#It sounds like Suffering and I think is several streets away but still audible in my apartment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ordinaryunordinary · 3 years ago

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Ć̶͚̱͎͉̘̻̭̀̃̇̃h̷̨̛̦̩͇̠̙̜̟̙̮́̈́̔̓͜ä̴͙͕̞̳̪͉͈́́̈́͐́̈́̚n̵̠̖̘̉̋̎͑g̷̢̯̤̥͎͙̥̲̙̓̆̄͊̋͒̾̐͛̈́͝͝ë̶͚̱͙̰͇̜̭̭̤̭́̎̐̽̌͑̅̈́͌̈́̚͠ͅ

Experiment Zero was a success

Words: 5737

CW: implied torture, manipulation, violence, brain fuckery, they messed him up…that’s all I gotta say

For the most part, it was dark. It was also wet, what exact liquid that was though was uncertain. There were very few things he was certain of at the moment.

That it was dark, wet, and cold.

He was also certain that he was very sweaty and that it was hard to breathe. He was certain that his arms had been bound behind him by something very heavy and that same heavy object was also around his ankles and his neck. There was also something heavy covering his eyes, though it wasn’t as cold and hard as the ones arm his arms.

However, there were many things he was uncertain of. He was uncertain of where he was and who he was. He was uncertain of how he’d gotten here or when he’d gotten here and how long he had been here.

What he knew at the moment though, was how the constant ringing in his ears had stopped and a loud creaking had filled its place. There was also a small clicking noise that grew in volume as the seconds passed by.

“Get up.” He flinched, hearing such a gruff voice or just a voice in general in such a long time. When was the last time he heard a voice, when was the last time he heard his own voice? Did he even have a voice? The last sound he remembered hearing in this place was a high pitched giggle, if it could even be described as such.

Alas, he didn’t have much time to mull over it any longer before he felt that heavy weight lifted from his arms, legs, and from his neck.

“Get up,” demanded the voice once more. Hilarious, did the voice actually expect him to move in his state? He didn’t actually know what state he was in though, he was in pain. His limbs were sore where the weight had been, but there was also a constant ache going all throughout his body. If he managed to stand up, he wouldn’t make it a step before he collapsed once again.

He heard a sigh before he was roughly grabbed and pulled to his feet. As expected, he immediately wobbled and almost came crashing down if it weren’t for the sturdy arms holding him up. “Pathetic, to think someone like you was capable of evading us eleven times.” He didn’t know what the person was talking about, so there was no use thinking about it.

“The boss wants to see you,” he was addressed once more before he felt them moving. He tried to take a step, to walk along the person rather than drug behind them, but once enough pressure was added to his ankles he felt a burning sensation shooting up his legs. Giving up, he allowed himself to be pulled behind the person.

There was a slight shift in light, whatever was over his eyes was doing a good job of obstructing his vision, but he could assume that a light had been turned on in the place he was in. He staggered wherever the person was dragging him until they came to an abrupt stop and he felt himself fall to his knees. Clearly the person he was following had let go of him and scoffed watching him collapse into a heap of weak bones once again.

“Here he is ma’am.” Ma’am? So now he could assume that there were two people in the room. One being the man, he assumed who dragged him in, and another being the woman that he addressed.

“Good,” he felt a chill run through his bones at the smooth voice that rang through his ears. It wasn’t like the gruff voice of the man that he had heard so many times. And though he couldn’t quite remember who the man was, his body could definitely remember what he had done.

There was a small clicking noice that grew in volume before the blindfold over his eyes was torn away. His eyes slammed shut after a flash of bright light filled his voice and he held in a whimper to keep some of his dignity. He wanted to reach up to cover his eyes once again but his hands were blocked by a firm grip that held his face.

“Pathetic, you can’t even open your eyes.” Pathetic, he had heard that word several times today, maybe that was his name, or at least a name they were going to call him. “I myself am embarrassed that it took so long to catch you,” the woman continued before he pulled her hand away. “Open your eyes,” he winced. Just barely opening his eyes filled his vision with bright white light and it was started to give him a headache.

The man beside him scoffed, “open your eyes.” The mans voice was demanding, and he felt the man grip his head hard before his eyes flew open against his will. There was a flash of images that passed him. Faces he didn’t recognize, places he didn’t know existed, but eventually it all faded and he could see the cramped office room he was sat in.

He blinked before he turned his head to see the two standing around him. The man was tall with maroon hair and pale blue eyes and was currently looking down on him with a scowl. Meanwhile, the woman was also tall as hell, though it could’ve been because of her high heels, with long blonde hair and yellow eyes.

Her faces showed a smile, but it was anything but warm. “Young man, what is your name?” He tilted his head, “pathetic?” He flinched, his own voice was hoarse, high pitched, and barely audible. Nonetheless, it drew a laugh out of the woman. “No dear, that is what you are. But it isn’t your name.” He blinked and looked down at the ground. He truly didn’t know his own name, he was frightened by the sound of his voice, the amount of things he didn’t know were quickly becoming overwhelming.

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to disappear off the face of the earth.

“I know, we can give you a name. Does that sound good,” her voice had turned into a sweet, caring tone, almost sounding as if she was speaking to a child. “I know you’re confused, and you probably have so many questions. But trust me, we’re here to help you, I promise.” He stared up at her, her yellow eyes softening and a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Zero, that’s what we’ll call you.” She directed her face up to the man, “in honour of experiment zero being a success.” The man nodded, his grip on the young mans head lessening before he eventually pulled away.

“Listen to me Zero, my name is Valerie and this is Keon. There’s a really evil organization out there, okay? They’re threatening to hurt civilians and trying to force their ideas on to people. I work for an organization called EMBER, we’re dedicated to ridding the streets of these evil “heroes” and restoring peace to the hierarchy.”

He shook his head, he still didn’t understand a thing she was saying. She sighed before reaching over and ruffling his hair, a soft gesture before she pulled away again and crouching in front of him.

“We’re going to help you. They hurt you, they put you in this condition, but we’re going to stop them. Think of how much pain you’re in, we don’t want anyone else to suffer the same fate. You’re so strong for surviving through all of that. Don’t worry everything is going to be okay.” She reached out and stroked his hair again before she stood. “Take him to his new room and let him rest, we’ll introduce him to the others tomorrow.”

The man nodded before he held a device up to his mouth and called for someone to come to the room. He…Zero, stared at the ground. He couldn’t remember half of the thing he had done while he was here. All he knew was what this woman, Valerie had just told him. She promised to keep him safe, but at what cost? Did they want him to help them? How could he in this state?

He felt himself be pulled up to his feet again by a third member in the room. The woman smiled, “he’s going to take you to you’re room. Don’t worry, it’ll be much better than that hell hole you were in before.” He nodded, for now, he would trust her.

The third person began to pull him out of the room.

What other choice did he have anyway?

———

Valerie watched the door slam shut behind the worker and the boy. “My my Keon, you’ve really out done yourself this time.” The red haired man shrugged, “it wasn’t all my doing. There’s only so much a simple memory recall ability can do. I also had Cyko and Thompson play with him from time to time so I’m sure that helped.”

Valerie nodded before she walked back to her desk and sat down. She breathed out a sigh, “three months. We started this project three months ago and it is just now finished?” Keon nodded, “he isn’t ready to use yet. Once he can stand on his two feet, he will be our trump card against those vigilantes.”

“So, explain to me. The silver eyes, what’s up with that?” Keon smirked, “to put it simply, the colour gold is full of life, spirit, and determination. The colour grey is lacking in anything, almost numb.” The redhead laughed to himself, “I have created an entirely new vessel for you to mold to your liking.” The woman nodded, “and you eliminated all chances of a relapse into his old self.”

Keon whistled and he felt the immediate scowl the woman bore. “Not entirely, though if that happens we can just throw him back into the chamber. I’ve discovered through the past few months that he does not like small spaces.” Valerie raised her nose up, “you’re dismissed, do not let this opportunity fall from our hands.

Keon nodded before he turned to the door. He had a hand on the handle when Valerie spoke once more, “if we use him in the field, what are the odds he will recognize one of the heroes.” Keon huffed, “he won’t, and even if he does, he won’t escape the grasp I have on his mind.” Valerie spoke no more and Keon dismissed himself.

The blonde swayed back and forth in her seat.

“I want Rei back.”

She smirked, “I feel as if a rematch is due soon.”

———

He, Zero, looked around the new room he was in. There was a bed in the corner, albeit it looked sketchy as hell, but it was a bed. There was a toilet and sink across from it, and a tiny mirror near the toilet, and that was it for the room. He laid his head against the metal door behind him and sighed, his eyes closing along the way.

He shivered, both from the cold of the room and out of fear. They told him to rest, but at the moment he could do anything but. Not really though, he was still in a lot of pain and his growing headache was making him sick.

“Zero, that’s what we’ll call you.”

“In honour of experiment zero being a success.”

He huffed, what was that supposed to mean. She said that the “heroes” put him in this state, but then called him an experiment?

His head hurt.

Slowly, he crawled his way over to the bed and painfully pulled himself up into the mattress. Immediately, there was a creak, and he felt as if a ton of needles were poking into his back. Nonetheless, it was much better than the cold metal floor, and what he now realized had been chains from the previous room. He rolled onto his side, onto his back, onto his stomach before sitting up again.

Of all times to be restless, it was the only time he was told to rest.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring at the wall, at the toilet, at the floor, he just sat there. “Pathetic,” it was the only word that seemed to stick to his head out of that whole lecture from the woman named Valerie.

Valerie, he had watched her mood change from sinister to caring in a matter of seconds. What was her motive, why did she want him exactly, and who exactly was she? He felt like he knew her, in the back of his head he could’ve sworn he knew her. But perhaps it was just a feeling of deja vu from a time he couldn’t remember.

Speaking of things he couldn’t remember, he had no idea what he even looked like. Did he want to know? Considering how much pain he was in, he could only imagine the state his body was in.

Curiosity got the best of him though, so he pushed himself to his feet and steadied himself against the wall. Stumbling, he reached the mirror and held one hand on the wall while he pushed back to look at himself.

His hair reached his shoulders and was matted in blood, what he assumed to be blood that is, and thrown all about the place. His eyes were grey with deep bags under them, and he could see large scars running down the left side of his face from under his eye to his neck and disappearing under his shirt. Said shirt in question was a white shirt sleeved shirt with several tears around his sides and chest area. On his right arm he could see several bruises and cuts lining his arm along with scares around his wrist and hand. His left arm on the other hand was wrapped in bandages all the way from his fingers to his shoulder, and he found that it was incredibly stiff when he tried bending it.

The black pants he was wearing also had rips around his thighs and there were large holes revealing his bloody knees beneath. And just by looking down he could see his beet red feet that no doubt were infected and scraped underneath.

Just as he thought, he looked…well, pathetic. He would hate for someone to see him like this. Then again, who was going to see him? According to Valerie, there were others he was doing to meet after he got some rest. Question is, would he like them or not? In this state, he could guess that he wouldn’t like them.

With not much else to do he eventually made his way back to his bed, and fell asleep with an empty, dull, and numb mind.

———

“Rei! Catch me!”

“I gotta ya Remi what’s got you so happy today?”

“I’m starting highschool, I get to go to the same school you did.”

“Yep! Be sure to say hi to Arlo for me.”

“I will! And let Kuyo know I say hello as well.”

“Don’t worry I will.”

——

“Get up.”

Zero was abruptly awoken by Keon standing over him, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed into a scowl. “We’re introducing you to the others and the people you’ll be working with today. Then Valerie wants to evaluate you on something.” Keon nodded before leaving the room, though Zero could see that he was only standing outside of the doorway.

It wasn’t like there was anything he needed to do, so he simply pushed himself to his feet and followed Keon on the door. “That was surprisingly fast.” He shrugged before Keon grabbed his arm and pulled him behind him. “I’m leading you to the dining hall, make note of how to get here cause I won’t be bringing you here everyday. I’d advise not getting lost, someone might get the wrong message and try to kill you.”

Zero nodded, though Keon couldn’t see it, and merely followed as Keon led him through a set of doors into a small and very crowded room. On one side, there were groups of people sitting and staring at nothing or picking at their food. On the other side, there were people wide eyed and excited and were flipping bottles, wrestling, and borderline food fighting.

Keon sat him down in the middle of chaos.

“Ahem!” At Keon’s voice, the group looked up at him and then to Zero. The young man curled in on himself at everyone’s gaze before the male in front of him spoke up. “Ohhh this is the fresh meat Keon was talking about. “Bundle of joy” he said, that diminished real quick once I was introduced.”

“Cyko,” the man looked up to Keon who shook his head. “Ohhh, interesting,” the man leaned back in his seat with a giggle. “Alright, this is Zero. He’s going to be joining Cyko and Thompson on the field as our trump card. Meaning he is your last resort if the target becomes overwhelming. Though he can be used just for fun as well.”

Keon’s hand was resting on his head as he spoke, and try as he may, he couldn’t remember a word the man was saying to the others. It was like it went in one ear and was pulled out of the other. Instead, he just stared at the man in front of him.

He had black hair with neon blue highlights that complimented his bright blue eyes and a grin laced with insanity painted on his face. And his piercing blue eyes were boring into his own dull grey ones.

“Zero.” At the mention of his “name” he perked up and looked toward the red haired man. “These two are you partners. Cyko, and Thompson.” The older man pointing at the guy with blue eyes and a man sitting next to him. “Eat your food, I will come receive you whenever Volcan wants you.”

Zero nodded, watching Keon release his head and briskly leave the crowded dining hall. Unsure of what to do, he turned back toward the table and found several pairs of eyes pointed at him.

“Zero huh,” the man with the blue highlights leaned across the table toward him, “how is it fair that you get a name cool enough without a nickname, yet you look like a kicked puppy. What’s your kill count? How many limbs have you lost?” The young man stiffened and shook his head, as far as he knew he hadn’t killed anyone, nor did he plan to.

A darker skinned male sitting next to this so called Cyko shook his head and pulled the younger back into his seat. “Leave the newbie alone, the thing looks like he can’t even hold a knife. He’s shaking like a leaf,” the other man had a deep voice and deep brown eyes that were almost black. At his words, Zero looked down at his hands to discover that he was indeed shaking.

“I’m Thompson, and as you’ve seen this is Cyko. We’re your partners on the field.” Zero nodded before Cyko leaned over and spoke again, “you can leave all the dirty work to us if you’re scared.” Again, Zero nodded and Cyko scoffed before sitting back down. “You’re absolutely no fun, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Can you even talk?”

A nod.

Cyko gritted his teeth, “I’m gonna end up killing him Tom, I’m relying on you to hold me back.” Thompson sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “you can’t kill another one of our partners. Keon gave you one last warning and said after the next one they’d throw you in the chamber.”

Zero began to tune them out, he didn’t know what they were talking about. “Chamber,” it must have been where he was before. Considering how Cyko shivered and immediately curled in on himself, he could assume it was a terrible place even the worst people didn’t want to be.

On another note, the two men in front of him acted like killing was the most casual thing to do. Quite frankly, it unsettled him, he didn’t know why but it made him want to leave the table. He could begin to feel his heart pounding in his chest. Did Valerie want him to kill people? Is that what they meant when they called him their “trump card?” But she said they were going to help people, that they were going to stop the bad guys.

He wanted to H̴̛͙͚̮̜̻̰͇̽͛͌͐̈͝e̸̺̯̝͇̗̊̒̋̎̾̽͑̂͋̆́̑͛̅͌͜ͅl̷̛̛͉̘̺̱͓̮̺̼̺̯̗͋̒ͅp̸̧̙̦͓̱̣̦͚͔̼̞̤̏̃̾̒̓̃͐̔ people

He wanted to keep people S̸̡̧̻̻̄a̸͔̱͚͌͗f̴̤͎̘͕̄̔ę̷̛͚̤̳̫̣͂͊̃̉͠

He didn’t want to hurt people

He didn’t want to kill people

Ţ̶̛̜̣̺͑̀͂̊̂̇h̶̨̛̜̞͉͊̿̍̆́̆̿ä̶̻̙̼̤̦͈̥́̊͑̇̊͒ͅt̶̡̲͎̱̒͗̔͆͝͝’̴̲̙͓̮̻̤́͜s̴̢̜͎̬̪̱̬̙̈́̍̌͌ ̸̨̟̺̥̼̠͙͈̔̆͊̕n̸̨̹̲͉̠̭̥͎͐͠ơ̵͇̠̦͐̌̒̅́t̵̹̚ ̸̢͉̤͕̼̱͗͌̈̊̀̂͐͜w̶̰͕͔̹͙͈͙̯̌́͗̑̕ḣ̴̼̜̏̌͆̿͑̌o̴̼̤̓̅̊̋̾͝ ̸̜̤̭͗͒̈͠ḧ̵͚̳̳̰͂̎e̵̡͖͚̗̘̍̔̋͆͊̈́̿̈́ ̷̧̡̨̲̘̫̬͑̊̐͊͘͝w̶̛͉̞̉̾̌̚a̴̢͔̪̍́̏̆̎̎͋͜͜ͅs̸̠̲͌͑̂̑͆̇͘-

Zero blinked, his heart calming down and breathing coming down to a regular level.

“So who exactly are ya kid? Where’d ya come from?” Thompson turned toward him and spoke, neither him nor Cyko managing to see his sudden freak out. Zero shrugged, “I don’t know.” He winced again at the sound of his voice, maybe it would get better with time. Cyko hummed, “so he can speak.” Thompson waved him off with a hand, “you don’t know?” The young man nodded, his eyes flickering between the two men in front of him.

The older man nodded, a small smirk coming across his face, “they made you into their perfect little war machine didn’t they?” Zero titled his head to the side, Cyko mirroring his actions with a look of confusion. “This frail thing? A war machine? Yeah okay, if he’s a war machine, I’ll give you my burger next time we have them.” At that Thompson mature demeanor immediately vanished and was replaced with a childish smile.

“Really?!” Cyko groaned and rolled his eyes, “you’re so immature.” Zero looked between the two, they seem to be friends. That was a nice thought to have, he wanted to have friends in this place, maybe it would make him less…less what? This place didn’t make him feel anything. That was one thing he had noticed while staying here, he felt, nothing.

Physically he had felt pain, and exhaustion. But mentally, he hadn’t felt anything in his entire time here. Nothing made him sad, nothing made his happy. He felt as though he was just existing, as if he was just following an invisible string that was pulling him through his life.

“Hey,” Cyko’s high pitched voice shook him from his thoughts and he looked at the blue haired man. “Are you gonna eat that?” The other gestured to his full plate of food, white stuff that he really hoped was mashed potatoes, purple carrots, and a single apple. The hell kinda meal is that? He grimaced before pushing the plate forward toward Cyko he smiled before absolutely devouring the plate.

Thompson cleared his throat, “you’re gonna have to learn to eat that stuff. Trust me, one only get full meals maybe one every three months. And burgers only come twice a year. The food is shit, but at least they give us food.”

Zero nodded, he would force himself to eat his food tomorrow. For now however, he simply sat and listened to Cyko and Thompson talk, along with whatever conversation he managed to hear from other people. I’m doing so he found out that Justine had an affair with Cole and now Erin was going to slit Cole’s throat. One of the lunch ladies died the other day and her body was found in the kitchen with several stab wounds, the suspected murderer was Cyko who giggled about it. A girl named Lumina got thrown in the chamber after refusing a job given to her directly from Volcan.

His name floated around the dining hall a few times as well despite his limited interaction with any other people. He had just managed to start ignoring the several mentions of his name when he spotted Keon out of the corner of his eye. The male gestured out of the room with his head before disappearing around the corner.

Zero could only take that as his cue to leave. So silently, without another word to anyone, he stood from the table on wobbly legs and slowly made his way out of the dining hall. He could definitely feel every pair of eyes on him as he left, but he kept his head straight and slipped out of the room.

“I’m shocked you actually understood my gesture, and that you’re standing. Maybe this will work after all.” Keon began walking once more and Zero followed behind him, that invisible string of fate pulling him in the direction Keon wanted him to go. Maybe Keon was pulling the string, maybe Valerie was, maybe this Volcan person everyone spoke about was.

He then realized that it had been a while since he last peed. His nose scrunched up, did that mean he had been peeing himself while in the chamber? Zero held in a gag, if that were true, then he was walking in pee stain pants and was very lucky that they were black.

“If you’re done having dirty thoughts, we’re here. And be assured, your pants have been changed.” Zero nodded, a feeling of relief coming over him. Feeling calmer, he let Keon lead him through a large set of metal doors and found himself outside. He blinked against the harsh light of the sky and the sun, it was the first time he had been outside in ages, and only now did he realize just how pale he was.

Where he stood he only saw sand spreading far away from where his eye sight could reach. All around him there were props, decorated to look like people. It was a little too realistic for him, if he hadn’t looked twice, he would have though they were actual people.

“Zero!” He looked up and behind him to what seemed to be an observation deck and found Valerie standing in the edge of it. She smiled down at him and waved, and he found himself do the same. “How are you feeling, well rested?” The young man nodded, never seeing Keon’s disgusted face next to him. “That’s amazing, listen I’m gonna give you a challenge. You see, if we’re gonna go out and stop those bad people, we have to train you. Understand?” Zero nodded again and looked back toward the training dummies.

He could see where this was going. She wanted him to take out all of these training dummies and would evaluate his abilities at doing so.

Keon made a noise and Zero looked over, in his hand was knife and it was gently placed into his own.

“Listen Zero, the best way to stop these heroes is to immobilize them quickly. They can’t hurt you or others if you knock them down first. We’re not sure how well your ability works at the moment, so we’re focusing on this first, okay? All I want you to do, is find the best method to immobilize the training dummies. You don’t have to use the knife if you don’t want to.”

He looked down at the knife in his hand. It felt heavy, like it wasn’t supposed to be in his hands. He felt like dropping it would made the feeling in his stomach and chest ease up and go away. He gripped the knife tighter, it was a self defense mechanism, he would only use it if he had to.

Slowly, he made his way to the first dummy in front of him. He stopped when he was face to face with the dummy and stared at it. These are meant to be the people Valerie says are our enemies. He stared at the black button eyes in front of him and gripped the knife tighter. They hurt people.

Before either Keon or Valerie could blink, he swung his leg and connected with the dummy’s neck. Keon inhaled sharply, his body tense as he watched the dummy’s head roll down the hill.

The young man took a deep inhale before he broke into a sprint toward the next dummy. In one Swift movement he landed a punch in the chest, his fist going all the way through.

His foot took off the arm of another, his bandaged arm claim another head, and he kicked the feet out from under a dummy before stepping down on its chest. He panted, sweat beginning to fall down his neck, his grip on the knife only growing tighter, enough to wear his hand was beginning to ache.

It felt…exhilarating.

He smiled as he lunged for the next dummy, and giggled as he arm flew through the stomach of another.

On the deck, Valerie could feel her own grin widening as she watch every last bit of sanity escape from her precious experiment. Keon on the other hand, felt as though he would be sick. He clenched his fist together as he watched dummy after dummy fall over. Some missing limbs, some missing heads, he gulped as he imagined what this “thing” could do once he used his ability.

Zero grinned as one final dummy stood before him, and without a moments hesitation he brought the knife into the throat of the dummy and lodged it deep within the thread.

He allowed himself a second to breath before pulling the knife back out and holding it in his hand. He stared at it and his vision blurred, red blood painting the knife and his hands. He looked down at himself and saw blood coating his pants and his shirt.

And he heard his own laughing before he knew that he was laughing. His chest was burning, there were tears streaming out of his eyes, the knife felt like fire in his hands, but he kept laughing.

And like a fire had been extinguished, he stopped.

The knife fell from his hand and he stumbled backwards. He stared at his hands, expecting to see blood covering his body, but all he found was dirt and sand. “Zero.” His head snapped up as he saw Valerie, Volcan, approaching him and he stepped back again. His ankle rolled and he fell to the ground, crawling backwards he tried to make space between himself and the blonde haired woman.

“Zero, you’re okay. I promise, you did very well.” Valerie walked toward the young man, but he only pushed further back. Finally, she stopped, “Rei,” she said with a glare and the mans head popped up. Frightened gold eyes stared back at her and she clenched her fist. “Keon!”

Rei shook his head, scrambling to his feet and running as fast as he could from the duo. “Rei! Get back here,” he ignored Valerie’s yelling and kept running. His body screamed in pain, and he had no idea where he was going, but he wanted far away from wherever they were.

A war machine, their trump card, the prefect vessel. They were making him into their weapon, and he had no way of pushing back against it. He mentally kicked himself, he allowed Keon to get into his head, and now they had complete control over his mind.

He wiped at the tears blurring his vision, he had to make it back to Wellston, and if not to Wellston then he had to get back home. He had to let everyone know he was okay. What about Remi, what about his mom? Were they currently grieving because they thought he was dead? And what about Arlo and Kuyo, were they okay?

He had to get home, he had to help them.

“Rei!”

There was a sharp whistle through the hair before he felt pain spread throughout his leg and send him tumbling forward on to the ground.

He winced, gripping his leg close to his chest and gingerly pulling the tranquilizer dart from his calf. “Please,” he whimpered and attempt to stand up again. He saw Valerie making her way toward him, anger painted on her features and flaming claws emerging from her hands.

The “sweet and caring” demeanor was gone, and was immediately replaced with cold, murderous anger that was currently directed toward him. He held in a Yelp when she gripped his collar with one hand and pulled his face close to hers.

“Don’t ever attempt to escape from me again.”

The greenette screamed as she plunged her claws into his abdomen and twisted them further in. “Or you will never get to see them again.” She yanked her claws back and allowed Rei to fall back down. “Keon,” she addressed the male who was panting as he reached the other two. “Take him back to the chamber, clearly he needs to learn who is in control here before we can effectively use him.”

Keon nodded, his stride directed to the young man rolling on the ground, his ability active.

Rei winced, his vision was beginning to blur but he mustered enough energy to active his ability. From two of his fingers he sent a weak spark toward Keon hitting him in the forearm after he blocked his face from being hit.

“Why you little shit.”

Fear overcame Rei as Keon practically tackled him and held him by his wrist in one hand and gripped his head with another. “I dare you to tell me to stop.”

And in a flash of images he watched Remi, Arlo, Kuyo, he watched all of them smile at him, before everything went dark.

———

*1 Month Later*

———

“Your target tonight is a duo by the names of X-Rei and Nobody. X-Rei has a lightning ability at a level of 5.4 and Nobody is a 5.0 with energy discharge. Both of them have incredibly fast reflexes and speed. Exercise caution and keep a distance between yourselves and them.”

Cyko and Thompson nodded, this was a regular night for them.

“They will likely hold out for a long time, whenever you bore of them, send him in.”

In the corner of the room, grey eyes scanned over the files in his hands. X-Rei was a pink haired girl with an x on a grey sweatshirt and Nobody was a redheaded male with almost his entire body covered in black.

“Zero.”

EMBER’s ultimate war machine looked up with a smirk, a glint of silver being seen under his green bangs.

“As you wish, Volcan.”

#unordinary #unordinary webtoon #unordinary rei

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trashscenariihxh · 4 years ago

Text

Chrollo x Fem!Reader

Yet another commission! If you’re interested in commissioning something, please message me. Remember, no commissions are shared without your consent, and they are all made anonymous.

You received a text from Chrollo saying he’d be in town only minutes before you ran into him. It was late; you’d just finished closing up shop, counting the money left in the till and locking up before grabbing your coat and heading out into the autumn night. It had stormed earlier, but now it only drizzled. Damp leaves clung to your shoes as you walked down the slippery cobblestone street.

Had Chrollo not called your name out softly, you would have walked right by him, so preoccupied were you with keeping your umbrella from being blown inside out by a sudden gust of wind. You stopped the instant you heard your name, turning in the direction of the voice. Chrollo was dressed in normal clothes for once, casually leaning against the side of a building, washed in the gold of the streetlight.

“Hey!” You called, walking briskly towards him and promptly stepping into a puddle. You cursed, closing your umbrella as you futilely shook your foot. No point in trying to stay dry now. “What are you doing here?”

Chrollo smiled, that sweet, darkly angelic smile of his. “To see you, _____. Isn’t that obvious?”

You rolled your eyes. “I meant here. In the street.”

“Your shop was closed, it takes you twenty minutes to walk home. I guessed I’d find you here.” He chuckled. “It seems I was right.”

Snorting, you turned on your heel and strode off. “Come on then, I’m going home to get out of the rain. Stay in the street if you like.” You noticed that he didn’t even have an umbrella on him. Chrollo was a strange man, perhaps he enjoyed getting rained on. Sometimes you felt as though you couldn’t truly be sure of what he enjoyed.

Neither of you attempted conversation on the walk back to your apartment. Your mood was too foul after having been made to suffer the annoyance of wet socks, and the wind rustling the dried leaves as it blew through the trees was too loud to speak over.

“You could have just waited for me here.” You spoke finally as you reached you apartment, removing your shoes and switching on the light.

“I don’t have a key.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you.”

Chrollo arched an eyebrow. “You think I’ve broken into your home?”

“Well haven’t you?”

Another cryptic smile. A flash behind his eyes. “Perhaps.”

His lips were on yours an instant later. Chrollo might have taken great pains to appear ethereal and otherworldly, but there was something so refreshingly warm about his kisses that his humanity was undeniable. Soft lips drifted down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of even softer kisses in their wake along your throat.

“Right to the point, huh?” You chuckled, tilting your head to the side to give him better access.

“It’s been a long time.”

Had it? You had a hard time believing that Chrollo had spent the last several months pining away for you, such thoughts were an extravagance reserved only for those in relationships with normal people. Every time Chrollo left, you assumed that he’d either be killed or just lose interest in what you had; he’d slink through his life of shadows and remember you less and less until you became little more than a silhouette in his memory. A favorite character in a long-forgotten book.

Whether these were prophetic musings or purely melodramatic thoughts mattered little to you now, especially since Chrollo was urgently sliding your coat off your shoulders in an attempt to undress you.

“Hey!” You protested when his hands rested on your ass and squeezed through the fabric of your dress, but you melted into him when he pulled you close and murmured “I’ve missed you” against your lips.

That was all it took. You grabbed his wrist and led him to your bedroom, blushing at the light peal of amused laughter that ensued. You refused to be ashamed of your eagerness, so you cast a smirk over your shoulder as you began to shed your clothing. It was much more efficient than Chrollo’s earlier fumbling.

A smile spread across your face when Chrollo stood behind you, his half-hard cock obvious when his crotch pressed against your ass. You jumped in surprise when he began to rub against you.

“You like it?” Chrollo asked, helping you remove the last remnants of your clothes and dipping down to kiss your shoulder. “Feeling me like this?” He swept a lock of your hair away so he could lightly suck at your neck.

You hummed in contentment, reaching back behind you to lace your fingers in his thick dark hair. He’d forgone his usual severe slicked-back hairstyle in favor of leaving his hair down, something you greatly appreciated. Chrollo’s hands found their way to your now-exposed breasts; he palmed at them before lightly rubbing at and gently tweaking your nipples. The more he touched you, the more excited he became; Chrollo was rocking against you, his still-clothed erection stiffening by the second. One of his hands drifted down between your legs, his fingers beginning to stroke your clit.

“Chrollo…” His name fell from your lips in a barely audible whimper as you bucked against him, your eyes fluttering shut. After so long, his touch was enough to transport you away from your bedroom. You were lost. Totally, gloriously lost.

“_____.” Chrollo’s voice brought you back to the present. “Look.”

You opened your eyes, confused as to what exactly Chrollo wanted you to look at, until. Oh. Oh. In your earlier haste to get Chrollo into your bedroom, you’d failed to notice that you were standing almost directly in front of your full-length mirror.

“Look at me,” Chrollo ordered silkily, laughing lightly when you instinctively started to look back at him. “No. There.” He grabbed your chin and turned your head to face the mirror.

You’d seen yourself naked countless times, and you’d been intimate with Chrollo a comparable amount, but your cheeks burned with exhilaration and something almost like shame when you looked in the mirror. Here you were, naked and utterly exposed, while Chrollo was more or less fully clothed.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, dropping his hand from your chin and gently wrapping his fingers around your throat. He continued to stroke your sex; his fingers moved away from your clitoris to dip between your legs and rub against your slit. “Keep looking at me.” His large grey eyes locked onto yours as he slid a finger inside you.

“It’s okay,” he soothed when your breath hitched. “You can cry out if you want to. If you can.” He tightened his grip on your throat.

You gasped when your air supply was suddenly partially cut off, yet you kept looking in the mirror as instructed. Looking at him. With one hand around your neck and the other between your legs. It struck you then just how beautiful Chrollo was; his face, unreadable alabaster, remained supernaturally serene even as he choked you. Angelic. Seraphic, even.

Chrollo tightened his grip again, and for an instant you couldn’t breathe. Flashes of red and gold danced before your eyes, and just as your vision began to cloud, you came around Chrollo’s fingers.

“Lovely,” he breathed, relaxing his grip and kissing your neck again. There was something reverentially apologetic about the way he kissed you now, his full lips ghosting over the angry red marks his fingers had made. He withdrew his hand from between your legs. “Get on the bed.”

A jolt of anticipation shot down your spine at the calmly given order. You obeyed, walking over to your bed and lying down on your back, legs spread, body eagerly waiting.

Chrollo smiled softly. “No, not like that. On your hands and knees.” You bristled at the slight note of condescension you heard in his voice but obeyed just the same.

From behind you, you heard the rustle of fabric, the clinking of a belt buckle. For the second time that night you began to look back, and just like the first time, Chrollo stopped you.

“Don’t.”

You closed your eyes and let your head hang in frustration. He was certainly taking his time…

Cool hands began to caress your ass, making you shudder at the long-awaited touch. Your eyes shot open when Chrollo pulled his hand away and brought it down on your ass with an audible slap, and you moaned softly when he did it a second time. It stung, but not unpleasantly.

Surprisingly, Chrollo offered no commentary on your reaction; he was seemingly content with drawing little moans and gasps from you with each slap. When he was finally satisfied, he rubbed his hands soothingly over your now-sore backside before lining himself up with your entrance and sliding in.

Your eyes widened when he bottomed out; it became immediately clear that he had not bothered to get undressed, a situation that sent little tremors of delight over your skin. You felt so vulnerable like this, so used.

Chrollo, who had seemingly used up his supply of self-restraint, began to fuck you with fast, hard thrusts. He grabbed your hips, preventing you from wriggle away from him as he drove into your repeatedly, fast and deep.

You bit your lip as his cock hit your g-spot, your inner walls tightening around him. Chrollo’s soft grunts and gasps were music to your ears; each sound he made caused the proverbial coil within your core to tighten. With a rush of daring, you chanced a look at Chrollo over your shoulder and barely contained a gasp when you saw him.

Chrollo’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, lush dark lashes pressed against his cheekbones. His cheeks had taken on a light pink flush, as had his lips, which were parted in a silent “O” of pleasure. The smallest, barely audible hint of a moan began to tinge each of Chrollo’s gasps; the picture before you was almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Chrollo’s eyes cracked open and you quickly looked away. Too late, evidently; you received a sharp smack on your ass for your disobedience.

“I… didn’t… say you could… look- oh!” Chrollo’s last shred of self-control evaporated; he reached forward, grabbing a handful of your hair and jerking your head back as he began to relentlessly fuck into you harder than you thought possible. Something had changed about the angle of his hips; he was no longer directly hitting your g-spot, but somewhere deeper, more sensual. You groaned as your walls spasmed around his cock as your second orgasm crashed into you.

Your clenching around his cock sent Chrollo reeling into orgasm as well; he grabbed your hips again with an almost bruising force and slammed into you, releasing deep inside you with a low grunt.

For all his exertion, Chrollo only trembled behind you for a few moments before pulling out and grabbing a tissue off the bedside table to clean himself up. You, however, collapsed onto the bed, having been exhausted by two orgasms.

“Tired?” Chrollo sat lightly on the foot of the bed, fully clothed again.

“What do you think?” You shut your eyes, willing your heartbeat to return to normal.

“I think you’re exhausted.”

“You’re correct. Well done.” You sighed and propped yourself up on your elbows. “Why are you still dressed?”

“I thought I’d take you out for dinner.”

You snorted incredulously. “Oh, now you tell me. While I’m all fucked out and exhausted.”

“Well?”

“It’s raining.”

“You have an umbrella, if memory serves.”

“All right, fine.” You yawned and sat up, grimacing at the soreness between your legs. It had been too long. “Let me get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Feeling Chrollo’s release begin to leak from you, you hastily dashed to the bathroom. You grabbed a towel and turned on the shower, delighting in the heat of the water.

As you stepped into the shower, eager for the water’s warmth, you heard the bathroom door creak open. “You need something?”

You were answered with a very naked Chrollo stepping into the shower with you. “I’ve been traveling for some time. Perhaps I ought to get cleaned up as well.”

You grinned to yourself as you squeezed bodywash onto a washcloth. Perhaps dinner out wasn’t in the cards for tonight after all.

#smuttastic #chrollo lucilfer

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succulentsunrise · 4 years ago

Text

Where the Fire Lilies Grow

Content: SFW!

It took me a while, but it’s here! The first meeting of Tani and Mereo 🥰 I hope you guys like it!

Note: I am using the manga’s timeline, where as far as I’ve understood, the Royal Knights are gathered and sent out during the same day.

Tag list: @thoughtfullyrainynightmare, @lyranova ❤️

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Chapter 5: Petunias & Peril

“So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.” Paulo Coelho

Three days had passed since the Royal Knights Examination. Tani had headed to her parents right after it had ended, and had stayed there for the whole time. Her family had happily welcomed her. Her parents, Kinra and Gawi, were childhood sweethearts, having bonded over strong work ethics and love for gardening. Tani’s mother was never still: whether it was gardening, working, cleaning or knitting, she was always doing something with her hands. Gawi, Tani’s father, was a talkative and cheerful man out of work, and grim and quiet while mining. Helee, her younger sister, had inherited their mother’s need to be constantly doing something, but instead of gardening, she crafted things. As iron was her attribute, like it was their mother’s, she found great joy in smithing and working with metals. It had been a while since Tani had been home. There were many questions, but she avoided telling why she had come to visit. Instead, she kept in contact with her friends, having told them to forward her any letters that arrived in her name. Icree had promised to keep an eye out, and so Tani had nervously waited every day for any news.

On the third day, while Tani’s family was working, the fateful letter arrived - but it was not an invitation to the Royal Knights. It was a letter written by Icree, telling her that Fragil had been chosen. No letter had arrived for Tani. She slowly put the letter on the table, not wanting to look at it. Irrationally, it took her less than a minute to pick it up and read through it again. A sinking feeling in her stomach brought tears alongside it. Tani wiped them quickly away and got up, desperately trying to find something to do that would stop her from thinking too much. She tried several things: cleaning, reading, looking at the letter again. Nothing worked. Eventually she wandered to the small garden that her parents kept. Determined to push her frustration and sorrow somewhere, she began picking weeds from the garden. It was simple, something she knew how to do. It allowed her to let out her frustration in peace. She just wanted to be distracted from her failure. Her powers had not impressed anyone. She had not impressed anyone. Maybe if she had had a better team - maybe if she had not needed to use all her mana - maybe she would have succeeded. Tani inhaled sharply and wiped her nose. She wanted to go and be part of the strike team, to protect Clover Kingdom. She wanted to be sure that she could tell the scared citizens that the threat would have been at least minimized in some capacity. She wanted to take action. Sitting still had never been a talent in her family. Tani picked at the flowers for quite some time before rising her head to look around her. The sun was slowly moving behind the horizon, colouring the sky in shades of red and orange. Somewhere in the streets, children were running and playing together. People passed by in peace, talking to each other. It was comforting. Tani’s tense posture relaxed a little as her gaze passed over them. Even if she wasn’t chosen, she’d stay ready to protect this place. These people. She would keep them safe. Her gaze moved to the potted petunias that were drooping. Mother had probably watered them too much again. The bright petals were beautiful, but the collection of brown leaves and stems were worrying. Tani moved her fingers over the stems, gently healing and nurturing the flower. Its dying parts were reborn with magic, restored to their previous glory. It was something her magic excelled in.

A sudden exclamation caught Tani’s attention. Rising her gaze from the flowers, she saw something move in the sky. Blinding lights had appeared all above the town, if not further, in the shape of swords. They were everywhere. For that split second, they seemed to just hang there, defying gravity. Then, they began to fall. Time seemed to stop for Tani. Her heart was caught up in her throat at the sight. People stared above them in wonder. There was no time to react. There was no time to run or become properly scared. The swords’ descent was incredibly fast. Tani could barely begin lifting her arm before the light reached her. Then - nothing. The swords above her, ready to plunge and slaughter, had stopped mere inches away from her. Slowly, almost mechanically, the light began to retract. Another glyph of magic in the sky seemed to be sucking them back in, forcing them to repeat their previous trajectories in reverse. Tani’s magic caught up finally to the motion of her arm, creating a wall of ivy where she stood, way too late to protect her if the lights hadn’t been dispersed. Her heart was beating fast - she felt like the only thing she could hear were the cries of the children and the rush of her own blood. Hastily, stumbling over her own feet, she left the ivy out there in the garden, rushing to the entrance of the house. There she grabbed her broom and hurried out, giving the sky a quick glance. The sun was still setting. If not for the commotion in the streets, the view would have been as peaceful as before. There was no sign of the swords or any other magic. Tani quickly mounted her broom and rose to the air. Her hands shook violently. She had no time to consider what had happened - she had to get back to her squad and figure out what orders they had. She needed to figure out what had happened. The wind felt good against her face, even as the broom trembled with her usually careful magic now in turmoil. The fear that had settled in the bottom of her stomach was not leaving. She did not know anyone who used light magic. She had a feeling like she had forgotten something - something important. She couldn’t remember what it was. Perhaps someone at the Azure Deer would have answers.

When Tani landed on the front courtyard of the headquarters, the sun had already fallen behind the mountains. There was an eerie light coming from beyond the horizon, paler than any sunlight. Perhaps whoever created those swords of light before was now there, fighting someone else than the kingdom. It was wishful thinking. A loud sound of breaking stone and clattering from inside the building made her twitch. Tani abandoned the broom where it was and began running inside. It sounded like there was trouble even here. Her legs felt shaky still. As she approached, she could only hear a pained scream from inside, as if someone was suffering immensely. The strange thing was - it did not stop. It was constant, grief-stricken wail. There were no breaks for breath, no sobs, nothing. The moment Tani stepped inside, it assaulted her ears with its piercing shrillness. She managed to wonder how she hadn’t heard it better in the courtyard, before another barely audible impact cut her thought short. It came from the direction of the mess hall. Tani hurried there, rising her hands over her ears. The screaming became louder and louder the closer she got. Through the door to the hall, she could see two bodies lying near a wall, crumpled to the ground. She was about to rush to their side, but the origin of the piercing noise entered her view as she stepped properly into the mess hall. In the middle of the space stood a girl with long, purple hair floating freely, out of its usual ponytail. Her soft, dark eyes were filled with disgust and contempt. Two red, tattoo-like lines were drawn from her eyes to her cheeks, as if tears. Her mouth was open in a horrendous, almost desperate scream. Blood was splattered on her face and clothes, most likely from her own injuries. All around the girl were thrown around bodies of magic knights. Only three were left standing: Francis, Icree and Luka. They were protected by a large, golden sculpture of a pheasant that had unfurled its wings to protect them. Orange and black butterflies were fluttering above them. All three of them were holding hands over their ears. Tani tried to shout to them, but her voice was drowned out. The noise was quite frankly giving her a headache and nausea. Even as she tried to take a step towards them, her vision wobbled.

“Stop it, Kliodna!”, she shouted, futilely.

The girl’s cold eyes turned to her. There was such hate in them - it made the girl not look like herself. Then, she stopped. Tani could see that she was out of breath from the shouting, her panting loud and pained in the sudden silence. Then, rather quickly, she started to advance towards Tani.

“Tani, be careful!” Francis shouted, and a wall of water appeared between her and the girl.

“Don’t!” Icree’s voice cut sharply, stress and annoyance clear in it.

The purple-haired girl opened her mouth again, the grimoire in front of her opening to another page.

“「Shockwave」,” her hoarse voice whispered with transparent malice.

Tani’s grimoire flew open in front of her, as she attempted to counter it, but she wasn’t quick enough. She could hear the scream begin again, starting to manipulate and force Francis’ water wall towards her with violent force - and then, a swarm of monarch butterflies wrapped around her and protected her.

“「Ginkgo’s Embrace」,” Tani shouted, holding her ears.

The strong roots of the ginkgo tree wrapped around her own legs, holding her in place even as the scream created waves that threatened to send her flying. Behind the girl, the sculpted pheasant divided into two jackals. Luka’s magic was elegant as always, but he looked battered. The purple-haired girl turned her head instantly, picking up on his mana. The butterflies that had swarmed around Tani flew back to their caster, Icree, as the screaming stopped again.

“You humans,” the girl said suddenly, her voice grovely and angry. “You think you have the right to fight for survival, when you didn’t give us the chance.”

“Kliodna, what are you talking about?” Tani asked, her heart still racing from the danger she had been in. “Why are you fighting us?”

Icree did not wait for an answer. She cast another spell behind them, rising to air with large butterfly-like wings. Tani knew that this spell of hers was often used in countering other types of magic. Icree was most likely planning to try to mitigate the effects of the next scream. Luka’s jackals began running towards the girl, hunting their prey. Tani started to carefully mask her mana, hoping to be able to bind the girl without hurting her while the other two had her attention. To do so, Tani would have to catch her by surprise. If she was allowed to scream for long, the fight would turn ugly for all of them.

“I hate all of you,” the girl continued, her voice raising. “I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!”

The last word turned into a loud screech again, as if she was letting out decades of hate and grief. The sculpted jackals, bouncing towards her, were shattered in an instant. Another wave of sound washed over all of them, pushing even Icree with her wings further away. Only Tani stayed near, her roots stable and enduring. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing, however. She was too close - the scream caused immediate dizziness to her, gnawing at her concentration and consciousness. As she pressed her fingers against her ears, she could see Icree force her way through the waves of sound. Small flakes of mana began falling from her wings, as Icree’s spell activated, dampening the effect of the screech. Tani acted quickly. The roots slithered from her own legs to the girl’s, climbing and twisting around her body to form a thin tree. It covered the girl completely, wrapping around her tighter than the spell usually did. Its thin, fan-like leaves moved only slightly in the newfound silence. The four of them looked at each other in brief relief.

“It’s not Kliodna,” Francis said quickly, getting up from where he had fallen. “She said so, at least. Said she was an elf.”

“We’re not sure what happened, exactly, other than that she began glowing suddenly,” Luka added, worry plastered over his face. “It wasn’t long after the advisor to the King sent us a warning.”

“A warning?” Tani asked, pressing her hand against the tree’s trunk.

She could feel the girl struggling against it. Though it had constricted whoever was in Kliodna’s body, the spell would not allow harm to come to her. Eventually, she’d break out.

“We were told to follow our captain’s instructions,” Luka continued. “The Wizard King is apparently fighting the leader of the terrorists.”

Francis moved to check on their fellow squadmates. There were several of them, flung all around the mess hall.

“It sounds like we are under attack,” Tani commented worriedly, slowly starting to move away from her tree to help Francis.

“We’ll need to knock her unconscious,” Icree declared, landing next to her. “We’ll bind her, take care of our wounded, and head to the capital. If there’s any disturbances on the way, we’ll take care of them.”

A groan followed her words, and the group turned to look at its source. Francis was helping up a brunette man to stand, his water magic swirling around their head.

“Shouldn’t we look around if anyone else nearby has been affected?” Eric asked with a pained voice.

“If you can wake up someone else still, we could divide into two groups,” Icree began, but was interrupted by Tani.

“Guys, the bind won’t hold for long.”

The sturdy tree had begun creaking and groaning as the girl was about to break free, her muffled voice starting to emerge again. A sculpted jackal appeared suddenly nearby the tree, ready to pounce.

“Don’t hurt her,” Tani pleaded quietly, but Luka shook his head.

“I can’t knock her out without a little bit of pain.”

Tani let the tree fall away and watched as the man’s nimble sculpture rammed against the girl, not giving her time to begin her magic again. The hit was strong. The young girl fell to the ground, unconscious. Luka’s jackal wrapped around her, turning into stone shackles. Kliodna looked more like herself without all that anger in her eyes. Tani felt a sting of guilt. They’d have to figure out what to do with her, but for now, they had to make sure the kingdom wasn’t in danger. Tani leaned down to examine the girl’s wounds, making sure that her life wasn’t in danger. She could see Francis also moving from person to person, checking their injuries and healing those that required it. A lot of them were still knocked out, but some were waking up due to his magic. Tani joined the efforts quickly. Most people seemed to have been hurt by the loud sounds or an impact with a wall. It would take a while to learn if Kliodna had caused lasting injuries. After everyone had been tended to, Icree, Tani and Luka left for the capital. Eric and Francis would help others to come to, as well as check the perimeter for further threats.

The flight to the capital was silent. Darkness had fallen a long time ago, and now there wasn’t even a light in the horizon. They were all tense and wary. Luka muttered something under his breath, and beautiful bird sculptures appeared to fly by him. He often used them for reconnaissance, as he could see through their eyes. They all flew to different directions, spreading across the capital. The flashes of light and mana were visible to them all, but most seemed to be already engaged by magic knights. Tani tried to seek out people that weren’t being protected yet.

“There’s a hole in the gate,” Luka said suddenly, his posture tensing.

“In the gate?” Tani repeated.

“In the castle gate. Someone has invaded the Clover Castle.”

Icree looked at him, shocked.

“Is no one else there?” she asked quickly, setting a course towards the castle.

“I only saw a glimpse. Someone is fighting next to the gate, but I couldn’t see who,” Luka answered, following her lead. “The bird got crushed.”

A sudden eeriness filled the air around them. Almost out of nowhere, a floating rock seemed to have appeared in their vision. In its face had been created house-like structures with openings, and its bottom seemed to have been fully carved out. It shone with unnatural, pale light, as it sailed far away from them. Tani saw the same uncertainty in the other two’s eyes. The amount of mana all around them was enormous.

“What is that?” she asked with a shaky voice.

Today’s events were starting to catch up with her. She had promised to protect people from this, but could they really stand up against such a widespread attack?

“I don’t--I don’t know,” Icree answered, her eyes wide. “Let’s follow it for now. Perhaps we can--perhaps--we can do something when whoever is in that thing is outside of it.”

“It’s going towards the castle. There’s more of them likely there,” Luka reminded, calling his remaining birds to him. “The mana is interfering with my spell. I can’t see properly.”

“We are Magic Knights. We must protect them.”

“We must also protect the common people!” Tani interjected, looking below them, where battles continued. “We don’t have to pick the biggest target.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Icree confessed, her hands shaking. “I’m hoping that whoever is fighting at the castle will be able to tell us where we are needed.

“We can see where we are needed: right here!” Tani argued.

All around them were destroyed buildings, fleeing citizens and bodies of magic knights. If they went down there, they could help people evacuate and protect them. However, Tani recognized that look in Icree’s eyes - she had made her decision, and there was no turning it. It wasn’t a selfless decision. Icree’s family was visiting the Vermillions, and there was a possibility they were still there.

“Look!” Icree shouted suddenly, pointing towards the moving rock.

Further away, a silvery bird was rushing towards it. No, not quite silvery. The Captain of the Silver Eagles, Nozel Silva, was known for his mercury attribute. The bird - eagle, in fact - was known for anyone who had seen him cast his magic. The three of them began to follow in silent agreement. Captain Nozel Silva had been part of the Royal Knights that had gone to strike at the base. He would know what they should do, and where their own captain was. His silver eagle was a bit faster than their brooms, but hopefully they’d be able to catch up in time.

Luck was not on their side, however. Even as the three of them rushed to catch up with the Captain of Silver Eagles, he seemed to be rushing to defend his home. When Icree, Luka and Tani finally landed, all they could see were the tailcoats of six people dividing between the three main royal houses inside the castle. Tani could recognize the Captains of Black Bulls and Green Mantis’, as well as the Vice-Captain of Coral Peacocks among them.

“We are too late,” Icree cursed.

She was tense, as if she was considering running after them. Yet, her gaze lingered in the bodies around them, moving back towards the lower parts of the mountain.

“The castle is secured, I think,” Luka said silently. “Lord Silva is certainly going to take care of anything that is inside there.”

Tani looked around them. Most of the bodies belonged to the Golden Dawn, but they all had those same red marks as Kliodna had had. Had they all been taken over as well? One body was different, set aside to rest against a wall. Her eyes widened. Red hair, matted with sticky, blackened blood, was framing a bloodied and beaten face. The white cape was tattered and torn, showing multiple wounds and bruises. Tani leaped the few steps she had to take to get to the woman’s side. Captain Mereoleona looked like she had gone through hell. Her eyes were barely open, as if held so by willpower alone, but there was no life in her empty gaze. Carefully, with shaking hands, Tani set out to examine her injuries. She had to remove the cloak from her to properly see the extent of her injuries. Luckily, someone else seemed to have healed them to some extent.

“「Ginkgo’s Embrace」,” she whispered, watching the gentle roots hug the woman’s form.

Originally, the spell had been a recovery spell. Tani had modified it into a binding spell as well with hard work. Nowadays, it doubled as both.

“Tani! Let’s go help--” Icree called out, but stopped in her tracks as she saw who Tani was taking care of.

“You go, I’ll follow you soon,” Tani replied, giving a brief smile to her teammates. “You’re descending to the city, right?”

“Yeah,” Icree confirmed, her eyes lingering on the unconscious captain. “Will she--you--be alright?”

Tani nodded.

“You just go ahead.”

A sculpted bird landed on Tani’s shoulder, and with that, Luka and Icree flew away on their brooms. She’d be able to find them with the help of the bird - or know that they were in trouble. For now, she concentrated on helping the lady in front of her to regain consciousness. This was not exactly the first meeting that she had planned. The sounds of battle from nearby made Tani twitch a little. It was clear that something huge had happened in the royal mansions. As she looked back to Lady Vermillion, she found the sharp blue eyes looking back at her. The gaze was still slightly unfocused, but it was much faster recovery than Tani had expected.

“Who are you?” the Captain’s weak voice growled.

“My name is Tani Chartreuse, 5th Class Intermediate Knight of the Azure Deer, ma’am,” Tani stated quickly, standing up straight and giving a small bow. “The roots are not to hold you down, but to boost your body’s natural regeneration.”

The Captain looked at her as if evaluating her with her blank gaze. Slowly, with every passing minute, clarity seemed to return to the woman. As she opened her mouth to speak, one of the sharp canines poked out. It was in a way adorable. Tani found a small warmth rising to her cheeks - this was not the time to be staring at someone much higher ranked than herself.

“Where are the others?” the Captain asked, adjusting her position.

“The others?”

“Royal Knights.”

“We--I saw Lord Silva enter the castle, ma’am,” Tani answered. “With him were five others--I believe Captain Sukehiro and Captain Jack, at least.”

The woman made an effort to get up, but the roots held her still. Once more, the small canine poked out, as the Captain’s brows furrowed. Tani changed her weight to another leg nervously.

“What do you know of the situation?” the Captain questioned next.

“Not much, ma’am,” she admitted uncertainly. “We were attacked by one of our own, who claimed to be an--an elf. We don’t know what it means.”

“They have been taken over, that’s it,” the Captain remarked. “You managed to defeat them?”

“Yes. They are bound back at our headquarters.”

“And?”

“And--? And we don’t know much of the situation. The Azure Deer is helping those near our headquarters and in the capital.”

“Useless,” the Captain scoffed under her breath.

��Excuse me?” Tani asked challengingly before she could control herself.

“The information is useless. Something is happening over there--”

Captain Mereoleona stopped suddenly, her gaze fixed to the castle. Tani turned to look there as well - but there was no castle to speak of. There was something dark, taking a caricature shape of the previous castle. Someone was clearly fighting between the castle and the floating rock. She heard a grunt, as the Captain once more attempted to move.

“You’ll be on the way in this fight,” Lady Mereoleona told frankly. “Go join your team and help them.”

Tani looked at the roots that still bound the lady gently.

“Your wounds--”

“Shut up.”

“Ma’am, I think I am justified in worrying for a captain that cannot break such a weak spell as mine.”

“Who said I couldn’t?” Captain Mereoleona challenged with a wicked smile, fires bursting from her body.

The tree and bark burnt in an instant, Tani’s spell disappearing from her. There was something inhumanely powerful in the woman. Her wounds were severe, and Tani’s magic was too slow to treat them this quickly. Yet she was standing, passionate fire in her eyes, ready to act.

“I can sense some elves coming this way, so you better leave, Tani Chartreuse,” the Captain of Crimson Lion Kings said with a smile. “Elves, and someone else.”

Tani shot her a quizzical look, not sure what to make of it. Still, she didn’t have her own captain to listen to, so she simply saluted to show she had understood the order. The bird on her shoulder took to the air, as she grabbed her own broom and masked her mana. The fires behind her intensified, as if a beacon to lure out the elves.

Tani could not help but feel a small joy in the Captain remembering her name, at least. Perhaps, if she was accepted to that special training of the Crimson Lion Kings, she could speak more with the fascinating Mereoleona Vermillion.

#Where the Fire Lilies Grow #black clover fanfiction #Mereoleona Vermillion #Fight scenes took me a while but here we are!!

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livayl · 4 years ago

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when allergies (sneak) attack

- Or how Azariah met Sofia - Summary: Azariah never had allergies before. Which is why she does not pay that much attention to the nagging itch and growing congestion she experiences after jogging outside. At least not until it keeps lingering and getting worse. Right next to that sweet baker´s food fair stall of all things. This time no spelled out sneezes. But they and all the urgently growing tickles and congestion are thoroughly described. ;) CW: I´ve mentioned mess/spray/wet sneezing and sniffling several times but it is not super descriptive. Also mention of food since it´s a food/bakers fair the two are at. Some cussing because Azariah tends to do that. Even inwardly. Fic starts under the cut

Azariahs gaze wandered over the aisles and the various goods stacked up not sky but at least top shelf high. All peeking through the various food stalls where one looked more promising than the next. She normally wasn´t one who´d dive into shopping trips and crowded places for fun. But there certainly were exceptions: Like pushing her way through overcrowded streets to be rewarded with the newest fine clothing at any kind of fancy men's tailor. And the extra sweet topping of politely voiced confusion some of these suffered from when they noticed that, yes indeed, she was the customer. And wanted to try on this, that, and oh! Please give me the black Tom Ford one with the grey silk tie, too. Thank you. Instead of just searching a practical gift for her not existing boyfriend, fiancé or husband. Not that she would say no to some new cuff buttons herself. One could never have enough of them: Silver, gold, black, with engravings, all those different shapes... Azariah wasn´t one for wearing jewelry but surely did not mind gently adorning a suit to make it rise to the occasion even more. The other one was visiting various kinds of foods markets and the attached shops. Or going all in with this big ass fair packed to the brims with various baked goods, the sweetest treats and mouthwatering, savory deliciousness. Plus the perfect ingredients to create all that herself once back at home. The air was filled with various kinds of alluring smells. One more tempting than the other but never mingling to a point of being uncomfortable. At least that´s how it should have been. Azariahs nose was way too congested to tell. That damned thing had been a mess ever since she´d left the house for a run this morning. It had worsened more and more until running properly had become an actual challenge. And even a steamy shower had not properly managed to clear her sinuses. Instead only provoked a fit of harsh, draining sneezes that had forced her to brace both hands against the wall. They had left her breathless and dizzy without a bit of satisfaction. Or soothed need. Instead only intensified the pressuring congestion that did not vanish with the help of nose blowing either. It was weird and infuriating. To a point were she was so hopelessly stuffed up that her lips had to stay softly parted to breathe.

The irritation wasn´t stopping at that though. There was that constant buzzing itch that teased and tickled insistently enough to make Azariahs eyes water. And oh my fucking god those itched, too. Sometimes that constant, unwanted stimulation would rise and prompt her sharp, lightly downturned nose to twitch in response. Then tuck on her lips. Contort them into a snarl before her mouth opened for a series of urgent, gasping hitches. She´d cuss under her shaking breath and turn aside from anyone around her. Arm raised up hastily enough to show the fluent movement of muscles under her midnight blue button down shirt. She´d hover above the crook for a bit. Face helplessly scrunched up, long nostrils flaring back even further. Body tensed and chest moving with fruitless, teasing build ups that would crest in a frustrating and embarrassedly voiced false start. Right followed by another inaudible curse as she´d dab at her eyes. Or wince at a few very congested sniffles that made her whole sinuses burn. All that only to be forced to give a repeat performance a few minutes later. So much for enjoying her rare free day by eating piles of tasty food. Or gathering some inspiration for new dessert creations. Her nose seemed to have other plans apparently. And those were distracting enough to demand Azariahs full attention. Begrudgingly but undeniably so.

She was just about to head towards a bathroom to, well, do something against that. Get some relief and pause from that nagging, vexing tickle with whatever solutions some privacy could offer. But it seemed like her nose had other plans with these intentions as well. The lingering irritation sparked to live with irresistible force and pushed her past the point of no return. Azariahs breath first caught in her chest as if surprised by the sudden ferocious urge that tickle had caused. Then her eyes fluttered and face contorted with a deep, gasping inhale that so clearly spoke of need it was audible. She shuddered forward, stumbled amidst two steps, and fiercely sneezed into the crook of her right arm. The sound was loud and made the throat scraping quality clearly audible even when forcefully muffled. It left her hazy and a palpable damp spot on her shirt. Which would have made her curse again if not for apparently needing to repeat that as well. Right away, it seemed. Azariahs eyes had barely opened again when they fluttered shut anew in a flurry of black lashes dappled in irritated tears. She shook her head. Desperately, as if too ward off what could not be contained anyways. Then hid her face behind the still raised arm again as the second sneeze hit. Full bodied, demanding and unable to be restrained in any kind of way. Still, it wasn´t enough to soothe the burning tickle, that itch so hard to satisfy. Just fuelled another one. Azariah subconsciously braced herself against a nearby stall, almost crumpled against it. Her left arm came up to aid the cover the other one seemed lacking. Right in time for a deep inhale that titled her head back. Exposed widely flaring nostrils just above her forearm. A gasp before another forceful sneeze was muffled against the soft fabric. It made Azariah wince with the sound that was sharp and throaty yet underlined with spraying wetness. She shuddered at the short-lived aches the sneeze had left in it´s wake. Among a shit load of loosened congestion she tried to sniff back with a miserably gurgling, crackling sound. At least that wrenching triple seemed to have taken the sting out of the irritation. For now. Azariah blinked a bit dazedly in search for anything that could stem the flood threatening to leak out. Her fiercely blushed nose was securely tucked into her sleeve. Scrunched up with wet sniffles that were desperate enough to raise her shoulders. She was so occupied with her fruitless hunt for anything to mop up the mess that a sudden, very close voice startled her. "Bless you. Do you need a tissue?" It asked and was soft spoken but not timid. Just very gentle. "Well, it´s not tissues but napkins... Lots of those at least." The woman added and there was a hint of friendly amusement underlining the words. Azariahs cheeks flushed in the same tone of her nose when she turned around to face the shop keeper. So that was the thing keeping her upright. The counter of a small shop that sold cookies. Lots of them. "Jeez. I´m very sorry. That probably wasn´t the best thing to do around here." Azariah said with an apologetic smile that was still hid by her sleeve yet honest enough to make her grey eyes crinkle around the corners. Her voice sounded about as rough as she felt right now. "I swear I´m not sick. It´s just all that...Whatever that is..." She used her free hand to gesture to her face and teary eyes before taking the napkins and turning around. How could whatever that fucking was still tickle after all that? Her nose felt ready to fall off. "Allergies?" The woman asked in that same mellow tone that seemed also a little sympathetic now. A melodious accent curled around the vowels. It was very nice to listen to. Azariah shook her head, back still facing the shopkeeper. She had never suffered from allergies before. Why should that start today out of all times? Azariah thought and started to blow her nose as unobtrusively as possible. It ended to be an excruciating long, messy affair that used up the pile of napkins she´d been given. Well, completely destroyed those. Great, very appealing. "Excuse me." Azariah mumbled. Then turned around again and dumped the crumpled mess into a nearby bin. Still her nose had decided to keep leaking which made her sniff thickly again. She scowled at herself. "... Aaand excuse me again. I should probably go off to be gross somewhere else." Azariah said with a sheepish laugh that was a little hoarse around the edges. Thus perfectly matching that scratchy feeling lingering in her throat. And irritating tingle that seemed to have settled in her nasal cavities for today. "Please take these with you then. And get well soon." The woman smiled. And damn, it was a gorgeous little gesture: Curving those plush lips upward. Then dimpling her softly shaped cheeks before sparking even more life into her big, brown eyes. Friendly, warm and crowned by long lashes. Colored in a tone of rich chocolate like the mass of long hair barely to be tamed by that thick braid. It looked so silky as it disappeared behind nicely rounded shoulders. Ah fuck, Azariah felt herself blush again. Even more so when she finally noticed the folded up napkins held out to her. Sure, just keep thinking about beautiful eyes and pretty smiles when your nose is dripping all over the place. That´s the way to go. "Yeah! Right. See you-huh no... I meant: Thank you!" Azariahs wince morphed into another sheepish, yet thankful smile. Then she turned on her heels to tactically retreat to the bathroom. Or well, maybe fleeing there. Just a little. She was sure to hear a friendly, good natured giggle trail after her. And somehow could not help but feel like she wanted to listen to it again. Even if it meant making a dorky mess out of herself.

Maybe Azariah could recover from that embarrassment and come back to buy some of those cookies. To make up for the life-long supply of napkins she had just used. Besides, they had looked very tasty after all. Who could say no to them. They were awesome. And as an apology in case her sudden fit had scared away some customers. That was just polite, right? She knew how to be polite after all. Mostly. Maybe, after she´d manage to get her nose back under control and herself presentable again. For the...Cookies...That had been very nice... Looked very nice. Huh. Azariah groaned at her reflection in the mirror that looked about as flustered as she felt.

#my fic #my OC #Azariah #Sofia

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beholdme · 4 years ago

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 14

Chapters: 14/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

One night, in the middle of a shift, Gerry gets a pounding migraine and goes to the back to have a cigarette. He knows it won't help, but he smokes it anyway and considers things as he paces the back room.

He's terrible at being sick, and it makes him miserable to be around. Still, the pain makes him ache for his partners, and he can't help picking up the phone to call Jon. It's close to midnight, but Gerry hopes that it won't be the one time Jon has gone to bed at a reasonable hour.

"Hello, Gerard," Jon answers the phone with an ocean of warmth in his voice.

"I miss you." Gerry presses his forehead into the cool window, seeking some sort of relief from the agonizing pressure in his head. He whispers the words like a confession, smokey breath fogging up the glass before him.

"What's wrong my love?" Just Jon's heady, seductive voice provides the emotional support Gerry was seeking, and he wishes he could sink into the words, the feelings behind them, and leave his fracturing body behind for a while.

"Nothing. Not feeling well is all. I just wanted to hear your voice." He sounds pale and washed out, even to himself.

"I'm still at the library, I'll come by and haunt you until your shift is over." Jon makes the offer very casually, although that fussy part of his personality that enjoys mothering Gerry and Martin shines through a bit.

"On a Friday, Jon? You should be home with Martin." He can't help but chuckle at his sweet idiot, even through the pain.

"Martin is out with Sasha and Tim for the evening, remember? I was hoping to stop by and tempt you over to mine tonight anyway." Far from being chastised for his workaholic tendencies, Jon injects all his fond affection into his tone. "Would you be interested in spending the night in a handsome man's bed?"

"Fuck yes. Obviously."

"Oh Gerry, my Gerry." Jon sing-songs into the phone. "Always saying just the right thing to make my heart skip a beat."

Gerry takes a moment to consider his state. He can barely see out of his blurry eyes, and the pounding in his ears makes him feel vaguely underwater. His forceful personality makes it hard for him to admit, but he knows he shouldn't be working like this, and that he'll be much better off with his lover than alone in his own flat.

"I'm going to beg off the rest of my shift, will you come fetch me?" He desperately tries to keep his words easy, but he comes off sounding rather plaintive.

"Yes, Gerry, of course." Jon is frowning audibly now, but he leaves his concern be for the moment. Gerry can hear him moving about, probably packing up his things. "I'm leaving right now, I'll be there soonest. Gerry?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Gerry squeezes his eyes shut tight. "I love you too, Jon."

Jon takes one look at Gerry's drawn, pale face, and calls them a cab.

Gerry doesn't offer even one argument, and a pit of concern opens up in Jon's stomach.

"Do you want to go back to your place, after all?" He asks, sliding his hands up Gerry's arms to rest on his shoulders. "Maybe you'll be more comfortable in your own space."

"No, let's go to yours." Gerry draws their foreheads together, standing out in the cool air of the street. "I like being in your space, with your energy and your things. Besides, how can I resist an invitation to your bed."

"Yes, all the cuddling we've done there must really make your heart skip a beat with lust," Jon responds drily.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Gerry tells him firmly.

The taxi arrives and they climb in. Gerry is several inches taller than Jon, but he manages to scoot down enough to lie draped over the smaller man. Jon notices with some amusement that Gerry has adopted a rather Saturn-like posture, curled around him like an extremely large cat in the limited space.

They arrive at Jon's building and trudge up the several flights of stairs and through his door. Jon drags Gerry firmly by the hand, worried that without the right forward momentum, he'll lay down on the floor and pass out. Jon, under no misunderstanding about his physical prowess, knows that once his lumberjack-shaped boyfriend goes down, he certainly won't be getting him back up.

They go straight to the en-suite, and Gerry strips down to his briefs, Jon encouraging him to wash his face and half-heartedly brush his teeth. Halfway through, Gerry lets out a startled chuckle.

"What?" Jon asks from nearby, changing by his armoire.

"I own three toothbrushes." He tells him in an airy, disconnected tone. "Don't you think that's kinda silly?"

"No, Gerry, what would be silly was if you only had one and you carried it everywhere you went because you weren't sure whose bed you might end up sleeping in that night." And indeed, the multiple toothbrushes solution had originated from them unexpectedly sleeping over at each other's flats with no planning- and no toothbrushes.

Gerry giggles again, and Jon begins to worry about what kind of bizarre migraine he might have. Having suffered through a fair few in his life, he is more used to them presenting like all-consuming misery than like some kind of weird foggy drug trip. Gerry could be unique that way, though.

"I never thought I would have so many bed options that it might be an issue," Gerry whispers, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Changed into his sleep clothes, Jon goes over to stand behind him and wrap an arm around his waist. It's normally a Gerry or Martin posture, since Jon is smaller than them, but there's a different kind of satisfaction in having Gerry relax and settle into him, sighing with something akin to relief.

He looks at their reflection in the mirror and even with Gerry looking haggard, eyes sunken, 5 o'clock shadow coming in, hair thrown haphazardly into a messy bun, Jon can't help the swell of contentment that fills him. How did he, Jon 'walking disaster waiting to happen’ Sims, manage to get this right?

"Then I suppose it's a good thing my bed has been waiting for you all along," Jon eventually responds. "Come on, let's get you into it."

Gerry allows himself to be tucked in, although he refuses food and is only convinced with great reluctance to take two ibuprofen. His eyes remain stubbornly open, but the moment Jon finishes his own nighttime activities and slips into bed with him, Gerry curls around him, and promptly passes out.

The next morning, Gerry sleeps far longer than he normally would, even though he went to sleep several hours before his typical bedtime.

When he surfaces, approaching midday, he's groggy and stiff and feels rather hungover. Gerry thinks maybe a hangover would be better- at least then he would have had a good time to compliment his current misery.

Despite that, as he blinks his eyes open, the strains of gentle piano music drift through the flat, and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. It’s not particularly loud, and Gerry is incredibly soothed by it. In fact, when he says he likes being at Jon’s flat, this is why. He often sits down to play in the softest moments, if Gerry and Martin are around. Any normal, oft-repeated, potentially boring activity could be made delightful and atmospheric if Jon is sitting at the piano.

Jon had once confessed that he vastly preferred playing when one or both of them were around to hear it.

"At least half of the joy of music is in the audience," Jon had confessed quietly to them one day. "And you two are the best audience of all."

Now, as he wakes gently to the sound of his partner making music, Gerry can’t help but feel special and treasured. Never before in his life had he picked up the phone in a crisis with the complete certainty that there would be a loving voice on the other end. He had not even realized he was lacking such reliability until he had come to be able to depend on it, but now that it exists, he shies away from even the thought that he might lose it again.

He takes a moment to consider the current reality of their relationship. He obviously loves them, has always loved Jon, from the moment he growled at Gerry in the literature section of the library when he was seventeen-years-old. Now Martin fits with them both so well, Gerry wouldn’t know how to breathe without him. They’re it for him, he can see that clearly.

He can see it in the way that pain and illness drove him straight to Jon like true north and the way he managed to care for him through it perfectly.

He can see it in the way that Martin never seems to be less affected by finding Gerry in his bookstore, and the way Gerry’s heart feels hot and heavy in his chest every time Martin finds him still and focused and takes a moment to braid his hair in one way or another.

He can even see it in the way he immediately self-destructed when he thought he was going to lose them, pushing every part of his life into immediate turmoil at the thought of being alone again. Family-less. Without his Jon, and his Martin.

And he can see that he’s it for them too, in the way they clung to him to keep him together when he almost sunk the whole thing.

They are, he can see now, as essential to one another as breathing.

Gerry suddenly wishes that this could be the home that they all share. He wishes that every time one of them came home to him, they never had to leave to do laundry or water plants. He wishes, most of all, that this music could fill his house and his heart every morning, and that he would never again have to wake up trying to remember whose bed he was in - because they all shared the same one.

He hopes, desperately, that one day that will be their reality. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, he’s confident he can convince he’s partners to stick around for good.

Until then, he’s content to be so loved that he needs three toothbrushes.

Gerry thinks maybe he drifts off again, because the next thing he knows, Jon is gently kissing his hand to wake him, a cup of tea in his other.

“Hi,” Jon whispers, sitting down on the bed next to him.

“Hey there,” Gerry offers in return, slowly sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “How are you today?”

Gerry takes the tea and sips it gratefully, finding it sweet and herbal. Camomile, he thinks, but wouldn’t swear his life on it at that moment.

“How bad could I be?” Jon asks, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I have a beautiful boy in my bed and I think I’ll keep him there all day.”

“Does this stunning nocturnal visitor get a say in the matter or…?” Gerry manages to offer a slightly dimmer version of his flirtatious grin.

“Maybe, if he makes it worth my while.” Jon teases, before sobering a little. “How are you though? You seemed in a pretty bad way last night.”

“I think I’m fine now, I guess it was just a fluke.” Gerry stretches, joints popping.

Jon picks up the tea to take a sip.

“It’s not as good as when Martin makes it.” He mutters to himself, grimacing.

Gerry finishes stretching, rather like a cat again, before shifting up onto his knees to hover slightly above Jon, as is his preference. “Maybe, but it’s still my favourite kind of thing because it's something you made for me.”

Jon reaches up, wrapping a hand around Gerry’s neck and pulling his lips down to meet his own. It’s gentle and dragging, and they tangle together enjoyably for several minutes. Gerry pulls away to kiss Jon’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Eventually Jon giggles and pushes him away, handing the tea back over in an effort to distract him.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Jon queries.

“Not just yet. Maybe a shower?”

“That sounds like a good plan. You should take it easy today.” Jon pauses, considering his next suggestion. “And maybe I could convince you to take tonight off from the bar too? Then we can all spend the evening together.”

"Yes, I think I could be tempted to do exactly that."

Gerry lingers in the shower, letting the water work out his stiffness and lift the fog hanging pervasively over him.

He washes his hair with Jon's shampoo and hopes the scent will linger on him. He decides not to shave, feeling too loose and lazy to handle any sharp objects.

Jon force-feeds him after, and then he braids Gerry's hair to keep it out his face.

"I can't believe you never braided your hair before you met Martin," Jon says as his fingers move through his hair rhythmically.

Gerry shrugs. "There was never anyone to teach me on myself, and my mother was bald for my entire formative life, so I couldn't learn from her."

Jon hums in acknowledgement.

"Speaking of Martin, where is our errant lover?" Gerry asks buoyantly, bouncing slightly.

Jon laughs at him, "Apparently he was out all night and then crashed on Tim's couch. He's going to come over later when he's managed to disinfect himself."

After, they move back to bed to read their books and rest, basking in the simple comfort of each other's presence, waiting for their third.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

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Become so tired // Lilith x J // soft comfort.

Summary: As bad as you’re feeling, as rough as the murky waters of your psyche are, as tired as you are and as needy you are of your clown, it’s no wonder that J doesn’t want to physically let you go. He can’t cradle your soul in his hands and help you in a more visceral way by picking off the tar which your demons leave behind in their wake, but he can hold you and he can stay. Just stay. He’s a man of his word, after all.

Written for @jokershyena because I love you. I’m thinking of you so much and I’m keeping you in my thoughts. I hope that this brings you even a little bit of comfort.

Word count: 1, 450 (unedited).

There wasn’t much that J could do for his sweet Hyena, and that was what affected him the most. It was killing him to see you as you were in this moment; you were just a ghost of yourself. He barely recognised you, if the truth was to be told, and it was irritating to him that he couldn’t just reach into the murky depths of your psyche and remove all traces of the demons which plagued you now, your pure soul weighted down by chains. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve any of this and it hurt J more than he cared to admit to. He wanted to do more for you, but that was the very crux of the issue: he was already doing everything for you that he could just by being himself and he was as frustrated as you were that nothing seemed to be working, or at least... not for long.

J was as lost as you were when it came to dealing with what you were going through, but he wasn’t a quitter. No. No, J was a man of his word. He was sharp minded, analytical. Calculative. He didn’t plan but instead did he have ideas, and it didn’t matter how those ideas were brought into fruition just so long as they were. J’s intense chocolate gaze could meet your own dark eyes from across the other side of the room and instantly would he know what you were thinking, what you were feeling, even if such knowledge evaded you.. J knew you like the back of his hand and there was little which you could get past him. Even so were there things which you had been hiding from him and though J suspected that there was something else going on with you, something which was bigger than you, he still couldn’t take it away. He couldn’t help you the way he usually did; by physically solving the problem. J didn’t like seeing you suffering. Other people would he happily push to their breaking points and then beyond, to shove them over the precipice in their tried and tired minds which they clung to by their fingertips, but you... oh, but you were the exception.

J only wanted to take care of you, to make sure that you were safe. He was protective of his possessions, he always had been, and he treated them well; you were no exception to this and as such were you J’s greatest priority. There was nothing which he wouldn’t do for you. J was able to bring the city of Gotham, corrupted and grimy, down to its knees with just a few well chosen words, a few metaphorically and literally pushed buttons, and he would do it with a maniacal gleam in his eyes. The urge to destroy was also the urge to create, and it was one which J, an impulsive and reckless creature was he, followed daily as he reveled in the chaos which he caused. But when it came to you... J was the one who was almost brought to his knees, not that he would ever tell you. You were J’s one weakness, his one soft spot, and as such did he protect you with everything that he had. He told you not of his ideas, of where he would be when he disappeared for days at a time. J typically excelled at protecting you and your safety by keeping you in the dark at all times, but not like this.

Never like this.

You were so far within the darkness of your own mind that you couldn’t even feel J’s love for you, unvoiced though it was. His love for you was known, however, and he displayed it to you through his actions every single day. You felt so alone, with every fibre of your being, and even here and now, with J’s arms tightly wrapped around you so that you were safe in the cage of his embrace, his muscular arms hot against your body, you still had thoughts which were better left unspoken. Knowing you as he did and knowing well how, even if you told him to go, to leave you alone, that you would still want him to stay, J hadn’t left your side since the two of you had laid down together several hours ago. You spoke to each other very little and you only basked in each other’s presence. J’s steady and deep breaths were the perfect accompaniment to your own, and the regular beating of his heart, the organ which kept the both of you alive (for there was no you without your J, and the opposite was equally true), sounded in your ear.

The familiar and well loved scent of greasepaint,though his face was bare did the scent of it linger on his skin, gunpowder, gasoline had long since settled within your nose and you nuzzled your face into J’s chest, shrouded in royal purple. You took a long, deep breath, as if you were trying to consume particles of J’s very being to keep them safe within yourself so that always would he be with you, and J shushed you softly, his tone gentle as he ducked his head to rest his nose on the crown of your head. He breathed you in, too, just enjoying this time that he had with you. He was tired enough to sleep tonight, but he wouldn’t do it until he knew that you were resting. There was nothing that your clown wouldn’t do for you, and that included pushing his body beyond what he already did just to make sure that you were looked after.

Oh, but you cherished these quiet moments between you, when The Joker fell away and all that you were left with was J, your J. He was bare faced but still in his clothes. He had been about to apply his make-up to go back into the streets to disband some more mob dealers, but he had heard you sobbing in the bedroom and J had known, right there and then, with his heartstrings tugging his lips downwards, so much power over him did you hold, that he couldn’t leave. Not tonight. So he had approached you easily, and fully dressed had he slid into bed beside you. You had gone with him gladly, needing your clown more than you had ever needed him before, and he hadn’t let you down or disappointed you. J was always there for you when you needed him to be, just as you were always there for him.

Full lips pursed to press a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m so proud o’ya, Lil’.” J’s voice was deeper than it usually was, and husky with his threshold consciousness. He nuzzled his face into the top of your hair and his arms tightened around you, a subconscious manifestation of his desire to protect you. No harm would befall you so long as he was with you, of that you could both be certain.

You hummed sleepily and managed to say somewhat audibly, “Me?”

J chuckled. The sound rumbled through his chest and you smiled against the purple you knew so well. “Yeah.” A no-nonsense, factual tone. J was being serious in this moment and you knew that you had to listen to him, even as tired as you were. “Ya’ strong, babydoll. Daddy’s proud of ya’. Ya’ go through more than anyone should have’ta, and it ain’t easy. Don’t think I don’t see how ya’ look at ya’self, the way ya deny yourself things you need, like food. The world’s tryna’ eat ya’ but you’re fightin’ back. Taught ya’ well, haven’t I, hm?”

J’s hums had always been really comforting to you and you teared up to hear him talk to you like this. His words infiltrated your mind and gently, deftly, soothed the raw wounds from every yesterday, which never fully healed properly before they were ripped open anew the next day. Finding no more words to say did J hum again, a grunt of contentedness, and he pressed another kiss to the top of your head. He pulled away with an exaggerated “mwah!” and it made you smile. He was trying to cheer you up, even as exhausted as he was, and you both sunk into the touch of the other; your bodies and souls equally needing rest. Two sets of chocolate eyes slid closed and your declaration of love followed J into sleep; for what the clown and his hyena shared together transcended the physical bounds of the universe and set everything to rights, even when everything wasn’t right.

#ledger joker #ledger joker imagine #heath ledger #heath ledger imagine #the dark knight #tdk

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remys-lucky-franc · 4 years ago

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Comfort - Remy POV Fic (Queen of Thieves)

“Hey, I wanna ask for a Remy angst. Are you allowed to write angst?”

I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write this for you, life’s just been a bit crazy between work and studying lately, and it’s so annoying because I’ve had some really nice requests that I’m excited to write for people, but I just haven’t had any time to work on them! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this @ilovewritingfics 💕

Notes: although it’s written from Remy’s POV (I’ve never written a POV before for anything!), the fic is set in Nikolai’s route, which sounds weird, but you’ll see what I mean. No specific TWs for the fic, it covers Nikolai’s trauma surrounding his family, so if you aren’t up to date and don’t want a spoiler on that, or if it’s upsetting to you, consider giving this one a miss.

Word Count 2100

I want to credit my lovely friend @stopforamoment for her suggestion on the topic for this short fic - thank you lovely.

—-

[MORE] [[MORE]]

Dinner Club. One of my favourite things we do together. Every member of The Gilded Poppy is different and everyone has their own interests, of course. But this is something we can all enjoy, and I love this family time so much: everyone laughing, sharing food, telling stories, teasing each other... It’s always such fun to be part of this, and after a successful heist, it’s even better!

After all, tonight we have a beautiful vintage fencing sword in our possession! I know, it’s part of a much larger plan, but for tonight at least, stealing it has made Niko really happy, and that makes me happy. He’s sitting at the end of the table with a glint in his eye, listening to Daisy and Leon chatter joyfully about the (I must say, very predictable) ‘twist’ at the end of some romance novel. It’s a glint that I’ve seen a lot since Daisy joined our (very attractive) crime family. I smile to myself as I watch how her cheeks colour so prettily when she notices his eyes fixed on her, like she’s the only person in the room. It’s been a long time since I’ve saw Niko’s interest pique the way it does when she’s close by, if ever, actually. The energy between them, it’s something quite unique: special. She’s a match for him in ways I’ve never seen before, and the challenge is good for him. It’s like she set off a spark in him and all of the wonderful things that make him Niko, are just ‘more’ with her around. I watch them play their game - anticipation, flirtation, power and control - I’m well-versed in ‘love’ and seduction (some would say ‘a master’) but this something else: it’s not part of a con, not something ‘to get out of your system’... I only hope Daisy doesn’t tire of it, because I’ve never seen someone get the better of Nikolai Stirling the way she can.

I lean forward skewering something delicious from the sharing platter in front of me, popping it into my mouth, laughing along to the friendly debate Zoe, Jett and Vivienne are having. Vivienne’s losing her argument and is trying to convince me to fight her corner, but I’m too preoccupied with how I could use my conman charms to ‘gently persuade’ my best friend and Daisy to forget who is winning their mindgames and push them closer together. Niko will hate me meddling, but it’s for his own good! Maybe tomorrow I can-

My plotting is abruptly ended as the waiter heading to a table behind us is jostled by a man who tries to squeeze past him in a space that’s too narrow. It’s like the world slows down... I can see what’s unfolding, but I’m powerless: I have no time, no way of stopping it. The waiter loses his footing, one arm flailing. I’m holding my breath! He recovers (barely) without falling over, but not before the glass of Amarone perched on his tray swirls and sloshes to one side, a crescendo of blood-red bursting free down the front of Nikolai’s crisp white shirt. The bold bouquet of fruit and spice hits my nose as deep red splatters bleed and seep across the fabric. Nikolai is frozen, complete horror etched across his face. Suddenly, all I can see is the scared fifteen year-old I befriended on the streets of Paris carrying a sick kitten.

The waiter has discarded his tray; he’s panicked and apologising to Nikolai, fumbling for a napkin to try to blot away the mess. Our friends have noticed, but before anyone else can react, I’m halfway across the table with the salt cellar slipped inside my pocket. I wrap one comforting arm around Niko, my other hand on the waiters arm, reassuring him (in flawless Italian, of course) that everything is under control and I’ll take it from here. Within seconds, I have Nikolai on his feet, gripping him close to me as I guide him towards the restroom: always moving forward. I keep my free arm across his chest, deliberately, to shield the stains from his sight; leaning in close, chattering to distract him. Anything I can do, anything to keep him walking until I can get him inside. He’s hyperventilating by the time we enter the plush restroom, and fortunately it’s empty.

“Niko? Breathe. Slowly. Come on.”

He’s still not responding, I gently put pressure on his shoulder, manoeuvring him onto an Art Deco-style chaise beside a large mirror. I crouch in front of him, cupping his face in my hands, offering comfort, speaking softly,

“It’s ok. I’m here. Your Remy’s got you. It’s going to be ok. You’re safe.”

It’s a mantra I repeat several times over while he trembles. Minutes feel much longer, but now his breathing is slowing and for the first time since the spillage, he makes eye contact with me. I’m so relieved! I nod and smile before I press a heartfelt kiss to his cheek. The worst has passed. He’s going to be ok.

I pause, taking just a few seconds to catch my own breath: getting him away from the table to a safe space, keeping him moving, it was all automatic, all done on instincts. But now, my mind races. I’m so glad this happened when I was at the table; would anyone else have been able to get him out the way I did? Would he have let anyone else lead him off like this? He looked so vulnerable just now, it breaks my heart to think of it...

‘Focus, Remy. Come on. You’re not done yet.’

I lean back, fingers shifting to his collar, offering him my most suggestive grin,

“Lose the shirt.”

Nikolai manages a weak laugh (I knew that would get him!) as his fingers move toward his buttons, I realise a second too late that his hands are shaking too much to undo them. He mutters a strangled apology and rakes a hand through his dark hair as I make short work of them, startled by just how hard his heart hammers inside his chest, even now, minutes after the incident. He shrugs his way out of the shirt and I take it to the counter, grabbing some paper towels to blot out the liquid before dumpling half of the stolen salt cellar onto the stain. Selecting an expensive-looking cologne from the selection provided, I head back to Niko, spritzing it around him as I go, trying to erase the lingering scent of the alcohol from his nostrils.

As I join him on the chaise, he clears his throat awkwardly, his usually crisp clear voice barely audible at all,

“Thank you.”

I bump my shoulder against his, still trying to lighten the mood,

“Pas de problème.”

He still looks like he’s met a ghost, and I can feel the seat vibrate under me from his agitated tapping foot. But at least he’s speaking to me: when things have happened before, things that have triggered horrible memories for him, sometimes it’s taken hours to get him to even look at me. The first time it happened, long before The Gilded Poppy existed, we were only street kids, sleeping rough and begging. I’ll never forget it as long as I’m alive. A group of men left a bar near where we were hoping to earn a few francs, one of them was worse for wear and fell to the ground, vomiting. It wasn’t until I turned to Niko, ready to make some sassy comment about how the drunk couldn’t hold his liquor or his wallet, that I realised something was very, very wrong. It took hours for him to come back around, and days to feel better afterwards... I didn’t have a very happy childhood, and I was forced to grow up quickly, but not in the same way as Niko. The things he suffered... I can’t help but put myself into his shoes, picturing my family around our small dinner table, my lovely old meme, my mother bringing food to the table, my father chatting to my young brother about school... How unreal it must have felt to Niko, how terrifying. I cannot begin to imagine: to watch your whole family die... And such a painful death... It’s little wonder it haunts him. I scrub my hand across my eyes trying to shake the sickening scene.

I clap my hand on Niko’s knee as I stand, heading back to check how the salt is working on his shirt: it may seem ridiculous, but a conman has to think fast, and you never know when a cleaning tip like this will be useful! Of course, the shirt is looking much better - now I just need to rinse it and dry it off. Almost done. I bustle around the washbasin, running the breast of Niko’s shirt under the piping water, rinsing away the salt, pink dye flowing down the drain, erasing tonight’s events. I hold it up to the lights, smiling as I do.

“I think the shirt will survive, Niko.”

I start the hand drier, just as I hear Niko murmur something, far too low for me to hear over the roar,

“What was that?”

I stop, making my way back across to the chaise, gesturing for Niko to repeat himself. He looks up at me with the saddest blue eyes,

“I never wanted her to see me, like, this. How can she...” His posture visibly stiffens, “She won’t respect me after this?”

I frown. Of course, he’s talking about Daisy. And something in his voice tells me that Daisy’s ‘respect’ isn’t the feeling he’s truly worried about, but while he’s shirtless in a restaurant bathroom really isn’t the best time for me to play Cupid... I try to tell Nikolai that Daisy is the last person who would think any less of him because of this, she is so lovely: surely he knows her well enough, to know that? Daisy is sensitive and kind: she would understand. But he’s still shaken and so agitated about what happened at the table, my honest words make no difference; his barricades are going up and he mutters that he doesn’t want her pity. I make a show of raising one eyebrow at him, and shaking my head before I march back to the hand drier. I love Niko dearly, but he can be so stubborn, it makes me crazy!

Ten minutes later, Niko is looking much more collected, and is back in his gleaming white shirt: I am a man of many talents, it’s true! He straightens himself up in front of the mirror as I watch on: it’s almost as though nothing ever happened. We exit the restroom and rejoin our friends. Everyone is wonderfully discrete: they pretend we never left the table. Niko doesn’t utter a single word for the rest of the evening. His expression is strained and he doesn’t touch a bite of his food - he’s going through the motions but I know he can’t wait for the evening to end. I chip in some delightful anecdotes to help keep the conversation flowing, but what happened tonight weighs heavily on me: what if this happened and I wasn’t here? What if something like this happened on a heist? What if I couldn’t get to him? What would we do? How could I keep my best friend safe? What if something went wrong and I wasn’t around anymore? Who else understands like me?

I meet Daisy’s big brown eyes over the table, concern is written across her face. She really cares for Niko, it’s so obvious. I wish he would let her in... Having someone else who loves you, an extra person in this world looking out for you, to rely on... She could be the best thing that ever happened to him. She could make him happy, I can see it all.

I make a silent promise to myself: they say that love will find a way? Well, it certainly will when Remy Chevalier helps it along.

#queen of thieves #lovestruck fic #remy chevalier

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years ago

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The Once & Future Queen Pt.4

Camelot. Present. Night. (The guards light fires in grates all over the city. A Dorocha sweeps past some candles in the Physician’s Chambers and blows out some of them. Knights patrol the streets with torches. Sir Bedivere lags behind when he sees/hears something. He walks over to some barrels and finds three small children huddling behind them.) Sir Bedivere: “Hey, hey, hey. It’s all right. It’s all right, you’re safe now. (Bedivere hears the Dorocha and checks to see the knights walking in the distance. He leaves the torch and runs through the street with the children in his arms. A Dorocha streaks right for them and Xena jumps out with a torch just in time. Gabrielle takes one of the kids and they bring them to their parents inside a house. To Xena:) Thanks.” Xena: “Couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?” (They grin at each other.)

Storybrooke. Library. (Will and Alice play chess while Robin and Belle read through several books.) Alice: (Taking Will's knight:) "Check. Do you know after all those games we played while I was in the tower, you never once beat me?" Will: (Making his move:) "Did you know I never tried?" Alice: (Indignant:) "Come on!" Will: "Well, I might’ve tried a little." Alice: "Uh huh." Will: "Just set the board up again. (Will rises out of his chair and walks over to Robin:) She's really something, all right. If Wicked Witches are your type, which I get. You're still together, then?” Robin: “That is not relevant.” Will: “Hey, no judgments here, mate. It’s not like she made a fool out of you, just that other version of you.” Robin: (Sighs:) “I just want Zelena to be happy, even if she thinks... Wait!” (Robin pulls out a book, hopeful of finding something.) Will: (Pulling out a book of his own, surprised by the pop-up pictures when he opens it:) “Whoa!” Robin: “1988 Mercedes-Benz 560SL repair manual. (Puts the book back, deflated:) All due respect, I'm beginning to think your magic-library theory might be a tad off. Any book we want is hardly gonna be stacked beside... (Takes out another book:) ‘The Cat in the Hat.’ Why would a cat want a hat?” Will: “I've seen stranger.” (Robin walks over to Belle who has several books stacked high.) Robin: “What are you working on, Belle?” Belle: (Looking up from a book:) "What? Oh, I just received a message not long ago from Camelot. Apparently there were spirit sightings from one of their villages and in the lower town. According to this text, last night was Samhain’s Eve." Robin: "So?" Belle: “So, it is said that on the stroke of midnight of Samhain’s Eve, is when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest. The appearance of those spirits cannot be a coincidence.” Robin: “You think the barrier between our world and the spirit world has been broken? How can that be?” Belle: “I’m not sure. But if someone has torn the veil between the worlds, then God help us all.”

Swan-Mills House. (Regina is sitting in the garden staring at family photos when Henry joins her.) Henry: “Hey. Well, you will be happy to know that things with Ella went pretty well.” (Regina smiles, putting the photos aside.) Regina: “I guess we'll just have to see where that goes, won't we? Keep me in the loop, I'm pretty good with advice.” Henry: (Joining her on the bench:) “And how are you with precocious little girls?” Regina: “Your sister went down about an hour ago.” Henry: “Good. So, uh, what are you looking at?” Regina: “Oh, just some photographs your grandmother dropped off. They’re from Emma’s birthday.” (Hands them to Henry.) Henry: “Oh, great. (Looking through them:) This reminds me that I have to convince either Snow or David to buy a smartphone.” Regina: “Don’t you dare. Pearl’s Presto Photo Shop is barely still in business as it is.” Henry: “Hm. I’m glad Emma was here with us for her birthday.” Regina: (Nods:) “She’s spent far too many of them alone.” Henry: “You know, I don’t thank you enough for my childhood. Being born in prison, if you hadn’t adopted me, I would’ve grown up in the same system as Emma. Thank you, Mom.” Regina: (Smiles:) “You’re welcome. I just hope wherever your mother is, she finds her way back to us before her next birthday.” Enchanted Forest. Past. (Sitting by the campfire, Emma is lost in her thoughts while Mulan and Tiger Lily discuss Tinker Bell and their chances of returning home.) Tiger Lily: "Tink's progress is encouraging. She's come such a long way in a short amount of time." Mulan: "Won't that be a little suspicious if she's advancing quicker than the other fairies?" Tiger Lily: "I've thought of that. I've told Tinker Bell not to be tempted to show off her skills. Blue is already down on her for rule breaking so Tink must be careful." Emma: "No." (Mulan and Tiger Lily turn to Emma.) Tiger Lily: "I'm sorry?" Emma: "Being careful never lead anyone in history to greatness." Mulan: "So what are you saying?" Emma: "I'm saying that I miss my family and I want to go home. (Turns to look at them with a glint in her eye:) But before that, I see no problem with testing Tink's skills fully and at the same time giving Regina a birthday she's not soon to forget."

Camelot. Present. Council Chambers. Morning. (Villagers crowd into Camelot with the belongings they can carry. Guinevere discusses the refugee villagers with Lancelot, Belle and Agravaine.) Lancelot: “They’re coming from across the kingdom. They’re looking to Camelot for protection.” Guinevere: “And we will give it to them.” Agravaine: “We cannot house them all.” Guinevere: “We have to try.” Agravaine: “How? We cannot live like this forever, Your Majesty. We must find a way to vanquish these creatures. We’ve suffered fifty dead, maybe more. Mainly in the Lower Town.” Guinevere: “And there’s no way of fighting them?” Lancelot: “No, our only weapons are torches. And the light doesn’t kill them, it only repels them.” Guinevere: “What are they?” Belle: “They’re Dorocha, Your Majesty. The spirits of the dead. On Samhain’s Eve in the time of the Old Religion, the High Priestesses would perform a blood sacrifice and release them.” Agravaine: “But who’d do such a thing now?” Lancelot: “Morgana.” Guinevere: “You see her hand in this?” Lancelot: (Shrugs:) “We know she was travelling to the Isle of the Blessed.” Guinevere: (To Belle:) “How do we defeat these creatures?” Belle: “I don’t know, Your Majesty. No mortal has ever survived their touch.” Lancelot: “Somewhere in all your books, Belle, there must be something. All I’m asking for is a way to fight them.” Belle: “I fear the Dorocha cannot be defeated by swords and arrows. If I’m right, and the veil between the worlds is torn, then there’s only one path open to us. To travel to the Isle of the Blessed and repair it.” Lancelot: “And how do I do that?” Belle: “I’m not sure. But for the tear to be created would’ve required a blood sacrifice. To seal will require another.” Lancelot: (Nods:) “We ride before nightfall.” (The others are surprised.) Agravaine: “And who will be the sacrifice?” Lancelot: “If laying down my life will spare the people of Camelot, then that is what I must do.”

Forest. (Agravaine rides through the woods. Arriving at a hovel, he dismounts his horse and enters without knocking.) Hovel. (Looking around he sees no one, but the place is clearly being occupied. Suddenly a dagger is held to his back.) Agravaine: “My lady?” Morgana: “My lord. (Agravaine sighs, relieved:) I trust you bring me good news. (She lowers the dagger and walks further into her home:) Tell me.” Agravaine: “The kingdom is on its knees.” Morgana: “How terrible.” Agravaine: (Chuckles:) “Indeed.” Morgana: “What of the poor people?” Agravaine: “More fall every night.” Morgana: “Such a shame.” Agravaine: “You should know that Lancelot intends to vanquish these creatures.” Morgana: (Scoffs:) “Impossible.” Agravaine: “He makes ready to go to the Isle of the Blessed as we speak. If the Dorocha don’t kill him on the way, our brave little lamb intends to sacrifice himself to repair the veil. (Morgana thinks it over and turns away:) Something’s troubling you. Morgana?” Morgana: “Something the Cailleach said. She spoke of someone called Merlin. Called him my doom.” Agravaine: “Your doom? What did she mean?” Morgana: “I don’t know.” Agravaine: “Morgana, we should be celebrating. Lancelot will be dead within the week, Guinevere will be inconsolable, leaving the throne open for Camelot’s rightful heir.” (Morgana smirks.)

Enchanted Forest. Past. Palace. (The courtiers are gathered to celebrate Queen Regina's birthday. Notably absent from his wife's big day, King Leopold's throne is occupied by his daughter, Snow White. As was the case for her previous birthday, Regina is disappointed to learn that most of the gifts on the large table are not addressed to her, but rather the King's daughter.) Snow White: (Beaming to a courtier:) "Thank you, so much. (To the room at large:) And thank you all for making this day, so special." (Snow basks in the applause while Regina remains seated, barely able to keep her forced smile upon her face. As the applause dies down however, the sound of drums can be heard from the streets below. At the blare of trumpets, Snow, Regina and several courtiers make their way over to the large balcony. Marching to the beat and clad in green and gold tunics, the drummers are followed by dozens of women dressed in beautiful violet dresses. Glancing at her step-mother, Snow White gauges the genuine surprise upon Regina’s face then returns her attention to the parade.)

(It's an explosion of colour, music and excitement as the parade continues. There's dancing, singing and exotic animals on display, all gathered to celebrate the Queen's birthday. Regina begins moving to the beat while Snow looks on aghast. The menagerie of animals draws several audible gasps as well as 'oohs' and 'ahhs' of wonderment. Mirroring the ostriches stampeding through the streets, Snow White turns and runs from the room, unnoticed by all but Regina, causing a genuine smile to cross her lips for the first time that day. After the monkeys, lions and elephants raise the crowd's enthusiasm into a frenzy, numerous explosions cause a shower of gold and glitter to flutter down onto the people below. Finally, a large scroll unfurls with huge lettering to deliver one unmistakable message...)

Happy Birthday, Regina.

(Standing amongst the applauding crowd, Emma stares up at Regina, having not taken her eyes off the Queen since she emerged onto the balcony, to watch her brilliant smile.) Emma: (As Regina wipes a tear from her eye:) "Happy Birthday, Babe."

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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thewhumpstuff · 4 years ago

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D.I.S - Organized

Dispersal: Integrated-Squad. Organised and Mobilised

@badthingshappenbingo [Original Characters and content for -Dislocated Joint] Whumptober Day: No. 3 - My way or the highway - Manhandled, Forced to their knees, held at gunpoint [I couldn’t choose] [Art+Drabble] Ten Trails: Creature Feature (3)-Mob Violence [@yuckwhump]

CW/TW: Reference to a futuristic militaristic oligarchy. Dissent that fell into chaos. Power abuse. Art at the end features a man kneeling at gun-point and a woman forced to her knees. [Please let me know if further warnings are necessary and I missed something.]

Locked arms and buckled knees. The rabble knelt by choice. Locked arms and buckled knees. The defectors knelt by force.

At the first shot and the slump of the blood-slick body - The barricade was broken. Those that craved the executions and those that wanted to see the practice abolished, flew at each other. What started as candle-flames to pay tribute, now raged as flickering fires of rebellion.

‘We need all hands on deck. Remember to stick with your unit.’

But Akira and Novara weren’t going to get a chance to stick with their units. They were going to fly solo, dropped into the thick of things to carve their own path. Nova’s voice was barely audible over the order that boomed repeatedly, it bloomed with a gentle concern. And that infallible sense of unwavering faith and hope, “This is a tough one to start off with… But you’re going to be fine.” Akira pursed her lips and looked down from their hovercopter at the chaos that ensued. There were armed folks on both sides. Some with juvenile weapons, others with more. Sticks, stones, knives and guns. She knew which side she’d be on, if the sides were still demarcated. If it still mattered… But it didn’t any more, there were no sides. Just the swell of a crowd. Some scurried into the mob, most scurried out. The streets were strewn with banners, the alleys were a-crawl with Acers, Q.B agents and the dissenting civilians alike. She was just a damn Cadet. Novara and Tariq were just Officers, just a rank higher. None of them were in uniform. She peered over at Tariq who piloted the hovercopter with a lazy finesse. He looked like he belonged there, with or without the uniform. Nova was preparing her tools, she had a little more on her hands, given that she was qualified to help with stabilization. She too, looked like she knew exactly what she needed to do. Would just another year and some experience change me too? Would I look the part as an Officer? Akira couldn’t get lost in thoughts for long, soon, it was her time to descend. The ’danger zone’ had been sectioned into smaller regions and then divided into smaller areas, the Acer’s were assigned their spots.

‘Remember only tag and aid the ones with the G.C sanctioned Pro-Body chips.’

Most folks in her assigned area had suffered minimal injuries. Additionally, the data from the Pro-Body Chips made the process fairly easy to manage. All she had to do was sync the information of her physical exam, perform basic first aid and update the code accordingly. The exam itself was difficult to conduct initially, but she soon found her rhythm. Then she came up on her very first problem. A woman lay slumped against the wall of an alley, barely conscious. Blood seeped out of her hairline and she issued soft whimpers with every breath. Next to her, crouched a bruised and beaten man. Like a deer caught in headlights, he looked up at Akira fearfully. She approached with caution, “It’s OK… I’m just going to take a look at you two. I’ll tag her and help will arrive shortly. Do you have any serious injuries too?” The man couldn’t have been much older than Akira, he almost draped himself over the woman as he put himself between her and Akira. The Acer paused, “Is there a problem?” His answer was raspy, “We’re not chipped.” It was her turn to recoil in a semi-conditioned response. They were taught to believe that those who were not chipped, were the enemy. Most dissenters who were not G.C registered civilians - that is, chipped and IDed, had already fled the area. This woman seemed incapable of doing so… And Aki couldn’t help but hold a fire in her heart for the young man who chose to stay behind with her. Technically, she needed to report him and potentially the woman, as soon as possible. However, Akira’s prejudice didn’t run as deep as some of the other Acers. She wasn’t trained as young. She saw those who didn’t comply with G.C protocols as people too. There were several back home in Sector 09. She believed that she was capable of discerning a threat from… those who needed help. And as she came up on that decision, his words sounded like a challenge. Like a dare. This was her area right? She should have some jurisdiction. Enough to at least call this shot. She stood up straighter, convinced that there there was no one around to stop her either way, “She’s not going to make it if I don’t at least take a look… I’ll try get her to-” But there was. There were people here to stop her.

“Cadet. Step away from the fugitives.” Aki was annoyed that they were already labelled fugitives. Unless the man who had spoken had their faces on some docket somewhere. This person recognized her by rank, even without her uniform or ID. She didn’t know him. So, he was likely to be a fellow Acer, but not a colleague. Which could only mean he was a superior. Aki froze. Then she slowly turned to see who’d spoken. He looked like a civilian, but Akira knew how to recognize the bullet-proof fabric. He was likely to be a Major, or higher. A sneer marked his face. It looked like he was waiting to chance upon such an opportunity. And that became more apparent, when he didn’t wait to give Akira a reasonable chance to follow his directive. It seemed like less than a second had passed, and his hands were on hers. His grip was cruel around her wrists as he pinned her arms behind her back.

Akira knew better than to attempt attacking the man on instinct, mostly because, given the discrepancy in their training, she’d have no chance. But, she couldn’t resist the urge to flail and struggle. He twisted her arm with ease, in an attempt to force her to her knees. Defiance, just ran too thick in her blood. So she tried to reason with him through the gritty pain of her arm being wrangled, “Let go!” Needless to say, it didn’t work. Aki was briefly distracted by a lower ranking woman - she had an actual vest on, not the deceptive bullet-proof clothes - probably a Captain. This woman had a rifle levelled at the bruised man in the alley. The man was ordered to peel away from the wall and kneel too. He knew he was caught, so he did what he was told. Aki swore she saw tears glint in his eyes. They rolled off his cheek when the woman’s whimpers stopped. Feeling defeated and deflated as she shared a look with the alleged fugitive and Aki finally fell to her knees. She felt a sharp shooting pain upon impact with the ground, it ran down her leg and up her thigh. She teetered on the uneven cobbled-stone. Her kneecaps continued to protests, they ached and throbbed dully as the procession continued. The Major didn’t stop there, “You should think twice before being disobedient, don’t you know I could slap an insubordination charge on you?” In a swift motion and a brutish tug, he popped her shoulder. Purely to make a point, it would seem. Akira cried out rather boorishly. The Major let go of her and walked away as if nothing had happened. She folded into herself, stifling her groans. Her eyes were clenched shut as she winced in pain and clutched her dislocated arm with the other. The Captain cuffed the man and then kept him there, kneeling at gunpoint. Akira heard the Major making arrangements for the slumped woman to be bagged, as he left.

#whumptober2020 #no.3 #manhandling #forced to kneel #held at gunpoint #tw: implied mob violence #tw: reference to dissent #oc akira #oc novara #oc tariq #tempered grace #art #fic #whump

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space-romantic · 5 years ago

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The Night of a Hundred Poems

I survived the #HypMicRarepairWeek2020! I would like to thank all the people who accompanied me on this strange journey. It was quite an experience writing about rarepairs, but I survived it!

Genre: Romance, Drama. Fandom: Hypnosis Microphone. Word count: 4314 Prompt: Day 7 - Free day/AU Summary: Izanami is the most important tayu in Yoshiwara. Gentaro is the Imperial Court's favorite playwright. Without knowing why, every time Gentaro visits Izanami, he writes a poem. And tonight, to make a wish, he will write his hundredth poem... on Izanami's skin.

[Courtesan AU - Edo Period]

Please send your love in form on Kudos and Comments on AO3 (・ω・) /

The symmetry drawn in his mind was slowly translating into delicate flowers arranged even more delicately in a black lacquered vessel. Anyone observing them would say that this was going to be a great work, even more so coming from its author.

Hifumi's hands never worked quickly on an ikebana, for he liked to take his time to see how best to arrange all types of flowers on the display. When he arranged them, he breathed slowly and rhythmically, as if in a trance, feeling their scent fill the air. When his hands touched the dew on the flowers, he felt at ease, for he too considered himself a flower. He had born with the destiny of a rose, he knew that he would slowly shed his leaves in Yoshiwara, the capital of pleasure. Just as the beauty of the rose would one day end, so would his, for such was the life of the tayu: to live intensely and be stripped by others. And that's how Izanami, the most important tayu in Yoshiwara, would end up.

The thoughts and silence of the night were torn apart by the sound of the inkstick against the stone, a rhythm that he had learned long ago. Looking over his shoulder, he could see how Gentaro was focused on making enough ink, mixing everything in the right amounts. Brushes of all sizes were arranged in front of him. A small smile appeared on his face as he found himself accompanied by him. Even in the silence, he felt attached to Gentaro.

Their meeting had not been by chance, or at least that was what he wanted to believe. Master Yumeno Gentaro was the trendy playwright. His kabuki plays were the delight of all Edo. Anyone who knew about culture would know his name. The bad tongues said he came from a noble family fallen from grace. Others said he was an illegitimate son of the Fujiwara clan. But the playwright, who had somehow been favored by the Imperial Court, made everyone forget the details of his private life. Unlike him, Gentaro could go wherever he wanted and do whatever he wanted. And what Gentaro wanted was to spend his time with him, saying soft words in Hifumi’s ear, who was his muse. When Izanami played his long ballads in shamisen for him, he noticed how his eyes glowed with pleasure as he looked at him. Art brought them together, but even more so, love was what kept them together. Hifumi wanted to believe that the red thread of destiny was entwined between his fingers, letting him know that they were meant to be.

As he walked through Yoshiwara with his entourage, the slow, sensuous figure-8s he formed with his feet as he walked made everyone sigh. Sometimes his feet hurt from the weight of the countless layers of silk. Oh, how he wished to get out of his high wooden sandals and run down the street without looking back! No one would care if Hifumi escaped because he did not exist. There was only the beautiful tayu, Izanami.

But not Gentaro. Only when they met in public did he call him Izanami, since image was everything. In the solitude offered by four walls, Gentaro sometimes made him believe that his heart had been transformed into a butterfly, for when he heard him say Hifumi he could feel it fluttering. His real name had become a sacred prayer for both.

His hand rested gracefully on an azalea waiting to be placed in the vessel, but his mind was somewhere else. He still remembered the author's first visit, when he asked his name. In that moment, Hifumi's redlined eyes narrowed in a classic kitsune expression as he covered his mouth with his sleeve. From his lips came only a “people call me Izanami”. However, that was not the answer the playwright wanted.

“How exquisite! Just like the goddess, with a poetic and delicate countenance like her. However, what I asked, my dear, is what your name is, not what the masses call you.”

For a few seconds, he didn't know what to say. No one had dared to treat the rest of his clients as "the common people", especially since Hifumi chose them all conscientiously. No one had ever wondered what was underneath the silk that covered him. But he would not be easily caught. The mystery could only be maintained by himself, playing his cards as he had been taught, without revealing anything, always making the other one want more.

“If my lord wants to know my name, he will have to visit me again. I shall be grateful for your company and patronage.”

The memory was interrupted by his name, when Gentaro called him. As he emerged from his reverie, he turned to see what he wanted, lowering his head and awaiting his command.

"Hifumi, didn't you hear me when I called you?" Gentaro's head tilted to the left, wondering how he hadn't heard if he had been at it for a while.

“My most sincere apologies, Gentaro-sama. Perhaps I was just distracted and that’s why I did not answer your call.”

Gentaro's chuckle could not be stopped by his hand. It was not often that Hifumi was so distracted, and in some ways, he thought it was lovely.

“It’s all right. Don't worry. It is just that I need help with a poem I’m finishing. Would you please look in your tansu chest for all those poems I have given you? I know you kept them, but I need to check something first.”

Swiftly, Hifumi rose to attend to his request, approaching the drawers and taking out several manuscripts he had made. A full drawer was waiting for him and he started to take them out one by one to the desk, where Gentaro kept looking at a blank paper, not paying attention to how the rolls were accumulating around him.

Once Hifumi had carried the last one, Gentaro took his wrist and brought Hifumi's hand to his mouth, to kiss the tips of his fingers gently. Hifumi trembled with pleasure, thinking of the intimacy of his touch. His fingertips, his fingernails, his long fingers, everything belonged to him with every kiss he deposited.

“You haven't looked at any of the poems I gave you, have you? They must still remain unread.”

Hifumi shook his head. He still remembered how Gentaro, one spring night, had started to write the poems when he came to see him. The summer was already over, and the scrolls were piling up on the chest of drawers. He had been tempted many times to open them and read them one by one, but he knew it would break his confidence.

His refusal was rewarded with a shower of kisses on his wrists and hands, a devotion that Hifumi was not accustomed to, because he was the one who used to deliver it. He closed his eyes enjoying the touch, feeling the warmth of Gentaro's lips on his own skin.

Once Gentaro gave him one last kiss, he smiled at him and ended the moment. Hifumi, for his part, kissed his cheek in gratitude and returned to his own place to continue working on his ikebana.

The azalea settled comfortably in the place Hifumi had arranged for it and now it was the turn of a few small bouquets of forget-me-not.

"Don't forget me," thought the tayu as images popped into his head. The times he had danced with his fan for Gentaro. The way his body would adjust to Gentaro’s body every time they lay on his bed. The way Gentaro enjoyed seeing him practicing his calligraphy. The way Gentaro’s eyes shone like the spring dew. The languid way his eyes opened at dawn. So many things, so important to Hifumi... And he just wished he wasn't forgotten by him.

In the pleasure district, rumors were spreading fast. And his heavy heart cried every time he thought that days ago, he heard that Gentaro was preparing to marry. He had been told that he had already asked for even a shimmering white kimono, with the most beautiful fabrics that could be found. He had even requested permission from the Imperial Court for the ceremony. Just when Hifumi thought he would have to share the playwright, his lower lip, covered with lipstick, looked even redder after he had bitten into it. At this point, jealousy was his worst enemy.

Certainly, Gentaro was already of marriageable age. He had never asked him, but he knew it was obvious that he was getting marriage offers. Being one of the Emperor's favorites, everyone must have considered him a good match. The only thing missing was a partner who could reciprocate, a sort of political move. Whoever he took for a lifetime partner would probably be very happy. And what about him? The only way out of Yoshiwara was to buy his freedom or die.

It was at those moments when his mind began to travel far away, suffering at the thought that his destiny would be to be Izanami forever. Izanami, the castle destroyer. Izanami, the one who could make the clans fight with one look if he wanted to. Izanami, the one who only by lifting his kimono slightly and showing an ankle could make men and women burst into lust.

And what did lust matter when, at the end of the day, he was faced with loneliness?

A kiss on the nape brought him back to reality. There was no need to turn around as he knew who it was. The warmth of Gentaro’s lips on him drove away all those negative feelings that clouded his mind and heart.

Gentaro's hands traveled deftly to his abdomen, touching the bulging obi tied to the front. With a whisper, he asked, “Can I take this off?”

Hifumi's yes was barely audible. Behind his closed eyes, there was only the ecstasy of knowing he was so loved. Even if there was another person to take his place in society, the way Gentaro's hands rested on him made him think that it was impossible for the playwright to love anyone but him. Only in a moment like this, they could be who they really were.

Meanwhile, his heavy obi was falling apart in the expert hands of Gentaro, who was placing feather-like kisses on his neck and shoulders. The silk of his heavy garment was lifted layer by layer, until it left him naked on his torso.

Hifumi never fully cared for his nakedness. It would be hypocritical to think so if the life he had was based on that: on provoking the desire of others and seducing them until they could no longer pay. But today everything was different. Gentaro's look on his skin made him feel shy, for his emerald eyes could penetrate his flesh and see what was inside his soul. He felt the blush creep up his cheeks and he couldn’t help himself. Ah! How strange it felt to be the seduced person for once.

Would Gentaro be able to look at another person the way he looked at him? He implored to all the gods he would not. He didn't want to share those emeralds with anyone else.

“The best poem of all is about to end, Hifumi. I would write it for you. Could you please lie down on the futon?”

He slid gently into the white sheets and stretched his delicate body over them. His passivity today surprised him, but it must have been the sadness that had taken hold of him. Bending his arms, he formed a rectangle where he placed his head. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Gentaro’s silhouette picking out one of his brushes and touch its bristles to feel its softness. He smiled half-heartedly, trying to cheer himself up when he knew this poem would be his.

“Hmm, and I thought that lyrics were your thing, Gentaro-sama. Do you wish to paint an ukiyo-e image?” Hifumi laughed openly, partially hiding his face in his arms. His eyes were dreamy, but his voice took on a seductive tone as the night progressed. “If you keep looking at me like that, your work will be transformed into a shunga image, darling.”

Gentaro laughed beside him as he approached, ink and brush in hand.

“Ah, how obscene you can be sometimes, Hifumi. I couldn't share your naked body with anyone else, even if it was only an image.”

Once at his side, Gentaro arranged Hifumi's clothing on his lower back until it bulged to form a pillow for himself and sat astride him. “If I knew how to portray, I assure you I would make only bijin-ga images of you, dressed in your beautiful kimonos and surrounded by flowers and birds.”

A kiss on his hair made Hifumi feel complete. He closed his eyes, giving his body and soul to the art of Gentaro. He felt tickled and shuddered the moment the icy ink touched his back. The playwright chuckled again but said nothing. Hifumi's back arched at his touch, and he sensed Gentaro looking at him with a sultry smile adorning his face. The brush moved slowly, as if the artist wanted to breathe life into the characters on his beloved's back.

With each character finished, a kiss landed on the nape and shoulders. If he could have done it, Gentaro would have slipped much lower, but he couldn’t. Not now, when the message was so important. The rewards could wait, for the night was still young.

“My dearest, have you by any chance heard of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai?”

"Well, of course," replied Hifumi. “Personally, I haven't played it, but I know it's very popular. It's that game where people get together and tell stories of suspense or strange events in a room, then they go to another room where they blow out a candle and look in the mirror, right?”

Gentaro listened carefully to Hifumi's voice as he continued to draw strokes on his back.

"Yes, that's correct. You're supposed to open a door to the Afterlife after telling the hundredth story and blowing out the last candle. Maybe someone or something terrible is waiting for you in the dark, but what happens next?"

Gentaro left the brush away from Hifumi's body to go to his ear and whisper “what happens next is a mystery.” Gently, he breathed out behind Hifumi's ear, who shuddered.

"Hey, Gentaro-sama! That's enough! You're scaring me."

Gentaro's laughter was loud given the position he was in and Hifumi hid his face in his arms. From above, Gentaro couldn’t see his expression, but he knew that the courtesan had been embarrassed because his ears were red. As a way of apologizing, he kissed his hair again, which received only a grunt in response.

Silence fell between the two of them and Gentaro picked up his brush again, not yet bringing it close to Hifumi's body. Before Hifumi could turn his head to look over his shoulder, the playwright interrupted him.

"What would you say...?" Gentaro stopped before he could talk any further and swallowed. He took a deep breath before continuing. "What would you say if I told you I had been playing my own version of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai? There is something I wish. You don’t know how much I wish it... and I have been working hard to make it happen."

Hifumi didn't know what to say. Somehow, his intuition told him it had to do with the rumors in town. He opted for the elegant silence, not judging or approving of what Gentaro had said. In his mind, he wondered what kind of desire it was and why the playwright decided to do it.

The brush was part of his skin again for the second time tonight but Hifumi's mind was not present. He would have done anything to help Gentaro fulfill his wish. It would have been wonderful if he could have trusted him and told him what it was. But he dared not ask, for he feared the answer. He didn't want tonight to end, because he didn't know what would happen to him tomorrow. The promises in Yoshiwara do not exist. And depending on what Gentaro would say, he didn’t want to think of the tears of ink that would adorn his back after the night ended.

The movement stopped and he felt the brush slowly being lifted out of his body. Gentaro looked at his work for a while and smiled, for he knew it was perfect. Hifumi couldn’t see anything, but he imagined the satisfaction he must feel. It was the same feeling he had felt the moment Gentaro's mouth touched his skin. He was blowing gently on top of the ink, as if to make it dry faster. It tickled him and he moved as he laughed. His laughter nearly drove Gentaro away from his body. To steady himself, he placed his hands on Hifumi's waist.

The laughter stopped immediately. Only the distant footsteps of those night creatures who still believed in the pleasure offered in Yoshiwara could be heard. Gentaro's fingers pressed against Hifumi's skin, who was left only to his touch. Once again, he could feel his lips on top of him, but this time they marked his shoulders with kisses and small bites.

Gentaro stood up, and as soon as Hifumi felt a change in weight, he missed him. When his visits began long time ago, he had no way of knowing he would be so intimate with him. No one else would be allowed to sit on top of him and write a poem on his back. Only someone he trusted could do that. And Gentaro was the chosen one, only he could see him like that: so open, so vulnerable... so real.

"Come, let's go see it."

Hifumi firmly took the hand offered by Gentaro and stood up. They walked hand in hand in front of the mirror. Facing him, Hifumi's paleness was reflected, and by his side, the emerald eyes sparkled with joy as he looked at his creation. Hifumi smiled at the image of both.

It was almost like a sign. Gentaro took Hifumi by the shoulders, turning him gently, and placing his back in front of the mirror. He reached over to the tansu chest to find another smaller mirror to let Hifumi look into what he had transformed.

Gentaro reached out with the small mirror, but before he could hand it over to Hifumi, he regretted it and put his hand back. His eyes fell to the ground, unable to find the words he wanted to say to him. But what also rested on him was Hifumi's hand, silently caressing his cheek, encouraging him to continue. He no longer had any doubt that the poem had to do with the rumors he had heard, and if Gentaro had paid more attention to the sounds, he would have been able to hear Hifumi's heart crying with anguish, for not knowing what would happen to him.

"If you could have one wish granted, what would it be?"

Gentaro's eyes rose as he asked him this. His face reflected confidence, for he knew there was only one answer. Instead, it was Hifumi who hesitated. He wanted to tell him about the red thread that bound them together and that he hoped he could always be with him, but he didn’t want to compromise him. What good would it do to tell him what he really thought? He thought again about the damn rumors. A political union would probably help Gentaro quite a bit in his career. The courtesan, more than anyone, understood this. Sadly, he shook his head back and forth.

"I do not understand your question, Gentaro-sama."

Gentaro's willing hand traveled swiftly to his cheek, caressing each other, encouraging the other. There was no need to trying to listen to his heart, for his eyes told him everything. He could see the sadness and loneliness of Hifumi, and his own face reflected in them. For a moment, Gentaro wanted to be unaware of his sadness, as he couldn’t understand the reason for it. Nevertheless, he only thought that he wanted to see himself reflected in his eyes a thousand times more, but he couldn’t until the answer came from his lips.

"Hifumi, there is something I must tell you.”

Hifumi's breathing stopped, holding himself to face the blow, unwilling to listen because of fear. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping it would be quick and painless. There was no time to close his heart and put on a shield, he needed to face everything with dignity.

"I have been playing my own version of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai. However, I have finished everything. It is said that if you tell a hundred horror stories, you can open a portal to the Afterlife. But this is not a horror story," Gentaro's temple settled on Hifumi's, lowering his voice to be heard by him alone. "It is not of terror, but of love. Of the love I feel for you. This is my hundredth poem to you. You are the poem; you are the art and passion that moves me. And what I want to open is a door to your heart."

Hifumi's body released all the tension that had built up during the night. His legs were shaking. The knot that had formed in his throat once Gentaro said they must speak was also released.

All night long, Hifumi had moved around in the darkness, thinking of the times he had lived with and for Gentaro. Thinking of how he wanted to live with him from now on, in the same light. And the path just had opened up before him. His eyes could no longer see anything in front of him, only the candlelight reflected through his tears, making everything blurry. It was Gentaro's voice that reached to his mind clearly, even if his sobs threatened to drown out his words.

Gentaro's soft hand caressed his hair, as he continued to speak to him amidst the soft kisses on his cheeks, trying to drink the pearls of joy that streamed from his eyes.

"If I could wish for anything, it is your freedom. The freedom for you to leave Yoshiwara and to love me freely as I love you. So that you can be mine. And the Imperial Court accepts this, they will welcome you with open arms at my side. My wish is for you to be Hifumi and not Izanami anymore.”

He finally found the mirror in front of him and Gentaro's hand guided his chin to look straight ahead. The mirror in front of him reflected the other one even bigger, and on his back, the hundredth love poem.

Unknown to all Within my heart Stained with passion’s hues A thousand times over I could hide no longer!

A hundred poems, Hifumi thought. They meant at least a hundred nights and a hundred days together. Gentaro had never written a poem outside this room. It meant that the red thread existed between them. The clear crystals in his eyes kept falling away, but his smile was even brighter.

Excellent, magnificent, exquisite. The most beautiful poem they could both create. There would be nothing to fear anymore. There was no longer any doubt.

Without thinking much of it, his arms were thrown around the playwright, who staggered backward at the surprise attack used by the courtesan. Still, he was warmly received, his arms holding him firmly.

"You don't know how much I love you, Gen-chan."

They were both smiling when their eyes met. Hifumi's eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly, moving closer to Gentaro and tickling his cheek. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, their lips met tenderly, first with reverence and then with passion. Hifumi's hand rose to caress the back of Gentaro's neck with soft fingers, drawing him in. It was a tender but slow kiss, for they knew it was no longer necessary to leave each other ever again. They would have all the time in the world to keep it up, loving one another.

Gentaro parted gently. His hands traveled to Hifumi's waist, where he took his clothing and began to pull it up to his body, dressing him placidly in front of the mirror. Hifumi smiled at his image, thinking that from now on he would be Gentaro’s princess.

And before his eyes, he appeared wearing the purest white kimono they could find. It would symbolize a new life, the true Hifumi. Best of all is that white could be dyed. He could no longer wait to dye himself with all the colors offered by Gentaro.

As he took a deep breath, only one question remained.

"Gen-chan, if I have the hundredth poem, what about the other ninety-nine?"

Meanwhile, Gentaro had approached his unfinished ikebana. His light hand touched the petals of the flowers until it landed on the forget-me-not that wasn’t on the vessel. Taking it firmly, he reached out to Hifumi, arranging the stem behind his ear, causing his hair to glow beautifully in the candlelight. When he had finished putting the flower in his hair, his kind voice told him all that he needed to know.

"I can read them to you as the nights go by. Would you like to hear one every day? Before they run out, you will see I will have written more of them."

Wearing his best smile, Hifumi immediately nodded. There would be only ninety-nine nights left to make another wish. That meant ninety-nine nights to think of a new wish because, for now, he couldn't wish for anything else but his fiancé at his side.

And the night was still young.

Notes:

1) Ikebana: Japanese art of flower arrangement. 2) Tayu: Oiran were historically high-ranking courtesans in Japan. The highest rank of courtesan was the tayū (太夫), which had sufficient prestige to refuse clients. Since they were expensive, they were the courtesans of daimyo. An oiran's outfit would consist of a number of layered silk kimono, made of heavily-decorated silk, and belted with an obi tied at the front. When outside, they used 20 cm tall paulownia wood clogs, so they have to walk making a figure-8 with their feet. Oiran didn't used socks. Please, don't confuse them with geisha. 3) Kabuki: Japanese dance-drama. It is characterized by its stylized drama and the use of elaborate make-up by the actors. Kabuki was a common form of entertainment in Yoshiwara, the registered red-light district in Edo. 4) Shamisen: A three-stringed traditional Japanese musical instrument. 5) Tansu: The traditional mobile storage cabinetry indigenous to Japan. In this one, I admit I took an artistic license. Tansu were not used as stationary furniture, and in the Edo period were highly related to the profession of the person (merchants, apothecaries, etc) 6) Ukiyo-e: Japanese art technique consisting of woodblock prints and paintings. 7) Shunga: Japanese term for erotic art. Most shunga are a type of ukiyo-e, usually executed in woodblock print format. While rare, there are extant erotic painted handscrolls which predate ukiyo-e. 8) Bijin-ga: Generic term for pictures of beautiful women in Japanese art, especially in woodblock printing of the ukiyo-e genre. 9) A note on Gentaro's poem: This poem is actually a Waka poem that belongs to Fujiwara no Takanobu. He is not known for being a poet (as his half-brother Fujiwara no Teika is even more popular) but for being a skilled portrait painter.

#hypmic #gentaro yumeno #hifumi izanami #hypmicrarepair2020 #romance #drama #happy ending #Courtesan AU #Edo Period #I MADE IT #FINALLY #This is the fanfic I wanted to write since the year begun

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jayjaynerdybird · 5 years ago

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This started out as a drabble for @nightwingshero using her OC Deputy Wren Blake that she requested I continue so... Here you go sweetie! I hope you like it! <3

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John let out a deep sigh as he shoved the pile of paperwork away from him. For hours now he'd been sitting here doing the same damn thing. Paperwork.

Leaning back in his chair he began to massage his temples, hoping that it might help to stave off the migraine that had been building for over an hour now.

With one last glance at the stack of papers taunting him John scoffed and pushed away from his desk, getting to his feet and wincing at the twinge in his neck from being bent over for so long.

With yet another deep sigh he flicked his office light off and began to make his way into the kitchen. Food and maybe some scotch. That's what he desperately needed at this point.

Maybe he still had some pasta leftover from last night?

Opening the fridge John winced as the bright light assaulted his eyes before he narrowed them into a glare at the offending light and pulled out his quarry.

With a satisfied smirk he quickly tossed the Tupperware into the microwave and hit a button absentmindedly as he reached for his scotch.

Just as his fingers brushed against the cool glass if his decanter a soft knock, just barely audible over the hum of the microwave sounded.

John's shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed. He swore if this wasn't important someone's head was going to roll.

With a huff he marched toward the front door, the thump of his feet against the floor sounding suspiciously far too loud to his own ears and only proving to worsen his mood with each step.

With a sneer and far more force than necessary he flung the door open, his frozen mind distantly recognizing the bang as it hit the wall.

What... What was happening?

There on his doorway stood the Deputy of Hope County, Wren Blake. But she looked far different than the last time he had seen her.

Her black hair hung limp and stringy, clumping against her cheeks and neck, her pupils blown wide to the point where her eyes looked black instead of the lovely blue that he so loved to see sparkle with fire, and her pale skin pallid with splotches of pink.

She looked more like one of the other druggies that he had met in his time on the streets than like the little spitfire who was causing quite a bit of his current troubles.

As Wren swayed, clutching desperately to the frame of his door, his mind finally began to work, reaching out slowly to help steady her.

"I- I'm sorry," even her voice was different; soft, airy, and weak. "I... I didn't have anywhere else to go."

There was a sob in her voice, her eyes bright with the tears she was trying so desperately to hold back.

With gentle hands John guided her inside, he knew what had happened to her without needing to be told, the scent of bliss hanging around her strongly. Of course, the lack of mist or excess salivation also showed that she had not ingested or been doused in it, instead it had been injected into her, and not of her own will.

Settling her down onto his couch John decided to help the Deputy through this, just as Joseph had helped him in the past. She didn't need to say yes, she had already accepted that he could save her, she had come to him in her time of need, hadn't she?

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Wren was freezing despite the fire that crackled in the grate beside her, the flames warming her skin but still failing to sink lower than that and sooth the icy grip that held the rest of her hostage. The weight of a throw blanket on top of her serving no purpose other than to make her feel suffocated rather than comforted.

Her entire body felt mixed between the sensations of being nothing more than a wisp of smoke mere moments from vanishing completely and a statue made of ice and bone, teetering on the edge of its stand, ready to shatter when gravity finally decided to take back its ownership of the moment and drag it into oblivion.

Each thud of her heart brought a pang of agony to her mind, a soft buzzing sound coming from somewhere nearby, the scent of tomatoes, onion and garlic causing her stomach to churn uncomfortably despite the hollow ache of it which would typically have Wren hunting down the delicious aroma.

With a groan of defeat Wren squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to breath slowly through her mouth in an attempt to ignore the nauseating scent that was only getting stronger.

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John ignored the shrill beeping of his microwave as he dug under the sink for one of the various first aid kits that he had stashed throughout his house, the hissing of the sink running above him filling the silence that was left behind from the now absent hum of the microwave.

First aid kit in hand John stood, deftly turning off the faucet and grabbing the bowl of cool water with his free hand, setting his quarry down on the counter as he turned and pulled several water bottles from the fridge. Quickly opening the first aid kit John grabbed a packet of Tylenol and quickly swallowed them, hopefully that would take care of his headache so that he could better care for the Deputy.

Looking around the kitchen for anything that he may have missed John quickly grabbed a large saucepot and a glass, adding them to his rapidly growing pile and, throwing one last fleeting glance towards his meal with an internal reminder to come back for his food later John left the kitchen.

Who on earth would have injected the Deputy of Hope County with Bliss? Injection was something that only Faiths… ‘Angels’ would do, and even then, they only did it to themselves.

Something about the Bliss would mess with the Angels minds, forcing them into a rather disturbing dependency on the Bliss. Angels either had to carry their own supply, be near a supply or inject the Bliss for longer trips, if they didn’t…

Well, and Angel coming down from Bliss was not pretty. In fact, it was always fatal to them…

It was no secret that Wren did not like the Bliss, in fact she tended to avoid the areas of the Henbane that were covered in it, preferring instead to tackle the areas here in Falls End or up North in the Whitetail Mountains. Whenever she had to take on a mission in the Henbane for Dutch she would go in, strike fast, and then get out again, never staying in the region for very long.

With a wry shake of his head John made his way towards the couch that Wren was resting on and sat himself down onto his coffee table, spreading his supplies out next to him. Wringing out the wet cloth John quickly got to work cleaning off the Deputies forehead of the sweat and grime that clung to her brow, it was going to be uncomfortable enough coming down off of the Bliss without the added discomfort of dried sweat and dirt.

Running the cloth down the side of her face John couldn’t help the small chuckle that left him as she leaned into his touch. Finishing with her face and throat John moved the blanket and moved down to her shoulders and arms, taking in with increasing anger the tell tale signs of a struggle, seeing that multiple hands had taken part in holding the Deputy down as they stuck a needle into her arm.

Now finished with the cloth John discarded it back into the bowl, grabbing the first aid kit so that he could bandage the raw skin of the injection site to try to prevent an infection.

Next John pulled off the Deputies boots, setting them on the floor beside the couch and rearranged the blanket around her.

Glancing at his remaining supplies John poured some water into the glass that he had grabbed, setting a packet of pain pills beside it and moved the saucepan onto the floor beside the Deputies head.

Throwing himself into the chair beside the couch John sighed and reached for his phone. He needed to inform Joseph of what had happened. This was going to be a long night.

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Wren felt like she had been in the mist for years, floating in a suspended sense of agony, knowing it was there and yet not truly comprehending it.

Brief flashes of memory; cold, pain, a burning feeling in her throat and the cold edge of a metal pan, concerned blue eyes, a warm weight on her cheek, all shrouded in mist and unclear.

Forcing her eyelids open Wren stifled a groan of pain as a ray of sunshine pierced her eye, causing a stabbing pain to shoot through her brain. Closing her eyes once again Wren instead began to take stock of her other senses, noting the comfortable cushions below her, the soft murmuring of voices coming from somewhere nearby, and, most importantly the scent of John Seed.

Of course, it wasn’t like she spent large amounts of time thinking about what he smells like or anything. It was just hard to forget the scent of such obviously expensive cologne, pine, sandalwood, and some sort of musk that all came together into a very attractive and calming aroma.

Wait… What?

Oh, her head hurt! What happened and how did she get here?

She remembered… Talking, she was mad about something, and then… A fight? Pain in her arm, and then running? But why would she run? Actually, the bigger question was why would she run here!?

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“I understand that Joseph but that doesn’t make any sense, if it wasn’t someone from the Project, then it had to have been a member of the Resistance. But why would they do that to the Deputy of all people?” John just couldn’t understand this. For three days now Joseph had been trying to find out who would have done this to the deputy as he had helped her suffer through an unnecessary detox.

“I know John, once she wakes up we will ask her, once we know they will suffer for what they have done, I promise you.” Josephs words as always were strong, full of his conviction, a conviction which helped to calm John down. With a sigh Joseph squeezed the back of his neck and brought their foreheads to rest against each other. John took a deep breath as he felt himself relaxing.

Pulling back with a soft smile John glanced through the doorway towards the Deputy once more, resisting the urge to smirk as he saw the Deputy sniffing at the air.

It looked like the Deputy was finally awake.

Jerking his chin toward the Deputy John began to make his way towards where the Deputy still lay.

“I’m glad to see that you are finally awake Deputy, now if you don’t mind, I do have a few questions.”

At being acknowledged the Deputies eyes opened, her head turning away from the light which streamed in from his windows. John was pleased to note that her pupils had receded to a more natural level, it looked like the worse was over with.

“Why are you helping me?” The Deputies voice was rough, which he had been expecting of course, what he hadn’t been expecting though was the lack of fight. The Deputy was tired, not just in body but in spirit as well. Well… John would just have to fix that, wouldn’t he?

“Because you asked me to,” John said simply as he sat down on his coffee table once again. “You came here for help, so I helped you.”

“Why!?” Ah, there’s her fire. Good, John was glad to see that it hadn’t been put out.

“Because we care about you Child,” Joseph said calmy, laying a hand on Johns shoulder as he took a seat beside him. Josephs words were like a balm to the soul, one of the many reasons that so many chose to follow his brother. You could hear someone else speak the same words in the same tone a million times but there was something that was only there when Joseph himself would say it.

“You don’t care about me,” The Deputy is angry again but this time it’s different. That fire, that Wrath, it wasn’t directed at them, it wasn’t even directed at her situation, no, they were directed at herself.

Suddenly Josephs words came back to him, the words that he had scoffed at, that he didn’t understand the reason for, suddenly made sense.

You have to love them, John. You have to love them, because sometimes they can’t love themselves…

John looked at Joseph then, understanding finally shining in his gaze as he truly understood Josephs path him. His brothers gaze stared back at him with pride shining deep within as a weight that John had never realized was there finally faded.

“We do care about you Deputy,” John said slowly as he reached out and covered her hand with his. “We care about you and what happens to you, because you’re worth it.”

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You’re worth it. Those words kept echoing within Wren’s mind as she stared into John Seeds eyes, those eyes which she had seen hold anger and sadness were now full of such honesty that Wren couldn’t help but believe him.

What did she have to lose in believing him anyway?

She could either go back and either be killed or continue to be used, or she could trust him, and either be killed, or gain something so much better than she could imagine…

“Wren,” She breathed, “If I’m going to trust you here, then you should probably use my name. It’s Wren.”

“Wren then,” John murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. “Tell us what happened, and we can help you. You just have to trust us.”

“I… I’m not completely sure, everything is still kind of hazy. But…” This was it, she thought looking down at where her hand was being covered by Johns, no going back now.

“Dutch,” With a deep breath Wren looked back into Johns eyes, the blue pools of his gaze comforting her, “Dutch was going on about how I needed to get over my aversion to the Bliss. He was saying that I needed to either gain a tolerance or to… Well, they held me down and forced the needle into my arm… Sharky came in and he had no idea what they were doing because he was pissed, he yelled something about the Angels and started pulling them off of me… A fight started an-and I couldn’t tell what was going on, everything was hazy, so I ran. I ran and kept running until I got here.”

By the end of her tale Wren could hardly breathe, the anger, pain, and betrayal that she felt coming out of her in large sobs. Everything that she had been fighting for and against in her life coming to a head now as she cried.

Vaguely Wren could feel strong arms surrounding her, and a warm hand running through her hair soothingly, a deep voice whispering assurances to her, promising to her that everything would be alright, that they would help her.

For the first time in a very long time, as Wren drifted off into an exhausted sleep, still cradled in those strong arms, Wren felt at peace…

#far cry 5 #john seed #joseph seed #bliss #sharky #angels #forced drug use #poor wren #deputy wren blake #this got out of control #trigger warning #how do you tag?

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whatwashernameagain · 5 years ago

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Keep him safe - Chapter 27

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, Previous Chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, Fantasy AU You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 5.708

Warnings: wrestling and restraining, knifes, mild violence

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: This is just a little feelsy chapter to show how Ro and Virgil handled Patton’s situation. More will follow soon.

Special thanks to @poisonedapples for helping with the idea of this chapter and to all of you who had suggestions or wishes. I love hearing your opinions. And of course, my betas have helped me every step of the way! @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 and @hanramz-the-fander you two are my heroes.

Chapter 27

The day Patton had been brought home to them had been a difficult one. Even if his arrival in itself had been a joyous occasion, his state had not been.

Virgil recalled having had a bad feeling from the moment first Patton and then Logan had shortly after hurriedly left the cafe. He knew he worried too much and that on one liked to be controlled or followed around by an overly attached, needy ex-gang member, especially not Patton who needed their respect now more than anyone. Trying to be helpful and to trust Logan, he’d locked the cafe up with his colleagues and taken the pets home. He had also called Roman to see if his partner had returned.

Unable to provide more information or reach Logan, Roman had given Virgil and the animals a lift to the flat. His deep voice had been reassuring while his big hands had closed around the steering wheel firmly, safely taking them home. The youngest member of their household had tried to listen. Logan had gone after Patton, so how bad could things really be? He’d never let the patissier down. Clinging to the feeling Logan’s calm protection still gave Virgil, he hoisted the fat raccoon clutching and grooming a chirping kitten higher in his arms and pressed his cheek to the cool rat riding on his shoulder. It nuzzled him.

“Voice-mail.” Roman muttered upon trying his partner’s phone after hanging up his fashionable wine-colored coat, going for an unconcerned tone and missing narrowly. He was a good actor, marvelous even with his brave smiles and honey-smooth voice, but Virgil’s dark eyes, used to watching men’s smiles for hidden agendas, watched closely and missed nothing. Though it caused him to juggle the too many pets in his arms a bit and hold a hissing Cat upside down for a few seconds, he managed to extract the kitten and settle it against the broad chest with a hopefully indifferent look. Roman’s expression was as warm as sunshine on dark wood as he closed his hands over the small animal. It kneaded his nice shirt with a rumpled purr. The tall detective mourned the loss of his lovely dark blue silk shirt with the tiny red rose pattern and resigned himself to adding another article of clothing to the growing pile in the wicker basket between the sofa and the desk. Logan’s indigo cashmere sweater as well as his oxford-blue dress pants had already found an undignified ending in there. Cat, insulted by being held upside down, made its way there now and buried itself in several hundred dollars worth of high thread count.

“How about this dashing prince puts on some water to make us a delightful chocolate chai-latte? Us hard working all-American men deserve sugar!” He exclaimed, hoping to tempt a smile out of Virgil. He knew the young barista was worried and might need some space, but sometimes he just didn’t deal well with the oppressive silence creeping into the nooks and crannies of the flat when no one interacted with him. He needed people to pay attention to him, to smile at him. Not because he thought he deserved to be looked at by everybody all the time, but because the familiar, heavy feeling that had followed on his heels as an inadequate, ignored child tiptoeing though echoing, too large rooms made itself known the moment Virgil turned away from him. He knew he wasn’t trying to hurt him, he was just anxious and probably suffering, but Roman couldn’t help feeling pushed away and lonely, like a child that just wasn’t enough once again. It was his fault. He had failed at cheering Virgil up because he wasn’t finding the right words, doing the right things. He felt unloved and lost suddenly.

Shaking his head, he squared his broad shoulders and put on a beaming smile. The kitten stretched up on wobbly hind-legs to lick his chin. It would be alright, a prince would not dwell on gloomy thoughts, he had water to boil and sunshine to spread.

Both stilled as the sound of a key being slotted in the front door announced the return of Logan. Neither voiced their hope, but both men wished for Patton’s smiling presence to follow the detective into the corridor, ready to beam at them and spend a cheerful and comforting evening on the couch or the now sun-bathed balcony, throwing furtive, pining looks at Logan when he looked away while receiving the same looks in return.

The image of a bright, smiling Patton clashed so hard with reality, it left both men frozen with uncomprehending expressions for a long moment. Logan was cradling a small, crumbled body in his arms, hiding him almost entirely in a pale blanket. There was blood in his hair, crusted on the side of his face which was swelling from the impact of a truly terribly anger.

The look on Logan’s face as he spotted them, lost and hurting and fearful, told them all they needed to know. Before either of them could force their feet to move, the door fell closed behind the detective with an audible click. Patton flinched hard in the arms that held him so safely, utterly silent despite his shock. He blinked his tearful eyes open and spotted Roman and Virgil on the other side of the room, two of the people that loved him more than anything. With a strangled, shameful whimper, he hid his face in Logan’s neck, wordlessly pleading with him to hide his bruised face. The detective looked as if he’d been slapped.

Virgil and Roman were left behind in the silence of the living-room that felt so loud, it seemed to press on them from all sides.

Tears filled Roman’s pretty, green eyes. He clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape. His beloved, sweet, innocent Patton. The young detective squeezes his eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain. Allowing the bedroom door to close quietly behind Logan and separate them from his sweetest friend felt like it cut him off from everyone he wanted to be close to.

A movement, nothing more than a misplaced current of air touched by a silent creature, made him open his eyes. Virgil hat slunk into the kitchen like a shadow. Fearing his poor wildcat’s reaction, Roman settled the kitten in the basket on top of gray fur peeking out, turning just in time to see the younger man reach the counter on the opposite wall.

Virgil’s mind had filled with loudly rushing, deafening static, drowning out all other thoughts, all rational inhibitions. He prowled into the kitchen, vision red with rage, trembling with it, and grabbed a knife. He was back in his worst days, filled with feral, uncontrolled anger.

Men.

They took and hurt and destroyed everything pure and he wanted to cut through their restraining hands and free Patton from his selfish, groping hands forever. He would not allow him to use his friend again, to beat and choke and degrade him and leave nothing but a cold, worthless hull of a person.

Not Patton.

The metal was cold in his hands, lifeless just like he would be when Virgil was done.

Roman gasped in shock upon seeing his expression. It, more than the long blade in his pale hand, drove home what Virgil was about to do. Throwing himself in his way, he grasped for words.

“Virgil, please wait! I know you are angry and hurting-”

“He’s fucking hurt and I’m done!” The delinquent snarled at him, nimbly slipping past his larger form like water through Roman’s clumsy fingers.

Panicked, the detective tried to reach for him, succeeding only in having his hand nearly injured by shining metal cutting though the air between them.

“Virgil, you can’t- you can’t just- just kill him! It’s not right, please, you’d be thrown in jail and-”

Roman’s pleading was cut off by a truly arctic voice. Remorseless. He’d never spoken to the gentle man like that.

“You think I’ll let you find the body?” He hissed, wild. Dangerous. His hands were perfectly steady. A primal, old fear settled in Roman’s body. Virgil looked nothing like the elfin creature he’d fallen so naively for the moment he’d laid eyes on him. He looked inhuman, sleek like a beast that was build from flexing muscle wrapped in tar-black fur that stalks through high grass in the twilight. Eyes cold and claws ready to tear into soft flesh.

“Try to arrest me or stay out of my way.” He growled, half turned away from Roman already, who barely managed to find his voice, grasping for words – for the right words.

“You can’t do that to Patton, he wouldn’t want that! Virgil please, he’s here now, he left-”

“He’s never going to get away from him!” The delinquent spat the words at him with cold, harsh certainty, pushing against Roman’s chest so hard the force of the shove and the words knocked the wind out of him.

“Don’t you get it, you naive moron? He’ll always want to protect that fucking piece of shit, he’ll pull him back with his pathetic whimpering and Patton will fall for it because he’s a kind, selfless fool and he will die there and I won’t let that happen.”

The words were spoken with the finality of a sniper steadying his rifle to shoot. Even the slightest tremor of nerves, the smallest hitch in ones breath, the tiniest hint of a merciful heart could mess up the shot, and Virgil displayed none of those weaknesses.

Roman froze in horror.

The moment’s hesitation was enough for the slim form of the deadly little thing that was Virgil to eat through the distance between him and the door with hungry strides.

“You’ll break him.”

The young man paused in the door, leaving nothing but his inky shadow in the apartment while his body was turned outwards, towards a steep descend into revenge and violence, barely hearing the last, desperate effort Roman had to make.

“You know I’m right.” He spoke softly, approaching the armed young man slowly, like a small creature would a predator, knowing about the sharpness of its claws and the fragility of its patience.

“He can survive insults and pain, even abuse, but what you’re about to do with the wish to protect him...”

He was close now, just on the other side of the slim opening in the door Virgil had slipped through like a fox in the night.

“…it will shatter him for good.” He promised with soft voiced certainty.

Finally rounding the wooden, steel enforced door, he spotted the other, his thin form that had all of its former softness beaten and starved out of it, leaving nothing but a toughened body of a young man pushed to his limits, pushed too far by the suffering of what he had loved with the last innocence he had left.

The detective’s hand shot out, closing around the slender wrist and twisting it around, yanking him back inside with unexpected force. Virgil was fast, and feral, but Roman was ready to suffer, he was ready to fight. Shoving the door closed with click of heavy metal interlocking that sounded final, he roughly cornered the angry beast he’d captured against the wood with his body and forced his arm behind his back, the knife glistening cold and metallic between them. Virgil snarled, too angry to scream, pushed too far for words. He clawed against the door Roman pushed his front against, writhing like an electric eel. It was as if the detective felt the shocks bite at his body, painful whips of agony.

He twisted the knife free. It landed on the floor with a quiet clatter.

Roman felt Virgil’s arm protest against the way it was twisted, felt his shoulder blades like sharp-boned wings where he pushed his back against the taller man’s chest, trying to writhe his way out of the firm grip. His arm wrapped around a heaving torso. He buried his face in the pale neck and held on, in more pain from the brutal way the limb between them was forced up at an unnatural angle by the attempts to escape than Virgil.

The former gang member shook and jerked in his grip, a desperate predator choking in a net. His sob was an animal-like sound, like the pain had overwhelmed all humanity and left only a thing running on instinct alone. Roman released the wrist in his grip and turned the restraining hold into a hug, sinking to the floor and folding around the mangled little body.

His chest hurt with regret.

Crumbled on the ground and too tired to fight anymore, the knowledge of the mistake he had been about to make dawned on Virgil with cold, sudden clarity.

Roman was right. He was right. Patton would be shattered by that monster’s death. Virgil knew he was still trapped by him, by his lies, his demands, the things he had him believe – they were spun around Patton like an invisible spider’s web. Inescapable. And still, what he had been about to do would have damned the man he cared so much about more than anything Trevor could have selfishly done to him. He would blame himself and he would- he would-

Virgil could hardly imagine the suffering he would have caused. He could not believe how far he’d sunk.

He folded into himself on the shiny hardwood floor, staring at the hands he hardly recognized.

Defeated.

“I didn’t used to be like this.” He muttered tonelessly.

“Tell me about him, then. About the old Virgil.” Roman asked gently, daring to run a hand over his slender arm.

How was he supposed to answer this request, when he could barely remember him?

Closing his tired eyes, he held on to Roman’s question, following his wishes lest his traitorous, broken mind came up with more destructive ideas. He could not trust himself anymore.

Young Virgil Rain.

“He… he used to care about everything. So many things interested him, he needed to… to find out how things worked, I guess. It was all so fascinating to him, so full of potential. He had so many things to build, to fix. He thought he could fix the whole fucking world. He was naive. Had no idea about how dark it is out there. How little he could do. How fucking powerless he would become.” Virgil muttered, half there and half far away.

“Hey, none of that, my dear.” Roman chided him softly, brushing a tentative hand over his cheek.

“Tell me more about his character. About what made him laugh and what he dreamed of.”

Virgil turned his face away from the hand that offered tenderness and forgiveness.

“He was...” He sighed, running a shaking hand over his face. So tired, suddenly. So tired of himself.

“He was passionate about shit. When he wanted something, to perfect a new floor routine for his gymnastic training, start a science project or to learn about quantum mechanics or renewable energy systems he emerged himself until he drowned in it. He was methodical about it, and patient. A fucking idealist. And he was kind. He cared.”

“He sounds lovely.” Roman commented gently. “What would he do now?”

Virgil tried to think about it. His head hurt with the effort it took to cast his mind back so impossibly far, into another person.

“He’d find out what went wrong, locate the problem and make a plan, step by step, to get to the root of the issue. He’d start with the most pressing one and work his way down the list.”

“Then that’s what we’re going to do, you and me, alright?” Roman asked kindly, offering his hand.

“We’ll get your notebook and write down everything we know, everything we need, and every way we and others can help until Logan lets us know what we can do. Are you with me?”

Virgil stared at him for a long moment, his mind utterly blank. Then, slowly, the process Roman suggested began to form in his mind. They’d need a new notebook with plenty of subsections for mental and physical health, documentation for the police, support networks to contact and legal steps and requirements Patton might have in order to stay with them. The cafe needed to be taken care of and he had to call Remy and Emile and get them to help with a therapy plan. And his finances needed sorting. He’d be damned if any financial pressure or demands made him dependent of this piece of shit. Who knew how deeply he’d entangled himself in the organisation of the Pat-isserie? If he had part-ownership or if he’d used it as surety for his fucking business ideas or made Patton stand in for his losses. All of his experiences from doing the paperwork and dealing with the banks for the Scorpions gave him a clear picture of what needed to be done.

He took Roman’s hand.

They made a mind-map of things they needed to deal with - health, therapy, paperwork, housing, long and short term goals. Then they took care of Patton’s immediate needs – cooked tea for Logan to take to him and called his co-workers to close the cafe until further notice and sorted out clothes for him. Virgil called Remy who had him do a breathing exercise over the phone the moment he’d heard him utter the first words and ordered him to drink some water. He and Emile would work something out to support their friend.

The planning calmed Virgil. He got lost in the possibility of doing something good. He felt useful. Now, with some distance between himself and his own actions, he was baffled and ashamed at himself. There was so much Patton needed now, how could he have believed it wouldn’t matter if he got himself locked away for fucking murder? How could he have overlooked that protecting him from harmful influences was not the same as helping him? Especially he, who’d depended so much on the approval of a monster himself, should have known better. It was as if, after all the violence he’d endured, it had become his first response to any problem and he hated it. He hated what he’d become. A stupid, ruthless, dangerous thing. When he’d gotten so utterly lost in helpless rage, there was only one man that had dared to bring back traces of a person he used to be proud of being. Someone who had believed in him.

He looked up from writing down a list of things they’d need to purchase to gaze at Roman. He had settled on the ground next to the desk in his room, surrounded by notes and art supplies and was marking pages in the notebook with colorful washi-tape so they’d find them easily.

His chest felt full as he gazed at the shining, caramel hair pulled up in a messy bun, some of the locks escaping to fall into his face. Roman had saved his life from his own, brutally learned impulses. What did one say to express how much his intervention meant to them?

He stayed silent, intimidated by the depth of his emotions.

Roman looked up, feeling eyes on him, and smiled. Virgil’s breath caught on his thankfulness, his awe, on the sudden tenderness he felt for his selfless, gentle man, for his patience, his forgiveness, his strong hands that had restrained him when he’d needed it and soothed him when he hadn’t deserve it.

He slipped to the floor next to him without consciously choosing to do so, transfixed by the green eyes that still, impossibly, looked at him - after he’d literally tried to murder a man in front of a cop, as if he were innocent.

“You’re the most obnoxiously naive moron I’ve ever met.”

The words escaped him quite without his consent and mortified him the moment he’d said them, especially because he’d spoken them not harshly but with such wonder, such softness. He hid his face in his hands, half expecting Roman to snap at him or finally grow angry at his ungrateful, terrible behavior - or laugh at him.

Instead, he complained in an apparently scandalized tone that was a little too dramatic to be real.

“How dare you, you little… fiend!”

Virgil shrieked in surprise as his side was suddenly tickled. He was a little shocked at the sudden contact but had grown comfortable enough with being touched not to freak out, especially since Roman kept his large body a respectful distance from Virgil’s. Until the barista growled and tackled him.

All of the nervous electricity still thrumming through him, harmless remains of his murderous anger, made him itch for a way to use all that youthful energy vibrating in his veins. His young, lean muscles had hardly exhausted themselves in his brief fight with the detective, leaving him with the primal need to pounce, to roll around and wrestle and burn it all in a way that did not draw blood.

Roman yelped in surprise at suddenly finding himself on his back with the shy creature he’d barely dared touch without ample warning suddenly on top of him. Seeing the wild, playful glint in his dark eyes, he took a deep breath and a leap of faith and pushed back, carefully flipping him over. He was not sure about this decision at all and half expected to be bitten right there and have to live with the shame of having frightened his poor kitten again, however he’d hardly turned them around before Virgil squirmed like a snake and twisted out from under him, delivering a mean little poke to his ribs.

He gasped in surprise, whirling around – and promptly getting the arm supporting his torso pulled out from under him by nimble, mischievous hands. Landing on the fluffy rug with an ‘oof’, he found Virgil climbing on top of him, fluid and graceful like water and looking far too smug.

With a playful growl the young man could feel all the way to his bones, Roman reached around the narrow waist and grabbed him. His smile was so bright it blinded Virgil for a crucial moment, distracting him with how handsome the detective was when he was disheveled and happy and trusting, costing him the moment he needed to slip away.

He was on his back again. Despite the sudden rush of light and giddy feelings, he would not stand for this proud grin above him for even a second! This moron clearly needed reminding who used to be a prized gymnast.

Pulling his legs up between them nimbly, he wrapped his tights around the unsuspecting detective’s neck and pushed him back, making him yelp like a startled puppy and flail like a duck out of water.

Having him trapped between his legs and interlocked ankles was a heady feeling. Virgil was very aware of how powerful Roman was, taller and stronger than him in every way with his broad shoulders, long limbs and his firm built. He allowed himself to look more often now, despite having been caught a few times. Never had his interest been followed by a degrading comment, groping hands or a gaze that undressed him though. Instead, Roman had smiled and preened, even blushed sometimes, and always innocently enjoyed the attention. He’d never seen it as permission to take anything from Virgil. Even now, his hands weren’t rough and careful to be respectful as he tried to wriggle free, with little success. The former delinquent smirked at him gleefully.

He, in turn, seemed to need reminding that Roman regularly trained with Logan.

Flipping his legs over his body and rolling backwards, the detective twisted out of the firm hold of those strong, lithe limbs. His hair was helplessly disheveled and escaping from its bun, yet he was proud to have freed himself from his clever lynx. However, he was rudely denied the chance to gloat as he was tackled again with a fierce war-cry. Laughing joyfully he was helplessly swept up in the much needed distraction, rolling around the floor with Virgil like overexcited children. His thundercloud’s chucking was like music filling up the space between them that had been soaked in mournful silence.

Upon being tickled in retaliation for starting their match, Roman screeched helplessly and flailed to get a hold of those dangerous fingers. He ended up pinning Virgil under his body quite in self defense, panting from laughing so hard.

The younger man stilled for a moment, drawing in deep lungfuls of air, finally exhausted from pushing against this man that might as well be an excited golden retriever happily yapping at him. His wrists were pinned by the man-child straddling his hips to keep them away from his apparently vulnerable sides.

Lying there under a man larger and stronger than him, finally trapped securely, the urge to bite and scratch arose in his chest from sheer habit alone. He wasn’t because he was afraid – he wasn’t. Not while he was seeing Roman above him, awed and careful with green eyes bright with joy. Instead of curling his fingers to draw blood on the large hands restraining his wrists, he relaxed them, knowing he could escape if he choose to. Not only because he was well used to being in this position on his back and knew it was a simple matter of bringing his knee up in a very painful manner, but also because he realized that he had never been in this position quite like this before. He wouldn’t need to fight his way out. A word would suffice.

Despite being towered over, overpowered, Virgil didn’t want Roman to leave just yet. He had gotten beaten because he’d allowed it instead of resorting to the violence he’d hurt the other with so carelessly in many small ways before. He hadn’t hurt him this time though, even if it had caused him to loose their little wresting match and end up restrained by gentle hands he trusted. The defeat he’d accepted readily felt like a victory of the youth he used to be over the man he’d become.

Roman seemed to read some of his feelings on his face, stilling his body to wait for what Virgil wanted from him. He was warm over him, close enough that the tips of his escaped locks brushed Virgil’s cheek. Noticing how little space he’d left him, the detective pushed himself higher, fearful of frightening the usually so distanced creature willingly trapped between his knees. He was amazed at how close he got to be. For Virgil’s sake, he tried to ignore how much he liked this position. He got to keep the lovely being where he could hold and protect him and he wanted to spoil him with all of his tenderness, here in his grasp where nothing bad could touch him.

The movement drew Virgil’s attention to the way his body shifted, strong and attractive and built in a way young, flustered Virgil Raine would have fallen all over himself for in helpless awe. No one his hot had ever played a role in his life back then. This once feeling grateful for not being as innocent as he used to be, the former gang member managed to remain fairly calm despite the warmth and excitement rising in his body, coaxed out by the weight over his hips and the well cared for hands closed around his wrist, pinning them next to his head. He used to have such a weakness for men with strong arms and shoulders broad enough to easily throw him over. The fact that he was beginning to enjoy those qualities again was still a surprise to him, considering just a few months ago he had scrubbed his skin till it bled and had wished to never be toughed by a man ever again.

An uplifting thought came to him. He might not be the person he used to be, but at least got to enjoy having this handsome, overgrown puppy in his life.

Only a slight shift of his thin wrists was enough to make Roman pull his hands back and clamber off of him respectfully.

Virgil accepted the help and let himself be pulled up. Feeling a little unsteady from the sudden momentum, he staggered a bit. It had been a long day. Roman wrapped an arm around him securely, bringing him against his side with the pale hand still clasped in his. Running a soothing thumb over the back, Roman gazed at him patiently, searching his face. His look was oddly intimate.

In the renewed quiet of the flat, the severity of the situation crept back into the forefront of their mind, demanding attention with the sinking feeling it brought with it. Patton had probably been crying and in pain while they’d been rolling around like fucking imbeciles. Shame crawled up Virgil’s neck hotly. He turned his face away.

Roman took a loose hold of his chin before he could escape under his hoody and worry about his mistakes until he felt physically sick. Tilting his head up, he promised gently, “There is nothing wrong with sharing a moment of happiness when the suffering becomes too great to handle, my dear.”

Virgil scoffed at him and poked him in the ribs for good measure (and for calling him ‘my dear’, what the fuck). Roman’s yip made him feel slightly better though.

They returned to the living-room so they could easily be found. The larger room offered less distractions, less safety from the pressing misery and fear though. Patton was just next door, yet he felt a world away. The knowledge that he was too ashamed to allow them to help hurt even more acutely from how very clearly Virgil understood the feeling. Both men were helpless to stop the dark thoughts from creeping in. What had they done wrong to be kept away now? Had they hurt Patton?

Noticing their uneasy, Cat warbled in displeasure and turned her sharp teeth on the leg of the desk next to her basket to alleviate the stress that spread through the tense room. The nice, dark wood bruised immediately under the sharp little teeth. Swearing, Virgil rushed forward and extracted the raccoon with gentle hands. The cool rat sent a disapproving glare in her direction from where it was curled up in its cage.

The marks on the furniture made the barista guilty immediately. Even after all the care the detective had invested, damage done by him or his pet still made him nervous and a little frightened. Keeping his voice soft, he briefly spoke to Cat in the way he only ever addressed his anxious pet. It seemed to sigh in his arms, deflating into a heavy, furry form folding in his embrace.

The silence seemed to fold around everything like a heavy, cottony fog, yet it cut Roman like a knife. Silence was the sound of his childhood and he handled it badly. On bad days it left him sad and lonely even when surrounded by people. He thought it wasn’t doing Virgil any favors either to get lost in his head now, so he looked for a suitable distraction. Anything to fill the quiet distance between them and lighten his poor raven’s broken heart.

His gaze fell on the coffee table where he’d left another island over ever expanding beauty products slowly colonizing Logan’s flat. Yes, that would do nicely.

A few minutes later found the two with the raccoon settled on its back in Virgil’s lap, getting its pointy claws filed and painted in the fetching burgundy Roman had used for his toes. It rumbled contently, ignoring the kitten’s attempt to make it play while getting nail-polish all over its fur. Virgil was unwinding a bit but still found it hard to form words with the memory of his terrible behavior still so fresh in his mind. Roman tried his best to fill the silence with idle chatter, light and pleasant. He wondered where the detective found the strength to try to create such a calm atmosphere when Virgil himself felt ready to crawl under his covers and cry until everything went away.

Roman did not look as calm as he sounded though. His brow was furrowed in worry, his shoulders tense. Even his smooth voice seemed to have lost some of its confidence. Worriedly, Virgil gathered the strength to scoot closer. He had no capacity for speech left in his suddenly tired limbs. Everything felt heavy. He was drained to the bone. Instead, he hesitantly brought their sides together on the sofa and leaned his head on the detective’s shoulder.

Roman’s stream of words died down slowly. The silence that followed seemed to feel less lonely, as if the points of contact to the slender body by his side tethered him to the present, far away from large marble-floored halls he dared only cross on his tiptoes to avoid any unnecessary sounds.

They’d ended the night in the master-bedroom, curled around Patton who smiled at them so bravely. He’d been so strong, so selfless even as he’d flinched away from Roman. The fear on his bruised face had nearly brought the large man to tears. He’d hated himself in that moment, himself and his useless, inadequate body. All he’d wanted was to protect his smallest friend, and he’d only succeeded in hurting him. Irrationally, he’d felt rejected.

Patton had radiated love though, and pulled him in, his body tiny in his arms – and trusting.

Virgil too had silently suffered through his own thoughts. Patton had wrapped him in his arms like he wanted to keep him safe from any pain, yet he had no idea how terribly Virgil had been about to harm him. He didn’t deserve this fatherly kindness. They all wanted to help him, yet he could to nothing for them in return. He should leave. Clearly Logan, who’d wrestled with his temper so often, had the situation under control much better than he did.

Roman’s arm settled around Patton, drawing both the patissier and the ex-criminal against his chest. He was strong and safe and held on to Virgil as if he needed him.

_________________________________________

More exciting things than this will happen next chapter. As always, I’d be happy to hear from you!

ART or IDEAS:

Check out this lovely idea about the way Roman’s story might continue. A lot of smart people had wonderful additions to it!

Next Chapter

#Keep him safe #Sanders Sides #Detective AU

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anubislover · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 10: Heated Discussions

Nami wasn’t sure how long or how far she’d run through the winding backstreets of Grimm, but she didn’t stop until her legs literally gave out from under her, forcing her down onto the hard pavement of a dark alley.

Panic gripped her vital organs like a meaty fist. Her body was on fire, sweat dripped down her spine, and every inhalation was agony as her lungs struggled to draw in the barest amount of oxygen needed to keep up with the blood rushing through her veins. The Heart Pirate jumpsuit was suffocating her, holding in the unbearable heat and chafing her hyper-sensitive skin, but she was too weak and exhausted to take it off, forced to broil alive in the heavy canvas.

For a few minutes she just lay there, her sole thought a silent plea for her heart to stop trying to beating against her ribcage like Luffy’s angry punches. Orange hair darkened with sweat, tears streaked down her face, and the only sounds she could make were ragged sobs.

“Miss? Are you alright?” came a deep, authoritative voice from above her, and she trembled. Was it Arlong? Had he found her? Was he going to beat her for running away? Kill Nojiko and Mr. Genzo? Destroy some innocent villager’s house as a display of his “superior” species’ power?

Please, please don’t hurt them! I’ll be good, I swear! Nami thought, squeezing her eyes closed and drawing her legs against her torso to protect herself. It would hurt, but if she had to choose between getting hit and seeing the people she loved suffer, she’d take the blows every time.

“Miss, speak to me—are you hurt? Were you attacked? Do you need a doctor?”

Did she need a doctor? Dr. Nako had fixed up fevers, scraped knees, and stomach aches since she was a child. But no, Arlong would find out and make an example of him. Nami managed the barest shake of her head, curling even more tightly into a ball, mentally begging the stranger to just leave her alone before he got himself killed. People who tried to help her always died the most horrible deaths. Memories of Bellemere’s final moments, of blood and skull fragments splattering as Arlong shot her point-blank, made Nami start hyperventilating. She couldn’t see that again, not even to a stranger, no no no no nononononononono…

Large, strong hands rested on her back and legs, gently straightening her out. “I know you’re scared, but you need to stop pressing your knees into your stomach—it’s keeping your lungs from expanding fully, so you’re not getting the air you need.”

The voice was steady and knowing, at just the right octave to cut through the heavy pounding of blood in her ears. Unconsciously she obeyed, knees lowering, and her lungs swelled as she took several deep breaths.

“There you go. Just focus on breathing. In. Out. Here.” Nami flinched as she heard fabric rustling, trying to draw into herself again as she imagined her mystery man drawing a weapon, but she immediately relaxed as her nose was greeted by the clean, familiar aroma of oranges and mikans. “Breathe this in. Citrus scents reduce stress and anxiety.”

Like an ocean wave, the thought of Bellemere’s grove washed over her. She remembered the safety of her mother’s arms, how her hands always smelled like mikans no matter how many times she washed them. She remembered Nojiko making mikan shampoo for the first time, giving her a bottle before going off to rob more pirates. She remembered the delicious fruit dishes Sanji would make her, the times she’d find Zoro napping under the trees, the iced tea she’d share with Robin, watching Chopper try a fresh mikan for the first time, and knocking Luffy over the head when she caught him pilfering her fruit.

The smell made her feel safe. Like she was home, with her family and nakama.

After a few minutes her heart rate began to slow, aided by the hand on her back rubbing deliberate, soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “That’s better. Miss, can you sit up? I want to make sure you’re not injured.”

Nodding mutely, she allowed the man to help her sit upright and lean against the hard brick wall. She could breathe again, but she was still miserably hot. Lethargic fingers clumsily tried to unzip the top of her jumpsuit, desperate to vent the heat that had built up inside the thick fabric. Her hands were halted by a larger pair quickly grabbing them, however, as the voice shouted, “Whoa, whoa! Miss! There’s no need to get undressed!”

Her eyes finally opened enough to see a blushing, wide-eyed man around thirty years old staring down at her in shock and embarrassment.

“Please,” she whimpered, struggling weakly against his grip. “I’m burning up.”

His cheeks turned a dangerous shade of scarlet at her needy tone, and he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you at least wearing something underneath?” he choked out.

A tiny smile lifted the corner of her lips. It seemed her savior was either a gentleman or just incredibly shy. Good thing she’d had the foresight to wear a sports bra and shorts under the jumpsuit. “Uh huh. Please, I just…I need it off.”

“Ok. I’ll…help you undress, then.”

She audibly moaned in relief when the cool air touched her sweaty skin. Invigorated, she managed to peel the whole uniform off, a satisfied smile coming to her face as her temperature finally dropped. It was like jumping into a cool lagoon on the hottest day of the year, banishing the wretched layer of stifling humidity that had trapped her.

No longer panicking or burning up, Nami’s mind at last cleared enough to realize what she’d done. She’d managed to disobey every order Law’d given her—she ran off on her own, ditched her companions, and removed the uniform. She was in so much trouble when he found her.

She didn’t disillusion herself with the idea that he wouldn’t. Law’s abilities could let him scan the whole island and teleport her back to his ship in an instant if he wanted. It’s not like she could escape Grimm, either—she had no boat, no crew, and no real idea where to go, and she was smart enough to know he’d still probably spend his days searching for her, if for no other reason than she’d attacked his crew.

Oh, damn, I hope they’re alright, she thought, burying her face in her hands. Her wind attacks weren’t deadly, but accidents happened, and she really couldn’t remember exactly what she’d done in her panic. What if it had been strong enough to trip Ikkaku and crack her skull open on the street? What if it knocked Shachi over and re-broke his arm? What if it sent Bepo stumbling back into a stray, sharp piece of wood, impaling a vital organ? Nami might have been scared, but she’d never forgive herself if she’d brought any harm to them.

An awkward cough caught her attention, and forcing the dark possibilities that she’d killed her friends from her mind, Nami distracted herself by finally giving her savior a proper look.

Even sitting down, the man was large. About Bepo’s height by her estimate and as muscular as Smoker, he had a hooked nose, X-shaped scar across his chin, and blue eyes that stood out starkly against the black domino mask and the shadow cast by his pointed, plumed hat. His ginger hair was a few shades darker than hers, with thick sideburns framing his chiseled, lantern jaw. Nearly his entire outfit was made of midnight blue leather, from his gloves to his thigh-high boots to his bolero. Clipped to his broad shoulders was a long cape, also blue but lined with burgundy red on the inside. His chest was exposed, showcasing the enormous X tattoo adorning his torso, and at his side were two massive weapons—a saber and what appeared to be the lovechild of a mace and an axe.

That’s “Red Flag” X Drake, Nami realized, the Supernova’s wanted poster instantly popping into her head. He wasn’t quite as notoriously sadistic or infamously violent as Law or Eustass Kid, but it was easy to remember a pirate who’d defected from the Marines. She’d assumed he’d headed off to the New World like the others, but perhaps he was like Law and thought it better to wait things out?

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, deliberately keeping his eyes on her face.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Th-thanks for the h-help,” she replied with a stammer, desperately trying to convince her heart there was no need to panic again. Of course, her instincts knew better; X Drake was a pirate on the Grand Line and a Supernova at that. His bounty was even higher than Law’s, and probably for good reason. She was alone with him in a back alley with no crew to back her up, whether Straw Hat or Heart Pirate. A woman with her limited combat prowess stood a snowball’s chance in hell against him in a fight, and he was big enough to crush her throat with one hand if he wanted to.

Yet…he seemed nervous. The redness had faded from his face, but there was still a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. His posture seemed casual at first glance, but she could see the subtle tension in his neck and shoulders. Most noticeably, he was doing his damnedest not to look anywhere below her chin, even though his greater height gave him an excellent view of her exposed cleavage.

Drake was a rival pirate and former rear-admiral of the Navy, but she got the feeling that if she really needed to, she could easily escape by flashing him.

“Good to hear, though I really don’t think you should be stripping around here, and especially not asking strange men to help you. Most might consider it an…invitation,” he said, awkwardly scratching his jaw as he glanced away, blushing harder at the thought.

A small smile curved her lips. Yup, he was definitely trying not to stare at her half-naked body. Who would have thought a man as infamous as X Drake would be so bashful? “But not you?”

“I prefer my invitations to be enthusiastic and explicit,” was his stiff reply as he leaned against the wall beside her. Nami didn’t miss the brief, almost guilty glances he stole at her from the corner of his eye, though. “And certainly not from a woman in the midst of a panic attack.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with a wink. She was feeling much more clear-headed and like her normal self now that her brain wasn’t being cooked, and the knowledge that X Drake had such an easily exploited weakness to her body made her relax. “Why do you carry around mikan perfume, anyway?”

The pink tips of his ears deepened. “It’s not perfume; it’s orange extract. During my time in the Marines, I had many comrades who suffered PTSD or panic attacks, and aromatherapy has been proven to be good for reducing anxiety—particularly citrus scents. I rarely experience them myself anymore, but it’s still useful during periods of extreme stress. Seemed to be rather effective on you,” he said with a raised eyebrow before quickly glancing away.

Taking pity on him, Nami drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them so he wasn’t given such a shameless view of her bountiful chest. “I grew up in a mikan grove. The smell reminds me of home.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, a look of understanding softening his stern features. “Does it? No wonder, then.” He handed her the bottle. “Dab a little under your nose and rub some on your hands—better safe than sorry.”

Gratefully she did so, relishing the refreshing, familiar scent of her favorite fruit. “Thanks. Guess I’m lucky you’re the one who stumbled across me, huh?”

“I’ll say. I was passing by when I saw you running like the Devil himself was after you. Piqued my curiosity, and I suppose not all of my Marine training has left me; simply had to help a damsel in distress.”

She chuckled, though it turned into a soft moan of relief as the bare skin of her back pressed against the cool brick behind her.

Drake’s brow furrowed as he looked her over critically. “You really shouldn’t sit around half-dressed out here, you know.”

“Because of men without invitations?”

“Because it’s far too cold to be walking around in so little, and with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re at a high risk of getting hypothermia.”

Nami stubbornly shook her head, though she frowned at the feeling of the damp ends of her hair against her bare shoulders. “Honestly, that damn jumpsuit was so hot, freezing to death sounds like a dream come true right now.”

“Yes, but I’m sure your crew would be quite distraught to find out you’d died in such an ignoble way.”

She stiffened at the mention of her crew. Was he talking about the Heart Pirates or Straw Hats? “Yeah, fair enough. I just really don’t want to get back in that thing,” she replied, toe nudging the boiler suit disdainfully.

Drake scoffed in agreement. “Considering whose emblem is on it, I don’t blame you.” Standing, he hoisted her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Now Nami could see just how tall he was, completely towering over her. She thought he might get all flustered again as her cleavage was once more on display, but his intense blue eyes were fixed upon the swirling tattoo on her shoulder. “I must say, I’m surprised—I didn’t believe the outlandish rumors that Cat Thief Nami had joined the Heart Pirates, even after Jinzo started babbling about why he didn’t have my money. I figured he was just making excuses. And yet, here you are.”

She stiffened. Well, now she knew who the broker’s next appointment was supposed to have been. “Ah. I’m guessing he was mad?”

A red eyebrow quirked, and his lips twitched upwards in amusement. “He was quite vocal about what he hoped to do to you for costing him so much belli. You’re lucky I found you instead of any of his men. A woman by herself is already taking a great risk wandering around in these back alleys—even more so when she’s made an enemy of the island’s most unscrupulous black market broker.”

She gulped at the implication. Damn, Law really was right, wasn’t he? If someone other than Drake had come across her while she was helpless on the ground…

“Well, I appreciate the rescue,” she squeaked, deciding it was time to head back to the Polar Tang. Glancing up and down the alley, she tried to recall her steps. She’d pretty much run blindly through the alleyways, but she was certain her natural sense of direction could get her back to the docks. Sure, Law would be mad at her for running off, but he was a hell of a lot safer than Jinzo. She shivered at the memory of the man’s hateful stare as Law had led her away, certain she’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble if she ran into him in the grungy alley.

Mistaking her shiver for the cold finally getting to her, Drake unclipped his cape, wrapping it around her shoulders with a flourish, bundling her in tightly. “There. It would be a shame for you to die of exposure before I got you back to the ship.”

A small whine escaped the back of her throat as she was engulfed by the thick fabric, once more feeling stifled and too hot. She struggled to escape the long cloak, but he only wrapped her up tighter.

“Let me go,” so moaned pathetically, face once more flushing as her heart sped up. The material was softer than the boiler suit, but it was still heavy and suffocating, and Drake’s lingering body heat in the fibers made it worse. “It’s too hot!”

“Miss Nami, unless you’ve recently eaten some sort of fire-based Devil Fruit, I can’t imagine how you could be anything but freezing,” he said with a stern frown. “I understand you’re afraid of me, and with good reason, but I won’t hurt you if you come quietly. I’m not in the business of harming hostages unless absolutely necessary.”

“Hostages?”

A hint of a sly smirk tugged at his lips. “I confess, I am a bit miffed at you for causing Jinzo to reschedule on me—he owes me a lot of belli, and I was hoping to be off this damn island by now. Kidnapping you is not only cathartic, but profitable; your bounty’s hardly worth turning you in for, but perhaps Jinzo might make me a better offer. Or I could put your skills to use in exchange for your eventual freedom. After all, your thieving skills are quite notorious, and Trafalgar must have recruited you for a reason.”

Oh no. The last thing she needed was to be the slave of another pirate captain. “Um, how about you ransom me to Law?” she suggested hopefully. “I’m sure he could pay whatever you were going to ask Jinzo, and then some!” Angry as the Surgeon of Death might be about her running off and getting kidnapped, surely he’d be able to rescue her if he knew X Drake had her, right? It’d be easy with his powers, and there’d be no need to buy her back when he could snatch her away with a flick of his fingers.

There was a brief, angry flash of sharp fangs as he growled, “Because the less I have to interact with that smarmy bastard, the happier I’ll be. Don’t think I don’t see through your little scheme; why would he pay when his powers can easily steal you back? Besides that, I’ll be damned if I let that ingrate gain an extra advantage by poaching Straw Hat’s thief.”

“Let me go!” she cried. Drake’s sudden switch from surprisingly helpful to a legitimate threat to her well-being demanded she pull together what little energy she had and escape. The problem was she was running on fumes and in the clutches of an eight-foot-tall former Marine whose bicep was thicker than her waist and could probably crush her skull with one hand like a rotten apple if he desired. Fighting was definitely out, and with the way he’d swaddled her in his cloak, she couldn’t even flash him like she’d planned.

Desperate, Nami attempted to wiggle out of the heavy fabric, but he grabbed the collar and tugged her close, looming over her threateningly.

“Don’t bother trying to run—even if you did somehow get away, you’re covered in both my scent and the citrus oil.” For a moment, his eyes shifted, harsh, reptilian yellow overtaking the blue, and he took a deep breath through his nose. “In a rancid cesspool like this, I’d hunt you down easily. If you come quietly, I promise you will be treated well; perhaps even invited to join my crew, if you play your cards right. If you resist, I’ll have to switch the orange extract for chloroform, and the next time you wake up, you’ll be in Jinzo’s possession.”

Once more, her heart began to race, but thankfully her mind wasn’t overcome yet with memories and panic. “Look, I…I’m sorry if I accidentally caused you trouble, but Jinzo’s a cheapskate who’d rather kill you to get me than actually pay. And if what you’re worried about is my alliance with Law, it’s just a temporary partnership! I don’t even like the guy!”

“Nobody likes Trafalgar; he’s a sadistic asshole.” A massive arm wrapped around her tiny waist and he hoisted her up so her feet dangled above the ground, pressing her against his scorching chest. “And if that’s truly the case, then you have even less reason to resist—think of it as a rescue.”

“From the way things look, the only one she needs to be saved from is you, Drake-ya.”

A blue aura surrounded them, and in an instant Nami was out of Drake’s grasp and firmly in Law’s, one tattooed arm wrapping possessively around her bare midriff while the other leaned Kikoku casually on his shoulder. Hard plains of muscle pressed against her back, and she could feel his sharp chin rest on the top of her head.

Nami’s body was tense, but not as much as it had been with Drake. Some of it had to do with the essential oil keeping her calm and the cool air once more regulating her temperature, but it was mostly because, dangerous as he was, Law was the devil she knew. No matter how pissed he might be at her disobedience, he would protect her; she was his property, right? Arlong had certainly punished her for her misdeeds against him, but he’d never allowed anyone not on his crew lay so much as a hand on her.

Pirates didn’t like other people touching their things, after all.

“Been a while, Drake-ya,” Law’s smooth voice caressed her ears. “Making a move on my Cat Thief, I see. How’s that going so far? Have you told her how many people you’ve killed? I’m sure that always impresses the ladies.”

“Trafalgar,” Drake spat, glaring disdainfully between the empty cape in his hand and the man standing ten feet away. “I’m quite certain the woman belongs to Straw Hat, not you.”

“Hmmm, normally, but since I was nice enough to save his life, I thought it was only fair that he let me borrow her while he trains.” Law chuckled and Nami felt his nose playfully nuzzle her temple as his hand slid up to splay just beneath her breast. “You know I’ve got a thing for feisty gingers.”

The former Marine snorted in response as he donned his cloak. “Well, since she’s apparently the reason Jinzo had to reschedule our appointment, I think it’s only fair that I ‘borrow’ her for a while as recompense.”

“Sorry, she and I have dinner plans tonight. Besides, I did you a favor—he’s not as good as Kimo when it comes to honoring deals. Had the nerve to try and give me less than a third of our agreed-on price. If it hadn’t been for my little kitten here, you’d be trying to negotiate with a corpse.”

Hearing Law call her “kitten” made Nami shudder, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. It felt disturbingly familiar somehow and made the hairs on the back of her neck rise as goosebumps rippled across her skin.

Drake crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Jinzo’s unscrupulous scum, but he owes me money. Money that your ‘little kitten’ managed to swindle from him, the way he tells it.”

“If he’d brought the amount Kimo had agreed to pay me, I wouldn’t have needed her uncanny haggling skills.” Law cocked his head to the side. “Out of curiosity, how much does he owe you?”

“600 million belli.”

“He only had 725 million on him for his four scheduled deals, and he only planned to pay me 200 million. So even if his other clients were working for free, he had no intention of paying your asking price.” He let out a wry chuckle. “The man must have a death wish, looking to cheat two Supernovas in one day.”

Drake swore under his breath. “Fine. If he won’t pay me properly, I’ll just have to wring his neck and take the money from him. But considering how you still ruined my plans to leave this wretched place on schedule, I’m ruining your dinner plans. Now hand the Cat Thief over,” he growled, gripping the hilt of his saber. “I have a greater need for her than you.”

The nodachi on Law’s shoulder shifted in response. “Look, not that I’m opposed to you getting laid—anything to get the stick out of your ass—but Nami-ya’s mine.” The woman in question could practically hear Law’s smirk as he continued, “Why don’t you try the brothel the next street over? I’m sure the lovely ladies there will be happy to service your ‘needs’ for the right price.”

Drake gaped for a moment before sputtering, “I’m not looking to sleep with her!”

“Now don’t be bashful, Drake-ya! Sexual urges are completely healthy and natural, and I certainly don’t blame you for wanting a sexy redhead. Hell, maybe she can finally help you ditch your V-card.”

“You know I’m not a virgin!” he snapped, face flushing dark red in humiliation a second later as he realized precisely what he’d said.

Law’s grin widened, more than happy to take advantage of the slip. “Oh yeah—I do, don’t I? Never imagined I’d get to tame a dinosaur, but anything’s possible on the Grand Line, right?”

Nami’s jaw dropped as her cheeks heated. Holy crap, Law and Drake? Together?! She had so many questions.

“You didn’t ‘tame’ me,” Drake growled as he forced himself to calm down, though his ears still burned to match his ginger hair.

“Oh? So you’d let any man ride you? Slut.”

Maybe it was her imagination, but Nami swore she could feel Law’s erection against her lower back. Was he seriously getting turned on by this? She began to feel warm again as her own arousal spiked, much to her irritation. Could anyone blame her, though? Drake was not an unattractive man, and the mental image of him and Law battling for dominance in the bedroom was certainly titillating.

“Trafalgar,” he snarled, eyes morphing into their yellow, reptilian state, “either you hand over the woman right now or—”

“Or what? You’ll take her from me? Sorry, Drake-ya, but you know what a possessive bastard I am. I found her first, so she’s mine.”

“I don’t see your name on her,” he said petulantly.

Law spared the woman in his arms a small glare. “She’s a crafty kitten that likes to slip her leash sometimes, but I’m happy to stake my claim here and now.” A tattooed hand cupped her breast as her rolled his hips against her ass. There was no mistake what he had in mind. “Feel free to watch—you might learn something.”

There he went calling her “kitten” again, and his shameless groping nearly made Nami choke. She’d grown used to his flirting and suggestive touches, but he’d never been this blatant! Hell, compared to this, he’d been downright chaste when they’d made out in the mansion hall and when he’d given her that hickey! Was it his weird form of punishing her for running off? Or was it just to mess with Drake? Law certainly seemed to enjoy riling the other pirate up, but did he need to go so far as to threaten to fuck her in front of him to scare Drake away?

More importantly, would that even work? Law’d basically been putting her scantily clad figure on display for him throughout the entire conversation, but Drake didn’t seem nearly as flustered as he’d been when it had just been the two of them. Maybe Law’s insults and innuendos had distracted him enough to look past Nami’s full breasts and sensual curves before, but the way he was looking at her now…

It was similar to the hungry gaze Law sometimes gave her, only more feral. Animalistic. And she wasn’t fully sure if it was directed at her, the Surgeon of Death, or both.

Whichever it was, Law was playing a dangerous game of chicken, and if Drake snapped, she was the one caught in the middle.

The idea that the argument might morph into a violent, sexual brawl made Nami renew her struggles. “Will you both quit fucking talking about me like I’m some stupid toy you’re fighting over?!” she snapped, twisting and writhing in Law’s arms. “If you want to measure dicks, go ahead; just leave me out of it!”

Both men seemed momentarily taken aback by her outburst, though Law recovered quickly enough to tighten his arm around her waist. The sheathed nodachi pressed threateningly to her bare throat, saying without words that she was dancing on thin ice, and Nami reluctantly stilled. Out of the corner of her eye she saw gold eyes narrow at her defiance before his expression morphed back into a cocky smirk. “See, Drake-ya? This little kitten’s way too feisty for you to handle.”

“I only hope she scratches your eyes out,” he countered, though he did back off slightly, his eyes returning to normal. Ignoring his rival, he addressed the Cat Thief directly, though it was obvious her bare skin distracted him. “Miss Nami, I’m sure with Straw Hat missing you’re only associating yourself with Trafalgar out of desperation. However, I can assure you that you can do far better than this psychopath.”

Before she could answer, the alley was once more engulfed in blue, and Nami groaned as she found herself redressed in the Heart Pirate uniform. Behind her, Law sneered, “Maybe she can, but she’s paying off Straw Hat’s life debt to me, so she’s mine until her contract is up. I might be willing to lend her to you in exchange for a few favors, but that’s something you negotiate with me—not her.”

The jumpsuit was hot, uncomfortably damp with sweat, and combined with Law’s arms wrapped tightly around her, even more suffocating than before. Nami’s heart was once more beginning to race, chest rising and falling hard as she fought to draw breath. It wasn’t as bad as before due to the essential oil still lingering under her nose, but her body was slowly reverting back into fight or flight mode.

Tension rose as the two pirates glared at each other, neither noticing nor caring about the woman’s distress.

Pulling off a leather glove, Drake’s hand shifted into a reptilian claw before their eyes. Flexing his talons menacingly, he growled, “A debt, huh? Well, if I kill you right now, that should clear any debt away and she’ll be free to do as she pleases. How about it, Miss Nami? Agree to help me strip Jinzo of every last belli he’s ever earned, and I’ll be happy to tear Trafalgar’s head off.”

“You threaten that every time, Drake-ya, and yet the only ‘head’ you’ve ever gotten—”

“Law, please, let me go,” Nami cut in, desperate to gain some breathing space and shed the jumpsuit like a snake would its skin. His body heat made it even worse, managing to seep through the dense canvas into her back, and his hot breath at her ear sizzled the damp skin. Despite the lingering smell of citrus, her pulse fluttered, anxiety strumming her veins like guitar strings.

“Stay right there,” the dark doctor rasped, Kikoku dropping to press against her waist while his free hand slid up to wrap threateningly around her throat, “or I really will put a collar on you.” Glancing back up at the former Marine, Law flashed a dangerous smile. “You know, Drake-ya, there’s no reason we can’t all get along. Hell, why don’t you join my crew? The pay’s good, and I wouldn’t mind my very own pet Allosaurus.”

Drake’s mouth twisted in a deep scowl, though Nami didn’t miss the way his eyes briefly dropped to Law’s hand as it trailed down to trace the Heart Pirate logo on her chest. “I’m no one’s pet, least of all yours.”

“You say that now, but I think you’d enjoy it—I know I would. Two sexy, fiery redheads, naked in my bed is pretty much my ultimate fantasy. I’d even let you help me train Nami-ya—she needs to learn obedience, but I know you’ve got no trouble following orders, eh, Navy-boy?”

For a moment, Drake’s eyes lingered on them, and she swore it looked like he was considering it, especially when Law nipped her ear, making her gasp, her chest expanding upwards as her cheeks deepened to an obscene shade of scarlet. She could imagine she looked like a wet dream; sweaty hair tousled, face flushed, cleavage peeking out of the jumpsuit’s opening, lips parted as she panted lightly. Law probably looked just as tempting, with his inviting golden stare, dexterous fingers, and wicked smirk.

Law was absolutely giving an enthusiastic and explicit invitation, and both pirates had shown that Nami’s opinion on the matter was a mere afterthought.

The man behind her shifted, and this time she was positive she could feel the Dark Doctor’s cock straining against her. “Law, please,” she whimpered, sweat breaking out across her brow.

“Mmm, much as I love hearing you beg, Nami-ya, you’re just going to have to be patient. Unless you want to put on a show for Drake-ya?” Long fingers pinched the tab of her zipper, slowly pulling it down to expose more of her cleavage. “Give him a taste of what he could have if he joins us?”

That seemed to snap Drake out of whatever lustful trance Law had lured him into, as his face went bright red and his scowl returned. “Ugh, you’re a disgusting cretin, Trafalgar. I’m not subjecting myself to your presence any longer.” Tipping his plumed hat, he spun on his heel. “If you ever come to your senses and decide to ditch this sadistic bastard, Miss Nami, feel free to seek me out.”

“Damn. I was hoping he’d try to call my bluff,” Law chuckled as the tall redhead disappeared down an alley. “I’d love to show him how I discipline disobedient kittens when they run off.”

“You’ve got the weirdest kinks!” she snapped, struggling desperately in his arms. The moist jumpsuit rubbed unpleasantly against her bare skin like wet sandpaper. The sensation finally brought to light why Law’s new nickname made her so uncomfortable—Arlong had often referred to her as a kitten. Usually as a term of affection, but also a way to further show how little he thought of her species, that he regarded animals typically kept as pets as more worthy of his respect than humans. “Let me go—I’m not your kitten!”

Law released her long enough to spin her around and start walking her backwards with slow, sure strides, gold eyes drilling into hers. “And yet it’s the most accurate description I can think of—you’re a clueless little kitten who has no self-preservation skills likely to get ripped apart by wild dogs!” With a thump her back hit the rough brick wall, but any relief the cool stone might have provided was short-lived as Law pressed his entire body against her front to trap her. “Ditching the uniform was bad enough, but running off on your own? Making a scene in public and attacking your crew? If you were even half as smart as you claim to be, you never would have taken such a stupid risk.”

“I wasn’t thinking—”

“Damn right you weren’t thinking!” he snapped. “I don’t care if you think the uniform’s ugly or uncomfortable, when I give you an order, you obey it!”

“It’s just clothes!”

“If it were just clothes, you wouldn’t have been the one to make it such a huge fucking deal! The fact that you couldn’t follow such a basic order proves you can’t be trusted.” Without breaking eye contact, he reached down, dragging the zipper up to her neck and buttoning the collar so not an inch of flesh south of her chin was exposed. “Now, unless you want me to make good on my threat to discipline you, you’re going to leave that as it is. You managed to punt any leniency I had for your bratty antics right out the window. We’re going back to the ship, where you will be confined for the foreseeable future. If I have to, I’ll chain you to a desk where you’ll spend the rest of the year drawing maps and sea charts for me.”

Her eyes widened at the threat. It was far too much like her dream; like what she’d gone through with Arlong. Panic made her adrenalin spike, and with ever less ventilation than before, the temperature inside the suit rose further. “Please, Law, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t—”

Furious that she was still trying to argue, his voice was as hard and biting as ice as he said, “I’m not interested in excuses, Nami-ya. You disobeyed me, and even more damning, you attacked my crew. I told you when we first met that I’d make you suffer if you brought any harm to them, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“I didn’t mean to! They were threatening me!” she simpered, trying to pull away, but like the man pressed to her front, the wall at her back wasn’t going to relent for the sake of a small, terrified woman.

“Threatening you? Ikkaku, Bepo, and Shachi? If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable,” he snorted, grabbing her left arm in a bruising grip when she tried to unzip the uniform.

“They wanted to tattoo me! To brand me as your property!” Unconsciously she clutched her shoulder, fingers digging into the scars left by her old tattoo. “I couldn’t let them do that to me. Not again.”

“And why would they want to do that?” he asked sarcastically. “Convince me before I cut out your slanderous tongue.”

“So that I couldn’t escape. So that no matter where I went or how I tried to hide, everyone would see that I’m yours,” she whispered, eyes dulling as she recalled the judgmental glares the villagers would give her every time they saw Arlong’s tattoo. Even if it had all been an act, they had cut deeply at the time, and even now she felt overwhelming shame.

Tsking in irritation, he finally gave her a few inches of space. “You make it sound like I’ve enslaved you—you’re the one who came to me, demanding the I let you settle Mugiwara’s debt. What we have is a deal; join my crew until it’s paid off. But it’s pretty hard to do that if Drake-ya or others make off with you, isn’t it? So if I have to make you wear a uniform or even tattoo my mark onto you, so be it.”

Nami’s mind clouded, fear firmly taking hold. She and Arlong had had a deal, too, and he’d used every dirty trick imaginable to deny his cartographer her freedom. What made Law any different? How did she know he’d keep his word and let her leave at the end of the year? What was stopping him from chaining her up and keeping her as a pet, from basically enslaving her even as he called her a valued shipmate?

It was too hot, her flesh felt like it was melting off her bones, blood was pounding in her ears, her scars throbbed, and her vision grew hazy as she began to hyperventilate. In her mind, Law and Arlong shifted and blended together, and trapped and scared against her monstrous captain, panic finally overwhelmed her.

“I’m not your fucking property!” she screeched, slamming her fists against his chest, nails attempting to claw at his face like a caged animal. Unwilling to let her gouge his eyes out, he grabbed her by the wrists, pinning her to the wall with his full body weight. “Get off of me! I’m not your fucking shipmate, or your kitten, or anything! I’d sooner die than let you use me again! I hate you!”

“Will you calm the fuck down?! What is your problem—” Law snapped, but his anger shifted to concern as he felt just how sweltering her skin had become and how erratic her pulse was. The last dregs of irritation vanished as he finally allowed himself to carefully study her, taking in her flushed and sweaty face, unfocused gaze, and shallow wheezes.

His brow furrowed as he stepped back, surrounding her with his Room and quickly Scanning her.

“Fuck,” her bit out under his breath. “So that’s your problem. Nami-ya, close your eyes.”

“Why the fuck should I do that?!” she screamed, attempting to dart to the side, but her escape route was swiftly blocked.

“Because this’ll be a lot less traumatizing if you don’t watch what I’m about to do.” When her eyes widened further, he smacked his forehead, annoyed at himself for his poor wording. “It’s the birth control medication I injected you with—you’re having a bad reaction to it. The chemical imbalance is giving you a massive panic attack, and the stress is causing you to overheat, which is slowly frying your brain. I need to remove the drug from your system, and considering how squeamish you are, I can promise, you’re not going to want to see how.”

“I…”

His expression turned desperate as he beseeched, “Nami-ya, please, I know it goes against your every instinct right now, but I need you to trust me.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded, forcing herself to close her eyes as tightly as possible and hold still despite her legs trembling with the urge to run. He was right; she needed to trust him. Law wasn’t asking as her captain, but as her doctor. He wouldn’t hurt her any more than Chopper would. He was trying to save her, and she needed to have faith that anything he did was for her own good.

“Room. Shambles.”

A strange sensation overcame her. It was almost like she was floating, and while she could still feel her individual body parts, it was…dull and disjointed, almost numbed, like when your foot falls asleep and you wiggle your toes.

Then came another odd feeling. The closest she could compare it to was what she imagined it would feel like to be a sugar cube slowly dissolving in a glass of water, but the heat and adrenaline slowly vanished, and bit by bit, her heart began to slow to a normal pace.

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting on the ground, the sweaty uniform in a neat pile by her leg. Law knelt before her, studying her face and body intently. His mouth was a hard line and his gold eyes cautious as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“…cold.”

With a relieved chuckle, he pulled off his hoodie and carefully slipped it over her head. “Well, better than heat stroke and cardiac arrest.” He sighed, giving an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry the drug fucked you up so badly. I must have gotten the ratio off. I can’t even remember if I’d informed you of the potential side effects. At the very least, I shouldn’t have administered it when I was functioning on so little sleep—it was irresponsible of me as a doctor.”

Gratefully, Nami slipped her arms into the long sleeves, soaking in the residual body heat in the soft fabric. The sweatshirt was long enough to be a mini-dress on her, and she very nearly tucked her legs inside to block out the chilly air. Her skin was slick with sweat, and the cold air and stone beneath her was leeching the heat from her body. Now she understood why Drake had been so concerned about her lack of clothes. “It’s my own fault. I should have told you I was feeling weird. I just figured it was my body needing time to adapt and me being stressed about…stuff.”

The skin beneath the DEATH tattoos went white as Law gripped Kikoku harder. “No, it isn’t alright—I should have demanded a follow-up appointment to check how you were doing instead of putting my focus on fucking fertilizer. And I definitely should have noticed there was something wrong with you—you were literally having a panic attack in front of me, but I was too stubborn to acknowledge it.”

“Law, I know my body—I should have realized there was something wrong with me. And you were a little…distracted.”

“So, we’re both idiots, then?”

Nami couldn’t help the wry smile that tugged at her lips. “Guess so.” She glanced over at the jumpsuit. Part of her was nearly tempted to put it on due to how cold she suddenly felt, but one touch of the sweat-sodden fabric quickly changed her mind. “Look, I get that I don’t have much of a right to ask, but do I still have to wear this?”

Law frowned at the damp uniform. “Not until it’s been laundered and properly dried, at least. I’m taking you back to the ship regardless—I want to run some tests to be sure the birth control is completely out of your system, and you’re staying in the infirmary overnight for observation.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” she said sadly as the familiar blue aura overtook them. In a blink they were in the Polar Tang’s infirmary, their sudden appearance making Penguin jump from his place at the desk.

“Law! You found her!”

He tossed Kikoku to the first mate before hoisting Nami onto the examination table. “Yeah, but I’m going to need you to run some blood tests for me and fetch some clothes and toiletries from her room—she’s sleeping in here tonight for observation.”

Penguin nodded before rushing out the door, barely giving the navigator’s lack of uniform a second glance. Meanwhile, Law strode over to the cabinets, pulling out blankets, pillows, and towels. “What other symptoms have you been having?”

Rubbing her arms, Nami replied, “Nightmares and trouble sleeping, but that’s it.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”

“I should.”

“Good, then I won’t give you a sedative. I’m not risking putting anything else in your bloodstream until I’m 100% sure what caused your reaction.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, “for removing the drug. And…not making me watch how you did it.” Law was sadistic and cruel, but that moment of compassion spoke volumes of how much he cared about a patient’s well-being. It was a fascinating juxtaposition—the doctor and the pirate. One that made her respect for him rise a little.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for trusting me.” He gave a small smirk as he handed her the supplies. “Assuming there are no lingering side effects I should be able to declare you well enough to go to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

Her head shot up in surprise. “You still want to do that? Even after I attacked your crew? After I tried to claw your eyes out?” Good God, she expected Luffy to be that forgiving, not the Surgeon of Death!

“You did it under the effects of a drug that I improperly administered—I have no one to blame but myself. Plus, I already made reservations.” At her disbelieving expression, he shrugged. “Honestly, Ikkaku, Shachi, and Bepo weren’t even mad; they were more scared something would happen to you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I was the one who was pissed.”

Draping a blanket over her cold legs, she snorted. “Clearly. Would you have really made good on your threat?”

“Which one?”

Unconsciously, her hand fisted the blanket. “Chaining me to a desk and forcing me to make maps for you.”

“That’s the one you’re most worried about?” he asked, bewildered.

“Let’s just say it’s something that would have happened to me if Luffy hadn’t intervened.”

Law’s brow furrowed when she didn’t elaborate, and he crossed his arms in irritation. “You’re welcome to your secrets and privacy, Nami-ya, but considering how you very nearly clawed my eyes out over it, you’re going to have to give a better answer than that. I can’t know what will trigger you if you don’t tell me.”

“Maybe I’m not comfortable with someone like you knowing my weaknesses.” She shot him a glare. “You seemed to take a lot of creepy pleasure in threatening to put a collar on me, among other things.”

The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his eyes as he scowled. “I’m a sadistic bastard—I’ve never hidden this. But I was trying to scare you into compliance, not give you a panic attack.”

“Either way, it doesn’t exactly inspire me to trust you.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. In the harsh light of the infirmary, the circles under his eyes seemed even more pronounced. “Nami-ya, I’m sorry I went too far. I was angry and keyed up from dealing with Drake-ya.”

A scoff and a roll of her eyes was Nami’s immediate response. “Yeah, sure, ‘keyed up’. Personally, I would have gone with ‘horny as hell’.” She blushed slightly at the thought. Looking back on it, that moment had felt like something from one of her raunchier novels. And she really needed to not imagine what the two Supernovas would be like together. Who would top? Drake was certainly the larger man, but she had a hard time picturing Law being submissive, control freak that he was….

She shook herself from her musings as Law responded, removing his hat to run a hand through his dark hair, “We have…history. Generally when we meet, we either try to kill each other or fuck. In such close quarters and with you as a liability, I didn’t trust my chances if it came to a fight, so yeah, I fully leaned into the sexual tension.”

After the day she’d had, Nami should have been immune, but she couldn’t help but appreciate how hot he looked when he mussed his hair like that. Her blush deepened as she glanced away. “Well, you should have left me out of it.”

“Drake-ya’s shy with women. I knew he’d turn tail and run if I got you involved.”

Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t quite argue his logic, mostly because it was completely fucked up. “Bullshit; you were totally hoping for a threesome. You are seriously such a freak. Next time, just teleport us out of there.”

“He was talking about kidnapping you,” Law countered, leaning in and resting his hands on either side of her thighs. His breath tickled her face as he continued, “I needed to make sure he knew you were completely off-limits.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back slightly. “I thought we established that I’m not your property?”

“Nami-ya, that’s the way it is—if you’re not strong enough to protect yourself, you’re the property of someone who was strong enough to claim you.” For a brief moment, his eyes softened, getting a faraway look as he lifted his hand to gently brush his knuckles across her jaw. “I know you hate it, but for now, accept that it’s the only way to protect you from the monsters of the world. Because believe me; there are men far worse than me who’d love to get their hands on you. Men who don’t have my limits.”

Her breath caught at his gentle action, and Law seemed to snap out of his reverie, quickly pulling away to grab her chart from the filing cabinet. “Penguin should be back soon to draw some blood and examine you. I need to tell the rest of the crew you’re back, safe and sound. You’re still confined to the ship until dinner tomorrow as punishment for worrying everyone.” Without looking at her, he tossed her chart on the desk and left, all but slamming the door behind him.

Wide, brown eyes stared at the metal barricade in shock. What was that about? Where had that flash of softness come from? Was he seriously running off because of a moment of…what? Kindness? Affection? Concern?

It seemed like every time she thought she had Trafalgar Law figured out, he had to do something to completely throw her.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a brisk knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called hesitantly.

Penguin stuck his head inside, little stuffed bird on his hat bobbing slightly. “You ok?”

Tugging at the black sleeves of Law’s sweatshirt, she sighed. “Fine, I guess. Managed to not get kidnapped by X Drake, thanks to your captain.”

“You ran into Drake? My condolences.”

“He was actually pretty nice up until he decided to take me hostage.”

Penguin chuckled as he tugged on a pair of latex gloves, grabbing her chart and the medical supplies he needed. “No, the condolences are for having to watch him and Law interact. It’s been going on since we were terrorizing the North Blue, back when Drake was tasked with bringing us down. The boss is not subtle when he hits on him, and Drake’s usually a coin flip between trying to kill him and pinning him against a wall. Makes things super uncomfortable for the rest of us.”

His look of exasperation drew an easy laugh from the redhead. “Yeah, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife. Law all but proposed a threesome.”

“Unfortunately, I believe it,” he groused as he rolled up the sleeve of the hoodie to expose Nami’s arm. Swabbing a patch of skin with a sterilized cotton ball, he continued, “I’m not sure if Drake brings out his kinky side or if he just did it to mess with you two. Probably both. Boss has a thing for gingers.”

“Then why doesn’t he hit on Shachi?”

“Oh, he did, briefly, when we were teens, but once he realized Shachi wasn’t into dudes, he backed off.”

“Dare I ask how Law found out Drake was interested?”

Penguin threw her a teasing wink. “You’re gonna have to get me seriously drunk to tell that story; I’ve worked damn hard to repress it.”

Nami had to laugh. Though he could be an awkward flirt and sometimes a bit too hard on his crewmates, Penguin was an easy guy to like. He was definitely the big brother of the ship, bullying Shachi and Bepo during downtime but quickly stepping up and making sure they were alright when things got serious.

His mouth turned down in a reluctant frown. “Look, I hate to bring down the mood, but as first mate, I have to know; why’d you run off?”

Averting her eyes, she nervously twisted the blanket in her hands. “What, Shachi didn’t tell you?”

Carefully inserting the syringe into her vein, he began drawing blood. “Figured I’d hear your side of the story before I made my judgement. Law gave me a quick run-down on how the medication gave you a panic attack, but something had to trigger it.”

“You mean besides nearly being cooked to death in that hideous jumpsuit?”

As he removed the needle and taped some gauze to her arm, he gave her a serious, but not unsympathetic, look. “Heat stroke can certainly cause a person to be unreasonable, but Bepo said you were yelling about not being ‘that monster’s property’. I know Law’s not the nicest guy around, especially when compared to Straw Hat, but he hasn’t done anything that would warrant that kind of reaction from you, has he?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing with genuine concern.

Blunt white teeth worried her lower lip. Part of her wanted to say he had—killing Harpin, threatening her, all the things he’d done to earn his reputation—but in reality, she’d seen much worse from other pirates, and he’d done enough halfway decent things—giving money to the jewelry seller, saving her from the Baron, his kindness towards his crew—that she couldn’t even bring herself to lie. “Well, no…”

“You don’t have to spill your life story, Nami; everybody has baggage and things that set them off. Everyone on board cares about you enough that we want you to feel happy and safe, but you need to trust us enough to tell us if we’ve done something to make you uncomfortable.”

She sighed. She may have been able to avoid this talk with Law, but it was clear Penguin wouldn’t be distracted by snarky jabs or petty fights. It was hard to argue with him, too, when it came from a genuine place of concern. And someone should know, right? At least a little bit? Enough to set some boundaries between her and the rest of the Heart Pirates. “Look, I admit, I was being a brat about the uniform, and Law’s stupid medication made things a hundred times worse, but when they started talking about tattooing your Jolly Roger on me…I snapped, ok?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not one of you. You guys aren’t bad—better than most pirates, at least—but you’re not my crew.”

“What’s wrong with getting along with your allies?” he asked as he labeled the vial of blood and jotted a few things onto her chart. Most might think he wasn’t really paying attention to her, but Nami knew by now it was his way of giving her a small bit of space; putting her at ease by not making her feel like she was being scrutinized and judged.

Smoothing the blanket over her legs, she replied, “Nothing. The problem is when they refer to Luffy as my ‘old captain’ and act like I defected from the Straw Hats. I’m here for Luffy’s sake, and in two years, I’m going to be his navigator in the New World. Nothing is going to change that.”

“You’re pretty loyal to him, huh?”

She caught his eye, and with a look that left no room for argument, stated, “If it weren’t for him, my entire village would be dead and I’d still be forced to work for my mother’s murderer. I owe him everything, Penguin. He didn’t recruit me—he freed me.”

The first mate nodded in understanding. “Kind of like how Law freed Jean Bart?”

“You could say that.” She rubbed the spot where Arlong’s mark once lay, fingers absently tracing the scars. “Look, I’m sorry I ran off and worried everyone. I’m really sorry I attacked them. But—I was forced to join a pirate crew when I was ten. They pinned me down and branded me with their Jolly Roger so the whole world would know who I belonged to. I can’t…”

He held up his hand to cut her off. “I get it. Even if it was just a joke, they triggered some bad memories. I’ll tell the crew to ease up on calling you a Heart Pirate, and absolutely no talk of tattooing against your will. But it’s still ok to consider you our shipmate, right? At least for now?”

She gave a watery smile, using Law’s sleeve to wipe moisture from her eyes. Funny, she hadn’t even realized tears had formed. “Yeah. I can live with that.”

Jotting a few more things on her chart, he handed her the fresh set of pajamas and one of the towels. “Good. I’ve gotta go run these tests; go grab a shower in the meantime. I’ll be back in an hour with dinner and to take your vitals, and then you’re going to get a good night’s sleep. Those circles under your eyes don’t make you any less hot, but this ship isn’t big enough for two sleep-deprived, stubborn pirates.”

Despite his light tone, Nami frowned. “You’re going to tell everyone about my past, aren’t you?”

A warm, gentle hand rested on her shoulder, covering up Arlong’s scar. “Not if you don’t want me to; it’s not my place. What you went through…I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t want to murder the bastards who did that to you.” Nami could feel the tension in his fingers and heard his teeth grit in anger. It was clear he’d connected the dots between the scars and her story. “I mean, to brand a fucking child…”

“I’m ok,” she said softly, as much to herself as Penguin. “Luffy freed me. It’ll never happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t.” Taking a deep breath, he pulled away, once more composing himself. “I’ll just tell the crew that you’ve been through some shit in your life, and because of it, you wouldn’t leave Straw Hat any more than we’d leave Law, so we should ease up. They’ll understand.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her hand a quick, comforting squeeze. “You really should tell Law all this, though. You’ve seen how intense he gets, but if he knows he’s opening old wounds, he’ll back off. Guy’s got demons even I’m not privy to, so he’ll respect there are certain lines he shouldn’t cross.”

With a smile, Nami returned the gesture. “You’re probably right. You really are everyone’s big brother around here, huh?”

“I’m the first mate; it’s my job to keep things running smoothly and take care of disputes between shipmates.”

“In that case, could you do me a favor?”

XXX

The next morning Nami was rested, physically feeling better than she had all week, but worried about facing the crew. Despite the affirmations that nobody was upset that she had run off, at least not once they learned it was in response to improperly administered medication, she still felt nervous. Penguin had told them to ease up on treating her like she was part of the crew, but was that a good thing? Would they now treat her like an enemy, or hold her at arm’s length? Was the easy camaraderie she’d started to share with them over, sacrificed for the sake of maintaining her status as a Straw Hat?

However, despite her nerves, she had no reason to skip out on breakfast in the galley. Law had stopped by the infirmary long enough to Scan her and give her a clean bill of health (and also steal back his sweatshirt) while Penguin had come through with her request.

“Think these’ll smooth things over?” she asked the first mate, holding up three wrapped gifts.

Penguin shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think you even needed to go this far—none of them were really angry, and you didn’t injure anybody. But it can’t hurt…though I can’t promise Ikkaku won’t still make you suffer just a little bit; in a way, it shows she cares. It’s when she goes completely cold with a person that you know you’ve fucked up.”

“You know this from experience?”

“When we went to Amazon Lily and most of us went gaga over the women there. I think the fact that we acted like we’d never even seen a woman before really hurt her pride. She’s a tomboy, but she’s still a girl, you know? Probably sucks when every guy on board forgets that. Flat-out wouldn’t talk to anyone but Bepo for a week—hell, the silent treatment ended only a day before you got here!”

The mention of Amazon Lily piqued her interest. Hadn’t Law mentioned they’d been there once? And apparently, it hadn’t been too long before she’d arrived. “Wait, Bepo was the only one she’d talk to? Did Law act like a lovesick idiot, too?” It was hard to imagine, but if the women of the island were as beautiful as stories said, anything was possible.

“No, but he made a pretty stupid comment that rubbed salt in the wound.”

Though Nami was curious as to what Law could have possibly said to piss off Ikkaku, she was forced to push that mystery aside as they’d arrived at the galley.

“Ready?” Penguin asked, watching for any sign of distress from the navigator out of the corner of his eye. Though he honestly felt she had no reason to worry about his crew’s reaction, he wouldn’t force her to confront them if she wasn’t ready.

Taking a deep breath and adjusting the packages in her arms, she nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

The door opened to reveal the rest of the crew sitting at the various tables, sipping coffee and chatting quietly, a few catching up on what they’d missed over the past few weeks from the pile of newspapers. Several of them looked up and greeted her with sleepy hellos, and Nami nodded in acknowledgement, though her attention was mostly focused on the fact that, though there was bacon and eggs and a few rolls, breakfast seemed to mostly consist of assorted fruits.

From his spot at the table Law glanced over his shoulder at her and chuckled at bemused expression. “Morning, Nami-ya. Care for an apple? Winter melon? Kiwi? Apricot? Pomegranate?”

Her brow furrowed at his casual greeting. After he’d disappeared last night, she’d assumed things would be awkward between them. His brisk visit that morning had only reinforced that belief, but here he was, making cheeky comments with that smug grin of his.

Before she could question him, or the fruit, Penguin lightly nudged her shoulder. “You didn’t hurt anybody, but that gust of yours did upend a few fruit stands, so Ikkaku had to buy it all to keep the vendors from causing a scene. You never know who might be a spy for Jinzo in this town, and from what I heard, you earned yourself a place on his shit list.”

“Which is another reason you’re not to leave the sub until dinner tonight,” Law added as he took a bite of a bright red apple. He met her gaze as he chewed before saying with a smirk, “That’s an order, by the way. One you won’t have a problem following, right?”

Swallowing down her instinct to argue with him, she nodded stiffly. “Right.” Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the table, bowing deeply as she held two of her packages out to Shachi and Bepo. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you yesterday. Please take these as a sign of my sincerity.”

“You didn’t have to, Nami,” the bear said, twiddling his claws. Despite his fur, one could almost see a pink blush on his cheeks. “Penguin explained what we did to set you off, and we weren’t upset at you.”

“Did Law get mad at you for losing me, though?”

His ears drooped. “Well, a little, at least at first—”

“Then I owe you an apology. I promised wouldn’t do anything to get Law mad at you, and I broke that within four hours of making it. You’re getting an apology gift.”

“Well, to be fair, you said you’d never intentionally get me in trouble…”

“Just take it, Bepo,” Law said, taking another bite of his apple. “You managed to get the greediest pirate on the Grand Line to willingly spend money on you; if you keep arguing, she’ll change her mind and charge you double for it.”

Nami glared at him, though it faltered when he threw her a conspiratorial wink.

“Well, ok,” the Mink agreed, taking the parcel at his captain’s encouraging nod. Shachi followed suit, though he appeared more suspicious than apprehensive.

“When exactly did you have time to get these?” he asked, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses, “Because I sure didn’t see you buy anything that could be for us yesterday.”

Nami pointed at the first mate. “I made Penguin do the actual purchasing, but I told him what to get and it was my money he used to buy them. I never left the ship.”

Mollified, Shachi ripped off the wrapping paper, laughing heartily at the orca-shaped hat. “Oh, this is fucking perfect!”

“She asked me to get the ugliest, dumbest hat I could find,” Penguin said with a snort. “The local hat shop practically paid me take it of their hands. It’s like it was made for you.”

“Yup, and now you have to suffer for it!” he crowed, tossing away the green and pink and pink hat and replacing it with the killer whale.

Meanwhile, Bepo happily tucked into the enormous salmon, fresh from the Grimm fish market. He spared a thumbs-up, declaring his approval of the gift, and Nami giggled. He was like Luffy, in a way; buy him lunch, and you were friends for life.

“Take it easy, Bepo; you’ll choke on a bone,” Ikkaku said from behind her. Nami turned to find the older woman shaking her head. “You really don’t have to do this; we’re all just glad that you’re safe. Honestly, I’d settle for an explanation,” she said with a meaningful frown, “but I also get opening up isn’t easy, especially to people who aren’t your crew.”

“Yeah, but given time, I might be willing to open up to a friend.” With a nervous smile, Nami held out a box. “I kind of owe you this anyway, so you’re taking it whether you like it or not.”

Without a word the engineer opened the box, eyes widening at the slinky, silver dress that glimmered back at her.

“Thanks, Nami,” Ikkaku said with a small smile. “This’ll be perfect for when we go out tonight.”

“You still wanna go?” Nami gave Law a sideways glance. “Assuming I’m even allowed.”

Ikkaku scoffed. “You’re my only female friend on this ship; like hell I’m giving that up over a little freak-out. And of course the captain’ll let you join me for Ladies Night,” she said, raising an eyebrow at the Dark Doctor in challenge. “Right, Boss?”

Law held up his hands in surrender. “So long as she stays with you and you’re both on your best behavior, I’ll allow it. After she has dinner with me.”

Beaming in triumph, Ikkaku bumped her hip into Nami’s. “See? We can do each other’s hair, and you can complain about whatever stupid thing Law says or does tonight over drinks.”

A bright grin lit up the redhead’s face. Penguin had been right—they really weren’t mad. “Sounds perfect. And I’ll pay you back for the fruit, too, since that was my fault.” Whatever the cost had been, it was well worth keeping Ikkaku’s friendship.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just meant we got our produce shopping done a little early. But if you’re that worried,” she said as she strolled over to her table, grabbed a plain white box, and sauntered back, handing it over to Nami with a grin, “here. A peace offering of my own.”

Brow furrowing in confusion, Nami peeked in the box, only to immediately slam the lid back down, face a brilliant scarlet.

“You. Bitch,” she ground out. Ikkaku was so lucky she hadn’t really opened it in front of everyone—what was she thinking? Dear God, what if Law had seen what was inside?!

“Just a little something to help you out when those trashy novels can’t get the job done,” Ikkaku cackled, ducking away as the blushing thief attempted to smack her over the head. “And now we’re even!”

“What’s in it, Nami?” Shachi asked, shit-eating grin telling her he already knew. “What’s in the box?”

“A severed head,” she lied, glaring at him, white-knuckled grip crushing the corners of the package.

“Is it one of mine? I think I misplaced one,” Law chuckled from his seat. He reached for the box, grin stretching his face. “Let me check.”

“Hands off!” she snapped, yanking it away. “It’s none of your damn business!”

“Room.”

“Fuck you, Trafalgar!” she shrieked as the box vanished and reappeared on Law’s lap, replacing the apple he’d been munching on. Her attempt to retrieve the damming parcel was thwarted by Ikkaku grabbing her around the waist and spinning her around, laughing as she shrieked indignantly.

Opening the box, Law pulled out a pair of fuzzy black handcuffs. “Strangest looking head I’ve ever seen,” he said, twirling them around on one long finger. “Though full marks to whoever sculpted the dildo. Even got the veins right.”

The whole galley cackled as the blushing navigator buried her face in her hands, mortified. Part of her wanted to rip their tongues out, but another part accepted that she deserved this. Penguin hadn’t been kidding when he said she’d suffer, but she could also feel the mood lighten significantly.

“So, still up for Ladies Night after your dinner with the captain?” Ikkaku asked as she set her down, grin wide and unrelentingly smug as she threw an arm around her shoulders, playfully mussing her hair. “Or would Miss Straw Hat rather stay in and play with her new toys?”

Despite her humiliation, Nami felt a smile pull at her lips. “You’re an absolute bitch, Miss Heart Pirate, but yeah, I’m in. And for what you just put me through, you’re buying the first round.”

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