#give poor people money to get hand tailored clothing that will last forever

[softness-and-shattering]

If we're talking a out resale value yeah a lot of craft is crap. But thats not the point of it. The point is we are people and we like to make stuff. I worry that by saying "raw materials are worth more than what people make from it", people will be discouraged from making things.

We at the end of the chain of production are not individually responsible for all the exploitation going on, we benefit from it, but we cant just decide to stop it, we dont have that power.

I dont make things to add economic value. I make things because I like making things. It would be more wasteful to me to never make anything in case I devalue the materials, what bullshit way of thinking is that? And yeah Im not making immaculate high quality anything because I dont have that level of skill or speed, and that doesnt matter to me.

What are we alive for if not to look after each other and make things? To express ourselves and convey what we can of our human experience.

I could withdraw from all unethical consumptiom, by doing so kill myself, and it wouldnt make any difference whatsoever to all the people being exploited. I dont want them to be exploited of course, and theres also nothing I can do about it, and avoiding creating, using materials, would only increase my misery and add nothing useful to the world.

Im so tired of all these posts trying to guilt us into not using resources, not needing resources, as if we can make a difference individually to the global supply train, as if we all have money to throw at slow fashion - which "isnt even slow anymore" - at more ethical fashion, as if if we never ever enjoy anything about our lives or value anything we do or anything we need, that might stop the exploitation.

Misery does not improve anything for anyone. It makes everything worse. It makes us less resilient. Is not the rent we pay to live under capitalism like if you say enough hail marys youre absolved from the harm caused by your life that is not your fault.

Youre allowed to enjoy life. Youre allowed to enjoy making things. There is value in expressing yourself through the cheapest plastickest materials available just as there is with the sheep you sheared yourself and grass fed from the moment it was born. There is value in your life and your existence.

Of course exploitation is awful and everyone should be paid a good living wage whoever and wherever they are. We dont live in a perfect world. If youre reading this and youre a ceo or a supplier or someone with the power to make a change to the system, do it. Everyone else, carry on. Also watch The Good Place. Youre not obligated to be miserable to 'make up for' whatever scraps of privilege you have, thats absurd. Dont be afraid to use materials. Life is for living, things are for using, materials are for transforming. If its sits on your shelf forever than its just a decorative ball of yarn. If you make something with it, thats *yours* and no one can take it from you. Who cares if its crap, its your crap and im proud of you for making it. I hope it brought intrinsic value to you. I hopr you had fun and or learned something and or had relaxation/catharsis in the process. Not everything is about the end product.

I feel like something that doesnt get talked about enough is how fast fashion is coming to hobbies as well. Sure, you can sew, knit, and crochet something better than youd buy in store, but good luck finding quality materials

Want a fabric that doesnt fray from being gently caressed? Want yarn thats not 100% plastic and splits if you touch it wrong? Good luck finding that if you dont have a genuinely good crafts store near you.

Go on any thread where people are trying to figure out where to buy fabric. 50% of it is people saying big stores are servicable, online stores work, or the like, and the other 50% are talking about how bad the quality is or how the quality of a website dropped because it was bought out

Were running into a problem where fast fashiob is so integrated into society that even the ability to make your own, comfortable and long lasting, clothes is being threatened by capitalism

[luvrsux]

“Cinderella”

word count: 5.7k

summary: you’ve been stealing gold, treasure, and food for as long as you can remember until a certain kingdom is opening doors to even more riches to steal from. you bump into one of the son princes and it changes your life forever

contents: fluff, mentions of poverty

“The Vinsmokes are having a ball tomorrow night, can you believe it?”

“Who cares. It’s only for the elites and the filthy rich. They couldn’t care less about us peasants”

There you were, eavesdropping in a back alley gnawing at baked bread you certainly didn’t pay for. The two conversing were of the same quality as you; rugged, poor, and wishing you could be drowning in riches. There they stood washing their clothes that were covered in filth. You grinned.

“Still, I’d love to be in that ballroom in a dress, dancing with one of the Vinsmoke princes” The ditsy one swooned. The more realistic one, who was giving their body a workout by washing the clothes, just rolled their eyes.

“Keep dreaming, sister. With the way our wealth is looking, that’s nothing but a fantasy” She hissed. The delusional girl just replied with a pout.

Hearing the conversation already had your adrenaline flowing. You were the thief of the town. Who cares if you didn’t have money, you had swift hands and brains to make up for it. If you liked it, you got it.

The royal Vinsmoke Family having a ball party was rare. The royals never so much batted an eye at your hometown, which was poor and pathetic compared to the luxury they slept in. Hearing an open opportunity to sneak your way into the party, which was a one-way ticket to finding riches of all kinds, made your lips carve into a smile. Oh, imagine all the jewels you’ll snatch.

One major setback was the attire. You thought of ways to get your sneaky hands on a ball gown that fit the dress code of the party. You could steal one, you thought, but it’d be hard to steal an entire gown without anyone noticing. Even then, not a single tailor shop sold such glorious dresses.

“I actually have a dress of my own! If only I could get that invite so I could dance the night away with Prince Ichiji!”

The words of the dreaming girl you were eavesdropping made your head perk up. It was like a god heard your worries and gave you an open opportunity. It didn’t matter that the dress would’ve looked significantly dull compared to the guests, as long as it was a dress.

You threw the last bit of baked bread into your mouth with a smile. You gathered enough information for your brain to gather before you trotted away to steal more food.

・❥・

“Hey, get back here you witch!”

It was a very rare occurrence that you’d get caught, but thanks to some snitch who managed to catch you in the act, you were now running on your feet to escape the angry salesman. You had an adrenaline-filled grin on your face when you sped your fast legs through the crowd of people, who all looked dumbfounded and lost at your scene.

Once you made it back to your small home, you realized you lost the angry man who was ready to apprehend you. You couldn’t grab much, just some fruits and more bread. Typical peasant food.

You swung open the wooden door to see your sister preparing lunch, which was just cabbage soup. You smiled upon seeing her, knowing that you brought a little something more to the table for lunch. You exhaled.

“Home!”

You sang. Your sister wiped her hands on a cloth before smiling at you at the door. She saw the bag in hand that contained foods your swift hands snatched. Her once happy, delighted smile shifted to a frown.

“I’m guessing you didn’t pay a single berry for that” She placed her hands on her hips. All you could do was smile sheepishly and shrug.

“I guess I charmed them with my… Looks?” You tried making an excuse but to no avail. Your sibling snatched the bag out of your hands and peered into it.

“C’mon, you know it’s what I have to do in order to put food on the table. All we do is sell crops and that’s not doing justice” You rebutted but you heard your sister just sigh in annoyance. Although you loved the rush of stealing, your sister hated it. More than anything.

“No, you don’t. We do just enough to at least have a meal or two a day. I’ve said this a million times, (F/N)!” Said your sister with a lecturing finger in your face. You rolled your eyes.

“What would Mom think if she was here seeing you do this?” You’ve heard your sister say that countless times and each time it circled through your brain, it became less and less heart-wrenching.

Years ago, when you and your sister were just teens, your mother passed away from an illness that was too expensive to cure. Then, you started your thieving career by stealing medicines and herbs for your sickly mother. You tried everything you could but it wasn’t enough. Your mother passed in her bed a few months after she was diagnosed. Since then, you haven’t stopped stealing food and jewels from other towns and villages. Your sister hated it, afraid that you’d be locked up away for good if you got caught in the wrong situation.

“Well, mom isn’t here, okay? Look, I promise, soon we’ll have enough money to leave this shit hole and have huge meals every day. You just have to trust me” You lean on the wooden table. You carve a smile on your lips to reassure her skyrocketing nerves.

“I have a shaking feeling that you have something terrible planned, (F/N)…”

“I absolutely do”

She stared at you with worrisome eyes and just sighed in defeat. You had a proud smile plastered on your face as you watched her silently get back to fixing up lunch.

“Check on the crops for me, please?” Is all your sibling could say. You nodded and happily obeyed. At least she wasn’t giving you the silent treatment.

The crops that grew outdoors were mainly corn, potatoes, and carrots. Before your mother passed, everyone loved your vegetation and you’d make a sustainable amount of money off of them. Unfortunately, though, it seemed like her magic vanished once she passed. Now, you barely make enough to make ends meet. You couldn’t quit, though. Besides stealing, it was your only source of income that wasn’t illegal.

You grabbed a woven straw basket to pluck out the readied vegetables. You first checked on the carrots, only picking a few since the rest weren’t ripe yet. You made sure the vines and stems were healthy and not withering away from the blazing sun. While walking to the small cornfield area, you caught a glimpse of that same girl who was delusional about attending the royal ball tomorrow night. You called her over with a wave.

“(F/N)? What do you need?” She innocently tilted her head. You held the basket in between your arm and hip, dirt covering your hands and shorts.

“Y’know, all this work in here sure made me thirsty. Whaddya say and let me share a glass of tea at yours?” You smiled, not really intending to have tea with the oblivious girl. She hummed.

“I’d love to but… You have quite the reputation here, (F/N)”

‘Damnit’ You internally shouted. It was a small town, of course people knew you for your slick acts. You tried to hold your award-winning act.

“I know, I know, but c’mon! Here, I’ll give you these carrots for free as a thank you!” You gestured the basket toward her, knowing good and well that if your sister saw you give your mother's crops to someone for free she’d go on a rampage. The ditsy girl stared at the carrots for a moment.

“Carrot soup does sound nice…” She smiled. She grabbed her hands around the basket as a way of accepting.

“Sure, why not!”

‘Bingo’

・❥・

Upon arriving at her small cottage, you realize that it was more cozy than you imagined. She had a flower garden in the front of her house and you began to slowly regret stealing from her. She seemed to be a sweet girl with no ill intentions. You hated that you were beginning to feel bad.

The main room had a window peek through the stove area, where she prepared a warm glass of tea for you two to share. You made yourself welcome by sitting on a wooden chair alone, fiddling with your fingers as the nerves began to creep.

“Which tea would you like?” She asked with a soft smile. You snapped at your sudden waves of regret to look at her sweet eyes, not a single negative thought behind them.

“Um… Any, I’m not picky” You folded your lips at her. As dry as it was, she happily nodded and began assembling a tray of herb tea.

“I heard that… You wanted to go the ball?” Your voice grew nervous. You really didn’t want to shatter this sweet angel's heart by stealing a dress.

“Oh, of course!” She sang, walking her way next to you on the table. She placed her cheek into her palm to daydream her little fantasy.

“I’d be the happiest girl ever to live if I ever got the chance to go!”

You watched with a happy smile. She was so kind and oblivious to the fact you weren’t here to have a nice moment. You were here to raid her closet.

“I have the perfect dress that would look great. Would you like to see it?” She beamed, it’s like she hasn’t had the chance to talk about her fantasy without someone ridiculing her. It’s painful for you to say no but then again, it’d also ruin your entire plan anyway.

“Sure, knock yourself out” You giggle. She practically sprung out of her seat to fly her way to her room where the infamous dress confided. You couldn’t help but giggle.

There you were left in your state of regret. You had this itching feeling that she reminded you of your mother, which seemed to be the main reason why you felt horrible about what you planned on doing. Before you could retreat, she came running in with the dress in hand.

She presented it and you gazed in awe. It was a white basic dress, far from a puffy ball gown, but it was still beautiful. The sleeves hung below the shoulders and they were sheer. The dress would end at your ankles, just barely grazing the floor. You smiled.

“It’s gorgeous, you have amazing taste” You gleam. She seemed delighted in your answer and began to fold it gently in her arms.

“Right? While I visited my brothers far from here, a tailor was selling it for sale!” She explained. Her eyes trailed along the dress.

“I never wore it to go out, though. It’s been collecting dust in my closet” She said in a lower tone, as if she was saddened she couldn’t use the attire to its fullest potential.

“I see…” Is all you could muster up.

She made eye contact with you and folded her lips to form a half smile. Her legs began to walk toward you and your eyes expanded once she began to jerk the dress toward you.

“Take it,” She said, which made you speechless. You just stared at the dress with dumbfounded eyes before you could finally take it off her hands.

“Why?” That’s all you could say.

“Because I know you were going to take something here. Everyone knows you’re a thief” She giggled. Your cheeks flared out of sheer embarrassment.

“I don’t need it. Besides, when was the last time some gifted you something?” Her words shot through your core. The last gift you remember receiving was something your mom gave you when she was still breathing.

“Are you pitying me?” You abruptly ask. Her expression dropped and she flailed her hands apologetically.

“No, no! I just think you deserve it more than I do” She began. Her smile which she effortlessly made with sweetness behind it made her words genuine. “Plus, you’d look beautiful in it, I say”

You couldn’t help but smile at her contagious one. She gave you a rub on your shoulder before the whistling sound of the kettle echoed throughout the house. The tea, which you didn’t even care for, was ready.

“Still want that tea?”

“Sure”

・❥・

You tugged the dress onto your figure which seemed to fit rather perfectly. You internally thanked the sweet girl, now named Marie after a share of tea, for the pearly white dress. You stared at your reflection in the mirror and were caught in awe, never remembering the last time you wore such an elegant piece of work over your body. Not sure what to do with your hair, you left it hanging loose after combing it.

The anticipated night finally crept and the village began to see several carriages and rides zip through the roads upward to the grand castle. It was about time you made your entrance. Before then, you heard footsteps enter your room and stop at your doorway. Knowing who it was, you didn’t part your eyes away from the mirror.

“So you’re sneaking into that party, hm?” You heard your sibling say from behind. You gulp. You swiftly turn your head toward her with a careless smile.

“Duh! Imagine the treasure and jewels I can get my hands on!” You say excitedly, oblivious to the dangers of your bold act.

“Be careful, (F/N)…” Your sister sighed in defeat, not wanting to try to budge your stubbornness. You gave her a tender hug before your departure.

“I promise I’ll bring so much that we’ll have meals for months!” You cheered. You managed to carve a smile on her lips before you could make your way outdoors.

Your plan was to arrive at the party after everyone else did so fewer people would pay attention to the opened doors. Since they thought everyone invited had already come in, they wouldn’t bat an eye to stragglers, so sneaking in was a piece of cake.

The entrance of the castle was so big you thought it was acres long. The room was glistening with huge chandeliers that reflected the pearled floor. All you could hear was the elegant music of the miniature orchestra and chatter. You gulped, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people. You didn’t even know how to act elegant or fancy. Your eyes scanned the entire room and already found jewels that your hands ached to snatch.

You tried to fit in and pace your body around the rich bodies of the guests and already had your hands on several golden necklaces and watches in the span of an hour. You tucked them in a purse, which was also stolen, and so far no one caught onto you. You sat at a white clothes table sipping pure white wine happily, taking a break from your thieving.

Suddenly, you heard whispers, and the causal chatter began to die down. You thought that something happened and everyone equally began staring in the same direction. It made your back turn behind you to eye the balcony that displayed the five royal kins; Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, Yonji, and Sanji. The infamous Vinsmokes.

Four had prideful smiles plastered on their faces while the blonde had an expression that was quite the opposite. It immediately caught you by surprise. By the looks of everyone’s reactions, this was the first time the Vinsmokes made their appearance for the ball.

Each brightly-haired royals made their way to a shared table at the front of the room; a table to which they had the luxury of being on. You thought each of them was increasingly intimidating and made your spine shiver. Each one besides the timid blonde, that seemingly didn’t want to be there in the first place. You let it be for now…

Ever since the five royals made their way to their personal table, you itched to grab their top-of-the-list jewels for hefty cash. Occasionally, they’d get up to use the restroom or feast on the rather delicious food that was catered to them. Sanji, though, frequently left the table. He seemed to not want to be there with his siblings which caused him trouble.

He’d spit flirtatious remarks at the female guests every now and then but mainly kept his distance so he could get a breather. You didn’t care for any of that, though. You wanted that gold bracelet hugging his wrist.

“Oof-! Pardon me!” You giggle after “accidentally” bumping into the blonde. You took a quick chance to try to slip the bracelet off his wrist but he quickly grabbed it.

“I knew you were different” He cooed. You inhaled, feeling your heart drop now that someone finally caught onto you—and it just had to be a Vinsmoke.

His expression didn’t seem menacing or devilish, though. He seemed to be amused more than anything by your attempts. You should’ve known better than to steal from a prince.

In actuality, Sanji had been eyeing you all night. He noticed your rather outcasted attire and caught a glimpse of your thief acts. He admired how bold you were and you clearly weren’t a stuck-up, filthy rich citizen. He was pleased to know that someone with slight moralities stepped foot into his castle.

“What do you mean?” You giggle nervously, trying not to expose yourself just yet but those deep eyes staring into your soul made it increasingly hard. Suddenly, without a word, Sanji pulled you by your waist to his chest and interlocked his hand into yours. He was slow dancing with you.

You flickered your eyes around the newfound positioning, never slow dancing with someone ever in your years of living, and realized Sanji needed to fit into the mass group of waltzing couples to avoid suspicion. You struggled to keep up with Sanji’s pace.

“Your dress is beautiful, mon cheri, but it’s certainly not a ball gown” He chuckled down at you. Blood rushed to your ears out of embarrassment and the flirtatious nickname.

“I-… I decided to stay simple. I had a ball gown-“

“No need to lie”

Sanji seemed to see right through you. He continued to dance with you on the pearled floor and spun you in a circle before pulling you back into the same position.

“Who are you really. Why are you here?” He asked with a smile. There was no point in hiding it now. He had already exposed you bare.

“I just snuck in here” Is all you could say. You heard the blonde chuckle. You peeked at him shifting his head left and right to see if anyone heard.

“To rob this place dry?” He asked. Although, he wasn’t entirely off the mark putting it that way made her cringe.

“I guess you can say that” You gushed.

You realized you were rather close to a guy who was entirely foreign to you, let alone one of the Vinsmoke Princes. You traced your eyes on his pearly white button-up that was draped with a red cape. The cold chain connecting the cloth blinded you and your hands wanted to snatch it.

“Do you trust me?” He bluntly asked. Sanji spun you around once more before holding you tightly into his chest. You could feel the throbbing of his chest.

“I… guess?” Your answer sufficed and before you knew it, the Prince was dragging you away from the populated party.

His golden locks danced in the wind when he paced his footsteps towards an unknown door that looked to be locked and concealed. You struggled to keep your pace to match his own. He sure was eager.

His hands pushed the doors open with slight force and it revealed a dimly lit stairwell. The only thing illuminating the room was a cream, crescent moon that slightly peeked through the glass window. Your brain was entirely confused as to why a prince was escorting you further into the castle instead of booting you straight out.

He temporarily let go of your palm to trot up the cobbled stairs. You watched him walk up, his haste legs skipping through some of the stairs. When the blonde didn’t hear your footsteps follow behind, he halted. You made eye contact with his eyes.

“You coming, mademoiselle?” He asked with a small smile. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the blood rushing to your cheeks because of the darkness of the room.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask timidly, slowly placing your basic, cheap, heels on the stairs. Sanji watched with an admirable smile.

“Somewhere away from here” As soon as you made a sustainable distance between you and him, he grabbed your hand gently to escort you further. Right then and there you got a glimpse of his genuine eyes.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” He said lowly, that same smile never vanishing from his face. You stared for what seemed like an eternity before he pulled you to finish walking on the steps.

You stayed quiet throughout the entire journey. The inside of the castle was more beautiful than you imagined, but it was absolutely ginormous. The ceiling was meters above your head and the hallways were wide enough to hold a crowd of people. Your eyes were greedy, wanting to grab the expensive decor and paintings off the walls.

Sanji led you to a room. The doors were towering before you. Much like the rest of the castle, it was dark. You heard Sanji jiggle the gold handle before opening the grand doors. He presented a room that was empty if we’re excluding the grand piano and a few chairs.

The floor was pearled and marbled much like the grand foyer where the riches danced the night away. The way the moon reflected onto the floor from the two glass doors in front that led to a huge balcony. The room was beautiful despite it being so empty.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sanji had his hands tucked into his slacks while he watched you pace around the room you were fawning over. Your head whipped toward him with a smile.

“They don’t have rooms like this back at the village” You realized you finally revealed you were just a regular townsfolk, a poor one at that. Your smile dropped, already thinking of an excuse before Sanji could speak.

“So you’ve never been in a castle” Sanji didn’t seem to mind that you were a mere peasant. If anything, he seemed pleased to know that you were.

“Honestly, I wish I had it differently” Sanji sighed, standing in front of the crescent moon that shined on this fateful night through the glass doors. You made yourself welcome to stand beside him.

“How come? You’re a prince, you have it all. I wish I was in your shoes” You had a tad of animosity on your tongue, completely taking Sanji’s words the wrong way.

“Trust me, I know” He chuckled. “But my siblings are so stuck up and my father isn’t much of a pleasure either. Not to mention they treat townsfolk and food terribly….” Sanji explained. Your guard began to settle down once you heard that the Prince had baggage. You were always under the assumption that rich people don’t need to be upset because of the wealth that wedded them.

“All I hear is marrying a princess or other royal duties. But in reality…” Sanji formed a smile. His eyes began to shine in the light when he thought of his life king dream. “I want to be a cook. I want to own a restaurant to feed anyone who’s hungry” He beamed. You watched with awe, completely taken back that a prince had a heart.

“I never expected you to be so kind,” You say, peering your head to admire the moon similarly to him. “Being a peasant is the worst, though”

You cupped your hands and gripped them tightly when you traced back on your past. How the struggle of simply having a meal carried a burden on your shoulders and of course your angel of a mother parting with you at a young age.

“I barely have a meal a day and my poor sister works hard selling crops every day. Doesn’t help that we don’t have a mother either…” You say as if it was nothing. You had already come to terms with your baggage but Sanji's sympathetic eyes, considering he carried the same burden, would be the reason you could prick a few tears. He grabbed your hand.

“Mon cheri,” He begins. The pet name made your legs jelly. He tucks a hair behind your ear and stares into your eyes with empathy.

“I’m so sorry,” He says. You’ve heard those words so many times when you mentioned you were motherless, but they all seemed to be empty and hollow. This time, though, those saddened eyes and his voice made it seem like it was genuine. Why did he care?

“I brought you up here because I knew you were different, you had a heart” Sanji answered the major question that circulated your head ever since he grabbed your hand. “I knew you were stealing for a good reason, I don’t blame you…” There was a shared moment of silence while you collected your thoughts.

“Look, let me show you something even more beautiful” He smiled, trying to lighten the grim mood. With a hand once again connecting yours, Sanji pushed open the glass doors.

You felt a gust of crisp wind hit your face making your locks swarm in the breeze behind you. Sanji led you forward to the balcony which was even more beautiful than the previous room. The balcony towered over a garden the Vinsmokes owned. You’ve never seen so many flowers and decorative ponds in one place. You were completely taken by surprise.

“How could you possibly not enjoy this? It’s beautiful!” You gleam, leaning over the railing. You might as well have tumbled down if it weren’t for a hand to grab your waist as support.

“Careful, love” He chuckled at your amusement. You quickly retracted your position and dusted your dress off. You gushed in embarrassment.

“I haven’t gotten your name yet, Mr. Prince,” You say, standing next to the stone railing. Sanji perked his head up, realizing you spoke about your baggage before even saying your name.

“Sanji. Just Sanji” He greets with a charming smile. He might as well be named Prince Charming instead.

“Princess (F/N)” You did a courtesy playfully to mock his family's formalities. You birthed a blossom of laughter from the prince before you.

“Well, Princess (F/N), care to have this dance?” Sanji played along with your antics and bowed with a hand extending to welcome your hand.

You fanned your face and exhaled dramatically. Your other hand landed gently on Sanji’s open one with a smile. You batted your eyes.

“Oh, It’d be a pleasure to dance with you, Prince Sanji” You spoke in a high-pitched tone before being swept into the same position you two shared previously at the actual party.

There was no music. The music from the ball was muffled out entirely so to fulfill your playful acts, you two hummed a song to fill in the absent music completely out of sync. Besides the artificial music, you two danced together on the balcony happily. Sanji would twirl you which made you giggle. You don’t know what made this dance different than the previous, but you loved it.

Sanji picked you up by your waist to spin you in a circle a few times. You didn’t remember the last time you giggled so much before when your palms rested on his shoulders, staring down at him while he orbited. He had a euphoric smile plastered on his face for every second that passed while holding you.

Sanji placed you on your two feet while you both shared a fit of giggles like two gushing teenagers. As soon as you two collected your composure, you let out a pleased exhale.

“You dance amazingly, Prince Sanji” You acted once more. Sanji chuckled and sashayed his bangs dramatically.

“Well, I am a prince after all” He played along. He bowed down to you which caused you to snicker.

“Well, a prince deserves a stunning princess” You smiled dramatically. You then made eye contact with Sanji’s eyes below you before he toward upward to approach you further. Your faux smile dropped when he inched close to your face.

“This prince certainly deserves someone as stunning as you, mon cherie” Sanji’s words made it hard to believe if he was still playing along or genuinely swooning you over. Either way, you were blushing like crazy.

“I-.. Oh, please” You say, turning your head away from Sanji out of embarrassment once more. You then felt a hand pull your gaze from the floor beside you to the man himself. There laid that infamous, genuine smile once again.

“You are, (F/N). Honestly, I never had this much fun with someone before” Sanji left you entirely speechless, never expecting a royal prince wanting to swoop you off your feet when you weren’t remotely connected to royalty.

“Oh my, I’m sorry” Sanji’s cheeks grew pink and he stepped away from the close contact he held between you. “I shouldn’t have been so straightforward to a lady, pardon me-“

Sanji’s voice was cut off by your chaste kiss planted on the side of his cheek. You, being entirely flustered, looked away while your cheeks grew more and more pigmented by the second. Sanji had a hand on the area where your lips landed and couldn’t help but form a dope smile.

You let Sanji cup your face and pull you forward, into a romantic kiss underneath the moonlight right on your lips. You fluttered your eyes shut to accept the tender, passionate kiss that was shared between you and the blonde. It felt like eons before Sanji finally pulled away.

“From thief to my own princess” He smiles, holding your face in his own tender hands.

You beam, vowing to remember those words until you drop dead. Right then and there, you happily predicted further down the line of your future with the Vinsmoke before you. You felt happy and at ease, the magic the prince dwelled upon you was absolutely miraculous.

And now there you were, sitting at a clothed table that was illuminated by a waxed candle that was accompanied by floral decor. You had a tall glass of ice, which previously had water in it before you chugged it down. You sat comfortably at ease while you were surrounded by music and utensils making contact with the dishes of the restaurant.

“My love,” You heard a voice say behind you. You perk your head up to see the head chef of the restaurant you resided in, Baratie, smile down at you as if he fell in love all over again. He filled your empty cup with water once again by a pitcher.

“How are you feeling?” Sanji has asked the same question over the course of the night numerous times for one sole reason. You giggled.

“I’m feeling fine, amour,” You say with a smile. Ever since Sanji placed his lips on yours for the first time, you’ve picked up on his French dialect. Sanji placed a kiss on your cheek.

“Good, just making sure” He cooed, rubbing your stomach tenderly to give the bundle of love you two created some comfort.

“You’re too good for me”

“As always”

Sanji lingered at your table as his own little break time before he had to use his magnificent talents back in the kitchen. It’s been years since you’ve sealed the deal with the Prince, and he revoked his identity as a Vinsmoke. You two cast away from your village to open a restaurant that’d soon be booming in business because of Sanji’s enchanting cooking. Your sister wasn’t left out, though. Sanji took her under his own wing and she became the sous chef of the establishment. You never knew that infiltrating a castle would completely turn your life around for the better. You gave your sister just what you promised; a better life.

“Your sister is making your meal tonight” Sanji explained, beginning to light a cigarette at his lips. He made sure to keep a safe distance from your nose so the toxic fumes don’t contaminate your growth.

“Just like old times” You giggle, referring to the times your sister would cook poor meals for you in place of your mother.

“She said she’d love to feed you and her nephew” Sanji chuckled, glancing at your bump. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Of course, she’s always had a soft spot for children,” You say. Sanji planted a kiss on your cheek once more before he heard his call back in the kitchen.

“Your food will be out in a moment, ma douce. Babys’ not gonna feed itself” He winked. “I love you, (F/N)” He says with delight.

“I love you more, Sanji”

You hoped to give your kin that was in your pregnant womb a better life than your own and your husbands. You were determined to lead him to a life that would make him, and only him, the happiest child ever. Truly a happily ever after.

All licensing and ownership belong to Eiichiro Oda

[friendlyneighborhoodpsyop]

Quotes about Kaz Brekker:

Every act of violence was deliberate, and every favor came with enough strings attached to stage a puppy show.

The boy called Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason any more than he needed permission.

He was a collection of hard lines and tailored edges.

“Who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?” “If the cripple is you, then any man with sense.”

“I’m a business man,” he’d told her. “No more, no less.” “You’re a thief, Kaz.” “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I’m not here for a taste. You want a war, I’ll make sure you eat your fill.”

The boy he’d been talking to had been cocky, reckless, easily amused, but not frightening—not really. Now the monster was here, dead-eyed and unafraid. Kaz Brekker was gone, and Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you one day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“Well I’m the kind of bastard they only manufacture in the Barrel.”

Inej was always trying to wring little bits of decency from him. “When everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.” “And what god do you serve, then?” “Whichever will grant me good fortune.”

“What’s the difference wagering at the Crow Club and speculating on the floor of the Exchange?” “One is theft and the other is commerce.” “When a man loses his money, he may have trouble telling them apart.”

“You’re a blackmailer—“. “I broker information.” “A con artist—“. “I create opportunity.” “A bawd and a murderer—“. “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.”

“You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those that take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach—the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone—a single brush of bare skin caused your flesh to whither and die. “Pick one. They’re all true enough.”

Kaz was not a giddy boy smiling and making plans for a future with her. He was a dangerous player who was always working an angle.

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

Brick by brick. It was a promise that let him sleep at night, the drove him everyday, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay.

Kaz’s servant, greed, luring them South like a piper with a flute in hand.

“Being angry at Kaz for being ruthless is like being angry at a stove for being hot. You know what he is.”

“I wouldn’t trust you to tie my shoes without stealing the laces.”

Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark—he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.”

“I don’t want to die.” “I’ll do my best to make other arrangements for you.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

Matthias suspected that Brekker would drag the girl back from hell himself if he had to.

He’d gifted her her first blade, the one she called Sankt Petyr—not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical.

“Kaz told me...he said it was my choice, that he wouldn’t be the one to mark me again.”

Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to your for two days.

He needed to know she believed in him.

“What to do you want, then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.

Kaz would always remember that moment, when he’d seen greed take hold of his brother, an invisible hand guiding him forward, the lever at work.

There could be no judgement from a boy known as Dirtyhands.

“Let’s say the mark is a tourist walking through the barrel. He’s heard it’s a good place to get rolled, so he keeps patting his wallet, making sure it’s there, congratulating himself on just how alert and cautious he’s being. No fool he. Of course every time he pats his back pocket or front of his coat, what’s he doing? He’s telling every thief on the Stave exactly where he keeps his scrub.”

It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.

He’d heard there were sharks in these waters but they wouldn’t touch him. He was a monster now, too.

He’d imagined his death a thousand ways, but never sleeping through it.

It was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her.

“If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” Better terrible truths than kind lies.

He knew he was being reckless, selfish, but wasn’t that why they called him Dirtyhands? No job too risky. No deed too low. Dirtyhands would see the rough work done.

A good magician wasn’t much different than a proper thief.

She could see it took every last bit of his terrible will to remain still beneath her touch. And yet, he did not pull away. She knew it was the best he could offer. It was not enough.

“Some people see a magic trick and say, ‘Impossible!’ They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good nights sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for the skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind”

“You love trickery.” “I love puzzles. Trickery is just my native tongue.”

“Do you know the secret to gambling, Helvar? Cheat.”

There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not been healed wrong. There was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.

Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in the world. She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

You’ve cheated death too many times. Greed may do your bidding, but death serves no man.

He needed to tell her...what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her.

“Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot.

“I can hear the change in Kaz’s breathing whenever he looks at you.” “You...you can?” “It catches every time, like he’s never seen you before.”

“How will you have me? Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch? I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“I’m not big on bluffing, am I, Inej?” “Not as a rule.” “And why is that?” “Because he’d rather cheat.”

Inej wanted Kaz to become someone else, a better person, a gentler thief. But that boy had no place here. That boy ended up starving in an alley. He ended up dead. That boy couldn’t get her back. I’m going to get my money, and I’m going to get my girl.

“A proper thief is like a proper poison. He leaves no trace.”

There were no good men in Ketterdam, Kaz said. The climate didn’t agree with them.

“If you don’t care about money, Nina dear, call it by it’s other names.” “Kruge? Scrub? Kaz’s one true love?” “Freedom, security, retribution.”

“It’s pragmatic. If I were cruel, I’d give him a eulogy instead of a conversation.”

“You haven’t been alive long enough to rack up your share of sin.” “I’m a quick study.”

Patience, he reminded himself. He’d practiced it early and often. Patience would bring all his enemies to their knees in time.

“You’ve got the devil’s own blood in you, boy.”

Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch.

“I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. My father is profit. I honor him daily.”

Desperate for some sign that he might open himself to her, that they could be more than two creatures united by their distrust of the world.

They could continue on with their armor intact. She would have her ship and he would have his city.

Sure, a lock was like a woman. It was also like a man and anyone or anything else—if you wanted to understand it, you had to take it apart and see how it worked. If you wanted to master it, you had to learn it so well you could put it back together.

He always liked returning to a home or business he’d had cause to visit before. It wasn’t just the familiarity. It was as if by returning, he laid claim to a place. We know each other’s secrets, the house seemed to say. Welcome back.

“When people see a cripple walking down the street, leaning on his cane, what do they feel? They feel pity. Now, what do they think when they see me coming?” “They think they’d better cross the street.”

“We can endure a lot of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools. I nurture my grudges, Rollins.”

It was as if Kaz had a secret map of Ketterdam that showed the city’s forgotten spaces.

“I’ve taken knives, bullets, and too many punches to count, all for a little piece of this town. This is the city I bled for. And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it’s that you can always bleed a little more.”

Was Johannus Rietveld meant to be his Jakob Hertzoon? Or had it been some way of resurrecting the family he’d lost? Did it even matter?

“I wreak all the havoc I can until my luck runs out, use our haul to build an empire.” “And after that?” “Who knows? Maybe I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Tell her to get out, a voice inside him demanded. Beg her to stay.

Kaz thought he knew the language of pain intimately, but this ache was new. It hurt to stand here like this, so close to the circle of her arms.

“These things don’t wash away with prayer, Wraith. There is no peace waiting for me, no forgiveness, not in this life, not in the next.”

Two of the deadliest people the barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both keeling over.

A black glass boy of deadly edges.

A bit of entertainment, the dramatic end of Kaz Brekker, the humbling of Dirtyhands. But this was no cheap comedy. It was a bloody rite, and Per Haskell had let the congregation gather, never realizing the real performance had yet to begin. Kaz stood upon his pulpit, wounded, bruised, and ready to preach.

“You have two minutes to get out of my house, old man. This city’s price is blood, and I’m happy to pay with yours.”

“What is wrong with him,” Nina grumbled. “Same thing that’s always wrong with him. He’s Kaz Brekker.”

“Rich men want to believe they deserve every penny they’ve got, so they forget what they owe to chance. Smart men are always looking for loopholes. They want an opportunity to game the system. The toughest mark is an honest man. Thankfully, they’re always in short supply.”

“Well, Brekker, it’s obvious you only deal in half truths and outright lies, so you’re clearly the man for the job.”

“What do you think my forgiveness looks like, Jordie?” “Who’s Jordie?” “Someone I trusted. Someone I didn’t want to lose.”

He put his gloves back on and didn’t take them off. He became twice as ruthless, fought twice as hard. He stopped worrying about seeming normal, let people see a glimmer of the madness within him and let them guess at the rest.

The rage inside him burned on and he learned to despise people who complained, who begged, who claimed they’d suffered. Let me teach you what pain looks like, he would say, and then he’d paint a picture with his fists.

That was what destroyed you in the end: the longing for something you could never have.

“I will kill you, Brekker. I will kill everything you love.” “The trick is not to love anything.”

“Suffering is like anything else. Live with it long enough, you learn to like the taste.”

She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It’s a smile he thought he might die to earn again.

“He doesn’t say goodbye. He just lets go.”

“Ketterdam is made of monsters. I just happen to have the longest teeth.”

[btsfaris]

All I Want [Tom Holland a.u] pt.6

a/n: took me forever to get this out I’m so sorry! here’s a longer chapter to make up for it!

warnings: heartbreaking angst, a bit of fluff, just angst mostly lol. im laughing because I’m a sad person

words: 2.6k

-

You’re in too deep.

Days turned into weeks, and now here you are, 2 months into the relationship with Tom. You were meant to break up with him a long time ago, and you told yourself you would day after day. That day has yet to come. But how could you break up with Tom? He was absolutely amazing, charming as hell and the sweetest man you had ever known. He cared for you, always attentive and sure knew how to make you feel special.

Not only that but the sex was great, you’ve had a couple of partners in your life but none of them could compare to Tom. He sure knew how to please a girl, whispering sweet nothings in your ear all night long. And the aftercare? Always so caring and even runs you a bath or a massage when you’re sore. Now who could leave a man like that? But you had to, eventually.

And that day seemed closer than you thought when Tom asked you a question after a lovely night of romance.

“Baby?” Tom asks, rubbing your lower back sweetly.

“Hm,” you hum, snuggling closer to him. He kisses the top of your head and wraps his arms around you.

“Would you like to have dinner with my parents?” He questions, making you tense up instantly. Panic suddenly begins to run through your veins. Dinner with his parents? Now that meant he was serious about this. You were dreading the day he’d ask this, hoping to have enough courage to cut the cord before it.

“O-Oh, um, you want me to meet them?” You mumble, and he pulls you back far enough to look at your face. You don’t meet his eyes and he notices this.

“Do you not want to? You don’t have to,” He tells you, making you feel guilty when you see his disappointed face.

“That’s not it at all! I-I do!” You sputter out quickly. “But are you ready for me to meet them?”

“Of course I am! I want my family to meet the girl I’m crazy about,” he grins, nuzzling his nose on yours. “Besides, they can’t wait to meet you.”

“They can’t..?” You ask Tom. He nods, “Yeah, they want to get to know you, properly.”

Oh great.“Oh well, I’d love to then,” you say, a fake smile on your face. Inside your mind is telling you to run far, far away.

“Good! It’s settled, well have dinner with them on Saturday,” Tom grins, and your eyes nearly fall out of your face. Saturday? So soon? It was already Tuesday and you didn’t know a date was going to be set, “oh I’m so excited for them to see how great you are love.”

“Yeah.. me too.”

He seems pleased with your answer as he turns you over, and kisses you tenderly. Running your fingers through his hair, the kiss turns heated and you resume your nightly activities.

-

“You are so not breaking up with him!”

You roll your eyes, wiping down another table as customers leave, it was almost time to close.

It was Wednesday night, and you still hadn’t broken up with Tom. You didn’t want to, but you were days away from meeting his family. If you kept this up any longer, his parents would surely as about yours and what you do for a living. That was the last thing you wanted, to lie to his parents or have Tom find out the truth. That you were dirt poor.

“I have no choice Missy,” you sigh, picking up dirty plates and moving them to the kitchen.

“Well of course you do, you bafoon! It’s called telling him the truth,” your friend says, making you wince at the thought.

“And tell him what exactly? Oh hey, by the way, I live in a shitty home, work overtime to pay for bills? I’m not stupid,” you move back to the front, Missy following behind.

“You sure? Because you act like he’s going to be disgusted with you or something!”

“And how do I know he’s not? He could probably buy half of the land in London, you honestly don’t think he’d reject me?” you hiss quietly, eyeing the last bit of customers.

“Well with that sort of nasty attitude, anyone would fuck-“ “Shh!” you cut her off, saying goodbye as the last customers leave.

“Y/n, just tell him! Why are you going to end it, if you don’t even know what could happen? Hell, what if he doesn’t care? You’ll never know.” Your inner goddess applauds your friend, and you know she has a point but you can’t help it.

“But what if he doesn’t? What if he ends it,” you whisper, “I don’t think I could take it, watch him break my heart like that.” “He won’t y/n,” Missy eyes turn sympathetic, giving you a hug, “you are an amazing girl, you’re fit, funny and hardworking as hell. And if he can’t see that, then fuck him! You don’t need that.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the tears ran down your cheeks. “Thank you Missy,” you sniffle, giving her a sad smile. “But sweetie, give him a chance.. Don’t do something you’ll regret later on.” She tells you, walking to the back room. Leaving you with your thoughts.

By Friday night, you were already coming up with excuses to not meet Tom’s parents. Trying to hold onto the relationship for a just a bit longer.

Rummaging through your clothes, you cannot find a single piece of clothing that is fit to meet his parents in. You’re sure they will wear something classy, something expensive. Something you don’t own. You sigh and slump back on your bed.

Dialing your boyfriend’s number, you hold it up to your ear. After a few rings, he picks up. “Hey honey, I was just thinking about you,” he muses.

“Oh really? At this time at night?” You say, playfully.

“Oh you know me baby, always thinking of you at this time,” you can hear him smirk, “how are you doing love?”

How am I doing? Terrible.

“Great actually, well, there’s a bit of a problem..”

“What’s the problem?” Tom asks, concerned. “I just don’t have anything to wear for Saturday,” you sigh, “maybe we should postpone the dinner? I want to meet your parents when I look my best.”

“Sweetie you could wear a potato sack and look perfect,” he jokes, and you giggle at him, “did you want to go shopping? I can pay.”

“Shopping? No! I-I just think we should wait until I can get something nice for the occasion,” you say immediately, “maybe in two weeks? A month?” “Baby is everything okay?” The worried tone in his voice makes you suddenly feel guilty.

“Of course! I was just thinking..” Do it! “how I have nothing to wear,” you grumble and he sighs in relief. “Baby we can just go get you something nice tomorrow before dinner, don’t worry about it.”

“Maybe I can just borrow something-“ “No y/n, I’m getting you the most beautiful dress money can buy!” Only your money can buy, you mentally snort.

“I-I don’t know Tom…”

“Please? For me love?” You know he’s giving you those big brown eyes that you can never say no to through the phone.

“Okay.. for you.”

The next morning, you’re rushing to make it downtown where all the prominent designers stores are at. Of course you wouldn’t have had to if you had taken Tom’s ride offer, but you decline, as always.

As you look around for your boyfriend, you notice other people staring at you curiously. Glancing down, you notice your attire isn’t quite up to par as some of the people around you. Denim jeans and a knitted sweater with beat up boots.

“Hey sweetie,” Tom comes up from behind you and you turn to look at him. A grey button up shirt loosely tucked in to his black right slacks and suede shoes. Now he truly looked like he belonged here.

“Hi Tom,” you smile tightly and he kisses you lightly. “Ready to shop?” Tom teases you and it makes you want to crawl back into bed and avoid this whole thing. “Of course,” you say instead, taking his hand, pulling him inside the shop.

Immediately a young woman approaches you both, “Hello Mr. Holland, here to look at our new men’s collection?”

“No not today Mary,” he chuckles and wraps his arm around your waist, “we’re here to look at your dresses, dining specifically. Do you have anything new?”

She looks at you for a second, “Of course, sir, I’m sure we have something.. special for her,” she gives you a tight smile before turning around and walking further into the store. You look up at Tom and he gives you a big grin. Wonderful.

The woman returns with a rack filled with beautiful dresses in many designs, from silk all the way to lace. “We have this new line that just came in yesterday, no one’s had a chance to get their hands on them yet,” she tells you both, glancing at you once in a while.

“Well have at it,” Tom tells you, sitting down on one of the comfortable sofas the store has by the dressing room. You nod, walking inside to try on the dresses.

The first dress fits odd, too tight in all the wrong places. Moving on to the next one, it’s all ruffles and drags at your feet, not exactly dinner table material. Slipping it off, you try on the third dress and it immediately looks beautiful.

Grey iridescent material that stops right above your knee, it is a bit loose around the bust area, but perhaps you could just pin it to your brassiere. You walk out of the private room to look at yourself in better lighting outside.

“That looks beautiful,” one of the other employees says, “though you do need some tailoring around the bust, here I’ll help.”

She grabs a few pins and helps adjust it to fit you perfectly. “This dress looks amazing, important event you’re going to I assume?” she asks, still focusing on the dress.

“Yeah, meeting my boyfriend's parents,” you hold in your breath, trying not to move too much.

“Parents? They must be a big deal then,” she looks at you playfully, pinning the material carefully not to poke you.

“Yeah, they are,” you say nervously.

“Don’t worry about it sweetie, with this dress you’re going to impress everyone,” she tells you reassuringly, making you relax a bit, “too bad you’re not single though, I heard Tom Holland’s right outside, kind of a big deal huh?”

“Oh yeah, he is isn’t he?” You laugh awkwardly.

“It’s not like he’d look at us anyways, prominent families like those have their lives planned since birth.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, curiously.

“Well you know, rich families marry other rich families, to keep the money in the circle. The parents are usually the ones who pick their future partners, that kind of thing. Too bad huh, wouldn’t mind having a fine rich lad like him,” she clarifies with a little giggle.

“Yeah.. too bad,” you give her a fake smile.

4 hours later, you’re dressed to kill. But to kill what exactly? The relationship? You have yet to do so. So why are you wearing a full face of makeup and the thousands of dollars dress that you know you’ll have to give back? Are you really going through with this? Go through the humiliation? You don’t know.

Pacing back and forth in your room, you try to collect your thoughts. If you break up with Tom, it’ll be over, he might hate you for doing this but then again, he might hate you more for deceiving him. But you didn’t exactly deceive him, did you? Of course, you never really let him into your life. Just gave him bits and pieces to make yourself seem perfect enough.

But you love him, over time you’ve realized this. He is absolutely wonderful to you, so understanding and romantic towards you. Would he really care if you held a penny to his hundred dollar bill?

Give him a chance, Missy’s voice runs inside your head. Can I?

Finally, you pick up your clutch from the dresser and head out.

-

You arrive at his mansion a bit later than you expected due to traffic, which didn’t really help with your nerves. The taxi waits for his payment and you pause, “Could you wait here a second, I’ll be right back,” you tell the driver and walk out of the car.

Walking up the steps of his home, your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest and your hands are sweating. Taking a deep breath, you nod on the door and wait patiently before the door opens a moment later.

Instead of seeing the warm brown eyes you’re used to, you’re met with a pair of beautiful blue eyes. She’s tall, with long blonde hair curled to perfection and a tight red dress that fits her like a second skin. “Hello, are you here for Tom?” She asks, giving you a beautiful smile. You nod, dumbfounded.

“How do you do? I’m Sabrina, Tom’s childhood friend,” she holds out her polished hand to you, and you take it, still stunned by her beauty.

“Who’s at door- Oh, hi love!” Tom suddenly appears, breathtaking as well. He kisses you softly before pulling away. You stare at them both, they look absolutely beautiful together. Like a match made in heaven.

“Hi Tom..” you smile sadly.

“So this must be the extraordinary Y/n, I’ve been hearing about. Well Tom, I have to say, she’s a keeper,” Sabrina giggles, and Tom blushes at her teasing, “I’ll see you both at the table.” She leaves, her silky hair swaying behind her.

“You coming in?” Tom jokes, holding the door open for you.

“Actually,” you swallow, trying to hold back tears, “Tom, I have to talk to you..”

Tom’s eyes soften, he closes the door behind him to give you both privacy, “Is something wrong?”

“I.. I can’t do this Tom,” you whisper, feeling cold suddenly.

“What do you mean? Can’t do what?” He asks, worried.

“This, I shouldn’t have come,” you shake your head, walking down the steps but before you can go down another, Tom is pulling you back. “Wait, wait, wait,” he furrows his brows, “is this about my parents? Are you that worried? Sweetie, they’ll love you.”

“But they won’t, she’s the one..” you softly mutter.

“Who’s the one? Darling, please tell me what’s wrong..” he asks, a confused tone in his voice.

“Tom, thank you so much for these past few amazing months but, I can’t keep doing this anymore. I’m not the one for you, I can’t give you what you want. You might not understand right now, but I hope that she will make you happy, make your parents proud and love you the same way I love you,” you confess, tears streaming down your face now.

“You love me?” He says stunned, reaching his hand up to your soaked cheek. You lean into his touch one last time, “Who are you talking about? Who is she-“

“Yes, I love you Tom, I love you so much that even if it hurts, I’m letting you go,” you say, looking at him once more before pushing past him to the waiting taxi. You climb in quickly and lock the door before Tom can open it.

“Hey! Wait! Y/N!” Tom begs, banging on the door frantically.

“Go! Please go,” you tell the driver and he nods.

“No! Baby, please stay! Don’t do this!” Tears run down his cheeks now and it breaks your heart in half.

“Goodbye Tom,” you whisper, the vehicle moving away from him, his home, and from his life forever.

-

a/n: why am I so sad lol an angsty chapter oops

[alberteamllc]

SMART PEOPLE LIKE YOU AND ME (721)

It’s hot in Agresjia and the breeze never really stops tasting like salt. It gets to her hair, which she never really bothered to take care of that much anyway, but now she wakes up every morning to find a pile that’s dry and frizzy and above all else, big. Every day she decides to go get it cut, reaches to the bedside to fumble for her coin purse, gives up, goes back to sleep.

Words she thought she’d never say: well, the money’s good. But the money was good, and a different kind of girl, she thought, could carve out a decently fulfilling life with this happy disparity between labor and compensation, but she was mostly bored, and she knew that when she got bored she got depressed, she’d heard it from Tavi and she’d heard it from Elam and she’d heart it from Tartuffe and from everyone else. She was depressed in the army too but that was a different thing. She still couldn’t eat a biscuit without cringing, bracing herself for that unpleasant hard crack of long-march cooking.

She wakes up sweating, which folk lore insists that elves can’t do, but what the hell does folk lore know about half breeds and bastards she wonders, scrubbing her face with a wet wash cloth. She doesn’t bother dealing with her hair, just ties it back. It’s not like I’m getting all dressed up for anybody important. Just the crown bloody prince.

She’d been a little taken aback when he’d summoned her to the city five months ago. Maybe she shouldn’t have been. He was one of them, after all, as good as one of them, and even a Starry Messenger that’s out of the field is a Messenger for life, and you looked after your brothers and sisters. He was famous for it. And in fact she’d known him briefly on the campaign, he leading his little city-state’s proud but scrappy army, she putting up with entirely different forms of piss-poor weather and acting as a go-between between human and elven camps, making sure lives weren’t lost over quibbles in ad-hoc translation. They’d barely spoken. He’d nodded at the little silver constellation pinning back her cloak, and asked under whom she’d studied, and offered her a swig of the exquisite fucking stuff he kept in the flask beside his saddle. I’m Adeline Ingwers, your… highness? He sounded it out. Adeline Ingwers. I’ll remember that.

Her salary was thirty gold pieces a month, a figure that had made her cough violently when she first read the missive from the palace. She’d fished in her pockets and handed the messenger boy a shiny five-silver coin. What the hell, she could afford it now. Her job was, on paper, to aid the crown in long-term projects pertaining to elven philology and ancient history, a kind of jerry-rigged one-woman anthropologist, literary critic, archaeologist, apologist, and proof-reader for good measure. The prince was working on something big but the letter didn’t say what. She’d packed her bags that night.

She finds herself rehearsing all of this each time she makes that walk to the palace, running the math in her head again, double checking how long she can coast if this job dries up. Well… forever, she figures, but that doesn’t keep her from checking them again. Four gold pieces a month got her lodgings she’d call palatial, not that you’d guess it from the rime of clothes and books coating the floor, the piled dishes. She felt weird hiring a maid so she didn’t. Four gold pieces a month and so much left over. She eventually treated herself, bought a roomy little one-story house on the wrong side of town, cash up front, and filled it wall to wall with books. She worried about silverfish and thought back often to her childhood. Watery soup with thin roots, scrawny chickens. All six kids piled onto one low pallet, mother and father snoring three feet away, and now she’s a homeowner with a studio uptown to boot.

She nods to the guards, and makes a detour through the courtyard to sneak a look at the knghts sparring. Ilan Sarmasik, who always seemed distracted, a little mopey at times, but a decent person, cultured but not learned, so he could talk about a poem or a tale without having to sweatily establish his mastery over it. Faris Svette, young, who Adeline liked to observe in commiseration, the fluffy white mane on her head also turning into some ghoulish dandelion in the hot months. And old Verlaine Porlock, who was sword to a prince who died long ago and haunted the palace like a pensioned ghost, leaning on his halberd and watching his two pupils flit across the training ground at each other. There was a lot of history in this place if you bothered to learn it. She kept promising she’d find the time some day.

She finds the prince’s study door shut-- as good as locked--and when he emerges she’s been waiting in an antechember for fifteen minutes, lazily absorbing the room’s phalanx of starchy family portraits and marble busts of people with the prince’s nose and the queen’s aggressive chin, the fire roaring in the fireplace despite the sticky heat of the season. He’s impeccably dressed even in his offtime and she knows he’s holding back the urge to plead, once again, for her to permit a tailor to swing by her apartment, his treat, but she likes her robes with the elbows worn smooth, and she likes the only sarouels she ever found that fits just right so she can write in the pose that feels most natural, that is, as Tavi always teased, crunched up on her back like a dead insect, that she likes so much that she bought three pairs when she was stationed in Kukudhra, at the time an extravagance. Ok, she concedes, glancing down, she might have accidentally walked across town in her slippers, and that might be a flash of her little toe peeking out between the fake velvet and the cheap sole. But the prince is nothing if not polite, and he merely shakes her hand and holds open the door as she passes through.

He waves broadly to an assortment of objects arranged in a chunky row on his desk, smiling proudly at his finds. Adeline sees at a glance that at least some of it is junk but she knows he’ll take the news in stride.

“Handsome spread, your Highness. What have you been getting yourself into?”

He paces behind her as she begins to inspect the items, pulling little multi-paned monocle from her tunic and bending over each piece in turn.

“I took a trip out towards Faxfleet and Bottsford with Sir Sarmasik. There were rumors of a barrow that had opened up after the last heavy rain and, well, I couldn’t help myself. Some halfling salvagers had already gotten to it, sadly-- I had to haggle for all of this. I’m sure you’re chomping at the bit to tell me how badly they’ve cheated me, so I’ll forgo letting you in on how much I paid for the lot”

“Help yourself to a new pair of boots on the way back? Wouldn’t want to stomp mud all around these ritzy carpets after around out in Faxfleet, your Highness.”

“Rich talk from the young woman currently haunting my office with the world’s most alarming cuticle.”

“Har har, your HIghness. Try having to walk to work every day.”

“I walk quite a bit. It’s a large palace.”

“Sarmasik doesn’t carry you?”

He laughs under his breath and they lapse into the familiar silence that tells him that she’s working. The prince is sharp-- in some fields, she’d concede, he’s probably brilliant. But he gets at an archaeological site like a little kid. Everything’s a priceless find to him until it’s not. Case in point-- the cup in her hand. Circa three years ago, of the “shop around the corner from the fish market” dynasty. Probably thrown into a ditch and washed into the ruins by the heavy rain. But this…. this was interesting. She picks it up and immediately feels the urge to toss it down. That’s always a sign. Of something.

“Now what’s this beauty, your Highness?”

“Isn’t that your job? Well, hm, obviously it looks like a circlet or a diadem of some kind.”

“Don’t start developing hat-envy on me prince, you can call it a crown. This was in the barrow?”

“Yes. I suppose. That’s what I was told”

She snaps her fingers impatiently like a teacher trying to jog a pupil’ memory. “And... . what? Just sitting out? Was it on an altar? Was it displayed? Did you pry it off of somebody? Context, your Highness, context!” She catches herself. Other princes would have a person’s head for less, but Anselm just rolls his eyes, circling around the desk to peer at the crown from the other side.

“Just… jumbled up with detritus I imagine. Rubble. When Ilan and I had a look inside it looked like it might have been a burial chamber. A central slab-- a priest or something of the like-- surrounded by five other slabs in a radial pattern.”

“That sounds like--”

“Druidry?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s what I thought at first, but the dates don’t make sense…”

She shrugs.

“That’s what makes the Valley such a hell for serious academics. Hard to pin a date n a site when they come roaring up out of the dirt according to their own whims. We do our best, your Highness, but we’re always guessing.”

He looks irritated. She’s telling him things he already knows and he doesn’t like it, so she walks it back.

“But you’re right, of course. It’s unusual to say the least, although jumping to anomalous seems premature.”

Next to the crown is a crude stone knife, filigreed with little dancing figures, a stick-figure body tied to a sacrificial altar. There’s a buzz in her brain, a sudden shooting headache. It occurs to her to take the knife and drive it through the prince’s eye, fit the crown to her head, and sit down laughing beside his corpse. She shakes it away and puts the crown down like it was a burning brand. A blurriness she hadn’t noticed clears from her thoughts.

“Ahem. Soo… yeah. Moving on, this knife is interesting. It, again is typical in some ways of the druidic stoneworking you’d see in sites six or seven hundred years old well off to the West. Let’s take this conversation to that weapons display up the tower a bit, I’ve got an urge to compare this to something you showed me there a little while ago…”

“Ah. The axe? I see. Well, after you--”

As they leave he puts a hand on her shoulder like a friend, like a peer, and she allows it, and later in the evening, after the sun is down and they’ve had some wine and laughed about the same old senile lecturers back at the Tower of the Stars, she checks in with the seneschal and he hands her her check without saying a word. The walk back to her apartment is not too long but she drags it out, and, hyper-aware of her ragged house slippers now, stops to savor the feel of the smooth paving stones on her feet. It wasn’t like this in Dahora during the war when her parents wouldn’t let her run barefoot because the soil was so thick with spear-heads and shattered masonry. Tavi had always told her about this place, this Agresjia, with that Tavi self-effacement. She hadn’t told Andeline how lovely it could be, how that accursed salt air could be a gift too, something you turned your face up to and drank. She misses the cold. She keeps walking past the well-lit streets of the well-to-do, past her apartment, through alleys and night markets to her neglected little bonus house, full of books and garbage and probably insects. She unlocks the door and passes through to the only chair in the place and sits in silence for a long time.

He was lying. He was lying and smiling and he thought they were friends in spite of this. She pushes aside the heavy book-case that made her buy this house in the first place, a slab on rusty rollers that led down into what had once been some enterprising person’s hideout for swampweed packing or illegal charcuterie, but which now held the books she didn’t want Nevyah’s rent-a-spies to be poking through, if he thought to have them do so, and she knew he never gave a thought to her. Her logs. She pages through them, back and forth. The bastard was doing it. Inquiries he’d started making idly, that made the rounds of antiquarians and collectors, after ancient pharmakons, amulets against sickness and age. And this thing behind it all-- druidic, that was true, but buried deep, way down below, a fragment in the most effaced and dispersed bits of myth and taboo of the Valley. That twitch of the nerve she’d felt, that call to violence-- was that this crown, its weight on the brow of anyone who touched it? This was no chance find-- this was something he’d been searching for, desperately, she’s sure of it now. Rumors about the prince-- about this campaign against death, this obsession-- she’d heard them all at the Tower. And not quite believed them. But she’d kept them in her mind when accepted this job, and had kept an eye out. Everything suspicious about him-- everything behind that front of charm and erudition-- was beginning to click into place. She notes the day’s events down, cracks open a bottle of beer, and falls asleep fully clothed on the floor.

The next morning she buys a tooth brush and uses it and takes a leisurely amble uphill back towards the shops she can afford now, the shops she has no reason to avoid, and buys a new pair of fine, soft leather boots, with sturdy soles and a tiny ribbon on each cuff. She throws her old slippers in a trash-heap as she winds her way to the palace, munching all the while on a vegetable skewer, fragrant and delicious. At the foot of that tower she looks up at it blotting the sun and turns away, blinded, before straightening her lapels and marching in. Later, realizing a mistake in notation at the same time as her, he jokes in that familiar way, that suggests they’re in on it together, this universe of fools, smart people, like you and I, like you and I and Nevyah and every damned idiot that ever thought reading books and knowing dead languages meant you understood what was good for people, what they really needed but didn’t know, and she laughs, scoffs really, but he takes that scoff as something other than what it is.