#(and she has a particular gift with water - so when she's particularly scared or angry her magic bursts out of her)

[softersinned-arc]

@koschyei said: ❛ You know, this is an interesting and efficient method of murder. I need to write this down. ❜

The smile on her lips doesn't meet her eyes, and she tries to ignore the churning in her gut; she knows better by now than to trust anyone, let alone another politician, but she wants to, and badly. She can feel it in him, some sort of power that is at once old and incomprehensible to her, and there is a part of her that wants to sit at his feet and learn, and another part of her, a greater, a louder part of her, that wishes there were some way to sink her fingers into his chest and rip it out of him to keep for herself.

She has been powerless before and has learned to survive, even to thrive, in spite of it, but it did nothing to dull her hunger. She imagines power sometimes like an organ and she imagines what it would feel like to tear the power from another person and swallow it hole, blood staining her teeth, magic burning her tongue. She is a creature of want above all else. She always has been.

"I'm afraid I'm little help to you when it comes to the Anchor's power." Not technically a lie, but certainly not the truth. Astoria's left hand pulses a gentle, glowing green, and she thinks, not for the first time, that her blood sounds different now that it's been infected by the Fade.

But it was not the Anchor's power, this time; it was her own, and a power she understands plenty well. One need not tamper with the blood as a whole when one can tamper with the things that make it, and there is plenty of water in blood. To manipulate. To move. To boil. Not technically blood magic, but she knows enough by now of the chantry to trust that not technically blood magic is hardly a solid defense. She takes in a deep breath and immediately regrets it as the euphoria of battle fades and she feels the sudden and sharp pain in her chest that means her ribs have broken again.

The dead men at her feet steams like cooked meat, their skin reddened and bursting from the heat that had poured out of her and into them. Around them, the snow has melted enough to reveal the hard, barren ground beneath it. Had she known Koschei was near, she would have been more cautious, but the Venatori had caught her by surprise. Astoria tucks her hands into her sleeves and shrugs apologetically.

"If I knew better how it worked, I would use it better. Unfortunately, much of Solas' research into rifts is beyond me. I never received a formal training in magic and I'm afraid the theory seems rather muddy compared to what I learned at the augur's knee." She raises her eyebrows, retracts her left hand and holds it out to him, palm up, as if in invitation. (In challenge.) "Though if there's knowledge in Buyan that has yet to cross the Wilds, that could guide me, surely you would know it...?"

[tackyink]

Still holding onto the hope of running out of steam soon so I can work on other fics. In any case, this has a title now. It’s Degrees of Separation.

I hate this chapter solely because in my mind it was supposed to be one, then it got long and turned into two awkward chapters, and by splitting them I was left with this thing in which nothing happens. Why would you want to read this? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to read it, even though I did. Repeatedly. To edit out all the typos I’m sure I’ve left in. I’m going to put a Golden Sun stream on the background, play Animal Crossing and drown my frustration in Coca Cola. It’s been a long week.

One last detour before Sabaody. Alex is bored, the Heart Pirates reenter the scene, and Law has an “if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions” moment.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 3

There was a storm.

Alex didn’t know if it was related to the Aqua Laguna that the ship had set out to avoid or it was simply one of the Grand Line’s meteorological whims, but two days after departure, the noon sky went so dark it was like a moonless night had come down early, the winds picked up, and the waves started to beat against the ship’s hull in an uneven rhythm.

The crew was all over the place, trying to steer the ship and reef the sails as they ushered the passengers inside to keep them from falling overboard. Alex had been caught in bad weather travelling before, but never to this extent. She had a hard time thinking of anything scarier than being at the mercy of a windy sea. Nowhere to run, nothing to do except wait and pray that the waters would take pity on you and let you live another day. Alex wasn’t the praying sort, so while she waited below deck with a group of people as scared as she was, if not more, she couldn’t even do that.

The nervous chatter of the passengers and the parents’ attempts to console their children were muffled by the deafening sounds of the wind, the waves, the creaking wood, and the crew’s rushed footsteps on the deck.

Alex stood the entire time in front of a porthole in the dining hall where they had gathered. It helped with the seasickness from the violent rocking of ship, it was better than to look at the other people, and, ironically, storms were her favorite kind of weather. She wondered what would be worse if they sunk, getting caught on deck and risking being swallowed by the ocean, or waiting for the insides of the ship to become a water tomb. For a long time, or at least it seemed like it, that was the main thought that repeated in her mind, until the possibility of dying felt so remote that she wasn’t even registering. Like when you picked a word and turned it around in your mouth and mind so many times that it lost all meaning. Of course she couldn’t die there. She had never done so before, so why start now?

It was absurd, but it helped. And it turned out to be right, too.

After a while, the storm subsided, and an hour later, the crew let them out on deck again. The ship wasn’t intact, but they hadn’t lost anybody, and that was as much as one could ask for when dealing with an angry sea.

In the end, there was only one major inconvenience: due to the damage, the ship had to change its course in order to dock somewhere safe to undergo repairs.

❦

Her hair had gotten longer to the point of annoyance. The tips brushed her shoulders already; long enough to get in her face whenever it wanted, but too short to tie it in a decent ponytail. Sure, she could have done it anyway, but she was vain and would have rather dealt with the hassle than solve the problem in an aesthetically suboptimal way.

The sunspots on the left side of her face were getting more noticeable, as were the dark circles under her eyes and the shy wrinkles that were attempting to come out. For someone who could spend so much time picking her appearance apart in front of a mirror, she didn’t look particularly healthy or well put together. She supposed that was part of the appeal, in a masochistic way: to find as many faults as she could, and invent some if needed.

Applying concealer under her eyes and red lipstick just for the sake of having some color on her face, she thought she needed to find herself a headband and a healthier pastime posthaste. Porta Bella was a quaint town, but there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, and she’d had only her thoughts for company for too long.

She had been stuck there for two weeks. After narrowly avoiding disaster, the ship had been moored in the harbor for several days, and by the time it was fit enough to sail, the captain decided to go back to Water 7 to have proper repairs done. The passengers had been given the choice to remain in Porta Bella and find another ship, or to return to Water 7 with the crew. Going back wasn’t an option for Alex when Sabaody was so close that it felt like she could have seen it if she climbed on a tall tree, she didn’t trust a half-baked repair job to keep her safe, and, most importantly, someone had tried to kill Iceburg and Enies Lobby had kind of blown up in the following days of her departure from Water 7.

She didn’t want to think that the tracksuit shipwright had something to do with it, but the conspiracy theorist in her told her that it was totally his fault. That nose? Could totally be used as a murder weapon and nobody would be none the wiser.

The few passengers aside from Alex who had decided to stay in Porta Bella were already gone, leaving the inn she was staying at delightfully empty, but also making her wonder if she had messed up by not taking the first random ship that would let her sail away from there.

The island was small, so much so that Porta Bella was the only town in it, and much of it was empty. For many years there had been a migratory tendency pushing young people from nearby islands to the Sabaody Archipelago, and this one seemed to have fallen victim to it, too. The moderately long recording time of the Log Pose didn’t play in its favor, either. Five days and a half was a long time to wait when the Red Line was only a couple of days away, so not many ships stopped there. An abandoned watchtower in the outskirts of town was the only other notable location.

She left her inn room that morning, picking up a tea to go, and hoping that a good slap of early morning breeze in the face would wake her up.

Every day since she arrived, she went to the port to look for any newly arrived ships and talk to the sailors. Every time, if there was a new one at all, she was told that there were reports of increased slaver activity in those waters, and that they were headed anywhere but the Sabaody Archipelago until Marine HQ got its shit together and stopped the kidnapping crews sailing rampant. Given that the Marines must have been scrambling to recover from the loss of Enies Lobby, nobody thought they were going to get on the case anytime soon.

These series of unfortunate coincidences didn’t surprise her. Her life was often comprised of really small strokes of bad luck that were nothing more than inconvenience on their own, but that added up to really grate on her nerves. This was business as usual, so she just had to keep trying. The temporary finish line was only a stone’s throw away.

Not that human trafficking stopped at any point of the year, but she hadn’t taken into account the seasonal opening of the archipelago’s biggest auction. Thinking that not even the schedule of the Human Auctioning House had changed during her time away gave her a twisted sense of familiarity. That son of a bitch kept finding novel ways to fuck her over without even being aware of her existence. It had to be a gift, for sure.

As she walked to the half empty docks, she hoped that that was the day she lucked out. She had already decided that, if she couldn’t find a direct ship to Sabaody in the following three days, she’d take the roundabout way and sail to a bigger island with, hopefully, a wider variety of ships. She would go completely broke in the process (and there she found the thing that was as terrifying as being caught in a storm at open sea), but one had to crack eggs to make an omelette.

Ten minutes and an empty cup of tea into her stroll, she stopped in front the single newly arrived ship and thought that maybe she hadn’t lucked out, but that sure as hell life was full of weird coincidences. Because there were few submarines sailing the Grand Line, even fewer painted yellow, and she guessed that only one with that particular Jolly Roger plastered on it. Her wish of seeing it up close had been granted when she least expected it, and it didn’t disappoint. It had a curious design, half ship and half submarine. A shipmarine.

Feeling revitalized by the pun, she craned her neck and got on her tiptoes to accomplish nothing at all. She couldn’t see any of the pirates on the deck, at least from where she was standing, and what else was she supposed to do, walk closer to find a friendly face and say hi like a functioning human being would? Yeah, no. She simply stood there and stared like a creep.

The paint job of the thing was hypnotic, and she didn’t mean it as a compliment. It looked like the idea of a man who thought the peak of design was making his vehicle look like a wasp with a decal of the word ‘DEATH’ instead of stripes to look extra edgy. And okay, they were pirates, pirates killed people, it was something that came with the job – but plastering it over the ship like that was a little heavy handed, and she didn’t have any doubts as to which guy with matching tattoos had come up with those brilliant design choices. Come to think of it, wasn’t there a song about a yellow submarine? The one from those singers her mom liked when she was young… Maybe the captain was a fan, too. Maybe they sung it on board. She laughed at the thought.

It didn’t leave her indifferent, that was for sure, and that could count as a compliment, since she had seen a ton of ships throughout her life. Props to Trafalgar Law for standing out among the crowd.

If the pirates weren’t around at the moment, it had to mean they were inside of the ship or already out in town. It was early still, but she was sure it was a matter of time until she ran into them – the town was pretty small, around a hundred, counting sailors, on a good day, news travelled fast, and these guys didn’t dress unassumingly.

With that in mind, she kept an eye out for familiar faces and resumed her unfruitful rounds around the port. Another day, another set of rejections. She tossed her paper cup in a trash can and made her way to the coffee shop where she always had the second tea of the day, sometimes even the third, if she was feeling particularly down about her current predicament.

She placed her order at the counter and waited for it. The owner, a balding middle aged man whose name she didn’t know but who had started to get chatty after she showed up a few days in a row, tried to strike up a conversation while he heated the water. “Did you hear? A pirate crew arrived in town last night.”

Alex wasn’t much for conversation in the mornings, and usually her replies to his attempts were rather apathetic, but the owner had struck gold with this particular topic. “I just saw the ship,” she repeated. “Have they done anything?”

“Not yet,” he replied with the clear implication that they soon would. “But it’s a Supernova’s crew, from what I’ve heard. Their captain’s a scary guy – how do they call him…?”

She had mixed feelings about that. She’d seen scary first hand, and in her experience it came in the shape of kidnapping crews, bubble helmets, or suits and fedoras. And ultimately, it was the fedoras’ fault she was in that coffee shop in the first place.

“Surgeon of Death,” she replied. There was no doubt that with that price on his head he was a walking danger, but after their first encounter, she had a feeling he was more the selective type than the let’s wreck everything in our path kind of guy. Not that his list of attributed crimes would lead anybody to think that. “Do you have trouble with pirates often? Being close to Sabaody and all.”

“Sometimes, but they usually go to more interesting places. It used to be as easy as calling the garrison to get rid of ‘em, but with Marineford so close it’s no wonder no one wants to be here any longer.”

“There used to be Marines here?”

“Yes, at the watchtower in the outskirts, but they left after some of the rooftop caved in. Building’s condemned now. A pity, ‘cause the watchtower’s been there forever, and they’ve let it fall apart.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “How old’s the tower?”

The water started boiling then, and he turned around to remove it from the fire and make her drink. “Tale goes that it’s old as the stone entrance, but who knows,” he said with his back turned to her. “It’s not like we have any experts to come check.” He slid her the drink over the counter. “In case, try to avoid those guys. A woman traveling alone is an easy target for criminals.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, putting a few belis in the counter and taking the cup by the handle. “Thanks.”

She chose to sit on the terrace, next to the railing that separated it from the sidewalk, to have a good view of the street. She was in a sort of commercial district, if a main street with a dozen of shops could be called that. Most people who stopped at the island had to pass by sooner or later, so it was the busiest place in town. Not so early, though. It wasn’t opening hours yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched like a hawk the man who was monopolizing the only issue of the World Economic Journal and snatched it as soon as he got up to leave, so fast that it turned the heads of the other two people on the terrace.

News of the assault of Enies Lobby had been filling pages for a week already, and that day wasn’t an exception. The Straw Hat Pirates had done the unthinkable, and while in other circumstances Alex might have been watching the situation with amusement from afar, she was also pretty annoyed at them, because their stunt no doubt played into the poor supervision in the waters near Sabaody. On the other hand, she hoped that this also meant that neither Marines nor Cipher Pol would be very invested in finding her in the near future if she ended up a suspect.

She was also a little worried about Iceburg’s condition, but the newspapers hadn’t reported his death, so she had to assume he had recovered from the attempt on his life.

She skimmed over the usual columns prattling about the lack of security at sea and how worrying it was that a whole new generation of rookies with astronomical bounties were about to set foot in the Sabaody Archipelago at the same time. She didn’t think having a handful extra menaces sailing around mattered anymore, considering the state of the world at large, but the pearl-clutching sold newspapers, and she wondered about her sense of self-preservation when she realized with disappointment that, at the rate she was moving, she was going to miss the Supernova meetup in Sabaody. Her curiosity was going to bite her in the ass one day, she thought, before remembering that it already had, and that was the exact reason she was in her current position.

She skim read a few pages looking for interesting headlines, getting to the less important news that didn’t warrant spreads, editorials and pictures that took up half the page, and paled when she read the contents of an unassuming text box.

An unfortunate accident in the island of Harlun had blown up the local library while it was undergoing renovations. Nobody had been hurt, said the write-up, but the building had been destroyed in the ensuing fire and an investigation was still ongoing to determine what had happened. At least she guessed that the last part of the article said so, because she choked on her tea as she read it and spit some of it on the paper, making the ink run.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Well, it technically could be, but no way she was buying that. The real question was if they’d be able to link the Poneglyph to her, and considering she that she was the person who spent the most time in the archive and she had conveniently left right before construction work took place, she had a pretty good chance to win that lottery. Oh, God, what if her coworkers mentioned that she used to go to the archive on Sundays, alone?

Her first impulse was to bang her head on the table and hide it between her arms, but the surface was sticky, so she ended up regretting it immediately. Instead, she put her elbows on the table, and covered her face with her hands. Her heart was beating loudly and her mind was running wild thinking of possible courses of action. She was on a timer. Getting to Sabaody as soon as possible was a necessity now. If there was a place she could hide, ironically, it was there.

“I see life’s treating you well.”

Alex’s heart tried to leap out of her mouth when she heard someone talk to her from so up close, but one of the perks of being born with a stick up her ass was that she only tensed up when she was startled, so she saved herself the embarrassment of yelping or jumping on her chair. She removed the hands from her face to look at the person, and the sight of a spotted furry hat and a yellow and black hoodie punched her in the eyes.

“Oh, hello,” she said, feeling more relaxed when she realized it was the Surgeon of Death leaning against the balustrade, not law enforcement. Her life had taken a turn for the surreal in a very short time, had it not?

His smirk faltered. “You aren’t surprised?”

“Saw your ship,” she said with some difficulty, and she drank some tea to swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. Of all the times for him to appear... “Town’s small, we had to run into each other.”

“Hm.”

If she exerted a bit of imagination, she’d say he looked a bit disappointed. Why would he? No idea, but it was funny to think he was, and she was in dire need of funny.

He asked, “What are you doing here? This is far from your island.”

Farther than he knew, she almost said, but that was a can of worms and not relevant in the situation at hand. Feeling too overwhelmed to give long explanations, she handed him the newspaper open by the page she’d been reading. Talking could happen once she arranged her own thoughts, and only then.

“That’s…” He took it from her hands and read for a few seconds. An inscrutable expression gradually morphed into a look of pure indignation. “What’s the meaning of this?”

She was taken aback by the unexpected display of emotion. It was odd to see him react so strongly to something that didn’t concern him. “It isn’t that surprising, considering—”

“How is it not?” He retorted, annoyed. “Sora can’t lose against these weaklings!”

She stared at him in confusion. “What?” she blurted out, realizing afterwards that he was talking about the comic strip at the bottom of the page. And to be fair, she was going to tell him to look further up when the meaning of his words sunk in, but then she was the one leaning over the railing to look at the paper he was holding. “Wait, really? That’s impossible!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Upon reading the message under the strip, she complained, “On break until next month?” She sat back on the chair, mumbling, “I don’t even know if I’ll be alive next month,” before taking a sip of tea.

“Summer vacation cliffhanger,” he replied. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Read the news above.”

He looked at the paper again, and his eyes widened the smallest fraction as recognition dawned. That reaction was more appropriate. “Do you think it was…?”

“I’m sure of it. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Are you wanted now?”

“I don’t know. They have reason to suspect I knew it was there.” And she added with a bit of humor that she wasn’t really feeling, “If I get a bounty, I’ll say it was your fault.”

“I don’t think that’s going to do you any service.” A smirk returned to grace his features as he passed her the newspaper back. He was clearly amused by her misfortune, and that was the only good thing that had come out of it. “What do you plan to do?”

Alex let out a long exhale through her nose. She wanted to say that there was no plan, but there always was. Planning was something she did obsessively. “I need to get to Sabaody as soon as possible.” It was the only option. She could have elaborated, but again, she didn’t feel like it. Too early, too stunned to talk about serious stuff. Reality hadn’t fully sunk in. “You’re on Sora’s side? Really?”

He frowned at her. He did a lot of frowning, she thought. He was going to get wrinkles young. “Of course I am.”

“But he’s a Marine,” she said, a smile growing on her face despite herself. “Aren’t you one of the bad guys?”

“The Germa are vile,” he retorted, and perhaps realizing he was getting too much into the conversation, he went back to the other, much less fun topic. “Sabaody’s going to be full of Marines in no time, though.”

She was internally screaming, but it came out as a drawn out sigh. “Thanks to you, no doubt.”

“The merit isn’t all mine.”

“I know. You lot have been all over the news for weeks.” He looked awfully self-satisfied when she said that. “I guess you’ll be heading straight there after this place?”

“That’s the plan if there aren’t any stops in between. By the way, do you know how long until the Log Pose sets?”

“Five days, ten hours and twenty-six minutes,” she said blandly, repeating the number she had been told by several people when she first arrived to Porta Bella. It made her miserable, so of course she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

“And the seconds?”

It took her way longer than necessary to realize he was messing with her. “Oh, fuck off.” She returned her attention to the newspaper so she didn’t have to look at his stupid face while he thought he was so funny. “Fishman Island’s right around the corner. Try not to drown.”

“We have a submarine.” He sounded amused still. Alex couldn’t tell if annoying her gave him that much joy or if he was having an exceptionally good day. He was pretty cranky for a while back in Duster Town, but now that she recalled, his mood seemed to improve every time he got one over her. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Regular submarines can’t reach Fishman Island.”

He frowned again. “Why not?”

“It’s too deep. They can’t endure the water pressure.”

She could sense the levity from moments ago was gone by the way his jaw set. “But we heard ships can traverse the Red Line through an underwater route.”

“That’s why you go to Sabaody first.” She was exerting a considerable effort to give these really boring explanations that no one was going to thank her for. “You find yourself a good coating engineer to put a resin bubble around your ship and that’ll protect it.”

He seemed to study this new information from several angles before he spoke. “That’s good to know.”

“You’re welcome.”

He gave her a pointed look, but didn’t say anything about the jab. “Is it easy to find one?”

“There’s an entire section of the archipelago dedicated to it. It’s going to cost you, though. And depending on who you choose, there’ll be a waiting list.”

“Really?”

“Good coating engineers are few and far in between, and nobody wants to find out someone did a half-assed job on their sheep five kilometers underwater.”

“That’s…” He made a meditative pause. “…Reasonable.”

“I thought you were going to say something completely different.”

“It sucks too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. Her life would be so much easier if one didn’t have to jump through thirty hoops to cross that chunk of rock. “In a hurry to get to the New World?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, either, because she was busy contemplating a new idea that had sprung in her mind. One that she’d rather avoid if she had other options left, and she wouldn’t know until a few days passed, but... this coincidence could prove to be useful yet.

“What?” He looked at her with suspicion.

“Nothing.” And just to get on his nerves a little, she added. “Yet.”

He fixed his gaze on her face, most likely gauging her intentions. Alex was incapable of looking at people in the eye, but she was good at faking it and not flinching under pressure, so she stared back.

“Do I want to ask?”

“I don’t know. Follow your instincts.”

To her surprise, he dropped it and took a step back from the railing. “I need to go back to the sub and see if the others are up already.”

Good. “For someone with a target so big on you, you wander a lot without them.”

“I like taking walks alone,” he said, like he didn’t think much of it. Like he could not fathom how he of all people could possibly be in danger from anybody else. “See you around?”

Was that a wish, a threat, or a pleasantry? “Without a doubt,” she replied, not bothering to hide the tedium in her voice. Damn empty town and damn slavers. “This town isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

She could have sworn he smiled a little at that, but Law shoved his hands in his pockets and made his leave too fast to see.

He was far enough that he wouldn’t hear her if she spoke in a normal volume when she remembered something important, so she resorted to raising her voice before the Heart crew did something they could regret. “Go to the Old Brewery if you don’t want to die! The Silver Fountain serves piss for drinks!”

He turned to look at her with the same curiosity back when she’d told him weapons weren’t allowed in the library, but this time he nodded in acknowledgement before making his exit.

The other customers on the terrace stared at her warily, but honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for them even when the owner immediately came out to ask if she was okay and if the scary surgeon had said anything bad to her. At least something interesting was happening.

❦

Alex had a love-hate relationship with heights.

She inevitably got queasy when she was somewhere high up that didn’t have barriers or anything she could hold onto, but that didn’t stop her from going up there, anyway. It was like a very stupid magnetic pull that one day would end with her skull split open.

(It was the wind and the view. She knew that. It was also one of the few options she had to feel taller than most people.

But mostly the wind.)

The stone arch at the entrance of the town that gave Porta Bella its name was surrounded by the remains of a stone wall. First century, she guessed by the roughness of the stone blocks and the bit of mortar she scraped from between when she inspected it for the first time. It was easily over two meters, and only because the topmost part had fallen off. The blocks that hadn’t been taken away for use in newer constructions were still next to the wall, inviting anyone who’d dare to step on them to use them to climb.

She knew she wasn’t the only idiot who had felt the temptation, because the stone was worn from use. She’d also seen kids running at the top of the wall and no one had tried to stop them, and there were worse ways to channel all the nervous energy she had from reading that newspaper article.

She wasn’t a very proficient climber, but the blocks were positioned in such a way that getting to the top was easy as pie. No doubts someone had moved them for that exact purpose. When she was high enough, she threw a leg over the wall, then the other one, and sat facing the harbor.

The wind was nice up there.

She wouldn’t stand on the wall for all the money in the world and getting down was going to be an ordeal, but that was a problem for the Alex of the future.

That day had woken up to four ships in the harbor, counting the pirates’ submarine. Two would go away at the end of the week. The third was leaving that night. No vessels on the horizon.

She sighed. If the pirates were on an adventure, they sure had the shittiest of lucks docking only in the most boring islands the sea could offer.

With nothing better to do at the moment, and trying to delay as much as possible the moment she’d regret climbing that high, she moved towards the shadow of the arch without lifting her butt from the stone and rested her back against it.

She was at a loss. Sailing further away from the Sabaody Archipelago was counterproductive, but so was staying in the same island for too long, since she had no means of protecting herself if something happened. Then again, if she ended up broke before she got to Sabaody, she’d have to stay in whatever island she was to earn money to keep travelling.

All the options sucked. Maybe she needed to sleep on it to see what the lesser evil was. She had, after all, a few days to make a decision.

She looked at the sea, tinted dark green by her sunglasses, in what she assumed was Sabaody’s direction. So close, yet so far away. The skies were clear and the water calm, and though there weren’t any sailors to be found in the harbor, she could see the shadow of a couple of fishing boats in the distance. Wasn’t there a song that went like that? I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time…

She hummed, looking at nowhere in particular and letting her thoughts drift with the waves.

❦

She knew better than to cut through the lawless areas alone when it was getting late, so she had no one else to fault when she split from her group of classmates after spending their free day in Sabaody Park. It was only her and her stupid pride that didn’t allow her to admit that she didn’t think this was a great idea and that she didn’t want to go back to her room alone.

She broke into a sprint as soon as she heard the smallest rustle behind her, and that advantage proved to be essential, because someone started chasing after her. It sounded like more than one person, but she didn’t have time to look or tell how many sets of footsteps were behind her – she just ran like her life depended on it in the direction of the bridge that connected to the next grove, hoping that there would be other people there, and then—

—then she saw an open bar, a lone building in an even lonelier grove.

She rushed inside it, gasping for air so hard that she couldn’t speak, no matter how much she tried to explain to the bartender why she had barged in like that.

It wasn’t necessary.

“Don’t worry, dear, they’ve been hanging around these parts for a while,” she said, leading her to a chair with a gentle hair. “You’re safe here.” Her warm black eyes turned to someone else, and though Alex had trouble focusing on what was going on, she saw an old man with long white hair. “Why don’t you go take out the trash, Ray? They’ve driven off my clientele enough.”

“Sure,” the man replied, getting up from his stool and going outside.

Alex thought it was a horrible idea to send an old man to fight off a kidnapping crew, but that was because she didn’t know these people yet.

“Don’t worry about him. Here,” the woman gave her a glass of water. “Name’s Shakky. Rest all you need.”

❦

Footsteps approached. She shut up immediately.

“I like that song.”

Singing helped when she had too much anxious energy. It was probably related to breathing control. She had stopped anxiety attacks in the making like that sometimes.

It didn’t help at all when someone had been listening in and she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. Thanks. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” Bepo said smiling. “I heard from Captain you were here.”

Even though she was sitting on top of the wall, Bepo’s head went past it. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could have rested his head on her legs. On one hand, it was a little aggravating that she had to climb so high up only to be marginally taller than him. On the other, Alex was filled with the urge to scratch his ears.

“Yeah, I’m stuck waiting for a ship,” she told him. “Ideally, you wouldn’t have found me here.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Sabaody.”

“Isn’t that very close? How come you haven’t found a ship?”

“There’s kidnapping crews infesting the waters. You know what those are?”

“Uh… isn’t it in the name?”

Alex blinked. “Right. Don’t mind me.”

He fell into thought for a few seconds. “Why are they kidnapping people?”

“To sell. They get auctioned in the archipelago.”

Bepo frowned. “I see.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said, smiling for his sake. “Nothing’s going to happen to your crew. You’re strong.”

He beamed with pride. “Yeah, we are! We’ve been training for years to come here!”

Alex mirrored his expression without thinking. “Your Captain said you’ve been friends since you were kids. Did you—”

“Bepo!” Someone called out. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, sorry!” Bepo said, turning around to see the newcomer. “I was catching up…”

A woman with curly hair and a severe expression walked up to them, hands on her hips, and she looked a little confused when she laid eyes on Alex. She was struggling to place her. “Have we seen each other…?”

“On passing. I’m the Duster Town dumbass that opened the library for your Captain.”

“Oh, yeah, now that you mention it—” The confusion was back. “Isn’t this place a little too far from there?”

“I’m running away from justice.” She didn’t offer further explanation.

Bepo didn’t need it. “So are we!”

A barely contained laugh made it past the woman’s lips. “Oh well, if you’re a fellow criminal…” She extended a hand towards Alex. “Name’s Ikkaku. What did you do, keep too many books past the return date?”

“I wish.” She shook her hand. “Alex.”

“So that’s your name?” Bepo asked.

She turned her attention towards the bear. “I never told you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Wow, I am rude,” she said to herself. “Anyway, hope you’re ready to take it easy, because you have five long days ahead of you.”

Ikkaku groaned. “I don’t mind, but some of the guys get so jittery after a couple days on land. I don’t suppose there’s a very active nightlife in this place?”

“Actually, there are two taverns in the entire town.”

“Oh, that sounds like something to keep ‘em busy.”

“I don’t think you want to go to one of them, though.” She wondered if the captain was going to pass the message or they would come to regret their choices. “There’s also an abandoned Marine outpost right outside of town, if they don’t want to be drunk 24/7.”

“Might be worth checking out, but I’m pretty sure they’ll take the ale.”

“Can’t blame them.” She was tempted to drown her sorrows in alcohol, and she barely ever drank.

She took a look around the desolate harbor, the small houses and the half-fallen wall with a disappointed look. “Well…” she began, “Bepo, we need you for the crates. He’s been waiting and he’s cranky enough already after—”

“Ah! Sorry!” He said, bowing at her and looking more upset than the comment would suggest. Maybe they didn’t treat him as well in the sub as she had assumed. When he turned to Alex, he also bowed repeatedly. “I’m really sorry, but I need to go!”

“Sure, no problem!” she said, making an effort to sound lively. She felt so fake when she did that. So customer servicey. “See you!”

As the pirates left, she tried to look at them in a different light. While it wasn’t too difficult to believe they would be mistreating the mink of the crew, even if they hadn’t been unkind while she was watching. He seemed shy. Maybe that was all there was to it? But the reaction seemed a little extreme. She would pay closer attention from then on.

❦

Her privileged observation point let Alex see a lot of things that day. She saw more of the crew coming and going, though they didn’t seem to recognize her, she watched one of the docked ships depart, and she met a cat that tried to get food from her, but after a good back scratch realized she didn’t have anything else to offer and walked away, leaving a lonesome Alex staring at the hand she’d used to pet it, wondering how many parasites it had come in contact with.

She immediately went back to the inn to wash her hands and get dinner.

The rest of the evening was spent looking at her Poneglyph folder and her mostly blank notebook. She had carried with her the transcript of the stone and copied some documentation from the library that could prove useful in deciphering it, but she wasn’t making any headway yet. Very little was known about the ancient language, even less was published, and she wasn’t a cryptographer. So far, she had identified what she thought were punctuation signs separating sentences and one of the names in the text.

In her years working in Harlun, she had seen centuries old coins from a currency before belis, and some of them had the legend around the rim written in different languages. Meaning, she knew how to write the name of the island in that ancient language. That was about it. She had a feeling the script wasn’t pure phonetic, either, and that wasn’t something she could attempt to tackle without cross-referencing.

Porta Bella was a nice place to spend a short vacation, sure, but it was impossible to find any books that might help. She had tried. The local bookstore only carried best sellers, and she would have bought that vampire novel that was getting so popular if money wasn’t so tight and she had space in her bag, but as things were, she had to fight frustration and boredom alone.

She had to face the fact that she wasn’t going to do anything useful that night, either. She took off her reading glasses, thinking that trying to sleep sounded like the best idea. Maybe next morning she’d finally have some good luck and find a ship that wouldn’t carry her too far from the Red Line.

❦

Too early for words, and wearing a flannel shirt as a jacket because it had gotten windy, she strode out of the inn with her paper cup and a new challenge. She had thought herself immune to monotony before this, but she had clearly overestimated her brain’s capability to get distracted by anything.

Instead of walking to the docks following the main road, like every morning, she made for the wall again. Stepping on the fallen rock, she reached up with her left hand to the top of the wall and placed the paper cup as far as she could from her, and then she climbed up like the previous day. Well, she tried to, because for some reason early in the morning she didn’t have a lot of hand strength, and she felt a stabbing pain in one of her knees when she stretched her leg to reach the wall.

It took two tries and the fear of having lost her first morning tea, but she got where she wanted.

Cross-legged, she sat on the wall and took sips of her drink while inspecting the docks. No new ships in sight. That time there was someone walking on one of the submarine’s decks, but she couldn’t make out their face, and she didn’t know most of the crew anyway.

The wind had driven all the clouds away, and the dark shadow on the horizon reminded her of how close she had been to getting to the New World before she had to reconsider the entire strategy.

She was about to sigh, but she sensed someone near her vicinity even before she heard the crunch of gravel, so she kept it to herself and looked over her shoulder.

That silly hat was becoming a familiar sight. Trafalgar Law looked up at her from a reasonable distance, having just noticed her. Please don’t get any closer, please—

He changed course and went towards Alex, who didn’t bother to hide how little she appreciated the company less than an hour after waking up.

“Morning walk?” she asked, or grunted, depending on who you asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, annoyingly awake. “What are you doing there?”

“Wasting time.”

Someone with a little more tact, or at least who cared about having it, would have taken a hint and left, but this was not the case. “I want to hear more about Sabaody.”

Oh, she wasn’t nearly awake enough for this, but she made an effort to not be outright rude. “Okay,” she relented. “But you ask me questions, I don’t want to think.”

That was good enough for him, it seemed. With irritating ease, and without having to step on the fallen stone, he boosted himself up against the wall and climbed it in a matter of seconds.

Something caught his attention when he looked up, and he stood up on the stone like the concepts of acrophobia and losing one’s balance were but a faraway ping in his radar. Alex’s mood was souring by the second, granted, a likely thing to happen at that hour. It wasn’t personal.

“Is that…?”

She turned to look in the same direction he was.

“Yeah. Red Line.”

“I didn’t think it was so close.”

“It’s a few days away still. It’s just that big.” She thought of the times she’d been at the base. It was impossible to see the top from its bottom. And, considering what lay up there, perhaps it was for the better. “You saw it from the other side, I guess?” North Blue was adjacent to the New World. In a sense, both of them were from the same side of the Line. How weird to think that they had anything in common.

“Yeah. We entered the Grand Line through Reverse Mountain.”

Expected, but incomprehensible to her unless he had a death wish. “Ships sink there every day. What do you want so bad that you’d risk that?”

“Wasn’t I the one asking the questions?” he shot back.

She gave him a deadpan look, then looked at the cup between her hands. It wasn’t doing much to drive away the numbness of her fingers. How many people had gone out to sea since the Great Age of Piracy began and failed because they bit more than they could chew? And they weren’t the only ones dying. For every decent man that got a ship and called himself a captain, there were ten whose only interest was pillaging villages and getting rich. Was that massive chain reaction what Gold Roger had intended with its final speech? Had it been a final fuck you to world order, or was there something else behind it?

She had contradicting thoughts about it. Roger’s last words had unarguably made the world worse, but…

Well.

The guy had been a badass. Even she wasn’t immune to seeing that. With every new pirate crew that sailed to Reverse Mountain to test its fortune, he kept proving how much bigger than life he had been. Twenty years down the line, he had become as much of a legend as the tales of gods from islands in the sky. The kind of legacy a regular person only dreams of having.

He said, I will never die.

He had been more right than he knew.

She looked at Trafalgar with renewed curiosity. “Are you trying to become Pirate King too?”

He didn’t give a clear answer, despite how easy of a question it was. “What if I am?”

It wasn’t a no. A straight yes would get many pirates laughed out of town even in a place like the Grand Line. There wasn’t a lot of room for romantic ideas of piracy when civilians lived in fear of black flags showing up one day at the port and taking away everything they had.

“Just curious.” She wasn’t feeling articulate enough to explain where she was going to herself, much less him. “Nothing wrong with dreaming big.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like she had called herself out. Where was she going? After Sabaody, after crossing the Red Line, after getting to her hometown? Those were only checkpoints. But where was her purpose? Inside the bag she had in her room at the inn, or somewhere else?

An awkward silence stretched along with the horizon. For some reason, he decided not to press her for answers and sat down. A small mercy for Alex’s neck.

“After the Log Pose sets, it will point to Fishman Island. How do we get to Sabaody first?”

It was a relief to be able to give an answer she didn’t have to think about. “It should be visible when you’re close enough to the Red Line. It looks like a random cluster of trees popped up in the middle of the ocean.”

“That’s it? Is it safe to dock anywhere?”

“Mostly. The archipelago is made up of 80 groves. 60 to 69 house a Marine garrison, and that’s where the ferries to Marineford and Mary Geoise leave from, so you don’t want to be there. Other than that…” She had to strain to remember the range of numbers. “20 to 29 is the only lawless area open to sea, so you know Marines won’t go there, but since no one’s keeping watch, the competition might try to sabotage you. I don’t know, I never had to worry about that sort of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of other crews,” he said with that devil may care attitude that got pirates killed left and right. “We haven’t come this far without knowing how to defend our ship.”

She wasn’t going to argue his point. “I’m just saying what I know. You do you.” But she took note to keep her opinions to herself, lest he had the urge to express how full of himself he was again.

He looked at her like he was trying to figure out what sort of hidden meaning her noncommittal response held, but little did he know that behind the sleepy façade her prevailing thought was it’s too early for this shit.

“You said you spent some time in the archipelago.” It wasn’t worded like a question, but it was a way to probe for info. She supposed that she would have wanted to know the credentials of her sources, had she been in his position.

She hummed. “I lived there a few years.”

Taking a sip from the cup, she returned her attention towards the outline in the horizon. It had been a constant part of the scenery back then, always peeking out from behind the trees and buildings of the groves closest to the shore. A grim reminder, on one hand, of those who lived above the peasants, but at the same time, Sabaody had been… fun. There was always something happening. Moderately dangerous, but always entertaining. She had forgotten how that felt after the years of routine in Duster Town.

A question brought her out of her thoughts. “Are you from this area?”

“Oh, no,” she said, surprised that he had even entertained the idea. “No, I got a scholarship to study in one of the World Government’s academies. I’m from the other side of the Red Line.”

“From the New World?” He said with surprise, and mulled over this new piece of information until it fit satisfactorily in whatever picture of her he had constructed in his mind. “So that’s where the accent’s from.”

It was unexpected comment after unexpected comment. “Excuse me?” she replied in an incredulous tone. “You are the one with a heavy accent.”

Now it was him who got caught off guard. “That’s not true,” he retorted. He looked like he was trying to determine if she was pulling his leg.

“Yes it is,” she insisted. “Everybody has an accent. You and your crew have that typical northern one that sounds like you’re about to shank the person you’re saying hello to.”

For a moment, she thought he had offended him to the point of silence. Just for a moment, because he didn’t take long to counter with, “You sound like you’re trying to whisper through a megaphone.”

She snorted with laughter as soon as the words sunk in. It was true that she spoke in a low voice most of the time. “If that isn’t the best description of Dressrosan I’ve heard—”

She felt an immediate change in atmosphere, like an electric current shooting through the air, and shut up as a precaution.

Trafalgar has tensed up all of a sudden and was staring at her like she had grown a second head, like she was trying to set her on fire with a glare, or both. “What did you say?”

She found herself tensing up in return, even though she didn’t know what she had done. But when a dangerous guy scowled at you like that, survival instincts kicked in. Goodbye sleepiness, and welcome life danger. “Um… Dressrosan?” She eyed him warily. “My mother tongue?”

His eyes grew wider, but other than that, his expression didn’t change much. “You’re from Dressrosa?”

She suddenly understood. It wasn’t the first time she got odd reactions when she said where she was from, but it had been a while. “Oh, right.” She sighed. “You’ve heard of the whole Doflamingo thing.”

Or… maybe she was wrong. He seemed a little out of it, like he was looking past her at… who knew what was in his head.

After a few seconds without a reply, she deemed it safe to speak. “Did I say anything wrong?”

“…No. I was just surprised.” After that, he seemed to go back to normal, though his voice sounded a little strained. He was still tense. “It’s a long way there.”

Suspicious. Did he know someone from there? “It’s not so much the distance as having the Red Line in the way. Getting permission to cross it takes time.” And she figured that she had run out of it.

“How’s the country?” He asked in a way that tried to sound casual, and maybe, maybe would have worked if he hadn’t made clear already that he had a particular interest in it. “Being ruled by pirates and all.”

She made a disgruntled sound. She had signed up to answer questions about the Sabaody Archipelago, not Dressrosa. There was a reason why she hadn’t been home in ages. “It’s doing fine. Better than fine, in fact. Economy is booming. People are happy.” She delivered each sentence in a quick, clipped tone. “It pisses me off.”

“Why?”

Because she always had to be the odd one out, she thought. And this guy wasn’t getting the message that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Doflamingo doesn’t deserve that kind of credit. He and his crew should go back to the hole they crawled out of.”

He huffed. “North Blue’s had enough of him already.”

Animosity was dripping from his words, and that made her feel a little less displeased and a lot more interested in what he had to say. He could’ve seen firsthand the repercussions of Doflamingo’s actions there.

“That’s true.” She didn’t know much about the specifics, but there was a reason the North Blue was considered the most dangerous out of the four cardinal seas. “I guess he did a number there before he moved onto the Grand Line.”

“You don’t sound very fond of him either.”

Look at that, a flat out admission of having feelings about someone.

“He’s scum,” she said with more venom than she had meant to. “He dethroned the king only to take over himself, reinstated gladiator fights to death, and he has a trafficking empire. The Human Auctioning House in Sabaody displays his Jolly Roger openly. But he’s a Warlord. As long as money keeps flowing and the Celestial Dragons can buy new pets, nobody seems to care.”

“And you do? You say your country’s doing well.”

She didn’t know whether to reply honestly or not. He was trying to dig deeper than she was comfortable with answering, but she was on a roll already. “Dressrosa used to be a very poor country. I’m not blaming the people who have a better life now, but I don’t think you can build anything stable from corruption. Someone will topple Doflamingo one day, and the country will go down with him.” Her tone was increasingly becoming more determined. “And when the time comes, I hope they get rid of kings once and for all.”

“You lost me at that last part.”

“Monarchy is an obsolete form of government. How’s the world going to get rid of the Celestial Dragons if we can’t even get rid of the pests at home?”

He stared at her blankly, and that was when she realized she had talked too much and looked away from him. Ah, to be a life form capable of fusing with granite and dying in the spot…

She heard a short, muffled laugh, and glanced at him. Great, a pirate making fun of her was exactly what she needed to start her day.

“Can’t say I took you for an anarchist.” He was smirking.

“What part of ‘fuck the government’ was unclear?” she replied, still avoiding to look at him. “The more time you spend near Mary Geoise, the more you realize everything has to burn down. Then there are the Marines.” A lost cause. “It’s even their combined fault that I’m stuck here.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded relaxed again. It was like he hadn’t been acting like a weirdo through the entire conversation about Dressrosa. “Aren’t you just waiting for a ship?”

She took a long breath in preparation to give the same explanation she’d been getting every time she spoke to a newly arrived sailor. “Kidnapping crews are infesting the waters ahead. Normal ships don’t want to go near Sabaody because there’s going to be a human auction next week. Marines aren’t helping because the government benefits from the slave trade, and I assume the Enies Lobby debacle has hit them hard. I already told Bepo you don’t have to worry about it, though. They only attack pirates if they think they’re weaklings.” And trying to change the subject to something that didn’t force her to wallow in her misery, she asked, “How much was it already, Mr. Supernova?”

He looked awfully satisfied with his title. “It’s not Trafalgar anymore?”

“I’ve always liked stars.” And speaking of Bepo, she remembered something from their conversation the day before. “By the way, I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m—”

“Bepo told me. I like Librarian-ya better.”

She had an urge to fling what was left of her tea at him, but she held back at the expense of looking away and letting a strained smile show. Not worth the loss of beverage. It wasn’t going to stop him from being an early morning smartass.

The silence that ensued this time didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before, but that bar was so low, it might as well have been underground.

[sabine-leo]

Cry me a river...

Author: @sabine-leo

ONESHOT

Genre: angst, hurt, comfort, fluff

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston / Reader 

Summary: Your day got from bad to worse. Emotionaly drained you can´t keep it together any longer when you finally get home. How will the day end that has you crying in the shower?! 

This was a particular shitty day. Nothing went as planned. You got yelled at at work. Not that you had done something wrong. No, your co-worker just was pissed and needed an outlet. It just happened that you had been on the receiving end because you were close enough as he had had enough.  He even didn´t have the guts to say that he was sorry afterwards. On your way home the tube you would normally take was too packed to get in. Waiting for the next one was not that bad, but once in the train you were stuck for an hour because of issues on the track.

As you finally came home you had 4 missed calls. 3 from your mother who sounded irritated why you would not pick up when you should be home already. Calling her back she angrily picked up the receiver. “Now I don´t want to talk anymore. Why don´t you pick up and talk to your mother when I try to call you on the landline?”

“Because I just came home!”  seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

“Call me when you are not that snippy!” was all she said before she hung up.

 Your eyes were already burning. You were on the verge of breaking out in tears after this day, and particularly after those weeks without your boyfriend. Normally you were fine and not that emotionally instable but today it seemed to be the day were all those piled up emotions wanted to break out of you. Tom wouldn´t be home for another 2 days. Better you would get it out of your system now and be alright again when he finally came home after filming overseas for the last 6 weeks.

You walked into the bathroom and undressed as the water in the shower heated up. How it happened you did not now afterwards, probably your shirt hit it off the shelve, but as you heard the perfume bottle crash to the ground you lost it. It was Toms favourite and he had gifted it to you on your first-year anniversary…there wasn´t even much left in it anymore, but that it lay broken on the floor was the last drop to let your emotional barrel overflow. You started to cry and were angry with yourself that you were crying over something stupid like a broken bottle in the first place.

You went into the shower and sat on the ground, letting the water hit you as you cried and curled your arms around your legs. Stupid day. Stupid people. Stupid you. Stupid stupid stupid!

 Outside a cab came to a stop and a smiling Tom emerged. He had made it home early and he was so happy to have you back in his arms again. He keyed open the door and saw that you were home. But downstairs was nobody to be seen. Slowly he walked upstairs and heard the shower. Only taking off his jacket and shoes he knocked at the bathroom door. “Darling?” he said softly but the smile on his face was wiped away as he saw you curled up on the floor and the broken perfume bottle on the ground.

 Not even thinking about it he came into the shower and kneeled before you, as both of you looked at each other “Love? What happened, why are you crying?” He engulfed you in his arms and got drenched in seconds. Seeing him made you cry even more! You clang to him like you were drowning and he just held you tight in his arms. “Darling, talk to me…I´m worried, did something happen?”

You looked up into his beautiful eyes and hickuped a breath between a sob. “You are getting wet!”

Tom kissed you softly “That does not matter…what´s wrong Darling, tell me so that I can try to fix it!”

Somehow you told Tom about the day you had. In between he had shifted that you sat curled up in his lap.

 “I don´t even know why I am crying at all. I just lost it..” You ended and laughed out a little embarrassed. Tom chuckled softly and kissed your forehead. “You are allowed to feel overwhelmed now and then. You are the strongest person I know. You kept your job throughout our first turbulent months, you endure my being away like it is common in relationships. You are graceful when we go out together and even smile when we get interrupted on date night.” He kissed you deeply again, the water still pouring down on the both of you. “But please, don´t scare me again like that…” He smiled a little.

 “I am sorry I ruined your coming home..” You said quietly. “Oh love, you did not ruin it… I ended up in the shower with you after being home 2 minutes!”

He tried to joke and even got a laugh out of you.

“But you are still fully dressed!” you protested.

“We can change that very fast!” Tom grinned and began to lift his shirt.

 Half an hour later Tom carried you into bed wrapped in a fluffy towel. He curled up under the blankets with you and kept you close.

“Welcome home Tom!” You said softly and kissed his neck.

“Feeling better now?” He asked and kissed your forehead in return. You just nodded in silence and sighed as you almost glued yourself to him. Tom chuckled a little and took a deep breath himself.

“I love you darling! I couldn´t wait to get home to you again!”

“Love you too! I am so happy you made it home safe and a little early!!”

 Oh my, you choked up again. Your eyes started to burn and your throat closed itself up another time.

Tom felt you tense and stroked your back a little.

“Darling, something else on your mind you need to get out?”

You sat up and rubbed your face. “No, I am just really happy you are back!”

Tom lifted himself up and leaned against the headboard of the bed.

“I think I am just having a very bad form of PMS this….month…”

Tom tilted his head as he heard your voice crack and the sentence not being spoken in one go.

 “oh…” you said and held up your fingers counting silently.

“Darling?” Tom sat up straight. You just looked at him and he knew without words what you were telling him. He scrambled out of the bed and pointed at you. “Don´t move! I am back in 5 minutes!” As he was talking, he jumped into his workout outfit and grinned a little lopsided but very charming.

“Don´t move!” He was almost out of the door before he came back and kissed you hard and deeply…then he was gone.

 You fell back into the sheets and tried to count the days, or better weeks.. how could you have missed that you were almost 2 weeks overdue…

There was no other explanation then stress…you had worked, slept, worked, repeat.

Tom and you hadn´t been trying for a child, but the both of you had talked about it and were very clear about it, that you both wanted one in the future And Tom knew as well as you that you were it for each other. The look on his face as he had known what you weren’t saying some minutes ago was so excited, so joyful. You were still thinking about it as you heard the front door close. He really had been fast. Out of breath but grinning from ear to ear. He held up a little package and his eyes were a little shiny.

 You had to almost throw him out of the bathroom so that you could pee on the little stick without him watching. As soon as you opened the door again, he had you in his arms.

“I don´t want to get my hopes up to early, but I can´t help it.. I am so excited!”

He said softly into your hair.

3 minutes were a hell of a lot longer when you were waiting for something. Tom fiddled with the robe you had put on and checked his watch almost every 10 seconds.

“How accurate are those anyway?” He asked shortly before it was time to look.

“Pretty accurate if you trust the writing on the package!” You said and were equally nervous.

 Tom couldn´t wait any longer and picked up the little stick. He turned it and looked at it. Looked at it again and held it out for you to pin your gaze on it.

Your head shot up and the both of you grinned at each other but lost tears at the same instant.

Tom crashed you against him and gulped. “We are… I made you.. you are.. we will be…” He was lost for words and it was the most adorable thing. He, who could recite Shakespeare in his sleep was lost for words.

 You smiled at him and nodded, sure, you needed to see a doctor to be 100% sure but somehow you felt it…you knew the stick was accurate. Tom kissed you and lifted you into his arms.

“I am so glad I came home early…I am so glad we found out together!!!”

He carried you into bed again and looked deeply into your eyes.

“This baby will carry my last name… as you will too!”

You laughed a little breathless. “Are you proposing Mr. Hiddleston?”

Tom grinned and stole a kiss. “No, not yet, just giving you a heads-up Mrs (Y/L/N)!”

AN: After posting A smile to remember part 26 I needed to get this oneshot out of my system before i can continue writing more on my other stories *blush* 

Hope you don´t mind :) 

general tags : @drakesfiance @confessionsofastrugglingteen @inlovewithfreyamikaelson @heart-shaped-hell @theoneanna @marikochi @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @awkwardfangirl2014

[sologxlaxies]

Not About Angels | Part 2

Coping Mechanisms

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Summary: Loving him feels like the most exquisite way of self-destruction. Too close, and you’re radioactive. Too far, and your heart shatters, and the city cracks in two while debris scatters in the space between your ribs. Pining over a brooding, unstable Bucky Barnes isn’t exactly your brightest idea, especially when you’re just as damaged as he is, and he doesn’t seem to love you half as much as you love him. Based off the song Angels by The XX.

Warnings: drinking, alcoholism, a lot of cursing.

Word count: 2369

This is part of my submission for @whothehellisbella ‘s Cool Times Summer Jamz Mix Writing Challenge

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                                    Light reflects from your shadow                                  It is more than I thought could exist                                        You move through the room                                           Like breathing was easy

Sixteen.

It is the exact number of days that Bucky has spent in the compound, and it’s also a rough estimate of the female population in this place that he’s managed to pick up. Daily.

The worst part is that you’d probably be scoffing at the women, most of them practically drooling over the prospect of seeing Sergeant Barnes, much less talking to him, if you weren’t the slightest bit jealous of them. Massively jealous, if you’re actually being honest with yourself.

Truth is, James Buchanan Barnes is a handsome son of a bitch—a very charming, good-looking, not to mention alluring man—but a jerk nonetheless. The problem is that he’s only a jerk around you, and while you’re used to people behaving like utter jackasses in your presence, it’s particularly hard when he has no problem in flashing a smile here and winking at another girl there, as long as they’re not you.

Somehow, he’s wary of you since day one, treading carefully around you just like every other member of the team does. The difference between him and the others, is that while they have plenty reasons to distrust you and be cautious of you, he doesn’t have one. And yet he treats you just the same, if not a little better, but it’s all forgotten the second he starts stealing your food and drinking your carefully stashed wine coolers that you’ve scattered all over the compound.

As infuriating as he might be, you can’t deny there’s something else about him that calls to you, an intangible something that draws you to him. After day number nineteen you think you’ve figured it out: it’s they way he walks.

He has a particular way to carry himself around the room. It’s as if his coping mechanism lies in the set of his shoulders along with the small smirk and the way he casually swings his arms, they all scream confidence with every step. It’s all fake it ‘till you make it because this Bucky doesn’t seem like same person Steve told you about, the scared, broken shell of a man that HYDRA had left behind after almost seventy years of torture and brainwashing, but you know he’s still there. No amount of therapy or brain programming they’ve been trying to fix in Wakanda can get rid of that.                                                              

The façade he’s built around himself is almost perfect—you have to give him that—but you can see through the cracks, no matter how small they are. Like the way he flinches slightly every time Tony blows something up, or how he’ll always try to keep his back against a wall, but mostly it’s just the dark circles under his eyes.

Maybe that’s what bothers you the most; the fact that he keeps pretending that there’s nothing wrong, and maybe, if you’re willing to admit another ugly truth, you’re jealous of him too, because you can’t get rid of your ghosts as easily, much less pretend that everything is okay when it’s obviously not. The bottles stashed in your room and the half empty flask of strong vodka currently snug under the waistband of your pants can attest to that. And the permanent presence of Bucky in the room, along with his cocky attitude and the fact that he’s only been here two weeks but everybody trusts him more than you, makes it really difficult for you to keep the promise you’ve made to Steve and stay sober—not that you haven’t snuck up a few drinks here and there.

By the time Friday morning rolls in, you’re practically rushing to the main hall of the compound, sighing in relief when you spot Agent Hill already sitting in the reception, and you have to restrain yourself from running towards her like a madwoman, suddenly very glad for your mandatory meetings with her.

“Hill, thank God!”

“Whoa!” she instinctively takes a step back when you try and hug her, and you pull back as well, crossing your arms protectively over your chest and trying to hide a frown.

You forgot. It’s a stupid, one-second lapse of judgment, but it happens, and when reality comes crashing back you can’t help but feel terrible all over again, muttering apologies under your breath. Your good mood is instantly sour, and you suddenly remember why you hate these meetings with her in the first place.

“Y/N…” Hill notices--of course she does, with her being your friend and all--and you hate that you only get to see her once a month after the accident, and even then you can’t even hug her. It breaks your heart. “You know the drill, and-“

“Prolonged physical contact with me is potentially dangerous for people” you huff bitterly; reciting the words you’ve been hearing over and over again. “Trust me Maria, I know. It’s a damn shame that this particular HYDRA gift didn’t come with a return policy.”

“We’re still trying to find a solution.” She says, almost apologetically. “Is Stark’s bracelet still working?”

“This thing?” you raise your right hand where the restraint bracelet is fused shut, a little incrusted vial glinting under the sun. “Yeah… it has about two days worth of dosage before Tony has to refill it.”

“Good. That’s very good Y/N.”

A few seconds pass while she taps into a little tablet, and you can’t help but feel a little hurt. It’s been two weeks since you last saw Maria, and even though you used to be friends, things have changed after the accident. She’s become colder, more distant, and it hurts more than you’re willing to admit.

“Is… is that all you came here for?” you ask her. At least it makes her look up from her notes, and her expression softens the slightest bit before she tentatively places a hand on your forearm, mindful of your long sleeves.

“Oh, no Y/N” her hand is gone in a flash, and she focuses on putting back her tablet instead “I wanted to check how things are with Barnes.”

“Him?” you’re taken off guard by the question “He’s fine, I guess. We don’t really talk much-”

You’re interrupted by the sound of Maria’s phone, and she rushes to answer it, speaking in short sentences to whoever is on the other side of the line.

“I’m so sorry,” she says after she hangs up “Something’s come up and-“

“You have to leave.” The disappointment in your voice is evident this time, but you know it won’t change anything.

“I’m really sorry about this. See you in two weeks!” And then Maria is rushing down the hall and out the door, her frame disappearing as she climbs into a car and speeds off. Just like that, you’re all alone again, left with the bitter feeling that comes after your meetings with her, but you try to ignore it as you go through the secure doors that lead back to the living quarters.

The kitchen is empty—thank your lucky stars for that—so you head straight towards Tony’s minibar, opening the little door and taking your time to pick a perfect bottle of gin that you intend to have for breakfast.

Plopping on one of the bar stools, you uncap the bottle and pour out the contents in a glass, taking a tentative sip first that soon turns into large gulps. The liquor tastes bitter and tangy on your mouth, and before you know it you’re pouring yourself another glass, feeling the all too familiar heat spread in your belly and the tingling sensation in the tip of your nose. You revel in the feeling, little giggles escaping your mouth with every other sip until the room is spinning and you have to lean on the table just a little so that you don’t fall.

That is how Nat finds you. Tipsy and tired; with your upper body sprawled over the countertop and a half empty bottle at your side. It’s become almost a tradition. Every two weeks you go and meet with Maria on a Friday morning, only to return—probably sad or angry, or both—and drink at least half a bottle for breakfast.

“Oh honey…” she mutters under her breath.

She’s at your side in a second, prying the glass from your nimble fingers and putting the bottle back in the minibar before returning to you. Carefully, she puts an arm behind your back and pulls yours over her shoulders, half carrying-half dragging you to the couch and setting you down on it.

“Nat… Nattie” you mumble, the words slurred in your tongue.

“I’m guessing your meeting didn’t go well.” She says.

“Maria wouldn’t even hug me, can you believe it?” You giggle before answering, the corners of your lips pulling up into a lopsided smile. “It went awful.”

No words are exchanged between the two of you after that, but there’s no need to. Nat and you prefer the silence, it’s something you’ve both grown to appreciate. She remains quiet when she makes you some food, quiet when she brings it to you, along with a big glass of water, and quieter still when she drapes a blanket over your shoulders, silently sitting at your side on the couch and turning on the TV to watch a movie. Even Vision doesn’t make a sound when he joins you after a few hours. He simply appears in the room with three bowls full of popcorn and sits beside Nat, passing the bowls around.

That was quite a few hours ago.

Now, the blankets are warm and fluffy and you’ve had so much to drink that your limbs feel heavy and your eyelids droopy, so you inevitably fall asleep, your teammates too focused on the show to notice until Nat makes fun of Vision because of the faces he is making and he turns around to ask you something, all bright eyes and “Hey, who was the guy-”

Vision’s words die in his mouth when he sees you’re asleep. Legs tangled up in the blankets and an empty bowl lying on the carpet. He makes a move to wake you up but a hand shoots out to his chest, halting his movements.

“Let her sleep,” says Nat, turning off the TV and picking herself off the couch at a blinding speed.  “I’ll come check on her in the morning.” It’s just past midnight and the only light comes from the huge fireplace located in the center of the room, but all the others are either on a mission or already sleeping, so both Natasha and vision go to their rooms at the other end of the facility and leave you soundly asleep on one of the couches.

Hours later, you are woken up by the sound of screams. You’re still groggy and no fully awake, trying to open your eyes in spite of the headache you feel coming on, but the screams continue to get longer and your brain is set in alarm.

Reaching for a knife you always keep under your pillow, you stretch your hand, only to find the soft surface of the leather couch and fuck, your mind can’t think because it’s the first time you are caught unprotected and drunk, and it’s the worse mistake you can make.

You sit up in a flash only to take in your surroundings, fearing some kind of attack, but all the windows are sealed tightly and the fireplace is still burning; not a single person in the room besides you.

As the screams become louder, you rush to the kitchen and grab Natasha’s gun, conveniently strapped under the counter, and head towards the noise. The sound of your feet rings like cannons in your ears and you can’t help but curse yourself for forgetting your training, rushing like a bull to try and knock down the door—to no avail because the surface is too hard and you’re not exactly in prime condition to be bumping into hard wood with your shoulder—but then it’s too late and the screams stop and there is nothing else to cover the noise of your footsteps. You see a small beam of light that’s just been turned on but before you can turn around the door is being wide opened and it’s none other than Bucky Barnes leaning against the doorframe with his hair mussed from sleep and a murderous expression on his face.

You are frozen to the spot with the gun hanging limply from your right hand (and damn, you hate feeling like an amateur right now) because, let’s face it, it is Bucky fucking Barnes, former Winter Soldier and HYDRA assassin—who hasn’t thrown even the hint of a smile of you in more than two weeks since he came back, so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t like you a lot—and you’re apparently standing right outside his room.

It was he screaming, you realize, your breath hitching at the powerful glare he sends your way.

“What the hell are you doing in my room.” It’s not a question as much as a complaint, meant to sound intimidating in the way that he almost growls when he says it, but even with his sweaty forehead and tousled hair, he’s never looked more raw to you than in that moment; unguarded and angry, even if that anger is directed at you.

“You were screaming.” You state.

“And you’re drunk.”

“Technically, I’m just hungover but- Hey!” You wedge a foot in between the wall and his bedroom door when he trues to close it, suddenly feeling very pissed off at the supersoldier. Just enough to make you push the door back open and stand in front of Bucky with your arms crossed over your chest and a frown on your face. “That’s it Barnes, you’re dropping the act right fucking now and stop being such an arrogant, disrespectful-“

“Disrespectful?” he scoffs “at least I didn’t try to break down your door in the middle of the night.”

“You were screaming your throat raw. At two in the morning-“

“And you’re drunk and delusional.” He interrupts. “If we tell the team about this, who do you think they’ll believe, huh?”

His words are enough to make you shrink and almost take a step back. That’s how much they hurt, but then it’s followed by anger and you’re not really sure if it’s you or the alcohol talking, but one moment you’re at the door and the next one you’re surging forward, poking a finger into his chest and glaring at him with enough force to make him recoil.

“Now listen to me Barnes, and listen to me well: you wanna scream? Fine. You want to punch a hole through the wall and tear your room apart? Go ahead. Just don’t pretend like everything is perfect, because you know it’s not. You went through hell and we know that, but you weren’t the only one there, and yet you bottle everything up and pretend you’re alright, when any moment now, you’re going to explode! And it’s not going to be on you, but on them, and they’re the ones who will have to take care of the aftermath, so do this team a favor and don’t make the same mistake that I did. Tell them the truth. Stop pretending.”

It all comes down to this moment. Almost three weeks of pent up anger and months of distrust and years of pain, they all lead to this moment when you confront Bucky in his room and accidentally bare your soul in the process. It’s ugly and chaotic and you don’t even realize you’re eyes are watering until you feel a stray tear rolling down your cheek, but before you can react—or do anything, really—he has taken a stance murderous enough to make you step back and all you see is the door being shut on your face.

Next Part

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[thesylvalining]

Time to trade Lisa’s mountain bike for… Lisa! And when she’s back from tour, it always means one thing:

So first, the girls shared aperitivo with their buddy Loic on the church steps in Faenza, with cheese from the Modena hills and wine from Loic’s latest tour in France. I enjoy this photo because somehow Lisa made Loic look like a swimsuit model with too many clothes and me look like a CCR (Creedence Clearwater Revival) groupie. Meanwhile, Lisa looks lovely and excited to to see her eclectic subjects come together so well.

Next stop(s), obviously, is/are our favorite bar/restaurant/beach/nightclub/obsession on in Marina Romea: Boca Barranca! Lisa’s amazing longtime friend Nico is along as well. There are refreshing dunks in the ocean, Spritz, the mouth-watering fried seafood plate we’ve eaten our weight in and the equally mouth-watering bartender… everything turns out to be just as good as we remembered :). 

This time, the journeys perpetuate the watery theme. I take to calling us sorrellas (sisters) from other fellas because — per usual — we’re hooked at the hip.  Like thirsty camels, the sorrellas swap heat for aqueous dips at every opportunity. At this juncture, it seems fitting for me to be so near tenacious water. I appreciate water’s fluidity, its propensity to literally go with the flow, to be at home everywhere in the world.

We soon find ourselves drawn, like a water droplet from a sponge, out of the penetrative heat in Faenza. We arrive in Crespino del Lamone via the train up the Lamone river valley (which, after cresting the Apenninni dumps out in Firenze). From there, it’s a blissful cruise down to our dipping spot of choice. The first is overrun by what New Girl‘s Schmidt would call “youths” (pronounced ewe-thz), predominantly the testosterone-fueled variety. The second, while still afloat in testosterone, boasts a couple of families and several tiered pools in which to disseminate the youths.

In the swelter of Italian summer, I have discovered innumerous ways to whittle away a sweaty afternoon. The time spent dipping, napping, journaling and watching the youths cannonball off an abandoned building while the occasional train grumbled by overhead was precious. Precious because it was spent with Lisa, precious because it was a beautiful day and a fantastic time to be alive. Precious because both of us were fully present and wholly content doing a lot of nothing in particular.

Being present is another gift from the Universe, stashed in my increasingly bountiful cornucopia of Neat New Tricks. It is not that I have ceased to feel angry or sad about how everything between Tyler and I turned out. No — I feel difficult emotions but I am unafraid to let them wash over me like the often murky, refreshing waters of the Adriatic. It absolutely acceptable to feel strongly because we are human — I am human. But I have learned better, more enriching ways to be, partially because I consciously live in the present moment, without (too much) lingering in the past or hoping for the future.

I’m realizing, it’s all about a comprehensive view of life — like Benjamin Hoff explains in The Tao of Pooh. I swear, every time I pick it up, there’s a little jewel of wisdom waiting for me to ponder its shiny facets. Hoff explains best what I’m getting at: our favorite moments in life often occur before a much-anticipated event. Like finally opening birthday presents, going on vacation or seeing someone especially cool after not seeing them for a couple of weeks… 😉 The moments between and before are the crusts of bread if you can’t wait to eat the soft inside — but without them, there’s not actually bread.

My Italian buddy Igor and I were discussing life and such things at his house near Bagnacavallo whilst hanging laundry and nibbling bread and chocolate. It was before a particularly quirky and wonderful concert by Devendra Banhart on Monday night (I’ll wax lyrical upon this later). I said: I feel like I’m in my 20s again. Once again, I bask in the same natural spontaneity and joyousness — but with the brain, experience and self-awareness I have now. I feel lucky but it is far beyond luck. I’ve ceased to search for happiness, but it found me anyway as I suspect it does when life flows easily.

Waterfalls are happy places.

The tan lines of a cyclist!

Let us return to the Lamone river where the The Tao of Pooh was again eerily appropriate. As the water rushed by, I pulled my tarnished bookmark and read:

“Say, Pooh, why aren’t you busy?” I asked.

“Because it’s a nice day,” said Pooh.

“Yes, but –”

“Why ruin it?” he said.

“But you could be doing something Important,” I said.

“I am,” said Pooh.

“Oh? Doing what?”

“Listening,” he said.

“Listening to what?”

“To the birds. And that squirrel over there.”

“What are they saying?” I asked.

“That it’s a nice day,” said Pooh.

“But you know that already,” I said.

“Yes, but it’s always good to hear that somebody else thinks so, too,” he replied.

I closed the book with a laugh, read the passage to Lisa (contemplating her second nap on the pale ledge above me) and we both turned back to our important nothings, listening to the birds, the squirrels and the youths now cannonballing off the waterfall.

And on the way back? Gelato! Duh!

Back in Faenza, Palio season was in full effect. For those of you who’ve dipped a toe in Italy, the word Palio may hasten forth images of titillating horse races in the medieval heart of Siena. Faenza holds its own version throughout July, a fully and ornately costumed affair between the different rioni (neighborhoods), each with their own colors and meeting places (which are boisterous and serve good, inexpensive food all month).

The Palio starts with youth (ewe-th) flag tossing and horse races (which keep Sylva up into the wee hours of the night) and culminates at month’s end with the same song and dance for adults. Lisa and I popped out to watch with the parade to the final race with the rest of Faenza… And let me just say, anyone who knew me in my awkward years knows to say I was obsessed with medieval stuff (Nini? Kelly?) is putting it mildly. So I rather enjoyed the entire affair!

Freaking knights in freaking armor, everybody!

Each rione has a competition for prettiest wench, I mean lady.

And each rione has its own spirited band.

A day later, we marched ourselves and our bicycles up to the ridge of San Mamante, beloved by cyclists for its hilly spine and idyllic views. Also beloved by watery wenches such as ourselves, because ExperiencePlus! organized us all a lovely poolside aperitivo…

After Lisa trudged off somewhat reluctantly to lead another tour with the infamous Enrico 🙂 I was left largely to my own devices. Nature put in its liquid two cents, too, cooling down scorching Faenza with much-needed rain:

Even with my sorella gone, I live a far cry from a solitary life — I have aperitivi, multiple dates in one week with my bike and actual humans (even with a guy I met on the train — you guessed it, more later). Or I travel solo, which I truly savor. Or I also linger about the castle like a friendly spirit, diligently working on my book (almost finished and ready to be sent off), this blog and corrections for the article (now finalized!) for the Italian magazine, Ossigeno.

And I have oh-so-much time to ponder. I can process how much my life has changed and absorb this delectable sense of freedom and adventure into my very bones, which were created, I believe, to absorb such things. And to celebrate them!

You guessed it: The Tao of Pooh has something to say on this matter. Hoff unearthed a quote that’s so beautifully apt I’m going to quote Hoff quoting Lu Yu.

The clouds above us join and separate,

The breeze in the courtyard leaves and returns.

Life is like that, so why not relax?

Who can stop us from celebrating?

And what more says celebrate than when your morning Nutella on wholegrain tigella (imported from the recent mountain bike trip) suddenly looks exactly like the country you’re so very happy to be celebrating in!??!

So, to celebrate the celebration, I combed my fresh-out-of-bed hair and adventured. Sylvas adore a good adventure — even, and often especially, da sola (alone). I hopped aboard the same train Lisa and I rode for our river dip trip –surprisingly almost clean, not entirely packed — to Marradi. Marradi? Yes, the same spot the sorellas began their multi-day hike in the colder, windier, rainier days of late April. This time around, it was hotter than Beyonce’s sister Solange.

The hike became an all day affair, especially after I missed the nonexistent train between 1440 and 1859. Unfortunately this meant missing hamburgerata (a bi-annual hamburger cook off with their friends) with the downstairs neighbors, the same whose lovely daughter (and friend) I teach English to several times weekly. But it meant more time in the wide, wonderful outdoors where I always feel at home.

I found the forest, even in crowded Italy, largely devoid of other humans. I could hear them on distant dirt bikes and cars and early on, passed a group watching their buddy hang glide off an open, hilltop. And evidence of humanity presented sporadically with a fence, a rickety shelter or scared sheep bolting down the path ahead of me, the bells around their necks ringing a frantic tune. Otherwise, it was just me, the birds, the squirrels, the breeze…

… the trees and the ivy…

… the old cobblestones on the road to Eremo di Gamogna (the hermitage of Gamogna)…

… and quite possibly the best lunch spot around!

By the time I arrived back in Faenza it was after 1930 and of course, I was ravenous, but tired and very sated after a long sojourn in The Nature.

The beauty’s in the messy details…

Heading out of Marradi.

Lunch spot views.

Sylva = very scary.

Almost to the lunch spot!

A walk in the woods, anyone?

Heading back down.

There’s an Italian saying: Chi dorme non piglia pesci, or those who sleep don’t catch any fish. I may not have been in the business of catching fish (although some people might be able to argue that point… Lisa? 🙂 ) but recently I definitely was in the business of not sleeping… case in point why this clock…

… says 0400 (4 a.m.). Yep — more on that next time. Ciao for now!

Aqueous Transmissions Time to trade Lisa's mountain bike for... Lisa! And when she's back from tour, it always means one thing: