his eyes are bluer in person

Hero

For @baneismydragon based on that one little idea you had.  Have a drabble.


“I’m sorry, I’m really busy right now-“

“Hey, don’t worry about it, babe.  I can wait.”

Sabine turned around and frowned, busying herself with arranging the vegetables set out to look more pleasing to the eye for the excuse of something to do to try and let the jerk that had been following her around for the past fifteen minutes know that she really could not talk right now.

Not that he was taking the hint.

And not that she would ever want to talk to him normally.

But her boss had made it clear that scaring off one more customer was a one way ticket to getting fired. And she needed this job.

“So, how about on your break you and I head around back and-“

Sabine was just deciding that she didn’t need this job that much when a large shadow fell over her.

“Are you bothering my girlfriend?”

Excuse me?!’ Sabine looked up, paused, then looked even further up.

A young man, probably about her own age, was standing between her and the creep who had been following her around.  He was, to put it simply, big.  Sabine wasn’t sure she had ever met someone so tall or broad, and her jaw dropped slightly as he crossed arms that had to be as thick around as her waist.

“I… um… uh…” The creep was backing away, attention fully on the man glaring at him.

“Get out of here.  If I see you around again, I’ll deal with you personally.” The young man unfolded his arms to quietly pop the knuckles on first one, then the other hand.

Sabine was certain, as the creep scurried off, that she had just went from the frying pan to the fire.

Suddenly the young man’s glower lightened, and he turned to beam a positively sunny smile at her. Now that he was facing her, she could tell that his eyes were bluer than any she had seen before, the blue of the deep ocean.

“Sorry about that, miss. I saw that he was bothering you, and I figured you couldn’t tell him off because of being at work, so…” He gave a sheepish smile, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.

Sabine’s knees went weak with relief, and she returned his smile with one of her own.  “Thank you.  My manager said that if I went off on one more customer that he’d fire me.”

The man blinked, then frowned and stuck his chin out in indignation.  “That’s awful!  You should be able to defend yourself while working.  Do you get guys like him often?”

“Way more than I’d like.” Sabine sighed and shook her head, nearly wanting to spit with irritation.  “They think I’m exotic because I’m Chinese.”

The man frowned a little, then gave her a shy, sweet smile.  “If you want, I could come and scare them off anytime you need me to.  I work in the bakery across the street as an apprentice.” He suddenly jumped, and his smile became more than a little sheepish. “I’m Tom, by the way.  Tom Dupain.”

Sabine smiled, and reached out to take the hand he held out and shake it.  “It’s nice to meet you, Tom.  I’m Sabine Cheng.  And yes, I’d like that a lot.”

anonymous asked:

sorry if ur not taking any more prompt: stevetony fluffy day at the beach. my iud is messing up and ive been on my period for a month, so i went to go get an ultrasound to see what was wrong with it but they made me wait so long that when they finally started doing the exam i had an... accident. it was the most mortifying thing i have ever experienced, on top of being in pain and dysphoric :(

oh god that’s so horrible i’m so sorry!! i hope they’ve got it fixed

“Hey, Fire Starter, time to reapply.”

Steve tosses his head back, wet hair forming to his skull and he smiles dazzlingly at Tony as he starts to wade ashore. Tony bites his lip when Steve tugs down the hemline of his itty-bitty swim shorts.

They’re at the beach for the day, just the two of them. A quick summer getaway.

It’s swelteringly hot in the Keys, but it’s beautiful and the water is perfect. Even more perfect? Steve.

Who sinuously lowers himself onto the blanket spread out under their umbrella, water glittering on his pale skin. His cheeks and nose are pink, making his eyes look all the bluer. Tony’s personal Adonis.

He sighs when Steve kisses him, lips cool and salty.

“Help me?” Steve asks and Tony will never, ever, say no to that.

He sits up and digs the sunscreen bottle out of their bag. It’s still something of a marvel to him that he gets to see Steve like this, relaxed and sun-drenched. Mostly naked.

Often entirely naked.

He squeezes the sunscreen into his palm with a splurt and then rubs it between his hands before reaching to put them on Steve.

Steve’s skin is warm again already. He sighs at the touch and slumps a little. Tony takes his time spreading the sunscreen over miles and miles of smooth skin and muscle, broad shoulders, Steve’s tiny waist.

Steve is letting his head hang, in a state of near zen when Tony smirks to himself and slips a couple fingers down the back of the itty bitty suit.

Steve’s whole body jolts, one foot kicking up sand, and Tony snickers. He gets a smoldering glare like the sun off the water over Steve’s shoulder.

“Something wrong?” he says innocently.

Steve says nothing.

Tony should know better than to go back to what he’s doing thinking that’s all there is to it. He’s applying sunscreen to Steve’s legs when something icy-lightning-cold touches his inner thigh and he spasms, a shriek tearing from his throat.

Steve cracks open a Coke and gives him a smug look. “Something wrong?”

“You’re a terror,” Tony tells him and Steve grins.

“Your terror.”

Tony makes a noise that is absolutely not a squeal when Steve pins him to the towel with the top of his body and presses the ice cold can to his ribs. It doesn’t take long for the sensation to start to feel good—Steve is warm and it’s hotter than hell out here—and Tony’s noises of protest fade to chuckles and Steve smiles above him, his eyes curving into small slits of happiness.

Tony pulls him down into a kiss and he tastes sweet, like cola, his tongue cold.

He’s quasi-aware of the sound of the waves on the beach, the faint sound of voices maybe a quarter mile away, maybe out on the water or further down the shore. Every so often Tony can hear the sound of a gull calling.

Today might just last forever.

What Cannot Be Undone

This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so hopefully you’ll all go easy on me!  So far this is just a preview, but hopefully there will be more if people like it.  @mogitz is MY person and she provided me with the title AND graphic.  She’s amazing and I love her. Also, @indiebughead is my constant cheerleader, so thank you forever and ever and @itsindiansummer13 I just feel the need to mention because she’s just the most awesome person ever and led me to the song that inspired this.


Chapter 1 (of 1 probably lol)


The marrow and flesh surrounding her heart is the only thing that’s keeping it from falling directly from her chest, she thinks.  As she sinks to the ground, the impeccable wooden slats of her bedroom floor coming closer and closer, the pastel walls closing in, a wail rips from her chest, the type of sound that a wounded animal makes when it’s in extreme distress.

This is what drowning feels like, she decides– the utter suffocation beneath her breast, the inability to make a sound other than the sobs rippling through her throat (muted only by the tiny palm clasped over her mouth), the feeling of going deeper and deeper into darkness with no one to pull her out.  The one person that she once THOUGHT could save her was the same person that pushed her head under water.


“Did you sleep with her, Jug?” She had asked him a few hours prior in the Blue and Gold office, leaning against the desk they once shared, one of the many things that became a tainted memory from the moment he responded with a single syllable.

“Yes-“

The hurried words of apology and explanation after that were utterly lost. The only word that echoed over and over again in every cavern of her mind, body, and soul was a resounding “yes”.  Yes. Yes. Yes.  The word was now acid in her mouth, in her brain. As a people-pleaser, she’d said it so many times it was second nature, incapable of using its negative counterpart. She’d always associated the word ‘yes’ with making people happy. Today, ironically, it stripped away every ounce of joy, of perfection, within her. 


“Betty, look at me. Betts, baby please talk to me.”  She didn’t realize he was standing right next to her until she felt the pad of his thumb wiping tears from her cheeks. His eyes are bluer with tears in them, she thought as her eyes lifted to meet his. Crystal, like the pictures she’d seen of the deep ocean water in the Pacific (the ocean she thought maybe one day they’d travel to together, when they finally got out).  The constellation of moles dusting his cheeks even seemed more pronounced.  She wanted to reach out and trace them, like she’d done so many times before while shrouded in the darkness of his trailer during movie night. Even then, he was still the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.  But he wasn’t HER person anymore.


Using every bit of strength in her entire body, she lifted her hands, hands filled with tiny bones made of lead, and placed them delicately over the ones firmly planted on her neck. She closed her eyes, letting the salty drops that clung to her eyelashes fall, relishing the feel of his skin against hers. She wanted to memorize the way his hands felt on her, etch them into her pores, burn imprints of him on her soul. She didn’t know why she still felt tethered to him so completely but utterly broken by him simultaneously, like walking a tightrope, praying not to fall but knowing its inevitability.  


“I’m so so sorry, Betts. Please. Please. Please-” He whispered the word over and over against her skin as he rested his forehead gently against hers, letting their tears mingle on his fingertips- “you mean everything to me. You ARE everything to me.  I made a mistake and I hate myself for it. I thought we were over. I thought you didn’t–” he choked out the last words like it took every bit of energy just to admit them – “want me.” She wanted to say it was ok, to rewind the last few weeks like a bad movie. But all she felt was the breath of his broken promises ghosting across her face.

—   

anonymous asked:

why are toms eyes two different colors in the scene when he says "youre a valkyrie?"

It is true that they seem more blue/grey in this moment. After that, his eyes are bluer than green. But it is surely a question of light, colors around. And maybe Tom’s eyes vary. Myself, my eyes change intensity between green and gray/blue sometimes. Without reason.

my interactive introverts vip experience!!

so I feel the strongest need to share my experience with Dan and Phil when I met them, so here we go!!

so originally I didn’t have a vip ticket, so my sister and I asked so many people if they had a spare that they’d be willing to sell, but of course all of them said no, like I had expected, so I sadly went back to my chair with my sister and sat down and I started to cry because all I want in life is to meet the two people who brought me the most joy in the darkest time of my life and I felt like I this was my last chance since I didn’t get vip for tatinof either. but then this lovely girl named Natalie came to me and said “hey, do you have a vip ticket?” and I said no bc I thought she was going to ask me to sell mine and then she goes “well I have an extra since my friend bailed on me, so you want one?” and I said “WHAT” and I dropped to my knees and started to cry super hard bc I was just SO EXCITED this girl was seriously the nicest person ever. so skip ahead a little to the actual meet and greet. I was SO SO NERVOUS AND I COULDNT BREATHE AT ALL, so much so to where I had to take my inhaler before I met them lol. anyway, when I turned the corner to meet them, in my mind I was like “holy shit you’re real” and also “holy fuck you’re so tall” okay so I went up and gave phil a hug first bc he was closest and hes very squishy but like in a good way okay then I gave dan a hug and he put his hand on my arm and gave it a little squeeze and wow they are so so beautiful in person. dan’s hair is the softest looking thing on the planet, so is his face and cheeks. and his smile was just so so beautiful there’s no other way to describe it. phil has SO MUCH STUBBLE like seriously I am willing to bet that if he didn’t shave in the morning, he would have a full beard. his eyes were literally the most gorgeous blue that I have ever seen. they’re so much brighter and more electric in person. they’re even bluer and more beautiful than the sky in my opinion. they were seriously so much taller than I was imagining. I knew they were going to be tall, but it was surreal in person. I’m 5’3, and I was wearing boots that made me about 5’5 and my head did not even come close to their chins when I hugged them. my head was like right on their chests where their heart was. when I hugged them, the only thing that I can say to describe it was warm and safe. then both of them were like “hi, how are you doing? nice to meet you!” and then dan said “do you have anything for us to sign” and I was like “yes my phone case” and then dan goes “okay lets take a photo first so we don’t smudge it, okay?” and then I was like “can we hold hands? is that a thing?” and dan was like “of course that’s a thing!” so we grabbed hands and their hands were so huge but very very soft and dan was like “beautiful” after he took photos and then I was like “firstly I just wanna say, oh my name’s elaina by the way” and phil was like “well it’s nice to meet you” and dan goes “good name good name” and then I said “a few years ago I was in a really horrible, awful time in my life” and phil goes “aw I’m sorry” and I said “but watching your guys video gave me back the happiness that I thought I would never ever get back, so I’m so glad that I finally get the chance to tell you guys in person how grateful I am and to just tell you thank you for changing my life” and dan was like “aw that makes me so happy to hear thank you so much” and then dan opened his arms really wide and gave me a huge squeeze and he goes “I’m so glad you could make it today and phil was like “yes I’m so happy that you could come today” and gave me a hug and then I said “thank you so so much I love you guys” and they both laughed and smiled super brightly, dan’s little eyes crinkled up when he laughed and smiled it was so cute, and they both waved at me and said “enjoy the show, we’ll see you later!”

so yes, this literally was the most fun I’ve ever had. it was actually the greatest day of my life. I will never forget this day for as long as I live. :,)

thank you so so much for all the beautiful memories, @danielhowell and @amazingphil

anonymous asked:

Based on Mallek calling MC “doll” and the post about how Mallek would react to MC calling him petnames in return, I propose the following situation: MC calls Mallek “my love” or “my Prince”, or something along those lines one day, without really thinking about it.

Dude…”Prince” is such a cute petname I can’t even express it.

The first time he’d be called that, Mallek’s face would become bluer than his own eyes. He’d start shaking and stuttering like a person who just got asked out for marriage. After the initial shock, he’d just let out a small giggle. 

From that moment on, he just starts to retribute the favour even more. He starts to tenderly respond to your name-calling with heartfelt compliments. Like, you call him “love” while walking past him and he stops you in your tracks to go full-on “babe; youre the one who = the real love here; youre a goddamn treasure; id die for you; i love you so much darling;” and you legit just fucking melt right there.

You start doing it much more frequently now, just to see how fluffy and cute he gets every time you call him petnames-

Cupid Flies Commercial (1/7)

Emma Swan is having the worst trip of her life, only to have a sexy Irishman come along and make it worse. Heโ€™s rude, heโ€™s arrogant, and Emma canโ€™t stop fighting with him. When their antagonism somehow lands them in bed for a very steamy layover, Emma just thinks itโ€™s a one-time thing. And thatโ€™s all it wasโ€“until he shows up on her doorstep.

Inspired by Samantha Youngโ€™s Fight or Flight.

Read on AO3ย 


Emma Swan was already having a terrible day before her flight was cancelled. Sheโ€™d woken up late, nursing a bad hangover, and in her rush to make her (now cancelled) flight, she had to forgo a cup of coffee. Sheโ€™d barely made it in time, sprinting to her gate, only to arrive just as they started to announce that the flight was cancelled, due to โ€˜weather conditionsโ€™ out East.

She let out a big sigh, unwilling to wait until the end of the announcement. Since the passengers would be rebooked, she figured sheโ€™d get ahead of the rest. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, and started striding over to the attendant at the gate, who was beaming her direction. The attendant, a small brunette, was overly smiley for someone whoโ€™d have to deal with over a hundred disgruntled passengers, but Emma shrugged it off.

Just as she neared the desk, she was rudely shoved by a hefty laptop bag and its owner. He was a tall, raven-haired man who took her place, and probably didnโ€™t even realize that he had hit her.

Keep reading

shieth soul mate au

more to come

“I mean it’s just not fair. Two brown eyes.” Pidge slapped their face in exasperation. Keith couldn’t help but laugh, he tried to suppress it by sipping his coffee.

“You have a purple and grey eye. It’s not fair.”

“I don’t have a purple eye.” Keith sighed. His left eye had always been mistaken for purple, it wasn’t. It was bluer/grey.

The coffee shop bustled, people coming in and out, some with family, some with friends, some alone. One particular person caught Keith’s eye however. A man sat in the very corner. His oddly grey and white hair was cut into an under shave- as much as Keith wanted to judge, he couldn’t, he had a mullet after all.

The man wore sunglasses, despite the lack of sun. And a single muscle tee, despite the freezing weather. Keith averted his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring.

Pidge was on their computer, typing incessantly. Keith didn’t know how she did it, he wasn’t one for technology- he didn’t really understand it. So, he twiddled his thumbs patiently, every now and then his gaze would flicker to the man.

“I need to use the bathroom.” He didn’t really, He was just bored- and wanting to move around. So, he stood, and tried to navigate the rather busy cafe so he could reach the bathroom. No one else was in there surprisingly. So, he took the moment to be alone, to gather himself. Looking at his reflection in the mirror Keith bit his lip, Lance’s constant teasing about his mullet had made him rather self-conscious so for the last few days his hair had been up in a ponytail. It always fell in his face though- much to his annoyance.

He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply.

“You good there?” Keith jumped back. He felt his back collide with a chest, a super muscly chest. He gasped, pushing himself of the stranger’s chest and into the sink. Looking into the mirror he saw the man from the cafe standing behind him, looking thoroughly amused.

“Uh…” He was waiting for the man to move, there wasn’t enough room to side step him, so he felt rather trapped.

“Can you please turn around?” Keith abided the strange request and turned around to face the strange man. He couldn’t really find words, so he stayed silent as the man studied his face. What in the world?

“Well.” The man said simply, taking a small step back until he nearly bumped into the toilet stall. Keith continued to be confused until the man took off his sunglasses. The first thing Keith saw was the pink scar across his nose, it resembled a lightning bolt-

Then Keith saw his eyes.

“Oh fuck.” Was the first thing that slipped out of his mouth, he couldn’t help congratulating himself for making such a wonderful first impression on his supposed soulmate. Keith found himself unable to look away, in a way he hoped that it was just a trick of the light- it wasn’t.

“Nice to meet you too, I guess.” The man muttered. Keith’s jaw dropped in shock as the man smirked. He didn’t even know the man’s name yet.

“I uh…” Keith was flabbergasted, at a complete loss for words.

“It’s okay. I was shocked too.” The man said, no longer smirking- but smiling. His personality changes were making Keith’s head spin. “I suppose it could be worse.” He said, smirk returning.

Keith barely noticed as the man looked him up and down. He suddenly felt even more insecure. His painfully bare arms crossed of his chest, and he was tempted to let his hair down to hide his face.

“I’m Shiro, by the way. It’s nice to meet you Mute.” he introduced himself cheekily. Keith blushed harder.

“I’m not mute. Shocked. Not mute.” Keith snarked, finally finding his words. He did not need to be teased by the man. Man, he was older, 7 years at least. Keith was still in high school-technically suspended, but still. Soulmates were almost always the same age, give or take a year or two.

“My apologies, Shocked.” Keith glared up at the man. Wow he’s tall. Keith tried to brush the thoughts out of his head.

“My name is Keith!” he snapped. “Now, if you don’t mind- I’m leaving.” Keith spat, turning towards the door. Shiro was quick to step in front of him.

“Look, I’m sorry. But, we are soulmates there’s really no point in you leaving. We’d meet again later anyway.” the man, Shiro, said softly.

“Well, at least it’s not now.” Keith muttered, ducking around Shiro and basically throwing himself out of the bathroom.

He sped towards his table. “Pidge we need to leave. Now.” Pidge looked up from their laptop.

“What, why?” They asked, confused. Keith looked back at the man coming out of the bathroom, looking rather angry.

“Oh shit. Keith, your soulmate.”

straw-flower  asked:

Number 11- everlark of course ๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ’œ

Number 11 is : “Lavender? Plum? Violet? They’re all purple!”

So, here we go, @straw-flower :) Thank you for the prompt !!!


“Lavender? Plum? Violet? They’re all purple!” Katniss sighs, as she looks at the painting tubes in front of her. “I don’t even know what she wants… “

in front of her dozens of different shades of color are laying, a full set of rainbows ready to lit the whole store with their brightness.

“I can help you, maybe?”

The voice is rich, deep and so masculine it makes Katniss jump in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you..” the man adds, as she turns around to face him. She’s met by a pair of blue eyes, bluer than Prim’s, bluer than the sky on a spring day.

“Oh…” She’s left speechless by the warmth that radiates off of him. His curly blonde hair were a contrast to her dark mane, his fair skin the opposite of her olive tone, his smile the answer to her scowl. If two persons could be the exact opposites, it would be them.

Ying and Yang.



“I’m Peeta, by the way. Can I help you? You seem to struggle with what to pick?”



“Yeah, thank you, I could use some help….” She answers shyly.



He ends up explaining that Lavender is softer than plum, that violet is somewhere in between them, but that purple has a bit more red in it, and he thinks her sister would rather need orchid to finish her painting.



She follows his advice.


He gives her his card, with his number written on it when she agrees to go on a date with him.



Prim freaks out when she finally finds out Katniss dates the famous painter, Peeta Mellark.



Katniss doesn’t care.


She still tries to figure out the color of his eyes.



Hope you will like it :)
I’m always taking prompts :)

anonymous asked:

How would the Elf Husbands + Thancred, Magnai, and Zenos react to being cursed into a beast (ala Beauty and the Beast), and how would their curse be broken by the WoL?

(Depends on the husband, but I think the curse has to be broken by them, not the WoL. Being cursed into a beast was supposed to be a learning experience, right? So Husband gotta learn. Though I do not know why you would curse the sweeter husbands? Why u do dis.)

Keep reading

12. Candy

Words: 1581

Warnings: Canon hand-wavium, awkward!reader, and I should probably start putting warnings in for language. Everyone has a potty mouth.



You enter the bunker, exhausted but happy. Youโ€™ve stopped freezing and youโ€™re feeling mostly normal, just tired. Youโ€™ve managed to get up enough energy to run to the store (just a small run for essentials) and now youโ€™re back, successful, tired, andโ€“

You blink and wonder if youโ€™ve stepped into the wrong place. Just for a second, because the bunker is very distinctive, but right now it very distinctively looks like Halloweentown. Or a set piece from โ€œHocus Pocusโ€. Fake spider webs, black cats, pumpkins, skulls, and various other items and art combine to make the libraryโ€ฆfestive.

โ€œHey, Iโ€™m back! Did you already goโ€ฆonโ€ฆโ€ Sam trails off as he comes to stand next to you. โ€œUhโ€ฆdid youโ€ฆ?โ€

You look up at him, wondering if heโ€™s serious. โ€œDude. I could barely lift a gallon of milk at the store. Do you really think I can manage to hang a gothic chandelier and saddle it with a plastic Miley skeleton?โ€

โ€œGood point,โ€ Sam says.

โ€œI called him Jerry, but we could rename him โ€˜Miloโ€™,โ€ Gabriel says cheerfully, now sitting next to the skeleton on the new chandelier. He puts an arm around his new friend. โ€œHe came in like a wrecking ball,โ€ Gabriel says โ€˜sadlyโ€™. โ€œThatโ€™s pretty fatal for humans.โ€

Keep reading

crescendo

Summary: Of stage doors, stage fright, and the imprecise art of rekindling a lost love. OR: in which Will Solace is a Broadway star, Nico di Angelo is an old friend, and neither has any idea what the hell heโ€™s doing.

For a lovely anon who asked for a Broadway AU.

Nico di Angelo has always prided himself on being practical. Thoughtful. Smart, really, calculating every risk and every step before he takes it.

Which is why he canโ€™t for the life of him figure out why heโ€™s standing here in the dark and freezing cold, being elbowed into a wall by a bunch of teenage girls, waiting for Broadway star Will Solace to grace the dingy, Manhattan alleyway with his presence.

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hey-im-kpuff  asked:

What were Rhetts facial features like up close? Like was his beard even more magnificent? What color were his eyes like? His wavy hair, how did it look? I saw you mentioned some things about link already, his eyes are bluer and his hair is showing more grey, were there any other features of his that were even better or different in person? โค๏ธ

Getting input from @mythosethan here because I definitely wasn’t inside my body during the meet and greet. I got confirmation that his features were softer. He’s like, overall softer in person than he is on air or in pics, etc. Like… don’t take this to mean I’m saying he’s not a man, or manly, but he had a kind of feminine energy. Just softer, definitely. Link is like… he’s there. He hugs you tight, pat pat, it’s very deliberate and there. Like, as Ethan described, how a best friend hugs you, just goes for it. Rhett’s more reserved in some ways there. 

His hair was perfectly wonderful. 

The thing I can’t shake tho is how big Link’s hands are. And how tall and slender Rhett is. He’s so slim! And so soft. <3 

It means Victory: Nikita Kucherov lives up to the name, goes beyond the mark

Nikita is not Russian for Nicholas, it does mean Victory/Victorious

Killorn and Johnson were not wearing shirts, but they were listening to censored Drake

I was supposed to do this after Christmas, but he let me do it before. This was tuesday. 

the quote came in a fax machine, I don’t know who said it, but I’d like to kick his ass. 

“Though he has skill, he lacks dedication. He is willing to wait for a shot, he is lazy, careless, and a novelty. A player trying to play like Ovechkin but failing horribly. Riding the coattails of former players and faltering on his own. A second round pick would be a stretch.” –European Hockey League scout #124 post U18 Tournament (Released to writer from a confidential source n/m not released)

           Nikita Kucherov is a lot of things: he is a play maker, he is a sharpshooter, he is reserved and concerned about his English. He is not the talkative player that his centreman is, nor is he the quiet leader that his fellow winger is. Kucherov is put perhaps best in the words of fellow forward Vladislav Namestnikov; “Kuch is Russian”. Nikita Kucherov is not by any stretch of the imagination anything less than a Hall of Famer in the making. Night in and night out, Kucherov is moving up in the +/- standings, though some analysts will tell you +/- and Corsi have fallen out of relevance in the last few years. The thing Kucherov is perhaps most obviously is a beloved player, his name is just as seen as Stamkos’s, Johnson’s, and Palat’s. Kucherov is not “Lazy”.

           “I used to not talk. To me if I couldn’t say how [what] I wanted to say, I don’t [didn’t] say it.” That is one of the first things he tells me. His voice is softer than I expected to hear, he speaks quietly, as if I will chastise him for improper grammar. He looks at me with blue eyes that are only enhanced by the blue of the Tampa Bay Lightning long sleeve shirt he wears, the logo pulled a little and stretched with love. In his hands he holds a nearly empty water bottle, over his right shoulder sits a translator a few seats away, listening just in case. There are a few times I ask him something that doesn’t translate into Russian, that makes his eyebrows knit together as I try to find another word for the one I was going to use. The humour I use sometimes doesn’t hit the mark, but he smiles anyway when I do, maybe not truly understanding the joke but understanding that I mean to ease the tension.

           He is nervous. That is what I get when I first start talking to him, he’s nervous that there is a language gap between us. When he introduces himself, his voice and his hands shake a little, he looks around the conference room like it might be a jail cell. I realize that this is not where Nikita Kucherov likes to be, this is not his element. Having come back from a Pacific Division road trip that resulted 2-1 (taking 4/6 possible points) against the Ducks, Sharks, and Kings, he’s done his job. He’s been where he is most comfortable, in the presence of his teammates and on the world’s stage playing in the NHL. He’s not used to this, this  room with its painted walls. Overhead the fluorescent bulbs hum and the sun shines in over Garrison Channel. He looks like a trapped deer. He rubs his hands on his shorts, the fabric making a noise reminiscent of a faulty zipper as his calloused hands catch synthetic fibres. He rolls his shoulders and watches me. He never stops watching me as I set up my recorder, my back up battery, my notes and my pens. The battery catches his attention: “What’s that?” “This [I gesture to the battery]?” “Yes. What does it do? Why do you bring it here?” “It’s a backup battery for my recorder.” I show him the light and the beep that signifies the device being fully charged. He finds it interesting, it makes him smile as he looks at it light up on different levels as he talks, then I, showing frequency.

           “Johnny is more patient than Pally. Pally was learning English too, so when I say something he didn’t get, I say [it] to Johnny and he say to Pally. That’s how it was.” While playing Slavic telephone seems like a fun idea for all, I asked Johnson about Kucherov’s English “He is very shy about it. They both are, when we first started playing together it was kind of hard, he didn’t want to say more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’, sometimes I’d do something he didn’t like and he’d be mad. He’d just glare at me from across the ice, or in the room. I was scared he’d walk up behind me, or I’d have a horse head or something in my bed. That didn’t last. (offside) Stop laughing, Killer, I’m being serious!” As I walked back to the conference room and away from the sound of crashing weight plates and laughter  only broken up by “Horse head”, I thought how concerning it must be to not be able to tell someone what you really want to say. This has been an issue in the NHL for as long as players have been coming from Russia and Eastern Europe.

           “Do you wish that the NHL taught players and journalists Russian?” I somewhat shock Kucherov as he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. “How you mean? Like school? I know some, but I don’t speak it at home”. ‘Home’ to Kucherov is Russia, more specifically the city of Maykop. When he was playing in the KHL, he played in Moscow, in 2011 he was drafted in the second round by the Tampa Bay Lightning. He was then sent to the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League (QMJHL). The young Kucherov went from speaking primarily Russian, to a region of Canada where the top language is, French. He was sent to the QMJHL to transition to the style of North American hockey he’d play in the AHL and eventually the NHL.

           Russian hockey is played on a bigger scale. In North America, a regulation rink is 200ft long by 85ft wide. An International Rink, like those used in the KHL is 200ft long by 100ft wide. I’ll save you the math, and tell you that is a 15ft difference across. When you watch any NHL game, your announcer will tell you that one of the keys to the game is a “North-South game”, up and down the ice to reduce opposition scoring. It’s one of the main reasons your forwards play such short shifts. If you’ve ever watched Pavel Datsyuk or Evgeni Malkin, or ‘The Great Eight’ Alex Ovechkin, you’ll notice they like to move laterally. It’s something that you have to know how to do, you cannot teach the Russian style of play. Regardless of how many years Kucherov would spend in the Q, you cannot stop playing like you were taught to.

           At this point Kucherov is still looking at me like I just said “You and I are getting married, we’re going to go to Mars and start the human race on a planet outside of our own” So I rephrase my original question. “Yes, I kind of do. I have people who can help me [he gestures to the translator who has been watching a Brady press conference on his phone], I have Vladdy, we talk to each other, but some don’t. It’s hard, the languages are different.” If you look at the numbers of players in the League, you’ll notice that there are more and more European players coming in year after year. Mostly they come from Russia, from Sweden, the Czech Republic (It is not Czech-Slovakia, it hasn’t been for decades, stop saying it), a select few from Finland, Switzerland, and smattering from Norway. The names on the back of jerseys are becoming less ‘Crosby’, ‘Smith’, ‘Orr’, ‘Shanahan’, ‘Boyle’ and ‘Callahan’, and more ‘Panarin’, ‘Kuznetsov’, and ‘Tikhonov’. Gone are the days of ‘John’, ‘Bobby’, ‘Steve’, and ‘Jack’, and here are the days of ‘Viktor’, ‘Artemi’, ‘Pavel’, ‘Nikita’, and ‘Alexander’. If we’re being serious, it’s ‘Aleksander’, but that’s fine.

           We’re becoming better at saying names that would’ve stricken fear into the hearts of our Grandparents years ago, but we’re not treating the players any better. The players still have to rely on someone who might know the language they speak, and given the spread of European players in the NHL, you don’t have to look hard to find a ‘Henrik’ or a ‘Pavel’. Still, I am sitting here across from a man who can’t say what he fully wants to say; someone representative of the rest of the NHL in the last 20 years with the new class of players coming over from Russia. He thinks a little more on the subject “Maybe if we taught you some phrases you should know to make it a little bit easier for me.” If it really only took a few phrases to learn to make it easier for your favourite player to talk to reporters, wouldn’t you want them to do it?

           I turn to the impressive season Kucherov is having. I tell him how fantastic it is to net your seventh and eighth goal of the season on the same night, and his ears turn red. He looks down at the shiny table and I can see a smile spread across his face. I decide to make matters worse and talk about the ASTOUNDING turn around he made between the 2013-2014 season and the 2014-2015 season. In the 2013-2014 season, Kucherov netted 9 goals and 9 assists in 52 games for 18 points. In the 2014-2015 season that culminated with an Eastern Conference Championship and a run at the fabled Stanley Cup, Kucherov more than TRIPLED his numbers scoring 29 goals, 36 assists for 65 points in 82 games. With his numbers being mentioned, he looks towards the ceiling, smile now visible on his face,  eyes a little misty over his breakout season, and says just loud enough to be heard, “it was a good season.”

           ‘A good season’ is how the future looks for Kucherov, sitting right behind Steven Stamkos with 17 points spread across 10 goals and 7 assists in 29 games. If this is anything indicative of what the season with Kucherov in your canon looks like, then I think that despite a disturbingly slow start, the Tampa Bay Lightning are going to be okay. Kucherov follows me out of the conference room, I shake his hand once more, his shake a little less, and as he passes the weight room, Killorn and Johnson still inside, I can hear him ribbing his teammates for not lifting the heavier weights. Maybe Kucherov is lazy, but it’s not on the ice.

iianoukuonaii  asked:

Prompt: Robb has glasses and is practically blind as a bat without them, and one day he and Theon are lying in the same bed "platonically" while talking, but Robb is practically blind without his glasses, so Theon comes closer and closer until they inevitably kiss.

So, this is extremely sappy and the dialogue is just something but here ya go :)


AO3 Link: Bitter Jealous [Throbb]

โ€œWell, hell, Stark, you look really good today.โ€ Loras Tyrell leaned across the bookstore counter as he handed Robb his change and purchase. โ€œWhat is it?โ€

โ€œNew glasses?โ€ Robb guessed, beaming and giving a tiny shrug. โ€œโ€™Needed a change and my old ones broke.โ€ That comment was directed at Theon who rolled his eyes annoyed. Robb still wasnโ€™t letting it go and it was an accident.

โ€œThese look better, youโ€™re welcome,โ€ Theon hissed bitterly.

Keep reading

What actually happened in Episode 6.9

After Davos told Tormund “I loved Stannis”, he followed it up with 150 variations on this theme, including whether or not they ever consummated that love, how the colour of Stannis’ eyes was bluer than any sea he’d sailed on and describing in loving detail how his knighthood ceremony was basically their wedding ceremony etc

Then Tormund was a bro and asked whether was it love at first sight like it was for him and Brienne, Davos says it was technically love at first bite because he saved Stannis from starving, but yes

Fractal Point: Chapter One

{Dark Obi AU//Obitine fic}

Summary:  Following the death of Anakin Skywalker, a grieving Obi-Wan had turned.  He had turned for guidance, for purpose.  He had turned, in the only way he’d ever known how; he had turned to his lineage.  He had turned to Count Dooku… and eventually, to the Dark Side. 

He’d avoided Satine after that, ashamed of what he was, even as he took care to make sure she was safe.  But when his new Master begins to fear that old feelings are conflicting with new purpose, everything suddenly changes, and he is forced to act lest she be destroyed.  To save her, though, he must face her once again…

//chapter one under cut//

     Obi-Wan Kenobi stared out the viewport window of his personal shuttle, deep in meditation.  The Unifying Force swirled and ebbed in his vision, stretching out into the stars beyond, weaving past and future alike into its universal fabric.  Out and below, the planet of Mandalore glistened like fresh-fallen snow, a fractal point of memory long divided by conflict.  

          Once, he knew, he had looked upon this very place with a different set of eyes; younger eyes, bluer eyes, happier eyes unburdened with the harsh realities of war.  He had been so naïve, then.  So willingly blind… How strange it was, he thought, that he could still see their light despite the darkness that had fallen over him… that they had remained so much the same even after everything had changed!  It was true, he realized, that some stars must have been born since then; that others, like himself, had been overcome by darkness.  Such was the nature of finite life, he knew, even for the brightest of stars.  But although they shifted, and faded, and formed anew, they always formed the same pattern - that of the dark and the light, locked in their eternal dance.  And always, time is there to connect them, bringing history back to the place where it began… The endless cycle of renewal and destruction, of beginnings and endings and life and death.  And so, he supposes, it makes sense that he has found himself back here again after so long, even if it is just to destroy his old self one last, final time.  

       Obi-Wan’s thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the holoprojector, its blue light drawing his gaze from the planet below.  Usually, a call from his Master would be nothing to be concerned about - his relations with Tyranus had always been civil enough, and his performance left little to be desired.  But today, he felt a certain apprehension as he strode to the projector pad, an uneasiness that he could not shake from his mind despite his considerable discipline.  Still, he had been the Count’s apprentice long enough to know that he must not reveal his doubts.  Dooku was perceptive when it came to such matters, and being a master of manipulation himself, he was difficult to deceive.

          As Obi-Wan activated the projector, he was careful to keep his head bowed, a few wayward strands of auburn falling into his gaze.  The traditional gesture was one of respect, but today it gave him a few more precious moments to school his face into the proper obedience and calm before addressing Tyranus more directly.

         "Ah, Ben.“  His old codename slid off his master’s tongue with a flourish, a simple memory embellished with more meaning than it should have held.  Surely he couldn’t know… or did he?  Was this intentional, meant to rattle him?  "I trust you have something to report.”  One elegant white eyebrow raised expectantly beneath the dark folds of Tyranus’ robe, serving both inquisition and judgement.  But what that judgement might be…

          “I do, Master.  The faction here that calls itself Deathwatch has been most cooperative, but they are a young movement, and hardly so bold as they claim…”  Kenobi stroked his beard thoughtfully, wondering how he should proceed.  I don’t want him to think continued involvement here is worth it.  But how to convince him… “I do not think that there is enough resistance here to turn events to our liking.  Perhaps a planet with a weaker neutral stance would…”

          “No… I sense that Mandalore is the key.  A planet with such a violent past is sure to harbor dormant resentment, which will work to our favor.  Remember, Kenobi, that I wish to be directly involved as little as possible…  Appearances are most important if we are to rally more neutral systems to our cause.”  His master’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously, and Obi-Wan knew that he was bordering ever closer to the invisible line that had thus far remained unbroken.  But still, he had to try, because her life depended on it.

         "No government here lasts long, Master… I fear that even if we are successful, eventually we may have to intervene to keep it in our grasp.  Surely…“

         "Mandalore may take some effort to obtain.  However, if the Duchess Satine falls, it will go a long way in aiding our cause. Without her leadership, the Council of Neutral Systems will quickly crumble, and more and more worlds will become ripe for our taking.”  Dooku’s hologram flickered, then steadied again, the stars shining brightly through his transparent image.  And her name, spoken so easily, so damningly from his master’s lips, traveling through space and time to haunt him once more… A shiver ran down Kenobi’s spine, threatening to overtake his steely composure, but he soon clamped down on the impulse, and the memories were as quickly gone as they had occurred.

          “But Master…” Obi-Wan protested, only to be cut short once more by Dooku’s holoimage.

          “Do not forget, my apprentice, that Sidious’ plot depends upon the current balance.”  The old man’s voice was a clear reprimand, but he was not angry - at least not yet, Obi-Wan mused.  In fact, he sounded tired, Kenobi realized, and not just of their conversation; today was one of those rare instances where Obi-Wan could actually see the Count’s age, where the façade between them crumbled and the almost grandfatherly bond that existed between them became evident.  Days like these, one saw an old man, and the youngest of his legacy, bonded by the whisper of a ghost, shared memory thick with sorrow.  Qui-Gon.  They never spoke of him; and yet he was there, always, the binding link between them…

          “If we are able to shift the war in our favor, Sidious will become more vulnerable - and that is when we will strike. Remember why you joined me, Obi-Wan…”  Dooku’s voice was softer now, and Obi-Wan knew that he was thinking it, too.  Qui-Gon.  "…together, we can end this terrible war and seek justice for those lives he has destroyed.“

            “Yes, Master,” Kenobi answered, almost apologetically, “I will be more mindful.”  But surely, there must be another way.  I cannot destroy her…

             "See to it that they are unaware of our influence in this matter.  I want no complications when it comes time to recruit more systems to our cause,“ Dooku reminded him, the stony façade returning in full force, “And keep in contact.  I expect full updates on your progress.”  As the hologram flickered out at last, Kenobi found himself releasing a breath he wasn’t even aware he had been holding - this whole ordeal had him deeply unsettled, and he still wasn’t entirely sure why.  Some of it, of course, had to do with her, but there was something else, too, something elusive…  He would have to meditate on it later.  For now, he would do his duty.


Thanks to @legobiwan, who inspired me to post this (admittedly sort-of self-indulgent) fic here on tumblr dot com… at least I know of one person who enjoys these two as much as I do ;)

The Photo Op

Imagine you got to meet Jared and Jensen at a Con.

Characters: Jared and Jensen and Reader

Warnings: None fluffy fluff

A/N This fic is based on a dream I had the other night.


You wanted to pinch yourself. You were actually here!  All those months of denial, of scrimping and saving.  All those lattes at Starbucks you had to skip.   It had all been worth it.  You were going to meet Jared and Jensen in the flesh.  

Karaoke Friday night had been a blast! Richard had you laughing so hard your sides hurt. Osric looked adorable dressed up as Princess Leia, and man could that guy dance! You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had so much fun. Next time you were singing for sure!

Your Saturday panels were really entertaining.  Mark Sheppard had a very cool accent, and a snarky way of answering questions that made you laugh.  Misha had a great sense of humor,  and his eyes were even bluer in person. Jared  and Jensen’s panel was incredible, and you loved them more than ever.

It was so exciting to meet a bunch of people who loved “Supernatural” as much as you did.  For once you didn’t feel like you had to explain or justify your obsession.  People understood.  They felt the same way.

Finally it was time, the moment of truth.  Your photo op with Jared and Jensen. You had already gone to your room and fixed your hair and makeup.  You hated having your picture taken, so this was a big deal for you.  You dabbed on some of your favorite perfume on the way out.  The smell helped calm your nerves. 

This photo op had cost a small fortune, but you didn’t care.  This was Jared AND Jensen.  It was so worth it. You got in line.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  You made friends with the group in front of you.  They had props for their photo.  PROPS?? The thought had never even crossed your mind. CRAP.

After what seemed like an eternity, you made it to the front of the line.  An attendant motioned you forward.  You walked into the room.  And there they were.  Jared and Jensen.  They were so tall.  You felt a little sick honestly. 

Jared had the warmest smile.  His dimples were adorable. “ Hi There! Any particular pose you want to do?”

His voice. Oh my gosh. “Um.. pose?  No. Can I just have a hug?”

You thought maybe Jensen could sense your utter terror.  He winked at you. “We can do that.”  He was simply the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. 

You faced the camera with Jared and Jensen on either side of you, their arms around you. You were so much shorter than them you barely reached their chests.

As the photographer told you to raise your chin a bit, Jared said, “You smell really good. Smell her J. Doesn’t she smell good?”

The picture was snapped. and the three of you broke apart.  Jensen rolled his eyes at you.  “Don’t mind him, he’s a little weird. But you do smell good.”

“Thanks.” You said with a laugh as another attendant motioned you toward the exit door. Your time with Jared  and Jensen was over. The whole exchange had lasted about 3 minutes.

“Did Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles just tell me I smell good? I think I can die now.” And with a happy grin, you practically skipped out of the hall.

anonymous asked:

Treasure Hunter!Hanzo seeks the riches guarded by a terrible dragon. Only to to be caught by Dragon!Symmetra who happens to be looking for a new piece for her hoard.

(Yo I love this b/c Hanzo has specifically mentioned treasure in his interactions XD)

He expects a nasty, stinking cave that runs deep into the bowels of the earth when he hears the rumor of a nearby dragon that guards an unbelievable trove of treasure. But what he discovers is the exact opposite; it’s a neatly formed cave, large in size but a complete, perfect half circle of an entrance. The walls are smoothed - not natural, as if someone meticulously worked on grinding down the rough stone until it was nearly marble-like in texture. As he ventures further inside, it grows darker, naturally, until suddenly it’s not dark at all. 

Gemstones and crystals are not uncommon in caves but he imagines sharp edges, jagged points, and deadly tips along each geode - uneven and barbaric even with their luxurious glow. Not so, he finds, when he sees each protruding cluster of gemstones - the formations neatly aligned in three straight columns. Pillars along the cave house a symmetrical and equal amount of white crystals, reflecting off the otherworldly glow emanating from the blue gemstones.

Hanzo travels further down into the cave and hears the feint sound of running water. When he finally emerges from a tunnel, he find himself standing in a large cavern littered with more of the same, symmetrical gems and crystals practically shimmering in the light from the sun that filters in from a hole at the cave’s ceiling. Along the walls are small cascades, trickling directly into a large pool with water bluer than any sky and clear enough that it appears bottomless.

It’s breathtaking, really, but he finds he has no time to stand in awe when he feels cool huffs of air suddenly flooding his person. He turns to find himself staring face to face with a nagini - a mythical creature, extremely intelligent as they are beautiful and deadly. Its large serpentine body, covered in pale sky-blue scales glow softly but it is the eyes of the beast’s body that captures his attention. Gold - like the gold he’s often sought himself - it pieces his soul as vertical pupils focus on his face.

The archer stands firm, quickly drawing his bow and arrow, and knows the creature watches him.

Am I supposed to be impressed? 

A feminine voice echoes in his mind: collected, elegant, and proud. Its mouth doesn’t move but he knows all its attention is on him. 

“I have come to find treasure,” he announces, wishing to be straight forward with such a creature. 

She turns her head toward him, eyes narrowing, whether in amusement or offense, he does not know. Such audacity, he hears in his mind. And what sort of treasure did you expect to find, archer?

“Gems. Gold. Wealth beyond one’s wildest dreams.” 

A chuckle is his response, light and no less arrogant than he on his worst days. Frivolous things, she chides. Worthless. The treasures I guard are things wasted on humanity and incomprehensible to mortals.

She slithers past him, snout touching each geode at the tip as she passes it. Order. Perfection. Harmony. That is what I value most.

Hanzo nods and looks around, following the nagini’s trail. While intricate, her lair is beautiful, symmetrical and equal in its design. “There is beauty in simplicity,” he agrees. 

The serpent turns slightly, regarding his statement with a small silence until she hums. Your world is chaos. I have sent many foolish, greedy humans running back to disorder. Will you destroy me for this wealth? she asks, voice sounding amused at the very thought. Her large head moves, looming close to his. She appears to study him for a moment, eyes searching. They eerily stay focused on his left arm, detailed with dark ink. With proper discipline…you would make a fine addition to my order.

He shakes his head. The thought of being part of this nagini’s hoard is almost a compliment but it’s a sure death. “I propose a trade.” 

A trade? Another delicate chortle. What keeps me from simply taking what I desire? 

“Because taking implies struggle. By nature, I am chaotic - I will struggle. You cannot break me. I would not suit your needs.” 

His answer seems to do the trick; the nagini narrows her golden eyes in contemplation before a thick, forked tongue slips out of scaled jaws, tasting the air. Then what do you wish?

Everything,
is the answer that his mind supplies. Taking one look into her domain, it’s apparent the amount of wealth that he would collect from the amount of gems and crystals she had in her possession. Instead, he looks to her head, noting the crown of pure platinum she dons. “Your crown.” 

It would be nearly impossible to carry out on his own but he decides with the most lavish answer possible to see her reaction. The serpent stares at him, a moment of silence passing between them before her body turns, heading toward the pool of water. She slithers, body moving in calculated curves as she reaches the waters. Even with her massive size, slipping in, she is quiet, a gentle splash of water echoing, and even the resulting ripples are perfect in amount, pushing out toward the edges of the cavern in small waves. Hanzo watches, both in confusion and fascination as this ancient creature disappears into the water. When the last tip of her tail slips into the pool, the silence, beyond the soft trickles of the waterfalls is all he hears. 

Just as he contemplates leaving the cavern, the surface of the water breaks again, quiet, as a very human figure rises from the pool. Her skin is dark, richer than the loveliest polished sard he’s ever seen. Down her back and over her shoulders cascades a drape of thick black hair, dark as the night sky. It’s her eyes that lets him know that this is the same, elegant nagini as before - piercing gold focuses on him as she carries her platinum crown, a much more manageable size, in her hands. 

Her nudity doesn’t bother Hanzo, nor does it distract him. He’s too focused on the beauty of how perfection radiates off her form. No step is wasted as she comes to a gradual halt before him.

“My crown,” she says, that same voice no longer echoing his mind and now very present in his ears. For some reason, it becomes more pleasing to hear it from her lips. 

For a moment, he forgets the crown, and he wonders if she realizes just what a treasure she appears to be, radiant and otherworldly in the glow of the gems around her. 

“The crown,” he reiterates when he collects himself. “In exchange?” 

The nagini cocks her head slightly, chin raised in critical inspection of the archer. He nearly feels unworthy, and thinks he may be one of the many greedy humans who have ventured down here, only to run back to the surface with nothing to show. 

She steps closer, much too close and his breath nearly leaves his chest. Adjusting the crown, she holds it in the crook of her arm as her free hand, incredibly warm for cave-dwelling serpent, settles at the top of his left arm, trailing down and following each dip of muscle. “Your arm…” she finally says, eyes looking back up. “There is disorder mapped among it…chaos illustrated…but I find its visuals pleasing. I want it for my own.” 

Hanzo nearly laughs but decides against it. His arm has always caused him inner turmoil. Once the signature of his birthright, a sign of his power, now a brand of his shame and exile. Still. “It would be yours, were it possible. Even if you were to take it, the colors will fade in time, and the flesh will rot. That is something you cannot control.” 

She frowns, finding logic in his words and circles him, until she stops at behind him. Hanzo feels a tug at the long silk ribbon that ties his hair. “Then this will suffice.” 

He agrees, bowing his head and walking forward so that the silk unravels and leaves his hair free to slightly touch at the nape of his neck. When he turns back, she is already wrapping the ribbon onto her arm, the yellow silk resembling a serpent coiling. 

Hanzo lifts his eyebrow, perhaps in question at the fairness or reasoning behind this certain trade. He doesn’t need to speak when she sighs, turning away. “You would not understand. Are you displeased with this exchange?” she asks coolly. 

“No. I am more than satisfied. Thank you.” He takes the crown from her when she offers it, and suddenly, the valuable metal feels hollow in his hands when he sees the nagini walking past him, heading back toward the pool. 

“Wait,” he calls before she can dip a toe into the water. She stops but does not look back. “Another exchange,” he dares to say. 

This time, she does turn, gold eyes narrowed. She awaits, although with forced patience, he can tell, from the stiffness in her shoulders. “Of greater or lesser value than my crown?” 

“Greater.”

At this, she fully turns around, facing him with an arch of an elegantly shaped eyebrow. Amusement touches her features and she listens, waiting to be entertained. 

“A name. Yours.” 

The surprise in her eyes is not something he expects to see but even then, Hanzo notes it does not mar her perfect face. She composes herself quickly, a small grin on her lips and a soft and melodic laugh fills the air, hiding her mirth behind a hand. 

“And in exchange?” 

“My name.”

Another beat of silence passes them and the nagini appears to smile, though it’s a bit difficult to tell whether she actually smiles or grins yet again. 

“I accept.” 

He nods. “Hanzo.” He gives her his name and he thinks if it’s an unworthy name, despite never having thought so before. 

She upholds her end of the bargain, the name that slips from her lips more fulfilling than any treasure he’s managed to find.

“Satya.”