I love her.)

I tried to do one of my son Noiz too, but he didn’t stay still long enough for me to complete anything. XD

Lastly, here is the final project I did for my drawing class that just wrapped up. It’s my ocarina (dark blue), a tea mug (a slightly darker shade of blue), and a blue and white porcelain bowl containing three clementines. The colors are really pretty together. It doesn’t come across in my greyscale drawing, but know that I thought about the colors when making the composition.

The drawing turned out pretty okay. It’s a lot bigger than I usually work, so the size was a challenge. Looking at it after the fact, there are a lot of little things that I would finesse some more, but I kind of just worked on it for a few hours, got tired, and said, “Good enough. I’m going to bed now”.

There are things that I’m really happy with about this too. The mouthpiece of the ocarina looks really good in person. I also like the way the top of the tea mug turned out as well as the handle. The reflection of the bowl of clementines in the mug also looks pretty good. I think the right-most clementine turned out well. I had a little trouble with shading. It’s so hard for me to shade light, but I think the right-most clementine turned out well.

At the moment, I’m actually taking a portrait painting class. XD I’m super new to acrylic AND portraits, so I’m way out of my depth, but the instructor is very nice and supportive. (She’s the same one who did my drawing class.) All of the other students are way more advanced than I am, but that’s okay. We’ve only had one class, and I’ve already learned a lot. Maybe I’ll share my portrait with you guys at the end of the class. If it’s not too embarrassing. XD

Thanks for reading! <3

[thebeautyofdangerousassociation]

Cannon Hall-The History behind Spencers Library.

Creating a House of significance.

Back in the 13th century, Gilbert Canun was the first recorded inhabitance of a property on site, this is thought to be the origin of the name. Ownership then passed to the Bosville family of ardsley, and onto different families until John Spencer bought the estate in 1660, marking the start of almost 300 years of the Spencer family expanding and improving the hall and grounds, founded by great wealth made in the local iron industry, now an impressive and elegant building.

From the family home to public museum.

Elisabeth Fraser Spencer Stanhope, the last of the family line, sold the hall to Barnsley corporation in 1951 and made into a museum, which opened in 1957. From the 1950’s to the present day, a remarkable mix of paintings, drawings, ceramics, glass, metalwork and furniture has been brought together for the public’s enjoyment. The rooms at the museum include both historic room settings and gallery displays of art works spanning the centuries.

Gentlemen, Activists and Artists.

The museum provides extensive historic archive of the family including letters, diaries and photographs this provides a glimpse of the personalities and lifestyles of the different family members and is also a great record of how the estate was run and the family’s role in Barnsley-Yorkshire and Britain. John Spencer, who loved all things books, sport and fine dinning, added two ground floor wings to the building in the 18th century, creating the library and dining room. He and his wife added further rooms to the upper floors for their growing family. Later member of the members of the members were all renowned artists of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In the 19th century the final additions were made to the house, including ballrooms, kitchens and servant quarters.

[the-traveling-poet]

Soft Touch

Just another average day in the Scouts, or so you thought. When messes are created, you try your best to clean them before your Captain sees and loses his shit. Again. Little did you know, a broken plate in the mess hall would bring you and Levi closer together.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader (using Y/N-L/N)

Warnings: None, just slow burn fluff for our lonely Cap’n. Mild language use.

A/N: SWF. First writing post, not sure how this will go over but we’re giving it a shot nonetheless (:

Great, something else to piss him off further.

Despite the soft glow of midday sunlight filtering in through the windows of HQ lighting up the halls with soothing golden light, and the clear blue skies outside base that promised yet another warm and relaxing beautiful summer day for those in the Survey Corps to enjoy, you were worried.

Everyone had woken up that morning to an average day in the Corps. Everything was as it had always been, and always should be.

Early morning training, a quick breakfast, running errands for the higher ups, sparring practice before lunch time rolled around....Everything was peaceful since no expeditions outside the walls had been planned anytime soon, and everyone adorned a smile on their face and let lose a laugh or two.

But only when he wasn't around.

And that's what had gotten you into this current situation.

You stood before a mess on the dining hall's floor. Plates, bowls, and a couple mugs had been hazardously tossed off a table after lunch and onto the stone floor below, shattering them and scattering food everywhere. You sighed, then nealt down to begin clearing the shards of ceramics before wiping and mopping away the food stains.

Please don't come in here....Please don't come in here....

Ever since their early morning training, everyone had taken note of Captain Levi's foul mood. It seems he had woken up on the wrong side of his bed and was taking it out on the world. Curses would fly, extra work loads would be handed out as punishments for those who had slacked off to enjoy the weather or joke with their peers, and many scoffs and defeated sighs were heard leaving his mouth as he took over the sparring courses for the day.

Everyone knew on days like this, it was best to just do as he said quickly and without question or complaint, less you risk making the situation worse.

You wondered what it was this time, that had gotten him so worked up. The last you’d seen of him was at the beginning of lunch in the dinning hall. Instead of taking a seat and eating a meal with his co-captains, he stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a fresh mug of tea, and stomped back out. Most likely, you assumed, to return to his office.

Perhaps I should go check on him? Is that appropriate of a cadet?

You had cleared the ceramic shards and placed them in a small bin you retrieved from the kitchens, and set to work on the leftover scraps that now littered the table's bench and the floor below.

Just then, the large wooden doors leading into the dining hall opened, and you stiffened. The footsteps at the door paused for a second, then a tired sigh echoed the otherwise empty room from the person who entered. Immediately, you were on your feet and spun to face them, trying your best to hide the disaster behind your frame.

Captain Levi stood at the door, one hand on the brass handle he still held while the other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His sharp eyes snapped up to your face and narrowed. You were quick to salute him.

"Captain! Can I help you?"

He took a moment to answer, his eyes wandering over the mess you were so poorly hiding with your body.

"Was this you?"

You winced and turned your eyes back to the food on the floor, feeling guilty despite this mess not being your fault.

"No, sir. But I'm taking care of it as quickly and efficiently as I can, sir."

Levi seemed to ponder a moment before signing once more. He rolled up his sleeves as he made his way over to you, eyes trained on the mess.

"Go fetch some gloves from the storage room. You'll either cut yourself on those shards, or dirty your hands in that shit." He said absentmindedly.

Now that he was closer to you, you could clearly make out the dark circles forming under his eyes, and red veins webbing across the sclera of his eyes. His hair wasn't neatly combed as it always seemed to be, and his clothes were slightly wrinkled.

He didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed; he never went to bed...

"Yes, sir," You saluted and hurried out of the room. Once you returned as quickly as you could, Levi was already near the table with another scrap bucket and white cloths covering his head to protect his hair, and over the lower section of his face to shield his nose and mouth. Shaking your head at the undeniably adorable sight, you briskly walked over to him and handed him his gloves.

"Thanks, L/N," he mumbled as he slipped them on.

"Of course, Captain," you nodded.

Suddenly, he sighed deeply once more.

"Captain this, Captain that. It's all I've heard for three straight days. Just Levi, please," he groaned.

You paused as you reached for some bread crusts to throw into the bin. You was at a loss for words and just stared blankly at him.

"Don't make me repeat myself brat, I hate repeating myself."

"Uh, yes sir! Levi, sir." You managed to stutter out a responce.

"Now, let's get this shit cleaned up before another brat decides to come in here and trip over this or make it worse." Levi grumbled as he tossed scraps into the scrap bin.

You hummed in agreement, too lost in your own thoughts to respond.

He seems a bit more approachable right now...Perhaps now would be a good time to offer him some help?

"Cap- Levi, sir?" You began slowly.

"What." He barely spared you his attention, but you could see he was listening.

"Well...I wondered if you were alright?"

His eyes snapped up to yours in an instant, a slight indent in his brow.

"What do you mean, L/N?"

"I just mean that, you seem on edge today? And I wondered if there was something wrong." You rephrased yourself quickly, fearing his reaction.

Levi thought for a moment, studying your face intently. "I'm fine, Y/N. Get back to cleaning."

Just as Levi's hand reached for a half eaten bagel on the floor, you blurted out; "You haven't slept for awhile, have you?"

The look on his face made you immediately regret you boldness.

But instead of saying anything, he just sighed and turned his gaze away.

"Can't seem to. Too much work, too many troubling thoughts."

He went to lower his facial cloth, but forgot his gloved hand had recently been picking through discarded food scraps on the floor. A dark stain was left on his cheek from where the glove had made contact with his face.

"Son of a bitch!" He ripped the cloth off his face and the glove off his hand as he let curses fly. It seems he had finally reached his limits, and his frustrations were now being taken out verbally to the food on the floor, as if it was the cause of all his pains and misfortunes. If he wasn't so down, and you didn't care for him so much, you might have laughed. But instead, you thought of something else.

Impulsively, you took your own gloves off and grabbed a handkerchief from your uniform coat pocket and reached out to wipe the stain away.

When your hand came into contact with his face, Levi flinched, and then stiffened. His mouth hung half open in surprise and his eyes widened almost comically. Taking this opportunity of silence from him, you gently wiped away the gunk before discarding the handkerchief into the scrap bin.

For a moment though, you let your now bare hand trail across his cheek and was amused to see the rising color in his face.

"Levi?" you asked softly.

"Uh-I...What?" Levi stammered, trying to compose himself. He was obviously caught off guard.

"Let me help, okay? You're not completely alone here in HQ." You smiled bashfully.

Levi was silent a moment longer, then nodded with yet another tired sigh. But this time, you could have sworn it sounded more like a quiet sigh of relief.

"I....I'd like that, Y/N. Thank you."

And for the first time, you saw Levi crack a small, brief smile of gratitude. The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly, but his eyes showed the emotion behind his minute smile.

Perhaps you’d get to see his smiles more often now that he was allowing himself to warm up to his cadet a little more.

[elipotmysterygifts]

EliPOT.com, EliPOT decorative ceramics, Kitchen ceramics, dinning room ceramics, serving ceramics, Ceramic Bowls and Plates, Ceramic Accessories, Vintage and Gold Plated Jewelry, Vintage style bracelets and Brooches, Vintage style Rings and Earrings, Gold Plated Necklace, Turkish Style Jewelry Sets, Unique Gift Idea, Buy the best Gift.

[yourcoffeeguru]

Coffee sign Coffee table Dining room decor Ceramic // HomemadeCraftIdeas

[phrynewrites]

"You're bleeding." "No shit."

for blind date au

This one was such fun to write! I hope we're all in the mood for a little protectivesco because that's what we're getting! This is set during the blind dating, while Bosco's visiting Jasmine at her work.

I hope you enjoy! And I have more around this scene and concept if anyone wants to pop in and chat!

It was quiet in the diner until it wasn���t. 

At first, all that punctured the silence was Jasmine refilling coffee mugs for guests lining the counter, two construction workers who clinked their spoons around the mugs as they stirred in packets of sugar and little cup-fuls of creamer. 

And then it was only the din of the only full table in the diner. A group of teenagers in stage makeup and sweats piled into the corner booth, picking at a couple plates of fries and exchanging milkshakes for dipping, who reminisced about the play they’d just starred in earlier that night. 

And then it was only Jasmine, retying her striped apron before settling her elbows on the counter, hands holding the weight of her drooping head, fingers woven into that frazzled, pale gold braid of hers. She sighed, hot breath close enough to tickle Bosco’s neck, enough to snap them out of sketching an outline for the next advert they were shooting, before muttering, “Forty-five more minutes. And then I can go the fuck to bed.”

“You want me to entertain you until then?” Bosco quipped, their stylus tapping against the chrome rimmed counter. “I’ll try to do it, but I’m ready to sleep too.” 

Jasmine pushed her glasses back up her nose with her manicured pinky. “I told you not to come. It was going to be a super boring night.” 

And then it was the internal racket of Bosco’s thoughts, bounding from one side of their brain to the other. Justifying their presence with keeping Jasmine entertained through a double ship. Through the need to walk her home, especially as it was nearing 2 a.m. They bounded up against other facts, like Jasmine’s quiet smile and feathered lip gloss, the way her arms looked as carried a tray across the diner, her jokes about the truckers that loitered around the counter.

But it didn’t get loud until that man threw open the door, sending the cold air trailing behind him, billowing his windbreaker. 

He settled on a stool two over from Bosco’s and grunted out a request for a burger and fries and a cup of coffee, fast. And when Jasmine bent down to grab a mug, he let out a whistle, shattering the clinking of the mugs and the teenage gossip and Jasmine’s sigh and Bosco’s thoughts. 

Bosco locked in on him, stylus still, their grip firm.  

“What’s your name, baby?” 

Jasmine set the mug in front of him, letting its ceramic clang against the counter, the coffee sloshing over the rim, speak for her. 

“You gonna clean that up?” 

Bosco watched as he trailed up from the spill on the counter, eyes landing squarely on Jasmine’s chest. 

“Give me a little show, princess?” His staring continued. “I’m only going to look, unless you want me to touch.” 

With Jasmine’s face, pale and wide eyed and stricken; with her grip white and heavy on the counter; with nostrils flaring and her breath thin, the room grew all the louder. The anger blared in Bosco’s mind, welled red-hot in their jaw, and held itself frimly in their balled first, held itself there until Bosco had moved across the room and took the man by his collar and pulled him close enough to see the bloodshot streaking the whites of his eyes. 

And Bosco hit him. 

They relished the burning of their fist as it collided with his eye, leaving the man reddened and aching, slumped against the counter, responding to Bosco’s threat of even thinking about touching Jasmine with a string of profanities and the ringing of the door bell once again. 

The silence returned for a moment, with nods from the construction workers, whispers between the teenagers, Jasmine’s gentle movements back to Bosco’s end of the counter. 

Jasmine looked down and massaged her own fingers before breaking the silence herself, saying, “you’re bleeding,” with her little voice. 

Bosco glanced down at their splitting knuckles, the skin just slightly torn, blood beading. “Huh,” they laughed. “No shit.” 

She took their hand and shook her head. “You’re also a moron.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” Bosco wrapped their fingers around Jasmine’s holding back the sharp inhale that moving their fingers gave. 

Her touch was soft as she kissed their hand undid her apron wrapping it around their hand until the blood no longer slipped through the crisp fabric. 

The heat trailed from Bosco’s jaw to their cheeks. “I…” Speaking grew harder as Jasmine tied off her wrapping. “I just couldn't let you talk to him like that.” 

Though Jasmine didn’t respond, just kept hold of their hand as she rounded the counter, just leaned down to press a sticky lip gloss kiss to Bosco’s cheek, just mumbled, “come on, let’s go home and get you cleaned up,” her appreciation was loud enough. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I've been missing Kell and Holland a lot, could we have a drabble about them? Maybe one in The Coffee Shop AU, it's so cute?

Kell has been sitting here with his slowly cooling flat white for an hour now. He has the textbook open in front of him. His hand grips a pen. The notebook is there, neatly labeled for subject and pages he has been assigned to study.

He has been reading the same paragraph for an hour now and he still has no idea what it says.

What he does know, though, is that Holland Vosijk did not shave today.

The grad student he absolutely does not have a crush on is in his usual chair across the room, his own eyes shifting from left to right as he reads. He's deep in whatever it is - Kell read the title when he came in and he can't remember that, either. He never looks up.

It makes it easy for Kell to take in what he's wearing and not look like the absolute creep he absolutely is.

He goes to pick up his drink and, eyes still on the way the stubble shadows Holland's jaw and softens its cut-glass edges, he knocks the backs of his knuckles against the ceramic.

He gasps, but he isn't fast enough to stop the mug from crashing to the floor. The shattering ceramic seems impossibly loud.

The soft din of conversation goes briefly silent.

Someone applauds.

Kell's face burns with humiliation and he drops into a crouch, ducking his chin.

"Shut up."

Kell goes suddenly still. He slowly looks up to find Holland has closed his book and stood, glaring daggers at the offending man, who drops his hands back to his lip, startled.

Kell might actually blush harder. He feels light-headed, anyway. Holland heads his direction, wearing heavy boots and old jeans and he looks like he was poured into them, which definitely can't be fair-

"Do you need some help?" He asks, crouching across from Kell, picking up a broken shard. He drops it into Kell's palm with the others. "Are you hurt?"

"Uh. No, no, I'm fine, just... stupid."

"Human," Holland corrects. "You're human. I've seen you around campus before. You're... Kevin?"

"Kell. Kell Maresh."

"Kell Maresh." The corner of Holland's mouth quirks in a slight smile. "I'll remember that."

Half of Kell feels like it's just him being polite. The other half thinks Sanct, I hope so.