#Monumental Relief with the Nine Muses

[blueiscoool]

Monumental Relief with the Nine Muses Italian, Rome, 16th century

Marble. 105 by 220cm., 41½ by 86½in.

[kbstories]

Signification

sig·ni·fi·ca·tion (n.)

The process of assigning meaning to something.

Captain and First Mate, two years later.

(Or: Zoro adores his captain. A lot.)

Tags: Reunions, Nakamaship, Introspection, Fluff, Domesticity (!)

Post-Timeskip setting, between Sabaody and Fishman Island. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

Surrounded by tumultuous battle and the distant booming of cannons, the Thousand Sunny begins to sink. The waves churn and slosh against her hull with increasing might; glinting foam breaks across the sky in half-formed arcs and yet not a single drop touches the grass below.

The crew watches, wonder shining in their eyes. Roronoa Zoro counts, sharp gaze touching upon every familiar face, every smile that glows with shared relief, then starts over.

Nine. Nine, again.

Finally complete, the Strawhats are swallowed by the sea.

In a heartbeat, the breathless moment dissolves into the usual chaos as Nami commands their gradual descent: Usopp and Chopper screech in unison about this sea king and that monster over Franky’s good-natured reassurances at the helm and the melodic humming coming from Brook; blooming and wilting like flowers, Robin’s elegant hands crop up all over the deck where Sanji and Zoro are wrangling the sails against the ocean’s massive current–

The Sunny moves like a living thing underneath them and through it all, Luffy laughs and laughs like he couldn’t get himself to stop even if he tried.

Having his friends back is a delight in and of itself but it’s that sound that does it. Zoro can feel the rough edges of the past months knit themselves together into something nostalgic, something fond, a type of gooey-warm devotion that became second nature somewhere along the line.

Like muscle memory, dormant for a while and never forgotten. It’s good to be home.

And yeah, he’s the first to admit soft things don’t come easy to him. There is a private smile on his lips, though, one he doesn’t care to hide. There’s no reason to, not here. Above them, a school of fish swims by, silhouetted by the sun like silver-coated birds and–

“Woah, it’s huge! Is that a shark?”

–the smile turns into a grin. Zoro’s eye meets those of his captain and, before Monkey D. Luffy can utter the idea brewing in that rubber brain of his, Shusui glides out of its sheath smoothly. Luffy cackles and together they stand, with their crew behind and the vast ocean ahead.

“You ready, Zoro?”

Those three little words settle in the spaces between skin and muscle and bone and – after two long years of worrying, wishing, waiting – Zoro nods and gladly takes his place beside the man who will be Pirate King.

*

The reunion party takes days to run its course until, on the third night, even the most energetic among the Strawhats are turning to their spot on Sunny’s deck for a cozy evening. A bonfire burns brightly in their midst and, under Sanji’s watchful eye, all kinds of sausages and vegetables sizzle away on a makeshift grill. Curiously, the smoke it produces leaves the resin coating of the ship in small, harmless bubbles – arms crossed and leaning back against the railing, Zoro follows their path until they disappear into depths unknown like sticky shooting stars.

A bit of imagination and even this cobalt sky can yield a few constellations, though it would take a creative mind like Usopp’s to name them all. Their presence is soothing, regardless.

No need to look so glum, Mihawk had said, that first night an eternity ago, after awkwardly hovering in Zoro’s periphery for far too long.

It had been a clumsy attempt at comfort at best. There was blood on the cuffs of his shirt and the soot of cannon fire still clung to his coat; made vague by the darkness, it was nonetheless the kind of tangible proof that all those headlines in the paper lacked. Somewhere out there, the ruins of Marineford smoldered. Somewhere out there, his captain was hurting.

Zoro had just huffed and stared out into the void. There was nothing to say, nothing at all.

There had been a quiet sigh, and steps echoing in the silence. Arms crossed, Mihawk had stared until Zoro couldn’t but stare back, quietly surprised by the intensity of emotion burning where nobody dared to look for it.

Don’t grieve what you haven’t lost, kid. You’re all under the same sky, after all.

Still, Zoro muses, eye slipping shut and shoulders relaxing against the Sunny’s comfortable embrace. Around him, the ever-present chatter of the crew dulls to a low rush. This is better.

The transition between sleep and consciousness is so gradual that Zoro doesn’t bother to track down the moment he dozes off. Eventually, there is a subtle shift around him, like gravity itself bends and realigns towards a greater force – a silent force, and that is what makes Zoro glance up between sleepy blinks.

There Luffy stands, hand on his hat and his hat on his chest and a woven-straw brim barely covering the crater of a scar below it. The fire casts shadows on Luffy’s face (Is it doubt flickering there? Indecisiveness?) and yet they’re fleeting enough to make Zoro question what he sees, fractured as his vision has become.

Then Luffy notices he’s awake and it’s all gone with a smile. “Napping already?”, he chuckles as he hops on the railing next to him. Zoro shrugs and stretches with a satisfied grunt.

“We getting close?”

“Nope, not yet.” Luffy snickers as Zoro slumps right back to where he was, his back snug against warmed wood. Sandals flip-flop along with the carefree swinging of Luffy's feet. “It’s okay, though. More chances to listen to Usopp’s stories! He met the Hercules, can you imagine?”

“Hardly”, Zoro grumbles indistinctly enough to not disturb the starry-eyed marvel on Luffy’s face. “Did he tell the one about the man-eating plant turned island yet?”

“The what?!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at how wide Luffy’s eyes can get: Zoro snorts and gestures towards the shape of Usopp on the other side of deck, a silent have at him that Luffy almost follows.

Almost. Cheers and laughter carry over from Usopp’s loosely assembled audience, and Chopper’s astounded What, really?! proves the story being told is a good one. Even so, the motion to launch himself into an unsuspecting Usopp is stopped mid-way and Luffy bounces back to the railing.

Huh.

At Zoro’s questioning grunt, the man just shakes his head and lowers his hat to his lap. “Ah, y’know. We have time now, right?”, he says with a thread of serenity woven into his voice – one that wasn’t there, last time they spoke, and the realization that Luffy is pacing himself shouldn’t feel this monumental.

Zoro lets his gaze linger, this time: over the subtle lines around Luffy’s eyes and the hint of exhaustion underneath; over all the little scars dusting his knuckles, old and new, and the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb over the ribbon of his hat, a mindless gesture of comfort that aches, somehow.

Threadbare it has become, this most faithful of companions. The red is long washed out by the sun and the sea and hell knows what else. Gratitude registers as a warm glow at Zoro’s core, for it being there when none of them could. For weathering the storms and the tears and the laughter, from the instant it left Shanks’ head to this very moment.

“It’s looking good”, Zoro comments lightly as he sits up and rubs the last traces of sleep from his eye. “Feels like ages ago that Nami had to stitch the hat back together. After… Buggy, was it? The clown guy.”

The expression on Luffy’s face goes a bit funny at that, half-way to a grimace yet too fond to be one. “Hah, yeah, him. I’ll have to thank him next time we see him, him and Jinbei and the others.”

Zoro blinks. That… makes no sense at all. Then again, Mihawk did grumble about the clown becoming a warlord, so weirder things have happened. “Who’s Jinbei?”

Luffy smiles, then, bright and toothy. “A friend! Don’t worry, you’ll meet him soon. He’s all serious and talks about honor a lot, so.”

So you’ll like him, Zoro fills in for him and huffs to himself. That part of himself that is fiercely independent wants to argue the point – then again, Luffy’s instincts are rarely off the mark.

Another thing to look forward to, then. Hopefully this Jinbei guy likes to drink.

“Say, Zoro?”

In a bundle of rubbery limbs and rustling fabric, Luffy joins him on the grassy deck, legs crossed and hat back where it belongs. His head tilts curiously, the steady weight of his full attention one Zoro shoulders with ease. “Where did you go?”

Ah, that. It’s a question he’s heard a few times this week, along with How in the world were you first? and What the hell happened to your eye? and Zoro has no room to complain. He, too, keeps a list of names in his heart, and the question marks around their fates are a subtle discomfort but very much there.

It’s weird to think of adventure as something they can experience even when forced apart.

And so Zoro tells him, about the castle standing proud among ruins and the ship that wrecked before it even touched the sea and the day he bowed to become stronger. He doesn’t mention the tense days spent in-between, reading the newspaper near-obsessively for even a scrap of new information. That black-and-white image of his captain standing alone on a battlefield is fresh in his memory, and will remain there for eternity. “Took me a while to get what you were trying to say”, he admonishes without heat, and Luffy nods sagely.

“I know, right? So complicated… Without Rayleigh I would’ve mixed everything up.”

That confirms that theory, then. A whole library of those exists in Zoro’s mind, years’ worth of theories and questions gone unanswered and wild speculation and it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Not with Luffy sitting next to him, looking more at peace than Zoro expected, deep down.

“You did well, Luffy.”

The words are out before he really thinks them through. It feels right, though, to see surprise dawn on Luffy’s face; the pride Zoro places in his voice soon takes root in the square set of Luffy’s shoulders, too, and the strong line of his back.

Then, he grins, eyes alight and squinting with it. Like this, the signs of weariness melt off entirely and there Luffy is, a little older, a little more mature and scarred to hell but still the happy-go-lucky idiot Zoro chose to follow two years ago.

“We really made it, huh, Zoro? It felt like forever and I was wondering if I’m just dreaming or something but… We’re finally here.”

Zoro sighs and reaches over and pulls the hat down, the brim briefly covering the amused chuckle on Luffy’s lips before it’s righted again. “’course it’s real, captain. You think we’d all bust our asses to be on time for some dream? Seriously.”

Luffy is still laughing, “I mean, you were early! Everyone was so surprised!”, poking him in the cheek and wiggling his feet in delight. Zoro lets him have it for a second longer than he normally would have before he rolls his eye and gets up.

“C’mon, rubber-for-brains, there’s some sake I brought that’s calling my name. Oi, Usopp! What was that thing with the plant island again?”

And with the sound of stretching rubber and a not-so-distant crash, Luffy is gone and Usopp yells.

>>Read Chapter 2

[swiftsgetawaycar]

Dearest Taylor,

Hey, how are you? I’m Sara, my closest friends and family call me Sar, and to put it simply, you’re my everything. I’m sorry if that sounds like a lot seeing as you don’t know me but your music, and the person that I’ve gotten to know and love over the years, has been everything from a friend to a hero to a muse to a member of what I refer to as my village, and that means more than everything to me so you are literally my everything. Anyway, I am well aware that the likelihood of you actually reading this is tiny but, there is the smallest chance, and I think that a chance is better than none at all so I’ll take what I can get.

I’m writing now because something strange, and monumental has just happened to me and I want to share that with you because without you, I would not be here and by here, I mean alive, and as much as I wish I was just being overly dramatic, I’m not. I first heard ‘Love Story’ when I was nine years old and I sang it at the top of my lungs for weeks but I’ll admit my knowledge/love for you didn’t span much beyond that, other than wishing I had your blonde curls. At 9, I was blissfully ignorant to the harsher realities of my life. I was raised in a huge, marvellous house and I had whatever I wanted, I was, and am, incredibly lucky. But, like they often say, you never know what goes on behind closed doors, even when they’re made of gold, and what went on behind my front doors was not pretty to say the least. But at 9, I didn’t fully know that – what I knew was that naughtiness equalled punishment which equalled pain. Well, skip forward to when I was 11 and I became a swiftie for real and I started to know what was going on, problem was nobody talked about it and how can an 11 year old really be sure of anything? What I did know was that blasting ‘mean’ on repeat and screaming along when I was home alone (noise for a long time equalled naughty) and singing it in my head at school as kids called me names, helped a lot and made me feel less alone in the world when I thought I was the only one. I felt so connected to your song that I realised I should probably try to connect to you, too, so I watched every video I could, listened to every single song you had out at the time on repeat and hung up posters of you on my walls. Red came out when I was 12, and I cannot think of a better way to describe that year than the colour red. When I was 12, it all clicked and I realised my father was an alcoholic and the punishments I had been receiving since birth was abuse. I also realised that people don’t like to believe things that they cannot see. My father was well-liked by basically everyone and is a very powerful lawyer so it may not surprise you nobody wanted to take him on. At 11/12/13, with no one in my corner and a lot of emotions to deal with after revelations that changed everything, I began to do stupid, toxic things that I’ll never be able to undo – one of which made me miss your concert in Sydney but that’s another story.  Anyway, by the time 1989 came out, I had run away, well sort of. I got sent to boarding school in Canada (seeing as I am an Aussie, it’s about the farthest you can get from Sydney) and despite all the hard, awful things I had to endure to get there, Canada was where I shook it all off. The 1989 era was when I learnt how to love myself and my life, although it was challenging and I was in and out of the hospital a lot. Your album, the one you have described as your rebirth, became the soundtrack to mine. I went through a lot, but your music and you got me through it because you made me feel valued, loved and wanted. In 2015, after going back home to Australia, I took my little sister to your concert in Sydney. I cannot say I’ve ever screamed as loudly or cried as much as that night. At that point, I had kicked my father out of our house by coming back from Canada and although there were a few incidents, only one involving a hospital though, it was the best few months I had ever had in that house. So I made it very clear to my mother that she couldn’t be afraid of the truth anymore because she had to protect my little sister from what I went through, and I was able to blast your music loudly and proudly without any punishment. In December of 2015, my mother got a promotion to a job that had never been held by a woman before and would grant her financial independence from my father, and we jumped at it. Only catch was that the job was in London, England. So, I moved again to the other side of the world and I’ve been here ever since. My father, however, was less than thrilled by this and his loss of control on all of us, and so he began to file law suit after law suit, claiming my mother had brainwashed us or that my mental health (most of which is the result of my childhood with him) made me a liar or that every father has the right to see his children no matter what. Over the past few years, I have had to fly back to Australia to testify, write letters, speak to court appointed social workers and have a psychological evaluation but today that all paid off, because the last and biggest of these court cases has been waiting for judgement for some weeks now. But during the most recent of these proceedings, ‘Look What You Made Me Do’ came out, on my little sister’s birthday actually, and it became my anthem for surviving the days where I was forced to delve back into the past and relive my most harrowing moments to ensure she didn’t have to live through them too. And today all that paid off because it worked, we won. I never have to see or hear from my father again unless I want to, neither does my sister. Never do I have to go back to being the nine-year-old who sang ‘love story’ as a lullaby to her little sister as her father smashed glasses and yelled at our mother. I am free of him, and I feel more relief than words can express. And through the past 9 years, through my worst and best days, you have been there and you’ve kept me sane. You have provided me with an escape from things no one should have to go through and you have made me feel normal when I felt like an alien. So, I guess this long letter is a very roundabout way of saying thank you for never giving up on me and giving me a reason to keep going when I really didn’t want to. I will never be able to thank you enough but I want to at least make a start and I want you to share this moment with me too because I don’t think I would’ve been brave or strong enough to get through it without you. Thank you, @taylorswift. I love you so, so very much - and I will forever be grateful for all you’ve given to me. Take care and I cannot wait for everything you have planned for the future.

All My Love,

Sar xx

PS: Thanks for the playlist on Spotify too, I was listening to Better by SYML when I got the news and it perfectly captured everything. How do you know these things?!?

PPS: Please give Mer and Olivia, Mama swift, Austin & Scott my love too!

[daddymenrah]

Rami x Reader: Birthday

A/N: A lil something for my spicy and talented binch @mr-musings who didn’t tell me it was her birthday until the day before so I didn’t have anything prepared for the actual day (fuck you) . Happy belated birthday hoe.

Warnings: British slang m8. See translations for any words that you don’t understand. Language.

Translations:

Sesh- Celebration generally involving drinking, possibly drugs and ‘bare’ good mems. “You on the sesh tonight? You mental cunt.”

Spice- A highly attractive individual. “Oi that’s a right fookin’ spice over there. I would in a heartbeat.”

Allow (him/her/them)- Don’t pay them attention/don’t bother with them. “Tyrell is such a twat, allow him.”

Twat- An idiot.

Waved- Intoxicated. (Applies for all substances)

“Happy birthday Y/N!” Your friends yell over the music pumping through the club. The drinks are flowing and you’re celebrating your birthday with a monumental sesh. You roll your eyes fondly at your rowdy group of mates who are drawing attention from other club-goers but you down the shot they’d put in your hand all the same.

You’re dressed to the nines, your makeup is on fleek and already you’ve had a couple of suggestive glances from guys in the club. Sipping on a vodka and coke, you begin surveying the scene for a spice worth your attention and maybe even the later hours of your birthday evening.

Then something shits all over your jovial mood. ‘Oh shit. Oh shit.’ You think as you spot someone you would much rather jump off a cliff than run into. Your friend Maria notices your sudden change in expression and follows your gaze.

“Fucking hell.” She groans.

You avert your eyes from him, not wanting him to spot you.

Your ex.

“Allow him, he’s not gonna ruin tonight.” Maria reassures you. You nod shakily, not particularly convinced in yourself.

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You say into her ear.

“Want me to come with you?” You shake your head and smile at her.

“I’m fine, really.” You brush her off and walk off in the direction of the bar.

You call over to the bartender, hoping he hears you over the noise.

“Hey? Hello?” He appears to be ignoring you for some cute guy who is smiling flirtatiously at him, which is mildly irritating, but you can’t blame the guy. You sigh and lean against the bar, waiting for him to finish his conversation.

“Y/N?”

‘Oh fuck’ You think. You know that voice, it’s him. You turn slowly to face him, eyebrows furrowing.

“I thought I saw you.” He smiles. How fucking dare he? Smile at you like old friends after the amount of trouble he caused you?

“I’m glad your eyesight hasn’t deteriorated.” You quip, your tone cold and unforgiving.

He cocks an eyebrow at you, but continues the conversation all the same.

“Listen, I know we left things on kind of a bad note but- “

“Bad note? You’re delusional.” You laugh mirthlessly, you glance over your shoulder desperately for the bartender, needing to get away from this situation.

“Hey, I know things weren’t great but at least let me buy you a drink. It’s your birthday after all.” He offers, pushing himself into your field of vision.

“Don’t bother. Whatever she wants is on me tonight.” A new voice takes you by surprise, slow and confident with a gorgeous American accent. You turn to see a tanned guy with a strong jawline smiling cockily at your ex.

Lost for words, you glance frantically between the two. You have no idea what the hell is going on.

“She’s with me, so do me a favour and move from my spot.” His tone is calm, yet commanding. Your ex looks to you for some kind of explanation, but feeling vengeful, you simply shrug.

“Piss off then.” You say. He hesitates for a moment, mouth hanging open, then sighs and strides away.

The mysterious, heroic spice slides into the vacant space between you and the next person at the bar. “Thank you for that, but it really wasn’t necessary.” You can feel your face heating up from embarrassment. He is stupidly attractive. You half expect him to make some passing comment and leave you be, but he remains.

“It wasn’t a favour.” He chuckles, seeming almost nervous, a direct contrast to the confidence he adds, a playful smile on his features. Your heart is racing and you don’t trust yourself to speak without making yourself look like a total idiot, so you remain silent. “Bartender! We need drinks down here!” He shouts, making you jump. Immediately, the guy looks over at him and hurries over.

Within seconds, mysterious spice has ordered you both drinks, paid for them and led you over to a table.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Y/N.” You manage to squeak out. He grins. “Nice.” He comments. “Rami.” He replies, then shakes your hand awkwardly.

Your natural reaction is to laugh; this guy is a continuous contradiction of himself. He’s smooth and confident, yet awkward and almost childlike. It throws you a little, but he’s a very welcome change from the cocky, self-centred twats you’re normally approached by in bars and clubs.  

He appears to sense your nervousness and slight distrust for him, and instigates most of the conversation. He asks you about your job, your university experience, slowly dragging you out of your shell. You’re not sure how you haven’t choked or fainted at this point, maybe the adrenaline from shutting down your ex and getting bought a drink by a sex god in almost the same breath was keeping you going.

And you’re so glad it is.

You finally pluck up the courage to ask him a question about himself, and he practically glows at the sign of you becoming more comfortable with him. He tells you that he was a drama student in Cali who is visiting the UK for an audition. He has a self-deprecating sense of humour, joking about his life as a struggling actor, though you can’t understand how he hasn’t hit the big time yet.

“Have you been anything I might have seen?” You venture. He runs a hand through his dark curls, eyes directed at the floor in embarrassment.

“Probably not, I’ve only done minor roles so far in US sitcoms.” You nod, not particularly sure what to say to that. “Gilmore Girls? The War at Home?” You shake your head apologetically.

A boyish grin takes over his features.

“What about adult movies?” Your jaw drops in shock and Rami bursts out laughing. He rests a reassuring hand on your arm. “I’m joking, Y/N.”

“Oh Christ, you had me for a second there.”

“Aw, is that disappointment?” He flirts and your cheeks heat up.

“No, I just-“

“I’m joking.” He winks. “Let’s get another?” He adds, raising his now empty glass.

“I’ll get these.” You say firmly, fumbling with your bag but Rami immediately places his hands over yours halting you.

“No way. It’s your birthday, let me treat you.” He instructs.

For the remainder of the evening, you forget about your friends who gathered to celebrate your birthday and spend hours talking to Rami. You’re not sure how It happens but eventually your table is full of empty glasses and the two of you are seated far closer together than you were before and his hand is permanently rested on your arm.

In your drunken haze you manage to spot Maria, craning her neck around, most probably looking for you. You wave at her and her head snaps around to look at you. She moves to approach you but freezes when she spots Rami next to you. A smirk spreads across her face and continues towards you. You know you should probably be dreading what’s about to happen but you’re too waved to care.

She stops in front of the two of you and rests a hand on her hip.

“Y/N, we’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She exclaims, you know she’s bullshitting but you play along for the sake of not looking weird.

“Oh have you-“

“Sorry, I’ve been kinda selfish with her.” Rami interjects.

“Ah it’s alright, I’m sure she was more than fine with you being selfish with her.” Maria grins and you feel your face heating up. To your relief, Rami chuckles at your side.

“So you won’t mind if I keep her for the night?” His tone is flirtatious, which is strange considering he’s insinuating spending the night with you to your friend, but it works as Maria raises her eyebrows and raises her hands in mock surrender.

“Keep her forever.” Maria sniggers and backs away, waving her phone in your direction indicating that you keep in contact.

“Protective friends huh.” Rami jokes. You roll your eyes.

“Just her.” The first silence falls between the two of you since you started talking and Rami fiddles with his hands.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying what I said, I just was hoping-“

“Yes.” You blurt then cover your mouth in shock. Rami’s eyes are wide for a moment then he bursts out laughing.

“I wasn’t sure that we were on the same page.” He admits.

“I think we are.” You confirm, for once thankful for your boldness that only surfaces when intoxicated.

He takes his lip between his teeth as he surveys you, then pulls his phone out.

“What number do I call for a taxi?”