#( ch. genzo )

[every-nami]

[thepayloadisgay]

re-wired

Shimadacest / Genzo

M (so far)

Ch 1/??

Tags (so far): canon divergence, angst and feels, omnics, implied alcoholism, masturbation

Hanzo's found himself in Budapest, one of the few places in the world where omnics and humans co-exist in something like normality. And maybe it's like a home now. Worth seeping off these bones as he tries to form the word exist, to live. Dodging, picking off assassins, deafening himself to the news of his clan. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Different names smother Hanzo, numbers his age. But he still knows what he sees when he looks in the mirror. You're not here. Rumblings in the world of omnics start to break the seams of not just Budapest, but Europe, the world. New faces, new names. And then for Hanzo, he can't quite shift this shadow he's sure is an assassin. Why is he taking so long? Why won't he just take the hit and kill him? Maybe it's a fantasy, and he's dreaming demise again. Maybe.

Read below the cut, or on AO3 here. Enjoy!!

He’d been here too long, it was almost home.

But home was nothing, now.

A hollow word in passing, part of a goodbye when leaving behind another face Hanzo will never see again, won’t remember. For those he will, home isn’t a word for them. Even if it’s false.

Strangers are the comfort, familiarity not.

Had anything ever really changed?

The Danube flows beneath. A mirror of colour. Rippling neons, stars almost lost. Forgotten. The colours mush as a tour boat splits the water two, music and laughter pounding the surface, echoing under the bridge where Hanzo stands, forearms bare. Cold on stone, still and sore.

It was sunset when he stopped here, bag of groceries tucked between feet, sparse with too many things he’d forgotten, denied.

It’s night now as he watches the Danube, the burst of people along its banks, tourists spilling onto boats, into restaurants, out of Buda and back into Pest, the roads rumbling as the bars open wide, the clubs dialled to ten.

He moved between the sides of the Danube, never staying with the same four walls too long. From the cobbled streets, high hills near the castle in a cramped room, barely space to stretch; the old communist blocks by the blistered edges, structured, rigid, peace. To the noise, vibrant colliding culture of the centre at the crown of the Andrássy Avenue, woken at dawn by the bells of the basilica.

Just another place bruised in his penance, a witness to his shame.

One day there won’t be anywhere left that won’t know.

Where will he go then?

His watch buzzes midnight, a reminder of routine. To ground. But right now, all it reminds him is that he can’t feel his arms, numb and cold, still stuck to stone as he listens to the water, wondering what it feels like below.

——

The longest he’d been in one place for months. A hostel off of Múzeum körút. Behind a heavy wrought iron gate between a second hand bookstore, and another. Down an alley, path uneven, pages of an old book torn, scattered, its spine split in the gutter.

Hanzo inputs the code, eyes away, long hair a mask from the cameras above, behind, probably below. Ritual more than anything. His face is already all over this city, continent, to those that cared.

Through a doorway painted blue, carvings dying gold. Top floor, but (nearly) always the stairs. Winding and wide. Patterned stone, wrought iron rails in beauty shaped like the tails of his dragons, the arc of his bow.

First two floors the bookstore. The rest are homes, rooms and flats for the hostel, a hotel he knows is half something else. Some of the flats are empty. One abandoned part-way through refurbishment. One destroyed, boarded off (panels placed back carefully every time by each visitor. He’s not the only one). There’s another that one of the residents simply said “nem” when she first saw Hanzo look at its locked door, scratched symbols, words, too many unintelligible in several languages.

So he listened.

As always at this time, she was leaning out of one of the windows on floor four, throwing seed to the pigeons below, the courtyard a cacophony of their coos.

“Late,” she says, heavy accent. Fall of brown hair braided, striped grey. One green eye, the other blind.

Hanzo pulls out a bag of seed, one of two, and hands it to her outstretched palm. “Took a walk,” he says back in slow Hungarian. Everytime he attempts the language, he can see her smile something. He doesn’t know if it's mockery, amusement, or appreciation.

“Take a walk after, next time.”

“Hm.”

He watches her sit back on the stool at the window, cross her legs and scatter a handful of seeds to below.

“Not much.” Hanzo listens, Hanzo watches. “Maria took the kids for the weekend. Jan is leaving for holiday in the morning. Six days. Stephan’s working an extra shift tonight. Looked like he hadn’t slept since the last. Two new guests at the hostel. One’s an omnic.”

“Short term?”

She shrugs. “Omnic five days. The other just a night. But wants to keep it open if needed.”

Hanzo writes to memory everything she says, hearing the gears, wheels of the lift click into motion as it descends down to ground.

“Hotel is come and go as always.”

“How many?”

“Lots. You want a tally? That’s extra.”

Hanzo frowns, a look near lost beneath the heavy fall of his hair.

“Anyone look-”

“Suspicious? Yes. Out of place? No.”

The lift stops, opening at ground.

“Anything else?” he asks, picking his bag from between his feet.

“I left some cabbage rolls in your fridge.”

The lift starts to ascend, and Hanzo tightens the grip on his bag. “Thank you,” he stutters, taking the last flights of steps two at a time.

——

Two old keys unlock the old heavy door. Hanzo pays extra to service the small flat himself, but Mariann owns the hostel, and does what she does after the trust of bird seed and her alarm at the contents of his grocery shopping.

It’s split into kitchen and room with a divider. Old, ornate, teakwood. Some of the design weathered from touch, time. But she never ventures past the three cabinets that make the kitchen. Rarely the fridge.

Shoes off, he sets the bag on the counter. Bare. Empties it quick, pushing the bag of seed to the side for later. Bread, away. Eggs. Fruit. More lentils. Alcohol. Chocolate.

He opens the fridge, the only light in the room. Some condiments. Expired milk replaced with fresh. And a note, stuck to the top of the tupperware of cabbage rolls. Mariann’s scrawl.

Tilly’s got another job for you. 10am. Nehru part.

He closes the door. Darkness, again.

Tapping his watch (1:33am), he sets the reminder alongside his regular alarm for dawn, sheds his coat, takes a banana, slice of bread, bottle of alcohol to bed and nothing.

(but there’s always a pause before the small wooden sparrow he’d carved in Bali, years, years ago. always perched beside a blunted shard of sword, something green. sometimes he reaches out to touch the sparrow

but he can’t

can’t)

——

“Again!”

Genji taps his arm, excited, as he begs Hanzo to show him the trick with the sword, the coin, Hanzo’s patience wearing thin as his younger brother tugs on his sleeve, clambering for attention-

“Here again?”

Genji slides a glass over wood, the bartop sticky, a mosaic of his brother’s prints, wondering how many others overlap, smudging away Hanzo’s, gnawing at the Genji he knows, becoming the Genji they do-

“Again?”

Desperation, Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head, hair shorter, greener. Smells sweet and he inhales. Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-

“Again-”

A beg, as he pulls Hanzo’s blade further to his chest. Another to his gut. Spread and wept and a maw of no return. Hanzo wants to look up. He hears a smile, but he’d see nothing but desecration. Hears beauty, loves pain. Licks blood, kisses the grave-

——

Hanzo snaps awake, a fist of sheets in his palm, dented with his nails, near torn. Back damp with sweat, hair awry, stuck to skin and sheets, lining the wave of his dragon.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring at the other side of the bed expecting blood and brutal. (maybe a desperation that it might be you there, whole and love, just for me) Two pillows. Untouched. Empty.

Checks his hands.

Reaches out to make sure.

It’s slow as he hauls himself up, finding the hair tie he’d forgotten. But it’s abandoned again when he sees the slither of the curtain move by the window, ajar.

There’s no open windows here unless he’s awake, a guard. It’s small. Barely enough for a hand, the curtain moving in dance as the breeze weaves into the stuffy room, creeping over Hanzo’s sticky skin.

For too long he just stares, a lock of hair tickling against his lips, uncaring.

Impossible. He’s so careful, so-

The curtains flick, light licking the glass on his bedside table, smudged with fingers, lips; the half empty bottle, obscuring the empty one behind.

Adrenaline wanes. Gut sinks. Head rings.

A swallow, and he unsticks from bed, body lead. Two fingers push close the window, keeping to shadow, curtain exhaling, and stop.

He smooths the fabric, touch lingering as if he’s trying to find something, feel something.

Nothing.

He rolls a shoulder, and peels off his shirt, draping it over the back of the chair. When he notices the small wooden sparrow on its side, beak touching the shard of his sword.

There’s no hesitation this time when Hanzo reaches out, picks it up to right the wrong, sitting it back in ceremony.

5:16 am

The basilica will ring soon at six. As will his alarm. There’s no point in bed anymore. All that’s left is sheets that need washed, dreams given, taken, and an empty space you won’t fill.

He checks the window again. Runs his hand over the locks on the door. Touches the two tiles beside the fridge and then steps into the bathroom, avoiding the mirror as he sheds the rest of his clothes, turning the shower to max.

The light from the room is enough as he steps inside, a shaky inhale as the water burns his skin, the steam clouding vision, muggy air.

Palm to wet wall (Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head) he breathes deep, long (Smells sweet and he inhales) forehead smudging tiles, hand smearing chest (Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-) and Hanzo looks down, sliding his wet hand over wet cock-

(Licks blood, kisses the grave-)

-wondering if he’ll suffocate or burn, first.

——

Too early.

Hanzo wanders the quiet streets near the park, window shopping mindlessly. Catching his reflection more than wanted. He’s dressed well today. He always is.

But over the months, years, he’s been slipping. Living as a nomad from room to face to place, he was sure a part of him had shed everywhere he’d left behind. Something in him wearing thin he didn’t want to know. Just felt.

He stares a little longer at a shop window selling leather goods, stretching his fingers against his own gloves, old and worn and a shape of his own.

Hair pulled back in a bun, he runs a hand along one side, his undercut growing out too long, pinched grey. The other side he’d let grow long ago, the shorter lengths long enough to catch in his ponytail now. Usually.

He keeps the beard. Sometimes shaving when moving cities, countries, to hide. It’s mostly too much of a comfort, now. Too bare without.

Too long he’s looked, and turns away.

09:37 and he has a coffee. Black. Three sugars.

09:49 and he’s sitting on a bench in Nehru Part, close to the edge of the Danube. And he waits.

Watches the way the wind rustles the leaves on the trees above, hushing the city’s sound to their own, shedding the first leaves before the yawn of Autumn, side to side in a dance, before falling at Hanzo’s feet.

Feels the breeze on his skin. Nothing like earlier in his room. An alarm, unexpected. This might be something like comfort, pulling the shorter strands of hair from his bun, picking up the leaves at his feet, pulling the scent of pastries at his back, the scatter of voices ahead. No words, just noise.

He takes a drink of his coffee, counting another day.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hanzo takes another drink of his coffee as he ignores Tilly. As she takes a seat at his side, always a little too close. It’s just a bit of fun for her, exploring the intricacies of human’s social bounds, their affection, fun. And with Hanzo, if he has any of the above.

Hanzo just recrosses his legs, foot pointing in the opposite direction.

“What’s the job?”

“I hear cucumbers help for those dark eyebags,” she says, casual. Two of her forehead LEDs are broken, the lilac, sometimes turquoise, brighter on her left side. Which Hanzo also notices that she uses more, moves more, than her right.

“Any other top ten magazine quips for me this morning?”

Tilly laughs, the two elongated sides of her head plate that remind Hanzo of wings, lighting up with the trill of her voice. “As many as you want.”

Hanzo inhales slow. Steady. “Oh, good.” Takes another sip.

“Got you another observe and report at Blood and Chrome tonight. Maybe protect if shit goes down. They liked you last time.” Tilly sits chin on palm as she waits for Hanzo’s reply, knowing his answer already. Money good. Low risk. Trusted.

“Bartend again?”

“Yup.”

A last, long drink of his coffee. Hanzo stares at the university of technology and economics across the river, sunlight picking out the details on stone, the pillars, the gold and mosaic on its red roof. Age and beauty, stories worn, time crumbled. He wants to sketch it every time he sees it, despite never having drawn a single thing before. He’s gotten as far as purchasing a sketch book, pencils. Next time.

“Send me the details.”

“Thanks, Han.”

“Thanks, Han.” Genji always talked with touch as well as tongue. Hands busy forming the words, contact, their meaning. It became a second language in public. A third, in private.

“Hanzo.” He doesn’t look at her. A voice firm, but not unkind. A way she’s heard many times before, and will hear many times again.

“Wish I could stay, but I got more messages to deliver,” she says, climbing over the back of the bench. “Get some sleep Han.” A quiet ‘Hmph’ “ Eat Mar’s stuffed cabbages at least.”

“Goodbye, Tilly.”

“Szia.”

He sits for a while, coffee cup empty, fingers cold. The trees stretch, the Danube sighs. Sun quiets behind clouds.

And from the small bag in his coat pocket, Hanzo throws a handful of bird seed to the ground, watching pigeons, great tits, a sparrow swoop down, and dance at his feet.

——

It had taken months. Trial and error with several prototypes, but Hanzo had managed (with some help) to have his own collapsible bow, without compromising performance or integrity. A labour of love.

Compact enough to fit in a bag. The arrows were the problem. One couldn’t simply split them in two, assemble and fire like he could his bow with a touch, flick, done.

Luckily few people cared what others carried here. Pistols on hip. Rifles on back. Swords in sheaths. As long as you had your permit, of course.

“Just a bow, arrows?” asks the omnic. Mariann had said her name was Tilly. Seven LEDs on her forehead. Three eye slits, not two. It looked like the third she’d carved herself. “No sword? You look like a sword guy.”

“Bow, and arrows.” “Alright alright. I’ll get one done.” “I’ll need a few, with different names.” “That’ll cost ya.” Hanzo sets down a stack of Euros, sinking back against the metal dresser, the bass of the club below stuck in his throat. “Help yourself.”

A city of humans, omnics, side by tentative side. Many still walked on tiptoes, ready to flee. Some settled to heels, shoulders dropped, calling Budapest home.

A city now almost its own state, rolling its own laws, walls, declaring stability for omnics (safety was arguable), work, if they proved themselves (we don’t talk about what happened if they didn’t).

Fast becoming a multicultural epicentre like London, it was expanding out, and up. But also, down.

And down, was where Hanzo walked. Lived. Worked.

Crime thrived here. A congregation of humans and omnics brushing side by side, co-existing but wanting to live, bred a rich, vibrant underworld that lived seen, unseen. World, within world. And even if it felt like the city was holding its breath, it seemed to work.

It wasn’t lost on Hanzo that he’d turned his back on his family, their legacy, ways-

-only to fall right back in, just a different shade, name.

At least here, he felt like he was helping people (didn’t you try back home too?), useful and giving back (funny what memories we pick and choose).

Mostly, though, he was doing it to survive. What money he’d taken from his family dwindling, and it was a reliable way to keep an ear to the ground, connected. Safe, within harm.

And Hanzo knew the world. How to move. Talk. When to run, when to bleed.

Tonight, he was back at Blood and Chrome, one of the less mainstream mixed clubs for humans and omnics (there were segregated clubs, of course. The omnics only clubs never staying in one place too long, rotating locations, word of mouth, last minute). Fewer tourists, less desirable location away from the Danube, tucked underground - but it mattered in almost every other way in the world he walked.

Here you find people you want, people you don’t. People you won’t anywhere else. Money changes hands more than some banks. Names change when you walk through the door. Faces forgotten when you walk back out.

The drinks are good, the music a mix of rock, metal, EDM depending on room, night, with places to dance, talk, and doors to close for things you don’t want anyone to see. All tucked underground in an old metro station, decommissioned and reclaimed.

The club is built around its exposed bones, dented with years of nights like this. Graffiti immortalising Budapest’s metamorphosis to today. LEDs lining floors, walls, hanging from exposed beams and concrete, under tables, part of chairs. Murals spread over walls, some on ceilings. There’s colour everywhere, and it changes when you’re not looking. When you forget, and are dragged back weeks later for a job you don’t want.

It stinks of alcohol. Sweat. Metal. Oil.

It tastes of whatever you want.

And it sounds busy, voices indistinguishable between the music as Hanzo slips in through the back, the omnic bouncer stepping aside, expecting him. It’s a Friday, so not unusual. He’s working the room they call The Boiler. Downstairs again and one of the bigger rooms, sometimes closed off for exclusivity. Sometimes for a dead body.

The first time he came here, it felt like a community more than a club. More rooms unfolding after each door. Stairs leading to more floors he wondered how far down it really went. Owned by an omnic and human couple, there was always a buzz when they were spotted at their club, tucked in a corner, private.

There was a buzz tonight, but it felt different. As if something new had cracked open. Bristling hairs on skin, sparking exposed wires, the seams of the city picked.

Hanzo hangs his coat, and a last glance at the mirror in the bar staff room, tucking his hair back into a bun. The shorter strands of his outgrown undercut already falling free.

He tucks his small pack at the back of his waist with his bow, arrows already long stashed underneath the bar from his last few jobs here. And pushes the swing doors open for work.

All Blood and Chrome’s employees were like Hanzo. Well. All those down in The Boiler floor and below, anyway. Criminals; former, current, no-choice in the matter. Everyone vetted heavily by the owners, recommended from all the way down from Mariann and even Tilly, he was sure (“hey I’m just your messenger and forgery bot”).

“Oh hey-” she stops, trying to pick his name from memory.

“Morio.”

“Oh, that’s right. Mo.”

A short, sharp sigh. “What is it with people and nicknames, here.”

Hanzo tucks a cloth into his belt, dressed in black jeans, purple long sleeve t-shirt (tattoo always covered, here), half hanging off his right shoulder. Some nights there was a dress code. Usually, it was whatever the hell you wanted. Hanzo tried to dress unassuming. Like anyone who might walk through these doors.

He missed his hair ribbon.

Sometimes he still caught himself reaching up to touch, run his fingers along the silk.

“Easier to say,” she says tapping something into her phone. Hanzo’s burner beeps (everyone has a burner just for work. Sometimes two). “Remember mine?”

“Adrienne.”

A smirk. “Not nickname but, accent’s getting better,” she says with a wink under her mane of red curls. “Anyway. You’re assigned to the veranda tonight.”

(Excerpt from mixed nightlife spots of Budapest for the traveller: …The Veranda: despite being underground, this section of The Boiler Room looks a lot like a veranda might. Or not. Aglow in faux nature, bloom changing weekly, wood fused with metal and the lights, it’s become a favourite corner of those that matter around here…)

“Who?”

Adrienne nods to his burner and she turns back to the bar, asking for the customer’s request, flicking two glasses onto the bar with flair.

Hanzo unlocks the file with thumbprint, a secondary code following.

Rav[REDACTED] Approx 20 active years [REDACTED]tor. Tall. Smooth voice, apparently. Controlled and calm. Purple colourings. You’ll know him when you see him. Rumblings of him through the omnics like livewire right now. Heard he’d rather skewer a human than sit next to one, but when you're desperate, right? Think he’s here for connections, money, help, fucking anything for his cause. I need to know. You have ears like a bat and some weirdo intuition. You ain’t failed me yet, Katniss.

Hanzo glances at The Veranda. Two humans. Omnic. Some vacant tables. Empty glasses litter their table. He takes a tray, and walks, weaving through bodies, blaring music, faces he knows, doesn’t.

None of them know him as Hanzo. He wonders when he’ll lose his name, too.

The music muted as he steps into The Veranda, the words and whispers of every face he plucks to memory all that matters now.

His mark isn’t here yet, so he waits. Watches. Works.

——

He sits in a corner, arm over a woman he’s known for an hour. Couples less inconspicuous than alone. He hasn’t talked to her since walking in the door. Neither has she, her face pin lit from her phone.

Eyes follow his mark. Back. Forth. Cybernetic eyes building on what he already knows.

Not tonight, they said, he’s here. City’s a livewire. Guest of honour.

So he waits. Watches. Works.

[gendervapor14]

too tired to write, too tired to edit, too tired to read, but not too tired to draw!! saw some anime screenshot redraws going around and that got me thinking of this iconic scene:

which i combined with a little moment the sorabelle fic to create…

a new disastrous wip!! nothing like having a stack of wip illustrations to go with your wip stories, right??

haha! ha. right? this is normal. everything is normal. everything is fiiiinneee

[searunes]

tag drop: BELL-MERE.

Bell-mere ( general )

Bell-mere ( visage )

(Bell-mere ( IC )

Bell-mere ( headcanon )

Bell-mere ( aesthetic )

Bell-mere ( musings )

Bell-mere (loved ones )

Bell-mere ( crack )

( ch. nami )

( ch. nojiko )

( ch. rosinante )

[shinogi-xx]

INTERMISSION TIME Ch. 16 (Trade Mistakes) This one is fun. I've always hoped that the reveal of this being a flashback chapter is a good one, and not confusing-- when 'Sasabe' steps into the room and it's NOT Kei i feel like IT HITS IDK!!! And since we know that Nikko was killed on the 26th of December, this takes place close to that time. It's why the man is so stressed about his calendar, he gets really busy close to the new year. (There's also a tiny thread with Genzo back in ch 5 when he first meets Kei properly, she tells him her name and he gets a small look of pity on his face-- here it's confirmed that he not only knew about Nikko, but even bumped into him once)

ARC THREE / FINAL ARC Ch. 17 (Acceptance In The Waves) OK I HAVEN'T READ THIS CHAPTER IN A MINUTE BC I FORGOT RIO'S LIL FLACKBACK REASSURANCE THAT IS SO SWEET WTF??? I LOVE THAT MAN SOBS (also it was nicely placed i think?? bc we never do get the end of that conversation back in that chapter so I like that the importance of it continues here) Ok I finished reading it and bro that's so fucking sad.. that's why I don't read this one anymore :HA: the emotional beats hit but the writing feels muddier than usual here? I'm realizing as I do this the specific ways that I tend to over-crowd my sentences so hopefully I can fix that going forward.

Ch. 18 (Anchor And Hope) This one flows better than the last one I think, and carries the emotions through well enough that I think Kei's motivations are understandable? More importantly JYUTO'S BACK EVERYONE ROUND OF APPLAUSE hes such a bitch in this one and i love it

Ch. 19 (Up Against The Wall) (that title fucking throws me) (its really good in context of both the meaning and the song itself) (but like holy shit also bc of the final scene hdfjksghjkfdshkhsjg) Immediately upon reading this in line with the other chapters, it's really clear that there was such a big gap in time when I wrote it. Thankfully I don't mean that in terms of the story, I think it flows well enough from the previous chapter? Mostly in regards to the writing itself. There's a more polished tightness to it, like I fixed that sloppiness I was growing sick of two chapters ago. "she thought of the way that fires ate gasoline" is my favorite way to describe Kei being a brat ever ever ever :HA:

Ch. 20 (Stay) The irony of the first sentence of this chapter being "Run." and the title being "Stay" is just too good man. This song is so good for this chapter raaahhfdj I don't have a ton to say about this one except holy shit! I love SaKe (I could gush for hours but this isn't the place)

So! That's everything so far... I'm glad I reread everything again because I literally already had to fix some things in chapter 21's outline bc I forgot I either already covered that or I was contradicting myself a little. Thanks for everything, Unnamed Story.

me when this meme i made 15 thousand words ago still applies (it's at 55.6K now)

yearly SaKe re-read post

because I've finally been working on chapter 21's outline again, and my last full read through was over a year ago and didn't include 19 & 20. If I'm going to attempt to start 21's document, I'm gonna need to get everything really fresh again first. Which also means: I dissect shit again, and blog about it. (I swear it helps with the process) (but it also just scratches my brain really nice) Also to note, I'm gonna be editing again. Maybe even tackling some of the bigger issues with the story that have bugged me but would be a project in itself. We'll see.

Notes from last time (for ease of access): here

[aegeanwave]

Genzo: No man will ever be good enough for my daughter.

Nojiko: You just say that because you’re overprotec-

Genzo: No, I mean literally. Nami is a lesbian. There will be no man.

[rebirthuntilthesunsetburst]

Electric Shock (Ch. 1, Aurora)

    When you dance it’s like you’re electrified. Everything tightens and your muscles create a read thread that ties it all together. Set in a trance your body climbs up while your mind descends into different spheres while you choose the rights steps to conquer your movements. I was in control of my happiness in those moments and no one could take it from me because any time I would take the pole into my hands no one could resist me. An irony I couldn’t laugh off as easily as I’d like to. As much I craved to be in control, I craved to be invisible from the world.

   “Well, well, if that ain’t my favourite pincipessa”, a smoky voice groaned from beneath me. Absent-minded I opened up my eyes and looked into its direction. Gary, one of my – our – oldest clients smirked up at me and waved at me with a fifty dollar bill. I raised an eyebrow and taunted him with a little shake from my right index finger. “Oh, you little beast”, he chuckled and dug his wallet out of his trouser pocket.

    I looked over the club as I crouched down on the stage, sliding closer to the edge of it. It was slow night, tonight. Only a few clients having a drink at the bar or in front of the stages watching their dancers perform only for them. Or so they thought. I smiled as I took the hundred dollar bill out of Gary’s hand. He should have known better than to pay me the rest of what he owed me three days ago just now. It wasn’t like my brother endured back payments easily.

    “Your eyes, my dear. Your eyes and the looks you shoot me with could kill. Will you perform on the center stage when you are riled up like that?” I turned away as he casted me a look of playful defiance. “I would pay triple to see your temper show through”, he whispered. “You know that I love a little bit of resistance in the bedroom as well.” I rolled my neck, disgusted at his advances. I couldn’t wait till this night would be over.

    Frustrated at what my life has come to although it was never really destined to be … nice … I couldn’t shake of the pressure in my chest I felt around my brother lately. Sure, it made sense that some elderly men were oblivious to the sophistication of a young woman. A young, beautiful women, as my brother told me. And since I wasn’t only some young woman but his sister, I became more of a value to these men since they thought that this connection would bind them even closer to my brother.

  Oh, fools on parade cavort and carry on for waiting eyes.

    “How is your daughter doing, Gary?”, I asked as I bend my beck while holding on to the pole. With my left leg, I hocked the metal whereas my right one stood up straight, in a fine, tight line. Gary sighed, yet again. I rolled my eyes.

     “She is well, off to Oxford, you know?”, he replied, sipping on his whiskey and following my every move. It was naïve to initiate a serious conversation with a man that only thought of me as a source to his pleasure. But I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about his family, especially his daughter - same age, same graduation year. Yet, we went into completely different paths. And as much as I had any reason to dislike this man sitting before me, cheating on his wife regularly, he gave his daughter the permission to live providing her the appropriate resources.

    No man in my life had taken care of me that way ever. No man in my life had seen any potential in me. I shook my head, putting some distance between me and my thoughts. “What will she major in?” I slowly swayed down to the ground of the dance floor. I pushed my hands onto it and glided down. Pushing my face up with hands as I lied down in front of Gary, I tore my lips up into the sweetest smile I could give.

    “She will master in business administration. You know that I want to make her my successor one day.” He shot out his hand to circle my chin and caress the skin. I tried to maintain as still as possible. He couldn’t possibly know that his touch unsettled me because frankly I wasn’t used to it. I wouldn’t ever get used to it. “She won’t have to know everything, but prestige matters a lot. I just want her to be able to think.”

    “Think? Focus on her studies, miles away from her parents. In a student dorm, surrounded by people of the same age, only a second away from causing mischief”, I pondered out loud. Something picked at my skin as goose bumps crawled down my skin. Gary pushed his knife that he keeps hidden in his bracelet. I laughed out loud, not in the least scared but satisfied that I got to him. “Is she still a virgin? I heard that British boys show their true colors after some drinks. Ever wonder if their drinking habits will ever rub off on her too?”

     “I should put you right across …”

      “Yes?”, I interrupted him with glassy eyes but a pounding heart. I didn’t know what it was that made me provoke others. The frustration with myself, my life, the men I had around me but didn’t really know or care about me, the women that weren’t even in my life. Everything was ephemeral, including human relationships. I never understood how humans could connect on a deeper level, much beyond lust, hatred, aggression or mutual indifference. I rarely even felt the connection to myself, and so I started this game at 13 until my brother decided that I was so good at it and made it my profession. “Are you hard?”

     “I think you should move this conversation into one of the playrooms, Aurora”, a hard voice interjected our spell or rather Gary’s enchantment with me. I crunched with my teeth as I jumped off stage and rounded Gary’s table. Genzo, my older brother, stood in the center of the room and looked at us with narrowed eyes. His shoulders were pulled back, tense, which one could see even beneath his layered three piece suit. His hands were pushed into the pockets of his jacket, while his legs stood wide and firm in place. His dark eyes brushed me over as I approached him, then the look on his face softened. Subtly. “It would be much cheaper for him to take you now, than take you home.”

    I scoffed, holding my hand out for his face and brushing his hair back. He knew that I hated to be close to him and this place during work - my real work. As much as I enjoyed mind games and hated human beings like no other, I couldn’t completely shake off the last sparks of humanity. It took effort to be unscrupulous and I was better at it with no audience that could see or hear me. “I wouldn’t like that. Gary wouldn’t like that. We both prefer to hold our foreplay here and do the action at home. Unless it’s something that you truly want to experience too, big brother, I can’t think of anything else that would make you want me here”, I mused, sweetly.

   “Brat!”, Benzo spat out and twisted my hand out of his hair. Benzo –shortened from Benedict Solon Storm - was five years older than me. The Storms adopted me at the age of 7 after I had endured a year at the house of my mom’s estranged aunt. She had mercy with me after all. However, due to her schizophrenia she couldn’t handle life with a 5 year old and so her doctor put me back into the foster system. Out of all the kind mommies and daddies that were looking for a daughter, it had to be Cecilia and Stephen Storm who took a liking on me. Cecilia and Stephen Storm: the inglorious money launderers of Manhattan. So they made me Benedict’s little sister and initially he hated me.

    Benzo – the little king of Long Island. The one who ran my home for ten years and terrorized my school years. The one who made me find a way to disappear into the walls, whenever he crossed my way. The one who subconsciously taught me how to lie. The one who was mom’s favorite and treated her with care and love – she was the only one he ever loved. The one who taught me how to fight. The one who chose to save me instead of our parents. The one who broke down in my arms after they died. The one who dragged me out of our privileged life into this shallow silhouette of it.

   His eyes were dark as they lied on me, but they always seemed dark. Chocolate brown eyes, under rich thick eyebrows, that carried a golden touch to it and pierced at you when he was angered. A smooth, concise face with perfectly curved cheekbones, plumb lips that looked to beautiful to fit on his face, and a strong chin. He was beautiful, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. His thick brown hair fell over his forehead, scattered from my hand. I used to think that he was gorgeous even, before he taught me that he was ugly from within the inside.

   “I mean I knew that you guys had some tension going on, but I never thought that you, Benzo, would ever cross that line. I thought that you were raised religiously”, laughed Gary at my reply. I didn’t turn around to reply, neither did Benzo. He kept his eyes on mine, tense, heated. He didn’t like my jokes. Notably when they concerned our family status. He didn’t want people to know I was adopted.

    “I think she’s had too many drinks with Peter from the bar. I’ll forbid him from giving her any shots anymore”, Benzo bit out. “Her tongue’s way too loose and should be put into use more purposefully. Don’t you think, Rora?”

    What do you expect of me? Life is hell, you’re hell. This place is hell. But instead of telling him all the things that went through my mind I nodded. It had no use to anger this one and wear him out. He’d devour me with his fangs and spit me out on the next street. I didn’t know why he kept me after they died. I guess now he had some puppet to play with, at least. I was only a toy, among his many toys.

    “The dance starts in thirty minutes. Gary will only be able to get me in two hours. The earliest.” Benzo’s right eye twitched as I said it but he nodded. It seemed like he wanted to turn away, so I turned out my hand and showed him the money. “Here is the rest of the money for last time. I guess now you have something to say to him.”

   I turned away, escaping from his glare and crossing the room to get into the backstage. No matter what I did, he was always unhappy. No matter how hard I tried to seem unfazed by what we did, he couldn’t reciprocate with the same sentiment. Why always anger? Why was he annoyed twenty-four-seven? I didn’t escape. I didn’t run. I didn’t complain as much as I could.

   Still clouded by the growing anger and tension in my chest, I made my way through the rows as suddenly an arm snaked around my waist and pulled me to a strong, hard body. I held my breath as I came to close with a male chest. I only saw tan skin, disclosed by an open collar, tight muscles above the collarbone. I saw a hint of ink beneath the fabric, as a strong hand tipped my head back. Green eyes, glowing like emerald that seemed to be boundless took me in. I set out a soft moan as I realized how close we stood together.

    I didn’t touch men and men didn’t touch me. No one did but it didn’t linger in the back of my mind to tell him that. I couldn’t speak under the heat of his stare. His eyes seemed to break something in me as they caressed my face, and dived deeper to take the rest of me in. “Who are you, my muse?”, he whispered and leaned in closer to me. I held my head back, even if it was helpless. I felt his strong, warm grip around my waist. I felt the tight muscles of his chest and his legs on mine as we stood there and just stared. God, why did he stare at me?

    His black hair was short and accentuated his face and his darker skin. His piercing green eyes shined in the purest form of its color I had ever seen. His fine nose embraced by his prominent cheekbones curled up under his smile. God, his lips. They looked so soft, a mix of red and rose. I blinked as I looked at his mouth. Suddenly my insides felt extremely cold.

    Get it together, my mind screamed. He’s not the first handsome guy to enter this club and he won’t be the last. What if he wants you? Everyone wants you! But I didn’t want anyone … He was tall. He towered over me, about a couple of heads taller than me. My face reached his shoulders, and he looked as if he could just carry me in his hand. I was so small, I felt so small.

    “She’s Aurora”, my brother murmured. Confused I turned my head, broken was the spell the stranger held me captive in, around to where his voice came from. He stood next to us, very close and his face sat unmoving. He didn’t show any emotion, but I could tell from the tension in his body that he was … angry. His knuckles were white, fists unmoving next to his body. “She is the one I’ve been talking about during our meetings. My little sister.”

    Meetings. I gasped dismayed.

    Who. Would. Want. You? No one.

    I turned my face down to the ground, unable to look at the stranger anymore. My body quaked and he must have felt it because he only tightened his hold on me. “I like her already and will give you five of what I originally promised to pay for”, the stranger replied in a calm and soothing tone almost as if he wanted to comfort me. “How old is she? She looks young. You told me she was legal.”

     “She is”, Benzo countered, almost impatiently. “She is legal and she is popular. I told you to come by next week, not the next day. She is booked and done for tonight. We can meet in my office and talk about it but you won’t have her tonight.” Something simmered in my brother. I was unsure of its origin as I knew that anger and possessiveness were part of our profession. This time it seemed to go deeper and whereas he usually didn’t escape from the opportunity to make more money than usual, he wavered this time. Why couldn’t this guy have me now? Why next week?

    “Hmm.” The stranger took a curl from my hair and raised it to his face. He sniffed on it. “It won’t be long till you’re mine, my sweet muse”, he whispered, almost inaudibly. Then he let go of me and nodded to my brother to lead him from here. I shook a breath out as I watched the two of them distancing themselves from where I stood. My heart throbbed in my throat as it was racing for survival, almost. I brought my hand to my head where he’d touched me. Just then the stranger turned around and gave me a last heated look. If it wouldn’t have seemed so ridiculous, I would have guessed that it meant: You’re mine.

[waterchestnut123]

CH 4 | To Catch A Turtle Dove

Fandom: One Piece Setting: Victorian AU Genre: Action, Adventure, Humor, Friendship, Romance. Pairings: Law/Nami Rating: M - Mature (for language, drinking and alcohol, death and some moderate gore, other adult themes)

Read on AO3  /  Tumblr Chapter Index < Prev |  Next >

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter 4: Nojiko and Rebecca

“Half a mast—just floatin’ there in the water off the cliffs!”

“Shipwreck, ya think?”

“That’s what ‘e thinks, least. Up near the northern coast of Flevance.”

Nami leaned against the deck railing of the ferry keeping her absent gaze on the approaching docks, but tuned a curious ear toward the fisherman conversing against the cabin wall behind her.

“Makes sense. Those waters are damn scary. Any survivors?”

“None that ‘e found when ‘e went ta look, though ‘e said ‘e didn’ get too close—you know ‘ow the tide is up there. ‘e did find a piece ‘o hull though. Poor crew musta gotten thrashed on the rocks in that storm th’other day.”

The second man tutted, a protesting squeal from the hinges of the cabin door sounding behind her before the loud thud of it closing, muffled voices continuing through the wall.

She shook her head. It was a right shame, if true—no one deserved to die at the hands of the northern coast. They were the most treacherous waters in all of Grandlin, subject to strong winds, unpredictable tides, hidden rocks, and occasional sheets of ice. She would have to remember to mention it to Robin once she returned home tomorrow, though—the older woman always was oddly fascinated by such morbid stories.

The wind and sea spray began to die down as the ferry approached the Cocoyasi docks, and Nami felt a familiar twinge of homesickness as the deck hand jumped off the boat onto the docks, another shipmate tossing him a rope to secure the craft. The two fisherman and only other passengers—headed to a different island in the chain—returned to the deck, conversation now focused on the falling price of tuna as she pulled away from the rail and made for the short gangplank now being lowered.

Nami stepped carefully down the sloping wood, heels thumping noisily as she landed on the worn dock. It had been at least six months since she’d been here—early summer and sunny with blue skies. Now, though the islands were far warmer than Flevance, still the approach of winter was evident in the grey clouds covering the sun from view and the subtle bite to the air. A gentle breeze pulled at the hair she wore long and loose down her back as she tucked her bag more firmly under her elbow and made her way down the dock and towards the village which raised her.

It was an easy walk up the dirt road, Cocoyasi visible atop the crest of the hill. She gazed at it fondly before turning her head to follow the path she knew lay beyond her sight, from the village’s center to the cliff jutting into the ocean on her left, where her childhood home lay hidden by the trees.

As she approached the village’s small main street two young boys playing a raucous game of tag spotted her. Jonny careened to a halt in the middle of the road, waving enthusiastically in her direction and ignoring his companion who ran headlong into his back.

“Namiii! Welcome back!”

She smiled at the boy, his companion soon spotting her and waving as well. They didn’t wait for her to reach them, instead running up to her, eyes expectant.

“Did you bring us anything from Flevance?”

Yosaku always did cut right to the chase. She laughed lightly, crossing her arms and bringing a finger to her chin.

“Hmmmm… Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Perhaps if you remind me who the most beautiful woman in all the Conomi islands is, my memory might return…”

“You are!” They shouted in unison, saluting her with practiced ease and wide, appeasing grins. She smiled.

“And don’t you two forget it!”

Hand slipping into her pocket, she tossed each of them a small bag of Sanji’s homemade lemon drops with a wink. “Courtesy of the best chef in the Capitol.”

“Thanks Nami!” they chimed enthusiastically before running off into the trees, giggling. She smiled fondly, watching them settle at the base of an old stump before continuing on to the village.

The main thoroughfare was rather empty, fisherman still out for the day and the women likely tending to lunch. A few who noticed her popped their heads out into the street to say hello, and she cheerfully greeted them in return.

She reached her first stop quickly, stepping up to the small clinic at the end of town. Inside Nako sat at his desk on the far side of the room, oblivious to her entrance until the door swung shut with a thump. He looked up and smiled upon seeing her, waving her over.

“Ah, Nami! Good to see you—it’s been a while!”

She smiled, striding towards the desk.

“Hey Nako. How are you?”

He stood and offered her a hug before settling into his chair, sitting back as he observed her leaning against the desk.

“Ah, I’m quite well. Here about Nojiko I presume?”

“Yes—how has she been doing? Are her tests looking any better with the new medication?”

The jovial look on Nako’s face fell slightly, and he sighed. Nami felt her own smile fall as well.

“Well… she’s not worse. It’s difficult to say she’s doing much better, though.”

Nami nodded with a small sigh, reaching into her bag.

“I suspected as much. Any outstanding payments due?”

Nako nodded, reaching for his ledger and flipping through it.

“Ah, not too much. 300 Belli. I was going to go up there this afternoon to collect it, actually.”

Nami smiled wryly. “Well, I’ll save you a trip, then.”

She counted out the bills and set them on his desk.

“Are you heading up there now?” he inquired, turning for a drawer.

“Next stop.”

“Could you bring her this? I wanted to start her on a vitamin supplement. I worry she’s not eating enough. In fact… if its not too much, make her lunch while you’re there? I think she could use a good meal.”

Nami reached for the bottle of white powder, tucking it and a proffered measuring spoon into her bag.

“One spoonful in a meal or drink a day.” He instructed.

“I’ll pass that on,” she responded, looking up to hold his gaze meaningfully. “Thank you, Nako.”

He smiled kindly, standing to escort her as she headed for the door.

“Anything for you girls. You take care now, you hear?”

“You too.”

She bid him farewell, waving as she stepped back out onto the road and took a side path up the cliff to the cottage.

A sea breeze blew in off the water, the scent of salt filling her nostrils, and she tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, thoughts far away. Nojiko could really use more help. Nami was already making the budget stretch fantastically to accommodate employing Chabo to maintain the tangerine grove for her; and Rebecca’s expenses were ever growing…

She let out a familiar sigh. The answer was the same as it had always been.

They needed more money.

Almost before she realized it the small cottage was looming before her and she shook her head to clear her troubled thoughts, putting on a cheerful smile. Aunties should always be smiling. Straightening, she knocked firmly on the door and soon Genzo answered, a bouncing, giggling Rebecca on his shoulders.

“Ah, Nami! Good to see you! Come in, come in!”

He smiled broadly, standing aside as Rebecca began animatedly attempting to wriggle out of Genzo’s hold.

“Nami! Nami! Nami!” she chanted and Nami laughed, turning to the excited toddler.

“Becka! Becka! Becka!” Nami chanted right back, a finger rising to tap the girl on the nose, eliciting a delighted squeal.

Genzo chuckled, closing the door and shepherding her into the small living room where Rebecca’s efforts to reach for Nami finally became too much for the older man. With a huff, he reached up and lifted her, extending her to Nami’s waiting arms.

“Nami!” squealed the girl, and Nami laughed.

“Rebecca!” she echoed, giving the girl a tight hug.

“Dids a bwing pwesents?” the girl inquired with wide eyes, and Nami tutted.

“Little girl, I think you’re getting spoiled!”

“Spoiled gets pwesents?” she inquired seriously, and Genzo laughed.

“I did warn you Nami,” he opined with amusement, plopping down onto the living room sofa with an exhausted huff.

Nami chuckled, setting Rebecca on the floor and kneeling before her while digging through her bag.

“Well, miss Rebecca, I do have a present—but only for polite little girls who say please and thank you,” she said sternly, lifting a small, gently worn doll from within the confines of her bag and shaking it gently. Rebecca’s eyes popped and she immediately stilled, hands fisting the dirty pinafore atop her over-sized blue dress.

“Auntie can I pwease has my pwesent?” she inquired with careful effort, and Nami struggled to keep a straight face.

“That’s better,” she said approvingly as she extended the doll towards her. It was snatched with excited hands, held briefly at arm’s length for a quick examination before being clutched tightly to her chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squealed excitedly as she jumped up and down, and Nami finally allowed her grin free.

“You’re very welcome. Why don’t you go play with your new dolly in your play corner while Grandpa Genzo and I talk, hm? I’ll make us lunch, too.”

“Okay!” she answered excitedly, before running to a corner of the living room where a stack of wooden blocks and worn children’s books lay in a heap. Nami let out an affectionate sigh before standing and turning to Genzo, who looked ready to fall asleep.

“I take it Nojiko’s resting?” she inquired over Rebecca’s excitable burbling.

Eyelids drooping, Genzo nodded, letting out a weary breath.

“Rebecca insisted on playing tag in the grove this morning. Drove Chabo absolutely nuts,” he chuckled, “Really wore me out, too.”

Nami nodded with understanding. Rebecca was… quite energetic at times.

“Why don’t you take a nap. I’ll watch Rebecca and make us all lunch, and wake you when its ready.”

Gen’s eyes were already starting to close when he murmured appreciatively, “You’re a godsend, Nami.”

She chuckled, twirling on her heel and heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen was better stocked than she expected but less well stocked than she would have preferred. Eying the available ingredients in the pantry, she selected materials for a basic chicken noodle soup. Rebecca, thankfully, played quietly in her corner for the duration of the soup’s cook time, and when she finally wandered into the kitchen having exhausted the novelty of her new doll, Nami was ready to set the table.

“Take these and put one in front of each chair,” she instructed, handing the girl four rolled up napkins. She nodded seriously, toddling off to the table and struggling to reach up to its surface, dutifully placing a napkin at each setting. Nami finished the rest, strapping the girl into her third-hand high chair with a selection of peeled tangerine slices as she went to wake Genzo. But as she passed the hall, she caught sight of Nojiko stumbling out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Spotting Nami, she grinned broadly, affect immediately cheering.

“I thought I heard your voice,” she said affectionately, crossing the distance to give her adopted sister a hug. Nami held her tightly in return, noting with some displeasure the boniness of her shoulders.

“I made lunch. Table is already set, why don’t you go sit down? I’m just going to wake Gen from his nap.”

Palpable relief flashed briefly in her eyes and she nodded. As Nojiko headed for the kitchen Nami headed for the living room, finding Gen lying exactly where she’d left him, head resting at an odd angle against the back of the sofa with his mouth hanging open, softly snoring. She repressed a snort, gently kicking his shoe with the toe of her boot.

“Lunch is ready, Gen. Up-and-at-em.”

He snorted and jerked, sitting up blearily and bringing a hand to rub his eyes.

“Lunch?” he inquired hoarsely, and she nodded.

“Come get it while it’s hot.”

He followed her into the kitchen, the two of them sitting at their respective place settings as the older man insisted upon saying Grace for the occasion—to which Nojiko and Nami grudgingly complied. It was difficult to say no to the closest thing they had to a father when it mattered so much to him and was such a trifling matter to them—especially when they all three saw each other so rarely.

The meal was a warm and peaceful affair, with Rebecca making a proper mess and Genzo being rewarded with a tangerine to the face (an event which left both Nami and Rebecca in a fit of giggles). However, soon the skies began to dim, and Genzo was due to depart for his rounds about the village. Nojiko lifted Rebecca from her chair, excusing herself to put the girl down for her afternoon nap, and Nami saw the old policeman to the door.

“It was good to see you, Nami,” he said as he pulled on his coat, the cooling outside air seeping in as he tugged on the door. “Don’t work yourself too hard, you hear?” Nami smiled as she pulled him in for a hug, tugging the blanket from the couch around her arms more tightly in the chill.

“I could say the same to you. And hey—” she interrupted, sticking her head out the door to glance up at the sky, “Bring an umbrella with you tonight. It should start raining a little after sundown.”

Genzo simply shook his head, smiling, as he donned his cap.

“It’s creepy how you do that, you know.”

Nami rolled her eyes but couldn’t help her smile. “You’ll thank me later, like you always do. Have a good night, Gen. And thanks for looking after Nojiko and Rebecca for me.”

“Anything for you girls,” he replied warmly, tipping his hat before heading out the door.

Sliding the deadbolt into place, Nami returned to the kitchen to gather their plates, replacing the blanket around her shoulders with an apron before starting on the dishes. She was in the middle of scrubbing some dried on tangerine flesh from Rebecca’s plate when Nojiko returned, taking a seat at the table with a tired sigh.

“I see you’ve been spoiling your niece again. She took her new dolly with her to sleep,” she commented with amusement.

Nami let out a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t be a good auntie if I didn’t.”

Nojiko smiled as Nami set the now sparkling plate onto the rack, drying her hands before turning back to the table where her bag hung from the corner of her chair. She reached for it, taking a seat and digging through the contents. Pulling out a fat stack of bills and the bottle of vitamin powder. She slid both across the table.

“I stopped off at Nako’s on my way up and paid off your outstanding balance. He told me to bring you this,” she said gesturing to the bottle. “It’s a vitamin powder; take one scoop full every day in a meal or drink.”

Nojiko eyed the items a moment before pulling both towards her.

“Lunch, money, and errands? I take it back, you’re not just spoiling Rebecca you’re spoiling me too.”

“Nonsense,” Nami scoffed, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair. “It’s hardly spoiling you if it only puts food on the table.”

Nojiko flipped through the stack quietly before pocketing it, offering her a wry smile. It had been only in the past year Nami had managed to get Nojiko to take the money without question or fuss.

A comfortable silence lapsed between them before Nojiko spoke again. “Will you be spending the night? Rebecca would love to spend more time with you if you’re able.”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Never,” Nojiko insisted with a smile, making to stand. “I’ll go get your bed ready.”

Nami stood quickly, gesturing firmly for Nojiko to sit. “Ah, ah—I’ve got it. You relax, I’ll go turn down the sheets.”

Nojiko looked like she might object a moment, but then suddenly swayed gently on her feet and sat back down.

“If you insist, I suppose,” she acquiesced.

“Always,” Nami said with a wink, turning and heading down the short hall.

Their old room was largely as she’d left it so many years ago—spartan and unadorned, the sheets stacked and folded neatly in the scuffed wooden dresser. She grabbed them and brought them to the bare mattress, but there she stilled, setting them at the foot of the bed before slowly sitting down next to them with a sigh. Finally, briefly, she let the smile she’d kept in place all afternoon fall. She leaned back on her hands, staring up at the cracked and peeling paint of the ceiling before closing her eyes wearily. Nojiko and Rebecca needed so much more than they had.

Three more days. Three more days, then she’d rob that ball blind. She set her shoulders before opening her eyes and standing to make the bed.

For Nojiko. Nojiko and Rebecca.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Read on AO3  /  Tumblr Chapter Index < Prev  |  Next >

[anjingdijual]

Jual 2 Rottweiler Anakan Betina anak INA CH, darah ningrat. . Anakan rottweiler betina, anak import x import, Hanya lahir 2 ekor dalam satu nest, dirawat dengan kasih sayang maksimal, nafsu makan rakus/terjaga, dengan pantauan 24 jam nonstop, tidak pernah sakit kembung, mencret, apalagi kutu caplak, kutu kucing,kutu air, jamur, sakit kulit, dsbnya. Makan df Royal Canin, cemilan daging sapi human grade, telur ayam kampung, dan susu, Vitamin-vitamin khusus baby, kalsium, cafortan rutin tanpa pernah absen, tidak irit-irit kasih vitamin/makan, full ac, kandang luas, anakan bermain dengan riang gembira, hasil sudah jelas maksimal, karakter bagus playfull. . umur ; 6 minggu; Bapak ; Zevs Hause Kaligula [ DZI-DZI ] import; Induk ; INA CH Vatra Vom Tannenfeld [anak Multi CH Jaro Master Field] import; Vaksin ; yes; dewormed ; yes; stamboom ; on process. . Dalam silsilah garis anakan ini terdapat Rottweiler-Rottweiler top dunia seperti, genzo, elvis, balou, ben vom langen grund, orlando hause neubrand, Jaro, astor, cochise, jackomo, mambo crossner ranch, merlin, dsb. . Jika berminat dengan anakan-anakan terbaik kami, silahkan hub : CP / WA : 0813 2206 9849 tidak menerima sms, diharapkan telepon supaya mendapatkan informasi yang jelas, atau dapat juga bertanya-tanya melalui whatsApp. Lokasi Jakarta ________________________________________ Data/tulisan pada iklan dibuat oleh pemasang iklan, bukan dari pihak AnjingDijual.com __________________________________ Attention please: Pertanyaan ttg harga & info lainnya bisa langsung hubungi no hp diatas ya :) _____________________________________ Lihat anakan lainnya di: www.AnjingDijual.com _____________________________________ #puppy #puppies #anjing #anjingras #jualanjing #anjingdijual #anakanjing #dogloverindonesia #jualpuppy #jualpuppies #puppydijual #pecintaanjing #anjingindonesia #jualanjingindonesia #rottweiler #rottweilerindonesia #rottweilerjakarta #anjingrottweiler #jualrottweiler #jualanjingrottweiler #anjingjakarta #jualanjingjakarta

[every-nami]

[every-nami]

[every-nami]

[every-nami]

[every-nami]

[every-nami]

[every-nami]