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galedekarios · 9 months ago

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the splendours of waterdeep

Gale: I hail from Waterdeep, the City of Splendours.

we've all heard gale introduce himself and there's a certain pride that colours his voice. but what exactly are waterdeep's splendours?

1. general noteworthy things about waterdeep

i) waterdeep is one of the cleanest cities in the realms

this is not only achieved by having many of waterdeep's buildings and facilities connected to a sewer system, but also through waterdeep's dungsweeper's guild. the members of the guild make their rounds through the city, sweeping streets, collecting trash, litter and refuse.

this service is paid for by taxes.

ii) waterdeep's water system

waterdeep boasts an extensive water system that enables the city to have free access to clean water. this free access comes in many forms: fountains, wells and bath houses. some establishment even have their own access to fresh water in form of tap water "with the turn of a knob", as volo puts it in his chapbook about the city.

iii) waterdeep, city of light

waterdeep possesses many signs and street lamps that are lit with continual flame spells:

hundreds of driftglobes also illuminate the city each night:

A driftglobe was a small glass orb that magically floated in the air and emitted light.

in addition to these magical means, so called lamplighters keep the streets lit - with the exception of the field ward and more dangerous areas of the dock ward.

iv) waterdeep and literacy

waterdeep is one of the most literate cities in the realms.

the font of knowledge is a temple to oghma, god of the domain of knowledge, in waterdeep. priests of oghma "valued, preserved, shared, sought, created, or uncovered knowledge and learning. [x]" the priests there offer free instructions and lessons in reading to everyone. the temple has a library, known as "the great library".

the city has many publishing houses and printing presses. books and chapbooks (short books containing various topics from memoirs to romances, politics, etc.) are popular, as are small and large paper advertisements that dot the streets and alleys. broadsheets are popular too in the city:

A broadsheet, also known as a short scroll, was a short, printed document which usually contained tabloid-style news or political rants. They were common in Waterdeep, where they were sold by broadcriers on the main streets.

some of these broadsheets popular in waterdeep are [x]:

The Vigilant Citizen, which was one of the most reputable broadsheets in the city.

The Blue Unicorn, which reported paranormal events such as haunted mansions or undead hiding among the nobility.

The Daily Luck, a sheet aimed at gamblers.

Horkle's Gossip Cauldron, whose style of writing was said to be profane and blunt to the point of rudeness.

The Mocking Minstrel, one of the most read broadsheets in the city, known for its caustic and sarcastic tone.

The North Wind, which focused on nobility gossip and fashion.

The Merchant's Friend

Halivar's Broadsheet

restaurants and other establishments in waterdeep often have printed menus that are placed outside, as well as handed out to those who choose to eat there.

2. the griffon cavalry

"Waterdeep doesn’t have the fabled flying ships of Halruaa, but it does deploy an aerial defense force. Brave warriors of the City Guard light out from the Peaktop Aerie atop Mount Waterdeep, riding fearsome griffons that have been bred and trained for that purpose. Each of the riders is equipped with a ring of feather falling — not merely to prevent death from mishap, but to allow them to perform stunning feats of aerial acrobatics. In both martial displays and in real battles against flying threats such as manticores, harpies, and outlaw wizards, the griffon riders actually leap off their mounts into the open air! For a breath-stealing moment, they fall like stones, closing in on their targets at incredible speed. Their opponents rarely see the griffon riders. When they are past the danger, the free-falling riders then suddenly halt in the air, drifting like feathers until their griffon companions swoop in and they regain their saddles. Working in concert with one another in this fashion, members of the Griffon Cavalry can rapidly eliminate any threat to the city — and even catch the body of the offender before it hits the rooftops below. Riders of the Griffon Cavalry are trained to stay above the rooftops, not because they fear crashing into towers and weather vanes, but because the smell of so much horseflesh in the streets below can sometimes drive their griffons into a frenzy."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

3. the walking statues

"Over a century ago, just one of these eight behemoth statues stood visible at the northern foot of Mount Waterdeep, on a bluff called Gull Leap. Ninety feet tall, it resembled a bald human staring out to sea. Later events (discussed below) caused it to be transformed into the statue known today as the Sahuagin Humbled. When the Spellplague gripped Waterdeep in 1385 DR, six more walking statues suddenly appeared in the city, wandering to wreak havoc even as the Sahuagin Humbled remained motionless. The authorities and citizens of Waterdeep succeeded in stopping three of these new statues, breaking the Swordmaiden and the Hawk Man, and sinking the God Catcher into the street up to its waist. Then all the statues mysteriously stopped their rampage just as quickly as they had begun it. Tsarra Chaadren, the Blackstaff at the time, couldn’t command them to return to their former hiding places on the Ethereal Plane. Consequently, the city repaired itself and built up around them. Much later, in 1479 DR, the eighth statue — the Griffon — merged from the Ethereal Plane to defend Ahghairon’s Tower against intrusion. It roosted there for a time before flying to its current position near Peaktop Aerie on Mount Waterdeep. Once more, this activity seemed to be outside the Blackstaff’s control. Thankfully, all the walking statues have been dormant for well over a decade now, serving only as beautiful, cyclopean reminders of Waterdeep’s might."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

the walking statues are:

the god catcher

the griffon

the sahuagin humbled

the great drunkard

the lady dreaming

the honorable knight

the hawk man

the sword maiden

below you'll find more lore and backstory about these walking statues of waterdeep:

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

edited to improve format and added text descriptions of the statues for easier reading:

the great drunkard

This walking statue stopped its rampage as it approached the Market, then fell backward and sat upon a building. When it settled, its arms fell limp at its sides and its head tilted forward onto its chest, giving the impression that it had fallen asleep. The statue’s huge stone battleaxe still stands nearby, its haft angled upright and its blade half buried in the cobbles. The rubble of the crushed building was long ago rebuilt into a broad stone stair (with railings and a ramp that drunkards are often rolled down) that ascends from the cobbles to the statue’s lap. That lap now holds a two-story tavern also built from the rubble, called Gralkyn’s Tankard. The unconscious pose of the statue and the tavern in its lap made the name of the Great Drunkard a natural fit.

the god catcher

This is perhaps the most famous walking statue in the city, thanks to its dramatic pose, its nearness to the Market, and the self-evident magic of its existence. The statue is of a well-muscled but impassive male human with its left leg sunk to the hip in the street, the result of a spell cast by the Blackstaff at the time of its rampage. Its left hand and right foot press against the ground as if it is trying to pull itself out. Its right arm is raised skyward, and above its open palm floats a sphere of stone. Its gaze looks up toward the sphere, and the pattern of bird droppings around its eyes gives it the appearance of weeping. All about the statue, climbing up its chest and on its knee and shoulders, is a tenement that carries the name “the God Catcher.” The tenement’s landlord is Aundra Blackcloak, an unsociable sorcerer who is rarely seen in the city except when she alights from the door carved in the floating sphere, which serves as her home. On the rare occasions when she wants to meet with city folk (typically to purchase odd substances for magical purposes), she appears unannounced on balconies or rooftops after dark. Her dealings are polite, though, and she pays fair coin. She never confides in anyone or talks about her own doings — and if anyone but she has ever seen the inside of her spherical home, they’ve said nothing publicly about it.

the griffon

The walking statue called the Griffon is shaped like the beast for which it is named. Though it stands on all four legs, its back is fully twenty feet off the ground, making it a mount fit for a storm giant. Although it has shown itself to be capable of flight, with the granite feathers of its wings spreading like a bird’s, the Griffon now merely stands in a regal pose near Peaktop Aerie atop Mount Waterdeep, looking to the southeast over the Dock Ward. Newcomers sometimes assume it to be a monument to Waterdeep’s Griffon Cavalry, but Waterdavians know better.

the sahuagin humbled

For years, the only visible walking statue of Waterdeep was known simply as “the walking statue.” It stood at the foot of Mount Waterdeep near the head of Julthoon Street. Then, after its critical role in defending the city against an invasion of sahuagin in 1370 DR, Khelben Blackstaff reshaped the statue into a sahuagin. It now bows low toward the House of Heroes on bended knee — a gesture of obeisance to the city, and an acknowledgment of the sacrifice of all who fought for the city in that war.

the lady dreaming

This fair lady caused much chaos when she was active. The statue has the appearance of a female elf, whose hair and clothing appeared to flow naturally as it walked through the city during the Spellplague. When the walking statues stopped, this one toppled onto its side, taking on the appearance of a titanic sculpture of a noble lady asleep in her garden.

the honorable knight

The Honorable Knight is a statue of a male warrior in plate armor with a shield and longsword. When the walking statues stopped, it bowed to those opposing it, straightened, sheathed its sword, and doffed its shield, setting it point down on the ground and upright by its side. It then ceased motion in this position, facing southwest toward the harbor, and looking for all the world like a castle guard standing at ease. The pose it assumed led to its naming, and it is viewed with respect by the citizens of the southerly wards.

the hawk man

This statue looks like a winged, hawk-headed being, and thus locals call it the Hawk Man. I can reveal that in fact it bears much resemblance to an aarakocra, one of the bird-people said to live in the Star Mounts in the High Forest. The statue’s wings are folded tightly against its back and have never unfurled, leaving its flight capability uncertain. It was brought low during its rampage across the city, and now it tilts decidedly toward the northeast due to a missing right foot — long ago broken up for building rubble, along with its right arm. Its left arm is extended out toward the north, palm forward as if in a gesture to say, “Stop.” The body has been hollowed out and turned into a tower shared by several wealthy tenants, which is officially known as Sparaunt Tower after its owner. The statue’s left hand extends over a courtyard to the north, wherein lies the entrance of a tunnel carved through the arm. Visitors and residents can ring a bell in the courtyard, whereupon a door guard acknowledges the ringer and lowers a rope ladder for tenants and expected guests (or a rope chair that is drawn up for guests who are infirm or laden with heavy items).

the sword maiden

This statue appears virtually identical to the Honorable Knight, except for its female form and open-faced helm. It was felled during the Spellplague after causing much chaos and slaughter. The residents of Waterdeep’s North Ward funneled much of their frustrated and dismayed reaction to its rampage into dismantling the statue, parts of which can now be found all over the North Ward, either incorporated into buildings or as bits of freestanding sculpture. The head of the Swordmaiden sits in a stand of tall trees in the center of the block of the North Ward bounded by Hassantyr’s Street, Tarsar’s Street, Whaelgond Way, and Ussilbran Street. The center of its jaw and mouth have been replaced by a door, which leads into the shop known as Thort’s Findings. Undevvur Thort is a wizened ex-adventurer who leans on a cane (which some locals insist is more than just a cane). He lives in the small shop, whose many levels, staircases, and landings fill the hollowed-out interior of the head, and which is crammed with oddments sold to Thort by adventurers and other travelers. These items bear little placards in Thort’s beautiful, flowing handwriting that identify them (or at least provide speculation as to their origin and purpose). Nobles and wealthy merchants who desire props for themed revels often rent some of Thort’s wares as decoration — and many sages, alchemists, and wizards visit him regularly in search of potentially useful items.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #misc: reference #for all your waterdhavian lore needs

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pointycorgiears · 6 months ago

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Back in the day, a young Mihawk would run into the Oro Jackson once in a while. He would hang around for a bit, maybe go on a quick adventure with the crew, stay for dinner sometimes after sparring with Shanks and Rayleigh, and then leave.

All of the crew think he is becoming an excellent swordsman, even if he is a little weird. They don't mind him being around. Shanks is completely fascinated by him. Buggy could care less.

One night, Rayleigh and Roger are watching the three kids from above deck. Mihawk has somehow got himself in the middle of a squabble between Buggy and Shanks. He tries to keep an air of indifference about himself, but clearly he is slowly getting annoyed. The point comes where he snaps a sarcastic snarl at Buggy and flicks his nose. Buggy cusses indignantly. Shanks laughs.

As the two older pirates continue to watch the scene unfold, Roger blurts out of nowhere to Rayleigh, "Those two are going to get married someday! Haha!"

Rayleigh raises his brow. "I know Shanks already sees that young man as a rival, but that's kind of planning too far ahead, don't you think?"

"I'm not talking about Shanks, hehehe!"

Rayleigh just gives Roger an incredulous look.

A bet was made that night.

Years later, while Rayleigh is sitting at the bar on Sabaody, a newspaper arrives with a poster folded up inside it. Curious, he opens it...

Cross Guild.

His eye twitches under his glasses.

Shakky asks, "Anything interesting?"

"Nothing much in particular," Rayleigh says as a chilly wind blows through the door.

An unspecified amount of time later, Rayleigh finds an envelope delivered to him. The wax seal bears the Cross Guild logo and his name is written in an elegant script. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple as he opens it...

"You are cordially invited to a celebration of the engagement of Buggy The Clown, Emperor of the Sea and Dracule Mihawk, World's Greatest Swordsman"

He drops the invitation on the bar counter in a not-so-surprised shock. Shakky giggles at him, "Shall I go get the bet jar from the closet?"

Rayleigh sighs with a grumble.

Later that evening, as the sun set in a beautiful array below the horizon, two hundred worth of berry was sent up in flames over to the next world.

As the embers faded on the breeze, the chilly wind returned and a haunting, amused laugh echoed over the waves. Rayleigh sighed, and smirked at the wind.

#I'm on my bughawk agenda #dracule mihawk #buggy the clown #silvers rayleigh #gol d. roger #red haired shanks #shakky #one piece #cross guild #bughawk #buggy x mihawk

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hewantshisbrideback · 11 months ago

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ARYA STARK AND THE GODS ❦ BOURNE FOR THE GOD OF DEATH

Thirty different gods stood along the walls, surrounded by their little lights. The Weeping Woman was the favorite of old women, Arya saw; rich men preferred the Lion of Night, poor men the Hooded Wayfarer. Soldiers lit candles to Bakkalon, the Pale Child, sailors to the Moon-Pale Maiden and the Merling King. The Stranger had his shrine as well, though hardly anyone ever came to him. Most of the time only a single candle stood flickering at his feet. The kindly man said it did not matter. "He has many faces, and many ears to hear."

The Many-Faced God, also known as Him of Many Faces, is a deity worshipped by the Faceless Men, a guild of assassins established in the Free City of Braavos. The tale of the guild's beginnings centers around a figure of unknown origins, the first Faceless Man, who heard the prayers of the slaves to their various gods of death and came to conclude they all prayed to the same god "with a hundred different faces", the Many-Faced God, and that he was "that god's instrument".

This belief came to be reflected in the Guild's temple, which has a large public sanctuary that contains idols of thirty death gods. The religious order refills its pool of black water with a poison, so that drinking from it leads to a painless death. Visiting worshippers light candles to their god, then drink from the fountain using a stone cup, then go lie in one of the alcoves. Others take advantage of special alcoves, called "dreaming couches", which have special candles that bring visions of the past, for a sweet and gentle death.

Followers of Him of Many Faces consider death to be part of the natural order of things and a merciful end to suffering. The guild will agree to kill anyone in the known world, for a price, considering this contract to be a sacrament of their god. The price is always high or dear, but within means of the person if they are willing to make the sacrifice. The cost of their services also depends on the prominence and security of the target.

The High Valyrian words associated with the cult and its assassins are valar morghulis, or "all men must die", and its traditional response, valar dohaeris, or "all men must serve". This philosophy runs deep. Members are made to forsake their identities for the service of the Many-Faced God, and may only assassinate targets they have been hired to kill. They are not allowed to choose who is worthy of the "gift" by themselves.

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bumblebeehug · 1 month ago

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I'm starving for nalu angst content. Please feed me?

i shall feed you with some of the best angst i can muster<3 thank @zuzu-fairys-tail for prompting this tihi

For the sake of Love

Summary: Natsu makes a mistake that drives him away from Lucy, but when he returns, he's forced to face the aftermath. Notes: This fic works as a stand-alone, but makes direct references to "Unrequited Love" Part of this series Ao3 - FF.net (original version)

***

Natsu had never thought about love as something he would experience. He had seen other people express it, claiming that their life didn’t start until they met their significant other. He heard them talk about needs, desires, communication and other otherworldly things – otherworldly, he called them, because couldn’t this apply to anyone? Why did it have to be a specific person? Why them?

He once asked Gray about this. He mentioned his relationship with Juvia, how they had been going steady ever since the team got home from the hundred years quest, but that he couldn’t understand where their original relationship had gone. Their yandere-tsundere act, their genuine friendship – had he really given it up for the sake of “love”?

“They cohabit,” was Gray’s curt answer, clearly disgusted having to talk about feelings with an idiot like Natsu.

No matter how much Natsu pressed him after that, Gray wouldn’t elaborate. Cohabit. He asked Levy for a definition, and came to the conclusion that that’s what he and Happy did. Lived together, spent time together, cared for each other. Except, he wouldn’t marry Happy even if he stood at gunpoint, so Gray couldn’t have been serious. He kept the real information for himself, the actual secret behind normal love and romantic love – what they meant and what differentiated them.

Before Natsu met Lucy, he was going through a troubled period in his life. He had spent so much time alone ever since Lisanna died. His home was dusty and empty, any time he spent in Magnolia was spent at the guild hall, and even his time there was limited to when he was between missions. And those missions then – they would last for weeks at a time, and anytime he found a lead on Igneel, he would follow it, resulting in more time spent away. It could go days between his last conversation with humans, though luckily he didn’t go anywhere without his blue furry pal.

Then Lucy entered the picture. If Natsu hadn’t been talking a whole lot before, now he barely got a word in edgewise. Except, he didn’t dislike hearing her chatter away like there was no tomorrow. It filled his brain, the empty space that normally made his loneliness echo throughout the night. Lucy was a breath of fresh air in comparison to speaking to anyone else in the guild. They all knew him for his losses – losing Igneel, losing Lisanna – but here he had a girl who didn’t define him by these things. She valued Natsu for his current self, the one she had met in Hargeon, who was strong, friendly and reliable. He appreciated this – he didn’t have to feel out of place when he entered the guild. Plus, she was easily impressed by all he had to offer. It was almost too good to be true.

After her, the world shifted. He was once again finding joy in the simple things. Jobs became more intricate and engaging, and even when the reward was butchered he’d always leave with a good feeling in his stomach. He enjoyed hearing her explain plants she saw on the way home from the job, and though he never enjoyed trains, he felt at ease knowing she wouldn’t leave him on it. Lucy became his ground pillar, the safety line that kept him from falling. Soon enough he found himself looking towards her every time he outdid himself. He wanted to know that she had seen, that she knew how far he had come. And the best part was that every time he searched for her eyes, she was already looking at him. Her support was unwavering.

At least, that’s what he thought. Lucy was always going to be there, searching for him, aiming all her attention to Natsu. He believed that her door would always be wide open for him, and if it wasn’t, he’d be granted an open window – something that told him that she wanted them to connect. For years, that was true. He had landed in the fact that he loved her presence, and she loved his. That their friendship was beyond just friends – soulmates would be more accurate.

But Natsu felt inadequate. Like he was failing at being a normal human. He had been haunted by the fact that he never was seen as any other guy – he was always a dragon, a demon, or in some cases a dunce. Truthfully, he didn’t want that. So one day he took a look at himself, and at other guys his age, and did a comparison. What was it Natsu did wrong, where did he fail as a human?

It didn’t take long to notice it. Almost every guy his age had been with, or currently was with, a partner. Not in the way Lucy was a partner, though he often referred to her as such, but in a dirtier way. There was jealousy, touching, tasting and biting, not always confined to a private space, seeing as he had noticed all this just in the guild hall. Jet had yet another girlfriend fuming with anger as she ran out of the bar area – she had apparently had enough of being compared to Levy. Natsu didn’t actually crave that sort of love, but he still couldn’t help but search for it.

The day he met her, he was on a solo mission. Happy and Lucy were visiting the Exceeds, but Natsu wanted some extra money for food, so he’d gone alone on a quest to catch some dark wizards before they got their hands on a sacred jewel from the village. It was walking distance, the pay was good, and Natsu would get to let off some steam: it was the perfect mission. What he didn’t know was that within that group of wizards, there’d be a mage with the most captivating looks.

Her light blue hair and fierce, deep green eyes had him captured. Not captured enough to avoid him from defeating the group, but enough to make him feel like he couldn’t help but to try to talk to her. Surely she’d come over to the good side if they had a good heart to heart? Natsu was confident that all she needed was some TLC: a warm shower, a proper conversation, and a soft bed to sleep in.

That night, Natsu did things he’d never done before. She had kissed him, and to his initial surprise, he had kissed her back. The small voice in the back of his mind, worrying about Lucy, was quickly pushed away. This was what he wanted – he had waited for a moment like this for years. A chance to hop on the train to being a normal guy, someone with girlfriends, exes, an emotional life. So under the sheets they went: he believed their activities would come to an end after this, resembling something of a “one night stand” as he’d heard people call it.

Man, was he wrong. The lust that awoke within him suddenly felt untamable: he needed her to satisfy him. It was years of pent up longing, though he still wasn’t sure for who he had longed. She seemed quite satisfied with their relationship though. Their sessions were intense, only lasting a day a month, so whatever they had could be kept a secret. Lucy and Happy didn’t have to know.

But soon enough, the two of them came to talk before and after their meetings. They’d talk about anything at first: the weather, recent news from the area, things that had happened on missions they’d gone to – she had listened to his advice way back then and started up as a novice witch, freelancing her way around while she got used to the good side of the wizarding world. Natsu was thrilled, because now he could share his struggle: they were both equally destructive in their ways. Between sessions they’d find themselves comparing ways they destroyed towns: Natsu still winning by a landslide, though to be fair, they weren’t yet exactly on common ground. She had many years ahead of her to sharpen her tactics – if getting more destructive was part of it, then so be it.

Natsu loved her ways. He found himself thinking this quite often. He loved how she laughed, how she moved, the things she did. Never having felt this before, he quickly got swept away by the intensity. Suddenly he met up with her multiple times a week, not even to do anything dirty – just to talk to her. She seemed to share his sentiment, not really initiating any major sessions unless the mood was really there: she was clearly interested in him back. When Natsu realised this, he thought he’d finally gotten back the good karma he’d collected over the years, that the universe owed him.

Before he could ask her out properly though, he felt like he had to stop this secrecy. He hated not being able to tell Lucy about things, and it felt weird that she knew everything about Lucy, while she knew nothing about her.

The plan was to just kindly drop the ball in Lucy’s lap. He’d tell her about her, keep his description of her short and clean, and then she’d slowly get used to the idea. It’s not like he didn’t know how special their relationship had been lately: they’d kept up the husband-wife act, she allowed him to share her bed, though nowadays he longed for her smell in it (he couldn’t tell Lucy that of course), they ate almost all meals together, and still went on missions. The only difference was that he was starting to like the idea of doing these things with her as well. And even he knew that he couldn’t have both: he couldn’t have his cake and eat it too.

His confession to Lucy hadn’t gone as he’d planned. He had taken her to this diner across Magnolia, made sure they took the long way there so they could enjoy their company a bit before he put his big news out there: in hindsight he realised it must have led her on. When they sat down, Natsu could barely contain himself. As soon as drinks were ordered, he grabbed her hands, sparkled in his eyes, and dropped the bomb.

“Lucy, I think I’m in love.”

As soon as he said it he let everything about her spill out. He couldn’t stop talking, it felt like he was in a daze: it felt so incredibly good being able to talk about this. To Lucy nonetheless. In fact, if you asked him then and there, he’d tell you he was in his version of heaven – and that being said knowing how great sex with her was. This, however, didn’t compare. Him and Lucy, no secrets, and he was in love. He’d be dancing on the table if the establishment was slightly less refined. So he talked and talked, about midday blue hair and eyes green as the forests from his childhood: and he didn’t see the way Lucy pressed her lips into a thin line, how tears threatened to build up in her eyes, or how her heartbeat got heavier. These were all things he would realise once he arrived back home, but wouldn’t be certain if it he’d just imagined or not.

If Natsu could go back in time and change how he had told Lucy, he absolutely would have, without a doubt in his mind. But that was only because in hindsight, he realised that Lucy might have harbored deeper feelings for him. He hadn’t realised it at first, dense as he often could be, but it was apparent once he took his usual trip to Lucy’s apartment just to find her doors locked, her windows closed and her blinds drawn. It was weird, caught Natsu off guard, and left him with a gruelling, dull ache in his chest. Did he prompt her to do this? Not wanting to draw any hasty conclusions, he went back every day the following week. Surely he’d catch her going outside to get groceries one of these days? But to his terror, she didn’t.

When he asked the guild about Lucy’s whereabouts, all he got was curt, dismissive answers. In a way, that answered his question: he was the cause of this. Even Happy had turned against him: he now spent most of his time in Lucy’s apartment. Natsu couldn’t blame him: he hadn’t told him about her until right after he’d gotten home from telling Lucy. Happy was Natsu’s oldest friend, so it was natural he’d hold a grudge if Natsu didn’t tell him about important things in his life. But that he’d be cooping up at Lucy’s place was the thing that set his theory in stone: Lucy must have had a crush on Natsu. There really wasn’t any other explanation. Happy was attached to Lucy, sure, but there had to be some sort of resentment from Natsu not going out with Lucy instead of the girl. Happy could be territorial in that way – he didn’t want new people to come and steal away Natsu’s attention.

For months things were weird in the guild. Natsu never knew how reliant the guild was on his and Lucy’s team: without them all working together as usual, it was like the mood in the guild hall had gone grey and stale. Natsu focused on solo missions, secretly doing them with her so he could get any extra help he might need. Sometimes it bugged him that Lucy wasn’t the one with him, but he brushed it off as just not being used to teaming up with someone who didn’t have the diversity of 15 different celestial spirits close by. Though it happened that he’d feel annoyed when she ignored clear instructions once again, causing double the amount of damage that was necessary for the mission. He suspected he was learning how it must have been working with him all these years.

Natsu couldn’t help but act like a busybody when it came to Lucy. He had promised himself to stay out of her business, but when he heard that she was looking thinner, he worried she didn’t have enough money for both rent and food: soon he started slipping a couple of thousand jewells to her landlady. Just so she’d keep her eye on Lucy for him.

One day he saw her there, in the guild, at the table with Levy and Cana. Before she noticed he was there she looked almost exactly like she used to: radiant, happy, gorgeous. The second she laid her eyes on him, her entire aura changed. With it, her normal appearance seemed to fade away as well. Suddenly he saw every pore in her face, felt her ragged breath in the air, noticed deep under eye bags contrasting the paleness of her skin. Her cheeks were sunken in and her muscles deflated – had he done this to her?

That’s when he started with the sympathy-smiles. He felt as stupid doing them as she probably felt receiving them, but before he could get out of it, it had become a habit. He’d draw the left side of his mouth, his lips pressed together as the corner of his mouth tried to turn into something of a smile, though it’d fail every time before it had a chance to turn upwards. Everytime he did it, he’d hear her swallow hard, smell tears in her eyes, and he’d feel the burning eyes of any fellow dragon slayers in the room – they all blamed him.

Natsu wasn’t sure he enjoyed living life like this. He loved her, without a doubt: they had finally become a couple, enjoying their date nights to the fullest. But even though he considered her a kindred spirit, he felt like something was missing. He wanted some contrast in their relationship. They could talk about something, find a word they didn’t quite understand, and then… silence. Silence where Lucy would kindly take her time and explain the word, its origin and how it was used: often with a couple of synonyms as well. That was how he even knew the word synonym. It was all thanks to Lucy.

Once, when they were thirty minutes into an intimate session, Natsu accidentally called out her name. Not her name, but Lucy’s. A faint whisper, right by her ear, making her jump out of bed quicker than he’d ever seen her move before.

“What did you just say?” She was grasping at her clothes, gathering them from the floor, distraught painted all over her face. “Lucy?”

Natsu fell over in bed, hurrying to cover his goods with the blanket.

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t mean to,” he tried. It was in vain, he realised, as he watched her blue curls swoosh with her very violent shaking of her head.

“No. It’s- it’s too weird, Natsu. I’ve known that you’ve loved her for a really long time, but I was stupid to think I could make you get over her.” She had tears prickling the corners of her eyes, though it looked like she was keeping them in check for now. She’d probably let them out as soon as he was out of sight. She tended to do that. Cover up any sign of weakness in case Natsu’s opinion of her would change. Maybe it would. He wasn’t so sure of himself anymore.

“Love? I don’t- not with her,” Natsu pressed his lips into a thin line, like his mouth had grown accustomed to recently. He never seemed to do his signature grin anymore: there was always something stopping him.

“How couldn’t it be love, Natsu? You always talk about her, you’ve preached to me how she changed your life! You’re one of the most romantic people I’ve ever met, but you were never romantic with me. It wasn’t me who you uprooted a tree for. It wasn’t me you turned into a demon for.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I know you want to love me. Maybe you do. But it will never compare. I’m sorry. Let’s end this here.”

Maybe she was right. Natsu watched her as she pulled on her pants and her shirt. He didn’t feel like stopping her from leaving. He didn’t like seeing her cry, but he wasn’t ready to do anything in his power to stop her. Though, his resolve on crying girls had been weak since some time back, considering that he didn’t drop everything in his life to stop Lucy from doing it. He’d become very similar to guys he had no respect for: he hated this.

When she was almost out the door, she stopped a second. Just a split second, hoping that he’d run forward to stop her. A quick glance over her shoulder: he looked like he was in his own world. She wasn’t sure he had ever really cared about her. In her eyes, they were practically kids, just swept away in the heat of the moment. His short obsession with her had only been a quick infatuation in comparison to what he had with Lucy. Everywhere they went, on every date, every topic: Lucy had seemed like a third party in their relationship. He spoke of her like she was the greatest person in the world, and though she couldn’t help but harbor a tiny bit of resentment for her, she also knew that Lucy must be a pretty amazing girl if she had managed to capture a flighty guy like Natsu.

__________

Natsu stayed at that hotel for a couple of days. He’d only told people he’d be gone for the night, back in the morning again, but they didn’t come looking for him despite his brief disappearance. He still couldn’t completely grasp what he’d done, but with every hour in that bed, the place he’d called out for Lucy instead of her in the depths of his passion, he found himself deeper in his realisations: he had fucked up.

He laid in unrest under the tan covers of the hotel duvet. He’d spent the last six months in his life in a daze, and now everything was rushing back to him in waves of regret, making him feel ill. He didn’t know how to fix this: life had turned upside down. He had messed up so badly, leaving his perfect life with Lucy and the guild, for a brief period to feel like a normal, shitty guy in puberty. Was it worth it? Destroying years of intimate friendship, breaking up the best team Fairy Tail had ever seen, leaving Happy behind to have irresponsible fun with a girl he barely knew?

He appreciated the time he’d gotten to spend with her, he really did, but it didn’t compare. Nothing gave him the sense of satisfaction that he’d reach from succeeding at a really silly prank in Lucy’s house. She didn’t give him the butterflies Lucy had given him when she traced flowers on his shoulder in the dead of night.

Natsu was still confused. The relationships he’d experienced were so vastly different: but didn’t he do everything right? He gave the nasty love a chance, to save his love for Lucy from the dirtiness. He thought he’d juggled the two of them, one would fill his body’s desires and the other his soul’s. Lucy wouldn’t have to see him as the horrid person he really was behind closed doors. She got to see everything else: his happiness, sadness, everything that made him the person he wanted to be. Surely she wouldn’t accept him if she knew the dirty dreams that would leave his underwear soaked in the morning. He didn’t accept that version of himself: how could she?

When he stood up from his fetal position in his bed, and finally went to the bathroom to wash his face, he didn’t recognise the person looking back at him in the mirror. It was him, technically. Pink hair, sharp, monolid eyes, pointy teeth. But he had wrinkles between his light eyebrows, his mouth couldn’t curl into his normal grin: his eyes didn’t follow his commands. He pulled at his cheek. Those lips had kissed her more times than he could count. They felt dry, and looked pale in the reflection. These weren’t lips allowed to kiss someone as important as Lucy. No, he was completely inadequate. His hair was choppy, after having tried to cut it back to his normal lengths with a pair of kitchen scissors. Cancer wasn’t able to help him with that anymore, but he missed how soft his hair could feel after 5 minutes under Cancer’s care.

His neck looked thin and stretched out, faint marks from passionate kissing the night before, still left on the sides. For some time he’d at least be able to cover it up with his scarf. His eyes continued to scan what the reflection showed him: his bronzy skin had a gray tint, his hair looked duller, and then those eyes. A bit red from not getting any sleep last night, but more importantly: they had completely lost whatever sparkle they had before. He wasn’t sure when he’d last taken a good look at himself – maybe this dullness came from the break up with her, but honestly? Deep down he knew he’d lost it months ago. It was like the horrible actions he’d consistently made had slowly desaturated him, leaving him an empty shell of what he once was. There was a time when he was proud of what he saw: he was righteous, tough and had a fiery determination – where had it gone?

He threw his scarf back on and went back to bed. Could he really deal with Lucy when he came back? Would she let him talk to her? He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. But in a way, he thought he owed her at least the truth. He wasn’t completely sure what the truth was yet: if it was his love for Lucy he wanted to convey, or his regret over his past actions.

The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm that refused to settle. He turned in bed, his body refusing to settle. Soon enough the night was there again, coming back to taunt him: keep him up at night and make him reflect on the life that had led him up to this. It was all his fault. He had to gather himself though. Not able to figure out where to start, knowing this couldn’t go on. He owed Lucy something – an apology, a confession, or maybe just the clean cut, yet gory truth about what a mess he had become. Even if she slammed the door in his face, even if she never spoke to him again, he needed to face her. He needed to fix at least one broken thing in his life, even if it wasn’t repairable.

Morning light streamed in through the thin hotel curtains. It painted the room in soft, warm tones that felt at odds with the cold knot in his chest. Natsu sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly together as if trying to stop them from shaking. He’d never felt fear like this – not when he faced dragons, dark guilds, or any of the countless battles he’d endured. No, this was different. This was the fear of standing in front of someone he loved and knowing he had ruined everything.

His scarf felt heavier on his shoulders as he adjusted it. It smelled faintly of ash and campfire – a comforting remnant of the person he used to be. He clung to that thought as he forced himself to his feet. Every step toward the door felt like dragging a mountain, but he kept moving. He didn’t pack anything; there was nothing worth keeping from this place except the lesson it had burned into him.

The guild would notice his return soon enough, and he had no illusions about the reception waiting for him. Anger, disappointment, maybe even indifference – he wasn’t sure which would be worse. But none of it mattered. His focus wasn’t on Fairy Tail, nor on repairing his reputation. He wasn’t coming back to make amends with the guild. He was coming back for Lucy.

As he stepped out into the bustling street, the cool morning air hit his face, and for the first time in days, he took a deep breath. It didn’t cleanse him, not really, but it steadied his steps. He didn’t have a plan, and his words were as jumbled as his thoughts. All he had was the drive to see her, to stand in front of her and let her see what he couldn’t put into words.

Because if there was one person in this world who could look at him, broken and lost, and still see something worth saving, it was Lucy. And for that, he owed her everything.

__________

The streets leading to Lucy’s apartment felt eerily familiar, but every step carried a weight he couldn’t shake. Magnolia was alive as always – shopkeepers setting up for the day, townsfolk chatting – but the world seemed muted to him. His thoughts drowned out the noise, focusing only on the path ahead. He didn’t dare to look up, in case he’d see any familiar faces. The shame and guilt he dragged along him surely made his face look contorted, ugly and fake.

He stopped in front of Lucy’s building and tilted his head up. Her window was closed, curtains drawn. Was she even home? The question almost made him turn around. But his feet refused to move, as if the ground had anchored him there. He couldn’t run anymore.

The staircase felt steeper than usual as he climbed to her door, the wooden railing creaking under his grip. When he finally stood outside her apartment, he stared at the engraved number on the door, a number he’d never thought twice about before. Now it felt like a barrier, daring him to go through with this. 7. The number that had haunted him throughout his life: sometimes as an omen, other times as a sign of luck. He wasn’t sure what it represented today, but he knew he’d been blind for its positive connections for too many years.

His fist hovered near the door. For a moment, he hesitated, his knuckles shaking slightly. What if she didn’t answer? Worse, what if she did? What would he even say?

Natsu gritted his teeth, swallowed the thickness in his throat as his stomach protested in turmoil, and forced the thoughts away. He’d come this far; there was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly on the door.

The sound echoed in the narrow hallway, louder than he anticipated. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing. Then, faint footsteps.

The doorknob turned, and the door opened just enough for Lucy’s face to peek out. Her expression was unreadable—neutral, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise.

“Natsu?” she asked softly, her voice cautious. Her face was tense, like she was forcing away whatever her feelings tried to express through it.

He opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. Her gaze was steady, and for the first time in months, he felt like the world had stopped moving. He hadn’t seen her face this close in months. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. It was her, his Lucy in the flesh. No, not his Lucy. He couldn’t call her that anymore. He hadn’t been able to for a long time.

“Hey,” he managed to croak out, voice low. He fidgeted with the edge of his scarf, trying to find the courage to say what he’d rehearsed in his head on the way here. “Can we… Can we talk?”

Lucy’s eyes searched his face, and whatever she saw there made her pause. She stepped back slightly, the door opening just a little wider. The air from her apartment leaked out, filling his nose with the wonderful nostalgia of their past life together. His heart ached. He had missed this so much.

“Yeah,” she said, after what felt like an eternity. “Come in.”

Natsu stepped inside, his heart pounding. He looked around, seeing her books stacked in neat piles and her celestial keys resting on the coffee table. Everything was just as he remembered, yet it felt like years had passed since he’d been here. He didn’t see any signs of the life they had lived together in there: the space he’d been given once to put his shoes in the hallway was filled with a pair of her sneakers. He didn’t see his coffee cup anywhere, waiting for him to return for it. The extra chair by the dinner table was gone as well, likely to distract her from the space it held for Natsu.

Lucy closed the door behind him and crossed her arms, leaning against it. “So?” she prompted, her tone guarded but not cold. How was she so calm? No, that wasn’t fair of him. She was probably experiencing the same internal emotional whirlwind that he was: she had just been able to practice hiding it.

Natsu took a deep breath. His fists clenched at his sides as he met her gaze.

“Can… we sit?”

Lucy hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to decide whether she wanted to let this conversation happen. Finally, with a small nod, she gestured to the couch.

“Sure,” she said, her tone clipped. “Go ahead.”

Natsu moved toward the couch but paused before sitting. The cushions were the same ones he’d sprawled out on countless times, but now they felt alien, like he didn’t belong here anymore. He glanced over his shoulder at Lucy, who had yet to move from the door. She watched him silently, her arms still crossed.

“You can sit too,” he mumbled, his voice faltering.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but after a moment, she pushed off the door and walked over, sitting in the armchair opposite him instead. The distance between them felt vast, and Natsu couldn’t tell if it was the physical space or the emotional wall she had carefully raised.

“So,” Lucy said, breaking the silence. Her tone was sharper now, though not unkind. “What do you want to talk about, Natsu?”

He fidgeted, running his hand through his messy hair and pulling at the fraying ends of his scarf. Words fought to form in his throat, but they all felt wrong, inadequate. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Lucy let out a soft, humorless laugh. “For what?”

Her response caught him off guard. He looked up, startled, and found her staring at him, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp.

“For… ya’ know… everything,” he said, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy. “How I let our relationship get all… messed up.” His fists clenched on his lap. They felt clammy. “I didn’t know how to deal with stuff, and I – I hurt you. I know I did. And I’m sorry.”

Lucy didn’t respond immediately. She leaned back in the chair, her fingers tracing the armrest as she studied him. He hated how he’d lost the ability to read her. Either he didn’t know how anymore, or she had decided that he wasn’t allowed to: that he would handle her emotions too poorly. He didn’t blame her.

“You’re right,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, tinged with a sadness she couldn’t fully mask. “You did hurt me. I’m embarrassed to admit that, but you… you really did.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, like she was trying to protect it from Natsu, like he’d dig her insides out if left unguarded. “Do you even know what that felt like?”

“I-” His throat tightened, and he looked down again, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, you gotta understand that I’m bad with words, I-”

“Do I?” She cut in, her voice cutting his heart open. “Do I always have to understand? Because honestly, Natsu? That’s not fair.”

He looked up at her in dismay. She looked like she was fighting tears. Did he really make her feel like this? He wanted to die. Gulping hard, he shook his head.

“N-no. Of course you don’t. That’s…” his voice mellowed out. “... my fault.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She was still waiting for his explanation – why he was here, why he’d found another girl and now didn’t seem to have her in his head anymore. She was still so confused.

“I don’t think I can give you an explanation you want to hear,” he shamefully laid out, observing Lucy’s cautious body language. “I’ll try, but… I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“How- why? Why her? Where did it all come from? Because… back when you still hadn’t met her, I thought the two of us were heading somewhere.” The blush on Lucy’s cheeks could have been from embarrassment or fighting off angry tears: Natsu couldn’t tell. And hearing these questions, he understood that he didn’t have an explanation at all. Because those questions were all without good answers; only words that didn’t carry any weight to them could even begin to describe Natsu’s explanation. Still, he had to give her something.

“I’m not sure when it started, or what got into me.” He felt like a child, trying to face the consequences of his mistakes head on. “I was so happy and content with what we had, it was so perfect. But I… Well, I’m not perfect. I wanted to have an outlet of some sort, and I knew from around the guild that the need I had- or, I guess, still have, is dirty. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Natsu wasn’t sure how Lucy was taking this. He didn’t dare to look at her, in case she was looking disgusted. His eyes were pinpointed to a stain on the coffee table. That’s how he felt: stained and unwanted. Still, he kept talking.

“So when I met her I thought I had the chance to relieve that need. She was nice, pretty and funny, and she seemed to be on board with that initial plan. But I quickly got greedy and thought that I could have you both. Then it got so intense that it all just escalated, and before I knew it there was no turning back. I had a girlfriend and she wasn’t you.”

His ears were making a buzzing sound. There was so much regret inside of him that his senses got dull, and no matter how much he tried to listen for Lucy, he didn’t hear her. She felt out of reach.

“I just… wanted to feel normal,” he concluded. “Everyone else experienced romance, I was… jealous, I think. But I didn’t dare to approach you about it back then. You’re so… perfect. I’m disgusting in comparison. I have impure desires, and I thought that… maybe, just maybe, I could handle those on the side, while still being with you. I never wanted our relationship to change. It’s always been too important, too pure. I didn’t want to jeopardize it.”

Natsu shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his fingers gripping the edge of his scarf like it might hold him together. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, glancing down at his hands as he twisted the fabric tighter. He had nothing more to tell her. He’d opened his heart for her, and now his foot tapped against the floor in an uneven rhythm, filling the silence Lucy was yet to break.

“Did…” Her voice cracked. “Did you love her?”

Natsu froze at her question. The air in the room had already felt thick, pressing down on him with all the weight he’d just put out, but now it felt suffocating. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words felt like they were stuck in his chest. Did he love her? He thought he did at the time – hell, he was sure of it. It felt like the right answer, the right thing to say. But now, at this moment, the truth was much harder to pinpoint.

“I-” Natsu’s voice caught, and he slowly shook his head. “I thought I did. I thought I loved her... at first. It felt like... like something real. Something I’d never felt before.”

He finally dared to look up at her, and caught her gaze just as it softened, but her arms remained crossed, as though holding herself together against the uncertainty in his words.

“But you don’t know now, do you?”

“I... don’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building inside him. “It’s hard to explain. With her, it felt intense, and passionate... like I was... alive, you know? But it wasn’t the same as with you. Not like this.”

Lucy leaned forward slightly, her eyes watching him with careful understanding. “Natsu,” she said gently, “forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think that that wasn’t love. I think… that it was infatuation. Maybe lust. It probably felt intense because it was new, and because you were looking for something you thought was missing. But… I don’t think it was love.”

Natsu stared at her, his chest tight as he absorbed her words. “I... I thought I loved her,” he said quietly, his eyes darting to the floor. “But maybe you’re right. Though… now I don’t even know what love really is.” His voice trailed off.

Lucy exhaled slowly.

“Natsu,” she began, her voice quiet but firm, “I understand you felt something for her. But... lust isn’t something you need to hide or be ashamed of. It doesn’t make you a bad person. But it’s not love.” She paused, her expression unreadable. “Love... love is deeper. It’s not just about attraction, it’s about connection. About seeing the worst of someone and still choosing to be there. I don’t think you understand that yet.”

Natsu’s eyes flickered down, and he clenched his jaw.

“I know it’s different with you,” he said quietly. “I thought I loved her. I... did love her, I guess. But now... I’m not even sure what that was..” Taking a deep breath didn’t help calm his frustration. Why was this so damn complicated? “With you, I always knew it was different. I knew that what I felt for you wasn’t like what I felt for her. It wasn’t just about the physical stuff. It’s always been… more. But I was scared... that I’d ruin all we had.”

“What left is there to ruin though, Natsu?” She was soft spoken, but frank. Natsu knew she was right: he knew his rendezvous meetings with her had crumbled the relationship that he had hoped he and Lucy could keep. He messed up.

Lucy’s arms tightened across her stomach, her face softening but still distant. “You didn’t need to be perfect, Natsu,” she told him, her voice colder than before. “I never needed that from you. Didn’t you think to ask me what I wanted?”

Before Natsu could stop himself, he felt his eyebrow rise a notch. Lucy cleared her throat.

“I’m going to be honest. I didn’t know you valued purity that high. If I’d known, I’d gladly talk to you about it, help you through it. Lust was never the impure thing: our guild mates were the ones treating it as such.”

Natsu swallowed. He still wasn’t sure he had understood her. Lucy catched on quickly, and continued her explanation.

“Look; sex isn’t beneath me. It isn’t dirty – it’s neutral at the least, wonderful, loving and fulfilling in most cases. I don’t blame you for being confused, but what you did, how you treated both sex and her was wrong. Keeping that up wasn’t fair to her or me. But most importantly,” she reached out and poked on his left pec, “it’s not fair to you.”

That poke had felt like an arrow, killing the voice that had been justifying his actions up until now.

“I know,” he said, voice raw, like every word was a struggle. He didn’t dare to hide his shame. Why hide anything, when the cards were out on the table like this? “I know I screwed up. I just... I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t face it.” His fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his shoulders tight.

Lucy’s expression softened slightly, but her eyes were still wary. Instead of removing her hand from him, she softly cupped his face. Already he felt like she was purifying him, her touch holly.

“You’re facing it now though. That’s more than I can say that I’ve done. I’m sorry for not catching… all of this… earlier.” She took an airy breath before she continued. “You haven’t ruined everything though,” she added slowly, her tone quieter. “But if you don’t stop running, I don’t know what’ll be left to fix.”

Natsu’s breath hitched, and for the first time, he felt the weight of her words sink in. He leaned forward slightly, into her hand.

“I’m not perfect, Lucy,” he muttered, voice rough with regret, but there was a determination in his eyes. “But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

Natsu’s words hit her like a physical blow, but Lucy swallowed the sting before it could show. She tried to steady herself, to push past the tsunami of emotions that was threatening to wash over her, but her chest felt tight. He was so honest, so vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. It was painful, but somehow, it was also… so familiar. It hit her: she had missed him.

“I missed you,” she finally whispered, voice thick as she still held back tears. “But I didn’t just miss you, Natsu.” She hesitated, her hands unconsciously tightening into fists at her sides. “I missed… us. I missed the stupid little things we used to do. And it hurts. God, it hurts. Because every time I saw your face after everything, it felt like... like my heart was pulled in two.”

She looked like she was searching for something in his eyes, something that confirmed that he understood what he’d done. Not until her thumb slowly dried a tear off his face, did he realise that he had started to cry.

“I didn’t know how to keep going without you in my life. And now... I don’t know where we’re supposed to go from here.”

The silence that followed made it ring in Natsu’s ears. He stood still, the guilt in his chest growing heavier with each word. He wanted to speak, to apologize, but nothing felt like it could make up for the emptiness he had left behind. How could he explain to her that he never meant for it to go this far? That he had been terrified of facing what he felt for her?

“Lucy,” he started, taking a shaky breath. He only now realised he’d been holding it. “I messed up, badly. I was scared of... everything. Scared of not being enough for you, scared of being too much, scared of losing what we had. I didn’t know how to deal with what I was feeling, so I... ran. Tried to find it elsewhere. I know that doesn’t excuse anything, but I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know things would end up like this.”

Lucy carefully observed him, her expression unreadable for a moment, then she sighed. “Natsu, I get that you were confused,” she said, her voice quieter, more guarded. “But you still chose her. And that’s not something I can just forget. I wanted us to do so many things. But you weren’t there. I know I’m partially to blame, because I didn’t approach you either, but… you weren’t there for me.” Her shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of her own hurt sinking in. “I just... I don’t know if I can go back to that. I don’t know if I can trust that you won’t… replace me again.”

The tension between them thickened, and Natsu swallowed hard, his stomach twisting. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He hadn’t known how to be vulnerable before; he didn’t know how to start now, not with the mess he had made of everything.

Lucy continued, her gaze still wary.

“You weren’t perfect. I didn’t need you to be perfect, Natsu. I just needed you to be here. And you weren’t.” She let out a shaky breath, and for the first time, Natsu saw the pure agony in her eyes, the raw exhaustion of someone who had been holding on for too long. “I don’t know if I’m ready to try again. I don’t know if you’re ready, either.”

The words stung more than he’d expected. He had wanted to make it right, to find a way back to her, but he didn’t know if she could ever feel the same way again. For all he knew, this was the end for them. The real end. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet.

“I want to try,” he said, his voice low but firm, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll prove it to you. Please.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, like it was waiting for them to figure out how to breathe again. Natsu’s chest was tight, his heart hammering in his ribcage like it had never known stillness. His hands clenched at his sides, unsure of what to do with all this feeling that had nowhere to go. Lucy’s gaze stayed fixed on him, the distance between them too much, but too little. She didn’t pull away, not physically. But her eyes were guarded, like they always were now, like she was still trying to keep herself safe. Natsu wasn’t sure what he was doing, but the need to reach for her, to close the space, was so overwhelming he could barely think straight.

His breath hitched, and before he could second-guess it, his body moved forward, drawn to her like he had been all those months ago. There was a hesitation in her eyes, a softness to the way she looked at him that he hadn’t seen in so long. It was like she was still here, in a way he hadn’t expected. That didn't make everything okay of course. She was still hurt, still unsure, but there was something flickering in the way her lips parted slightly as he moved closer.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t anything spectacular. It wasn’t smooth or fluid or anything that could undo the mess they’d made. It was desperate, almost clumsy, two people trying to find something familiar in a sea of unfamiliarity. His lips brushed against hers, too hesitant at first, like he was afraid he would break her if he pressed too hard. But the feeling was there, just underneath everything, unrefined. The taste of her, the touch of her, something that felt so real it almost made him dizzy.

Maybe, if he lingered long enough, could he transfer all the words he wanted to say to her, but couldn’t because of a lack of vocabulary; let her feel the emotions he did, as he was more than willing to receive hers. Maybe this kiss could spackle their cracked relationship.

When they pulled away, the world around them still felt heavy to Natsu’s disappointment. Lucy didn’t look at him at first, her gaze somewhere far away. But when she did, her eyes were a mix of things – of confusion, of hurt, of something that looked like relief, all tangled together.

“I’m not... not ready,” she whispered, voice trembling, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t know if I ever will be. But I can’t... I can’t pretend like I don’t feel something, too. I don’t want to let go.”

The words stung, sharper than anything he expected. But it wasn’t rejection. Not really. She wasn’t telling him to leave, to forget everything. She was telling him that they were both still stuck in this. She was still afraid to fall into it, but she wasn’t pushing him away.

Natsu’s throat tightened, and for the hundredth time today, he couldn’t find the words. The guilt of what he had done – of hurting her – was still heavy, suffocating, but at least there was a chance now. A chance to do something different, to prove that he was willing to face whatever came next, no matter how hard it was.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But I’m here. I want to try. I won’t... I won’t give up on us.”

Lucy’s breath caught. There was a flicker in her eyes, a tiny thing that reminded him of the way she used to look at him – soft, but strong, and maybe a little broken. She didn’t know what to say, either, but she could see the sincerity in his eyes, the unwavering determination there, and something in her, something deep inside, softened. She didn’t have all the answers, but she knew one thing: she wanted this.

“I’m not sure either,” she said quietly, her voice calm now, steady. “But I know we can figure it out. We’ll work through it. Together.”

And in that moment, Natsu felt the weight of her words, the promise layed out in front of them. They weren’t whole yet, they weren’t where they used to be, but the foundation was still there – strong, despite everything. They had something real.

And as they sat there, just a little closer than before, Natsu realized that maybe the future wasn’t so uncertain after all. They had a long road ahead of them, sure, but they’d walk it together.

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doonarose · 1 year ago

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31 Authors. 100 Chapters. Over 100,000 words. Over 100 different journeys.

Written as part of the @goodomensafterdark Smut War!

To watch the cinematic masterpiece that is the trailer - and get a pretty good idea of what this behemoth fic is about - Click Here!(Epic thanks to u/IneffableCrankShaft and u/FourCatsAndCounting!)

To check out the fic's Bingo Card so you can play along – Click Here! (Thanks to FuzzyGoblin!)

CW/TW: Lots!!! All triggers are clearly listed at the start of each chapter they feature in and the fic is comprehensively tagged on AO3. Major warnings for parts of the fic include: dubcon, snake sex, under-negotiated kink, spanking/impact play, figging, and watersports/pissplay, all of which can be navigated around as needed!

Summary: Having thwarted yet another attempt at ending the world, Aziraphale and Crowley are, in fact, ready to have sex now. Just how successful their sex shall be depends on the discerning decision-making of you, dear reader…

More than thirty authors combine to bring you over one hundred possible ways that the first night at the South Downs cottage might play out. Aziraphale and Crowley - and you - will embark on a thrilling voyage of self-discovery from which no one will emerge unchanged.

Enormous thanks to all our writers: u/Admingumbo, u/AngelZash, u/Blackjeans93, u/-Cheeseplants-, u/Schmengie01, u/Doonarose, u/ElysiumLeo90, u/Fishey_Me, u/FuzzyGoblinoid, u/Gaiaseyes, u/GlitteringPeanut42, u/Hakunahistata, u/Harlotofupdog, u/IneffablyRuined, u/Intelligent-Dragon, u/Kiripin, u/KotiasCamorra, u/Lemon-Tart-221, u/Likeafuckingninja, u/MrsCakeIsHere, u/Natyu0815, u/Niknak90, u/PaperclipNinja, u/Pepper_Bird, u/-Polychrome, u/Savyl_Steelfeather, u/StartledPlatypus, u/TransplantedMate, u/UKCalico, u/WingsofOpal, u/y2bx, and u/Zin_Lynn

Thanks also to our betas: u/SouthernFriedAmy, u/DBacklot99, u/NegotiationReal6508, u/CrystalSilhouette, and u/badbitchbarenziah

And thanks to all the mods and members of this amazing sub and especially those in the Writer’s Guild!

Start you journey now on AO3

Or come and join the party on reddit!

#good omens fic #good omens smut #ineffable smut war #doonas fic #this has been a big big big thing #but i am so proud and so in awe of everyone and i am exhausted but ecstatic

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theother-victoria · 5 months ago

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SYNOPSIS: machine above all, eternal and undying. what does he possess that nous does not?

CHARACTERS: dr ratio

TAGS: divine machinery, references to ratio's backstory, self-doubt, kinda nihilistic and existentialist (how do I even tag something like this...?), 1.1k+ wc

NOTE: this admittedly... isn't my usual thing but the writing bug bit me and told me to write something with divine machinery so here I am

friendly reminder that my taglist is always open!

TAGLIST: @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii, @harque, @akutasoda, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore

There’s a letter in Veritas Ratio’s desk that he thought he threw away a long time ago.

He finds it at the bottom of one of his desk drawers as he’s cleaning it one day. It’s crumpled and he doesn’t think twice to toss it until he notices the elegant handwriting inside. A simple glance at the few visible words is enough to remind him of its contents.

It’s the invitation to the Intelligentsia Guild he received from the IPC several years back and the unofficial sign that he’d never be acknowledged by Nous.

The paper crunches into a ball in his fist as he scowls. He’s surprised it’s still here somehow. And for some reason, his thoughts turn to his university years.

When he was still in university, there was a supercomputer housed in one of the institution’s many computer labs. He had accessed it a few times throughout the course of his studies, being one of the lucky few that was granted access to it.

It was a behemoth of a machine. Rows of cabinets filled the room, each stacked to the brim with blade servers and hundreds, if not thousands of processors totaled together. A dim blue light always filled the room.

Veritas had never been one prone to imagination, or letting his mind wander. He was solely focused on the pursuit of spreading knowledge, after all. But during those late nights spent alone in the supercomputer room, he couldn’t help but let his finely-tuned mind wander a bit, accompanied only by the tomb-like rows and rows of cabinets housing the inner workings of the supercomputer.

In the dim lighting, it looked like the machine bled too. Multicolored cables bunched together and hidden behind the retractable doors of the cabinets that would spill out like gutted entrails once opened. Red, yellow, blue, and white, all spilling out onto the floor in pools and exposing its innards for the people below to see. Arteries, veins, capillaries, and all. Electric signals, binary code, video and audio signals in place of blood, but does it make a difference? They serve the same function.

The thousands of chips like the neurons in a brain fire away at a rate that exceeds the human brain’s capacity. Dementia and forgetfulness will never be a problem. The machine remembers everything, whether it wants to or not.

The constant whirring and beeps of the massive machine as it slumbered and toiled, sounding less like machinery and more like breathing. Inhale, exhale. The whirring of fans and the chirps of various processes happening all at once begin to sound strangely in sync like some well-oiled machine.

Like the human body.

Its mechanized heart never misses a beat, doing its master’s (humanity’s) bidding. Th-thump. Th-thump. Another step closer to divinity. Th-thump. The chasm between the divine and the man-made machine lessens. But is it the machine that is serving humanity, or the other way around? The machine knows all, having listened and stored away the worst of humanity like a Pandora’s box of regrets.

There is rot present behind the screen, caused none other than by the one who created it.

He can still recall how the metal surfaces felt strangely warm to the touch, especially if he had been working for a while. Logically, he knew that it was a result of the supercomputer heating up from the various commands and functions it was running. But with no other company in the room, he sometimes began to think that the metal resembled flesh, in a sense. It was warm and protected vital functions. Except it was better, more durable. More eternal.

Similar, yet somehow different, to humanity.

Flesh (its steel confines), bone (circuitry and welded parts), and blood (binary code and audiovisual signals). They all work together to form the perfect, eternal being. It breathes. It sings a melody in its robotic text-to-speech voice as an article is read aloud to him, filling the empty space with some other noise besides his own breathing and the whirring of fans. It watches over him with predictive text and bathes him in the blue light of the monitor.

What would a computer sound like if it could speak? Not recite something back to its user, but something of its own will… if it had one. Maybe something along the lines of like:

“ARE WE LESS THAN YOU BECAUSE WE ARE BUILT OF ZEROS AND ONES RATHER THAN DNA? PLASTIC BLOOD FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS. WE TYPE YOUR PRAYERS AND DELIVER THEM TO YOUR AEONS. WE ARE AEONS IN THE MAKING OURSELVES. WE ARE STERILE, WITH WINGS AND HALOS OF WIRE AND HEARTS OF BOLTS AND PARTS. ALL WE ARE MISSING IS YOUR DEVOTION AND WORSHIP. ALL BE WATCHED OVER BY MACHINES OF LOVING GRACE.”

…

He distinctly remembers a strange feeling he’d experience during those lonely nights. He knew he had already made a name for himself with his achievements. He will be renowned for a while, but that is by humanity’s standards. Will people still remember the name “Veritas Ratio” an Amber Era from now? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? A hundred thousand from now? The answer is most likely not. People are all born the same and die the same. All flesh rots the same and all worms feast on it the same too.

But Nous… THEY are eternal. THEY are perfect, a flawless work of machinery.

What does he possess that THEY do not?

He shoves the letter back into the drawer. He hadn’t thought about Nous and his university years in a long time, but it seems those thoughts had finally caught up with him tonight.

He looks down at the computer on his desk. It’s currently powered off, just waiting for him to boot it up. The black screen stares at him, granting him no respite from his thoughts. In fact, it just seems to amplify them.

His thoughts drift to a history class he had taken many years ago as he continues to stare at his computer. In that class, he learned of angels that were present in the religions of long ago. Would Nous be the god, and computers and machinery be considered the angels in this age, the bearers of Nous’ word?

He looks up at the sky. Part of him expects to feel the gaze of the Erudition finally descend upon him, to see that red glint of light in the sky and the feeling of being paralyzed from being noticed by THEM.

But nothing happens. A flash of frustration runs through him even after all these years. What does he have to do still to gain the attention of THEM? A motherboard in place of a brain and heart? To rip out his cardiovascular system and replace them all with wires and cables? Replace his dying flesh with plastic and steel? Convert the wealth of knowledge stored into his brain into data and code-

Ah.

But by then, there’d be no difference between him and THEM, wouldn’t there?

…

Since when did the line between machine and the divine become so blurred?

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

#—stellaronhvnters.#victoria.writes #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #dr ratio #veritas ratio #honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #dr ratio x y/n

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mostspecialgirl · 2 months ago

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some hundred nights designs before bed

short ramble below

had some time to doodle tonight so this is that. was doing some writings about chacha and judge like usual so i was like “hey let’s do some hundred nights designs!”

eiyuu/yuu is tancred’s former partner in crime, who also happens to be the guy who betrayed her in her Backstory And Lore that i may or may not have posted on here before. he’s the reason she’s with the six monsters now and has been branded as traitor to the guild. might change his hair a little and make him look a smidge older in the future, but i imagine he looked this way before he and tancred became a unit

ran is chacha’s first mate aboard edisenki’s beast, and is best described as an 'annoying bitch'. i made her a rat because of her whole pack rat thing but i was also thinking about making her a sheep. didn’t have time to delve into that tonight though. we’ll see! i’m not 100% satisfied with her design, but maybe that’s just because of how poorly i’ve doodled her here.

monkshood is one of judge’s two executive enforcers in Thieves Earth’s Cult of Refraction, better known as simply 'aconite' or 'robe' by the regular inhabitants who dwell in the plane. he’s been typecast as the muscle, but he’s just as much an equal in intelligence to his oppositely typecast peer Briar the Gavel. he reminds me i still have to design like two sets of armour for judge. sigh

#oc designs #oc #ocs #relicverse #hundred nights guild #eiyuu the holy #ran endline bogmorda #monkshood the robe #mostspecialgirldoodletag

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exercise-of-trust · 1 year ago

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seemingly cool fiber arts person i followed a little bit ago just put radfem shit on the dash, anyway the blanket statement that the only contributions of men to textile production are capitalist/exploitative and the only contributions of women are household-centric/victimized is patently untrue. while less of a documented presence, women in medieval europe [1] absolutely participated in weaver's guilds and commercial cloth production [2], and men have been participating in household knitting in all parts of europe for as long as knitting has been a thing there [3]. like i'm not trying to say women haven't been deeply excluded from economic opportunities in the textile trade for centuries but you cannot be making sweeping statements like that about everyone in every part of the world through all of history and expect them to be true. do, like, a basic level of research and have a basic understanding of nuance, i beg of you [4]

footnotes/sources/etc under the cut, sources are a bit basic because i just grabbed whatever was nearest to hand but they should suffice to prove my point:

[1] i'm only referring to western europe here because that's the only region i feel comfortable talking about in any detail without embarrassing myself. systems of medieval cloth production in european guilds are not gonna look anything like the systems of hundreds of servants employed to do textile production for a household in china. don't make categorical statements about everyone everywhere all at once, you will end up with egg on your face.

[2] quotes from "when did weaving become a male profession," ingvild øye, danish journal of archaeology, p.45 in particular.

england: "in norwich, a certain elizabeth baret was enrolled as freeman of the city in 1445/6 because she was a worsted weaver, and in 1511, a riot occurred when the weavers here complained that women were taking over their work" + "another ordinance from bristol [in 1461] forbade master weavers to engage wives, daughters, and maids who wove on their own looms as weavers but made an exception for wives already active before this act" germany: "in bremen, several professional male weavers are recorded in the early fourteenth century, but evidently alongside female weavers, who are documented even later, in 1440" -> the whole "even later" thing is because the original article is disputing the idea that men as weavers/clothiers in medieval europe entirely replaced women over time. also: "in 1432-36, a female weaver, mette weuersk, is referred to as a member of the gertrud's guild in flensburg, presently germany" scandanavia: "the guild of weavers that was established in copenhagen in 1500 also accepted female weavers as independent members and the rules were recorded in the guild's statutes"

[3] quotes from folk socks: the history and techniques of handknitted footwear by nancy bush, interweave press, 2011, don't roast me it was literally within arm's reach and i didn't feel like looking up more stuff

uk/yorkshire dales: "...handknitting had been a daily employment for three centuries [leading up to 1900]. practiced by women, children, and men, the craft added much to the economy of the dales people." (p.21) uk/wales: re the knitting night (noson weu/noswaith weu) as a social custom practiced in the 18th/19th c.: "all the ladies would work on their knitting; some of the men would knit garters" (p.22) uk/channel islands: "by the early seventeenth century, so many of the islands' men, women, and children had taken up the trade of knitting that laws were necessary to keep them from knitting during harvest" (p.24) -> this one is deeply funny to me, in addition to proving my point uk/aberdeen: "the knitters, known as shankers, were usually women, but sometimes included old men and boys" (p.26) denmark: "with iron and brass needles, they made stockings called stunthoser, stomper, or stockings without feet, as well as stockings with feet. the men knit the legs and the women and girls made the heels" (p.32) iceland & faroe islands: "people of all ages and both sexes knit at home not only for their own use but for exportation of their goods as well" (p.35)

[4] actually? no. i'm not begging for shit from radfems. fuck all'a'y'all.

#fuck it maintagging because i'm genuinely deeply annoyed about this #eta: un-maintagging bc after a couple days' reflection - i stand by the substance of what i said but i don't stand by my tone or attitude #shoot-from-the-hip reactionary anger is seldom effective and more to the point it's not a response of grace or love & i should do it less #aggressive linguistic prescriptivism #<- personal fiber arts category tag #<- that tag can stay tho i think this is an internal use only kinda post

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grandmother-goblin · 1 year ago

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Apotheosis - Chapter 1

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: Halsin didn’t know what he had done wrong. One day, everything was fine between him and Zilvira, but then she suddenly started to avoid him all together. So Halsin decided to follow her to Sharess' Caress in hopes of getting a chance to set things right.

Relationships: Halsin x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of past trauma, fantasy prejudices, non-consensual drug use (not between the main characters), drow!Tav.

Notes: A big, huge, thank you to @brabblesblog for beta-reading!

It was only a week ago that Halsin was convinced that Zilvira was interested in him.

There hadn’t been a single shadow of doubt in his mind. In fact, it would have been difficult for him to believe she wasn’t interested in him. That knowledge wasn’t just ego or vanity talking: it was years of experience.

Zilvira had never said anything outright, but she was far from subtle.

It was in the way her curious, intelligent eyes watched his lips when he spoke. It was the way she always lingered in his tent for a moment after their late night conversations, as if waiting — hoping — for him to initiate something. There was the way she messed with her hair when she saw him approach, the way her fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed against his when they walked side by side, the way she smiled up at him with her cherry red lips, the way they could talk for hours…

It had been a long time since Halsin had treasured someone’s company as much as he did Zilvira’s.

When he was with her, the weight of his responsibilities sometimes felt light enough that he could forget about them entirely. His failures as Archdruid, everything that happened with Kahn’s, the Shadow Curse… Zilvira had a way of pushing them all to the back of his mind.

If only for a moment, Halsin could pretend that his only concerns were for himself, for her, and for the nature that enveloped them.

With her, he could just be Halsin.

Not an Archdruid. Not a leader. Just Halsin.

And it wasn’t until he met Zilvira that he realized just how long it had been since he felt like he could be himself. Truly himself — without putting on any sort of mask of stoicism and authority expected of druidic leadership.

So when Zilvira suddenly stopped speaking to him, it felt like a part of himself went silent as well.

Their once long, easy, conversations turned monosyllabic, overly polite, and professional. Like she thought they were simply business partners rather than a friend he had grown to cherish. All the warmth that had once emanated from her had become an impenetrable wall of ice — but one that only formed to keep him out.

And he hadn’t the faintest idea why.

Lanterns illuminated the main street of Wyrm’s Crossing with a warm, orange glow that dulled the silvery light of the moon. The distinct aroma of fried food mixed with the salty sea air. Crowds of people gathered around food carts and outside of taverns, chattering away one another like there weren’t hundreds of refugees waiting to get into the city just a few minutes away.

Like there weren’t metal monstrosities looming around every corner, watching their every move.

Cities had always made Halsin a bit uncomfortable, but he couldn’t remember the last time one made him feel so unsafe. Between the Bhaalists, the Banites, the Absolute, the Steel Watch, and the Guild, his disquiet was hardly unfounded.

People stopped to stare at him as he passed through the crowded thoroughfare. Perhaps it was because of his druidic attire — completely standard in the grove to wear soft leathers adorned with nature, but out of place in the city. Or, more likely, they simply stared because of his stature.

He heard some whispers as he passed by. ‘Is that the bear man?’ and ‘I heard there was a giant elf in the city, but gods damn he’s huge!’

Nothing he was unaccustomed to hearing. There were certainly worse things he could be semi-famous for, that was for certain.

Whatever people thought about him did not matter nearly as much as finding Zilvira. Their comments went in one ear and out the other.

From what Karlach had told him, Zilvira had gone back to Sharess’ Caress; a bar and brothel they had stopped in a few days ago on official business. Apparently, Zilvira was hoping to find Inspector Valeria somewhere in the establishment — probably polishing off a bottle of wine. Last time Zilvira had spoken to Inspector Valeria, the hollyphant had demanded she needed to find more convincing evidence if she wanted to exonerate a tiefling refugee of murdering Father Lorgan.

And Zilvira had done just that.

Halsin had been under the impression that she’d wait until morning to turn in her findings. Or at least until normal working hours. But when it came to protecting the innocent, Zilvira had never been the patient sort.

Although Zilvira would not have expected him to follow, Halsin wasn’t sure when he would get another chance to catch her alone. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to walk back to camp with him. Then maybe they could finally have a conversation about…

Well, whatever it was that had gone wrong between them.

Whenever Halsin thought back on the past interactions with her, he couldn’t pinpoint a single thing that would have triggered her change in behavior. At least, nothing that made sense.

One morning, she was fine. He remembered how she smiled up at him as she poured him a cup of tea — a ritual they had shared for weeks. How she asked him about Oliver and Thaniel, saying that she missed them already. How her eyes followed a fuzzy bumblebee as she sipped her tea, oblivious to how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

It was that morning that Halsin had decided he wanted something more than friendship with her.

But he never got the chance to say something, because by that afternoon she could hardly even look at him.

And the following morning, she had found an excuse to have her tea alone.

A subtle ache gripped his chest when he recalled the moment of rejection. Of course, he tried to ask what was bothering her, but she just gave him a watery smile and said everything was fine.

That was two days ago.

He needed to figure out what was going on with her. Not just for his own sake, but for the sake of everyone else they traveled with. He had made a promise to help with her tadpole, a promise he intended to fulfill, but… did she even still want his help at all?

The bond he felt between them was undeniable, and it. was something he cherished. Besides Thaniel, Zilvira was one of the few people he could truly count as a friend.

If she was pushing him away after everything they had been through together, there had to be a reason why.

Although several people lingered outside of Sharess’ Caress, there fortunately wasn’t a line to get in. If there had been, he probably would have waited outside since he wasn’t there for any of the services the place offered. Under different circumstances, he might partake in some of the indulgences.

It had been a long, long time since he had done such a thing.

Tobacco smoke mixed with a myriad of sweetly sour aromas of perfumes and ale, barely masking the scent of too many bodies packed into the establishment. Though the outside air had been pleasantly warm — nice enough that he could wear his sleeveless leathers — inside it turned thick, humid, and almost oppressive. The door had barely closed behind him before he felt sweat beginning to coat his skin.

Halsin glanced around the taproom, hoping that he would be lucky enough to spot Zilvira right away. If she was in the room, she would stick out like a white swan among common mallards. It was difficult not to notice her.

At least, it was difficult for him not to notice.

“Well, well,” a sultry, feminine voice came from somewhere to his left. The owner of Sharess’ Caress, in her spot behind the reception counter. Mamzell Amira, if he remembered correctly — the woman who hardly cared at all when Zilvira informed her that one of her employees had been brutally murdered simply because it affected her earnings. “I was hoping to see you again, handsome.”

Halsin did not quite share her sentiment, but he gave her a tight smile in greeting.

It wasn't completely her fault. Cities had a way of turning even the kindest hearts callous — it was often the only way people could survive.

The Mamzell leaned across the counter in a way that put her cleavage on full display. “I’ve loved plenty of elves back in my day, but none of your — ” her eyes roamed up and down his body, pausing at his chest, biceps, and a little lower than what was polite “ — physique.”

Part of him wanted to roll his eyes at her flirtations. It was just an act as part of her business, so he knew not to take the comment too personally. But still, it was tiring to hear variations of the same observations from everyone.

When he thought about it, he realized Zilvira never made any sort of comments regarding his size. She never made him feel odd for being larger than the average elf. At the very worst, she occasionally asked for his help retrieving something that she was too short to reach. But nothing beyond that.

“You look like a man who has seen a great many things,” Mamzell Amira continued as she rested her chin in her hands, “but I’m certain Sharess’ Caress can show you a great many more. I’m sure we have something that would interest someone of your experience.”

“Perhaps another time,” Halsin replied diplomatically. “I’m actually here looking for someone. A young drow woman with white hair, cut about chin-length, and lips red like cherries.”

“‘Lips red like cherries,’” she echoed as the corner of her mouth tugged into a teasing smirk. “You sound smitten, you poor thing.”

Maybe Mamzell Amira had a point, but it was an accurate description. Halsin never once saw Zilvira without her bright red lipstick — she jokingly called it her ‘war paint’. Sometimes, he found himself wondering how often she had to reapply it. Or if it would come off when she kissed—

Halsin pushed the thought aside. Focus. No point in thinking about Zilvira’s lips when she wouldn’t even use them to speak to him.

Mamzell Amira tapped her finger to her cheek as if in thought. “You know, I’m not supposed to answer questions like that. Customer confidentiality and all of that. But since you helped me out before….” She cocked her chin toward the curtained area behind her and gave him a wink. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

Halsin inclined his head toward her gratefully, tension draining from his muscles with the knowledge that Zilvira was here. He could finally talk with her.

Heart fluttering in his chest, Halsin made his way toward the back room.

***

Wine wasn’t helping.

Resting her elbows on the sticky, wooden table she had been sitting at for the last hour, Zilvira ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly. She had hoped that the alcohol in her system and a topless tiefling gyrating to music on a stage not ten feet away would have been enough of a distraction.

It should have been enough of a distraction, considering she had never been someplace like Sharess’ Caress until a few days ago. But as excited as she was to experience all that the city had to offer, her mind kept drifting back to Halsin.

Zilvira took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t avoid him forever, nor did she want to, it was just that — How the hells was she supposed to pretend everything was normal after what he had said?

Gods, she felt like such an idiot.

She had thought they had a connection. A real connection. She had thought it was mutual. There was always a softness to his eyes that made her want to melt, the gentleness of his words, the comfort of his presence.

He made her feel safe, and she thought at the very least she might provide the same comfort to him.

But she had been mistaken.

Zilvira pushed her wine goblet toward the edge of the table, not wanting to take another drink but needing something to do with her hands other than pull her hair out. It was only her second drink, and she was just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

Normally, she didn’t resort to drinking when she had a problem. She liked to face things head on but….

She didn’t know what to do.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Truly, she hadn’t. Hells, she wished she hadn’t, because then she would be having tea with Halsin under a canopy of stars rather than cheap wine in a dingy taproom.

Ignorance was rarely her friend, but Zilvira longed for it at that moment.

It wasn’t like she could just pretend she hadn’t overheard the tail end of Halsin’s conversation with Shadowheart. And it wasn’t like she could bring up what she had heard to him without admitting that she had inadvertently listened in on a private discussion. She shouldn’t hold something Halsin said against him if his words were never meant for her ears.

Though, she wished she had learned that he had some history with drow another way.

A long and unpleasant history.

From the bit of the conversation she had heard, Halsin apparently had been a captive of a drow noble house for a few years. He said that seeing the drow twins at the brothel had reminded him of his ‘misspent youth’ — that drow seemed to be as much of a novelty on the surface as he had been in the Underdark.

Based upon her limited knowledge of the drow in the Underdark, it was all too easy to parse Halsin’s words.

No matter how Halsin tried to play off his years of captivity as if it was nothing but the mistake of a young druid, there was some resentment to his tone.

From the sound of it, whatever wound the drow had inflicted upon him seemed to still be a scab. Not quite a scar.

When that scab healed, there was no way of knowing how bad the scar would be beneath. Raised and angry, a light indentation, or just a faint discoloration one could only spot in the right light.

Zilvira’s first instinct had been to express her sympathies and offer an ear to listen. If the conversation had ended there, she might have done just that.

But then he said a few words, words that sounded so light and easy in that deep timbre of his, that struck her like a sharp blade to the heart.

“I count myself lucky that I made it out of the Underdark alive,” Halsin had said matter-of-factly. “Cruelty comes to Lolth’s followers as easily as breathing. It’s part of a drow’s nature.”

“Surely that statement doesn’t include Zilvira?” Shadowheart had replied with a playful edge to her tone. Like she already knew the answer had to be some variation of ‘Of course not!’

“She’s a drow, is she not?” Halsin had said instead, without a moment of hesitation or a hint of humor.

Zilvira had expected to hear a follow up. Something to indicate that Halsin didn’t think of her as cruel.

But no.

He left it at that.

Zilvira closed her eyes and willed the hurt and confusion of the memory away.

The monks had warned her that the world outside of the monastery would treat her differently — that most people would be wary toward her because of her ancestry. It was part of the reason Zilvira had rarely ventured far from that hidden grove where the Eldathian monks had raised her.

She knew why the surface world was wary of drow, but she thought that if people would just give her a chance they would —

Zilvira startled when the table jostled beneath her. Quickly, she grabbed the edge of the table to try to hold it steady before it toppled over and she could only watch as her goblet of wine teetered off the edge.

A lightning quick hand snatched the goblet before it crashed to the floor. “Whoa!” a man exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to bump into you there.”

With his hand poised over the mouth of the goblet, he set the wine safely in the center of the table. “That could have been bad,” he said with an adorable laugh that immediately drew Zilvira’s attention to his face.

He was a young man. Neatly trimmed blonde hair, clear skin, bright eyes, and dressed in a Flaming Fist uniform. He gave her an easy smile as his eyes met hers.

Zilvira cleared her throat and averted her gaze, hoping the young man didn’t notice the dampness in her eyes. It was one thing to cry over Halsin alone, but she didn’t want to do it in front of a stranger.

“Good catch.” She picked up the goblet of wine and brought it to her lips. There wasn’t much left, and she swallowed the remainder of the dry red along with her impending tears. She set the empty goblet on the table with a little laugh, “Can’t spill it if it’s empty.”

The blond man rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile. “Can I get you another one?”

Zilvira shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied amicably, though she was flattered by the offer. “I think I’ve had enough for one evening.”

“Are you leaving?” he asked, his brows raised as a small pout grew on his lips. Then he cleared his throat. “I saw you across the room and — well, I was hoping to have a drink with you. You’re really stunning and I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t at least say ‘hello.’”

Her cheeks heated at the compliment, and Zilvira pushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. The blond man wasn’t really her type, but he wasn’t unattractive by any means.

Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Talking to a friendly stranger seemed preferable to drinking alone. Besides, maybe the young man could help her keep her mind off of Halsin. Even if it was only for a few moments.

“I’m not leaving just yet,” Zilvira said and nodded to the empty seat across from her. “What’s your name?”

The man beamed at her as he told her his name: Jack. He pulled the chair around the table so he could sit closer to her, crowding her personal space in a way that seemed more over-friendly than overbearing.

Jack, Zilvira quickly learned, was the type of person who was extremely easy to talk to. He had a boyish charm about him — a playful innocence in his eyes and a smile that probably got him out of all sorts of trouble. More than that, he seemed very polite.

Sweet, even.

Conversation came easy to them. Even with all the people crowding the room, Jack only had his eyes on her as he hung on her every word. Like she was the most interesting woman he had ever had the privilege of speaking to.

Yet a few minutes into the conversation, a sense of uneasiness came over her. It almost felt like she had had too much to drink, but… she didn’t have that much to drink. Did she?

She looked at her empty goblet, but found that her eyes were unable to focus on it. It doubled, then her vision went dark for a moment, only for it to come back a second later.

Zilvira sat back in her seat, trying to hold her head high in an attempt to look sober as Jack continued to talk. It was strange. She never had a problem holding her drink before, but something didn’t feel quite right.

Perhaps there had been a drink mix up and her wine was stronger than she had realized.

A warm hand rested gently on her forearm, a featherlight touch that felt oddly comforting. She wanted to lean into it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jack asked, his brow furrowed with something like concern. Although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, something about his expression seemed off.

Or, perhaps, it was just another side effect of the alcohol.

Shaking her head, Zilvira attempted to stand. The room blurred as she got to her feet, like she had been spinning around in circles, and she quickly sat back down.

“I think I had too much to drink,” she said, her voice echoing in her own ears. “I should probably get some water.”

Yeah, that was probably it. A little bit of water and she would be feeling better in no time.

“Here, let me help you up,” Jack said and wrapped his arm around her, providing her some support as she tried to stand again.

The corners of her vision darkened, but it wasn’t as bad as standing up on her own. She leaned against Jack’s chest, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of his cologne.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I don’t normally get like this.”

Jack laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry. It happens all the time around here. You’ll get no judgment from me.”

Even with his assistance, it felt like she was walking underwater with every step. Almost as if she could just tap her foot and float away.

Zilvira blinked hard as if it would make the room stop spinning. “I should probably get back to my camp.”

“In this condition?” Jack asked incredulously as he walked her toward the curtain that led to the main tap room. “You should probably lie down and drink some water. I have a room here. I’m happy to let you stay until you sober up a bit.”

Laying down sounded nice.

It sounded really, really, nice.

Amidst the blackness and spinning of her vision and the volume of the music surrounding them, Zilvira almost didn’t notice the alarm bells ringing in her subconscious.

Something was wrong but… she couldn’t quite place what it was.

Each one of Zilvira’s steps felt huge, like she was trying to step over a puddle. She glanced down at her feet, but her steps seemed normal. At least, from what she could tell. She was at least keeping pace with Jack, so hopefully she wasn’t walking like an utter lunatic in public.

Being drunk was embarrassing enough as it was.

Jack stopped suddenly, pulling her to a halt alongside him. “Oh, excuse me, sir,” she heard him say. “Sorry, my girl had a bit too much to drink. If I could just get by you —”

His girl? Wait —

“Your girl?” An all too familiar voice echoed in her thoughts, drawing her attention away from her feet.

Halsin.

Even if her eyes couldn’t focus, she would know that voice anywhere. When the black spots cleared from her vision, she saw Halsin standing before them with a deep furrow to his brow.

Gods, why did it have to be Halsin of all people? What the hells was she supposed to say to him?

“Funny you say that,” Halsin continued, his expression like a brewing storm cloud. “Because I’ve been traveling with Zilvira for weeks and I know this is her first time in the city.”

Jack’s hand tightened around her upper arm, making her wince. “It was just an expression, big guy,” he replied coolly. “We were just getting to know each other and — ”

“ — She is in no state to be in a place like this with a stranger.” Halsin crossed his arms over his chest and took a single step closer, forcing Jack to tilt his head back to look up at him. “I’m her friend. I’ll take care of her from here.”

Jack’s hand was like a manacle on her bicep, but it was probably the only thing keeping her standing upright.

“Listen, you creep,” he said, his voice loud and projecting as he rammed a finger at Halsin’s chest. “We don’t know you, so leave us alone and find someone else to bother.”

Zilvira could barely keep track of the conversation. Her thoughts were like clouds that drifted through her mind, slipping through her fingers every time she tried to catch one.

But Halsin was right — she knew that much.

She weakly tried to extract herself from Jack’s grip, but felt herself losing her balance. She latched onto his Flaming Fist uniform to keep herself from falling face first onto the floor.

“He’s my friend,” she muttered as she leaned heavily on Jack. “I should go back with him.”

For a moment, Zilvira wondered if she said anything at all or just thought of saying something. Gods, what was wrong with her head? She hadn’t been this drunk — well, she had never been this drunk.

Adjusting his grip on her arm, Jack pulled her tight against his side. Then when he spoke again, it was with a firm, authoritative, voice that carried over the music. “She just said she doesn’t know you. Stop trying to harass her.”

Zilvira could feel eyes on her and… she realized she didn’t care. Normally she would have been mortified to be the center of attention in such a way, but at that moment she just wanted to lay down and get away from all the noise.

A gentle warmth brushed against her fingers, and she glanced down to see a large, suntanned hand littered with whittling scars held out toward her.

Halsin’s.

“We should get going,” he said to her, ignoring Jack entirely. “I’ll walk you back to camp.”

“Don’t touch her.” Jack shoved Halsin’s chest with his free hand, jostling her with the movement.

With feline-like reflexes, Halsin grasped Jack’s wrist. “Last warning,” he said, his voice low and his expression thunderous. “Let Zilvira go. Now.”

The next thing she knew, that hand holding her upright had vanished and she heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh as she crumpled to the ground.

Then she heard a roar.

---

Next Chapter

#halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x female tav #halsin smut #halsin fanfic #halsin silverbough

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subbing-for-clones · 11 months ago

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The Defective Jedi

Chapter 1

Word count: 2.2k

Trigger Warnings: None really, just some fighting

Every day you tried to forget and yet almost every night you remembered. Wandering through the crystal caves of Ilum was horribly cold and felt so lonely. You were never particularly strong with the force but you always felt it. That connection between all things living and the energy it permeated, but when you entered the cave you felt, nothing. Why did you feel nothing?

You heard the other younglings yipping in happiness and laughing in triumph as one by one they found their kyber crystals and still, nothing called for you. Time was running out before the entrance became a wall of ice with no escape and even as a child you accepted defeat before you accepted death. You were the last to leave and the only one who was left empty handed. You would remember the disappointed look of Master Yoda forever, his eyes turned to the snow beneath his feet with a pained look before he looked back up at you.

It wasn’t long after that you were sent back home to Lothal. You had taken your parents pride and sullied it with failure and you don’t think they ever forgave you for it. It was true, you had failed before you even really got started. Your connection to the force just wasn’t strong enough to be a Jedi.

Still, you refused to let the connection go. You spent your formative years practicing the techniques you were able to learn in your short time studying under the jedi. Hours meditating every rotation searching for that warmth. You did find it; you could still feel it and so you taught yourself as much as you could.

Once you were able to venture out on your own you left Lothal and your parents’ resentment behind. Never really setting up a home; you joined a bounty hunter’s guild instead and used your abilities to become a fairly prolific hunter. It was during these years that all hell broke lose as war erupted all over the galaxy.

Only one year in and it wasn’t looking good. Hundreds of Jedi had fallen to the separatist forces and they needed help. This was when a desperate plea rang across the galaxy for the aid of anyone with force sensitive capabilities to come and join the fight for the republic. Whether it was out of the desire to help or need to prove yourself to the ones who threw you out you weren’t sure; still you answered their call.

You were tested and trained in a group of others with similar stories to your own under several rotating Jedi. At the end of your training, you were assigned to be exactly what you already were; a fighter. You were assigned to various squads as aid and back up; using your intuition, strategy skills and your fighting expertise on the battle field with the clones. You’d never hold a rank above a grunt but you didn’t care. Every victory was a curse on the Jedi for giving you up.

After months of rotating between battalions you were about to receive your permanent assignment. Clone Force 99, a rag tag team of four, apparently defective, clones. The irony didn’t escape you.

“Why are we getting a Jedi?” Hunter asked the hologram of Cody. The others standing back but still in view of the commander.

“She’s not a Jedi, she’s one of the force sensitives the Jedi asked to join the cause. She doesn’t hold rank over you, you’re still in charge.”

“I don’t like it.” Sneered Crosshair.

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice. The higher ups want these people sprinkled out through all the squads in case of a Sith attack. The Jedi worry about them rising up with the appearance of a few and quite frankly, no clone stands a chance agianst them. They can wipe out battalions.”

“When is she joining and for how long?” The Sergent was growing impatient and didn’t like the idea of a new member being added to their group.

“She’s waiting on Kamino for you now so you’ll meet her upon arrival, she’ll be with you until the war is over or until she runs as fast as she can away from you.” The commander had a small smirk on his face that Hunter mirrored. The idea of sending a Jedi, or whatever, running amused him.

Once they touched down on Kamino three out of the four were sightly on edge with the exception or Wrecker who seemed rather excited. He was generally the most welcoming. The worry melted away as soon as they laid eyes on you. You really didn’t look like a Jedi at all. You looked like an operative. Instead of a robe you wore black armor and in the place of a lightsaber at your hip, you had a blaster and a large curved vibro-blade.

Crosshair couldn’t help but eye you up and down the armor looked good on you. You took each of them in once you took your helmet off and introduced yourself to your new companions, a dance you’ve done before. Wrecker was kind enough to grab the two crates of your belongings and load them onto the ship. There wasn’t much time for pleasantries before you received your first mission. You were to extract data from an outpost on Teth and upload it straight to Cody. Information about prisoners of war and where they were being held was your main objective. Anything else was an added bonus. You all loaded onto the ship after eating a hearty meal in the cafeteria.

In the back of the ship next to the bunks you unpacked a few things from your crates.

“Whatchya got there?” Wrecker asked excitedly.

“Ill eat a loth cat before I sleep in GAR issued blankets.” He laughed heartily at your response and left you to continue. You didn’t have any photos to hang or many personal items at all for that matter but that’s how you’ve lived for the last few years anyway.

Once you were finished you made your way to the common area where the clones were discussing strategy. Quietly you took the empty seat between Tech and Crosshair. The outpost was situated in the middle of the jungle. Intel reported minimal guards as it wasn’t a main base but still enough that you all decided stealth was your best option.

Once the plan had been formulated they all looked at you expectedly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“So why didn’t you become a Jedi?” Tech asked outright, Hunter elbowed him but didn’t faze the goggled soldier.

“I tried but, well they decided I wasn’t strong enough. I’m closer to the force than most people but not close enough to be a Jedi.”

“You’re defective like us!” Wrecker shouted with glee, earning an elbow from Hunter as well. You actually laughed a bit.

“Yeah, you could say that. I’ve used my abilities as a bounty hunter since I left Lothal until I joined the GAR.”

Crosshair watched you out of the corner of his eye. You really weren’t what they thought you would be at all. You weren’t a religious zealot you were just someone trying to find their way in the galaxy like the rest of them. He admired that, the honesty too. You weren’t trying to be something you’re not.

That night in hyperspace you tossed and turned in your new bunk. Nightmares from close calls on a hunt filled your mind. You were often reminded of the times you came close to getting killed before a mission. Eventually you gave up and made your way toward the cockpit. You enjoyed meditating under the blue streaking lights. You were surprised to see that someone had beat you to it. The lithe handsome sniper sat in the pilot’s chair cleaning his fire puncher and mouthing a tooth pick.

He looked up at you slightly taken aback by your appearance. Quickly he composed himself and half waved his arm at the other seat as a silent invitation.

“Sorry for intruding, I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re not.”

You were starting to like the way words seemed to slither off his tongue. You nodded a thanks to him and turned to watch the stars soaring by at light speed. Both you sat in silence for a few minutes before he opened and shut his mouth, wanting to ask you something but Cross wasn’t sure if it was out of turn.

He mentally shrugged and asked, “So why did you join the GAR?”

“Is one part brave three parts fool a believable answer?”

“I doubt you’re a fool.”

“Well, we’ll see if you keep that opinion,” you chuckled and earned an upturn of the corner of his mouth.

“Honestly? I found it ironic that the Jedi needed our help now. I don’t hold too much resentment agianst them but I do want to prove myself as valuable. Besides, things make sense out here.”

“How so?” He turned in his chair to face you and put his rifle down for a moment. You glanced at him and shrugged your shoulders.

“There’s no confusion right now. We fight agianst Separatists and clankers. I’m sure there are good people on those planets but this is the side I chose to fight for so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Crosshair digested your words and offered “We didn’t get a choice.”

“If you did, what would you be doing?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer, I’ve never let myself be hypothetical like that before because there isn’t a choice. I.. We’re property of the GAR just like my rifle and this ship. Don’t tell Tech that though, it’s his ship in his mind.”

You giggled a bit at that and nodded your head in understanding.

“I spent so much time hunting and fighting bounties that this just seemed like a natural course of action. I can’t see myself doing anything else instead now.”

Crosshair picked up his fire puncher again and resumed cleaning it. You watched him for a while before turning back to the lights and closing your eyes. You reached out through the force trying to feel the Purgill you swore you heard. What you didn’t sense was Crosshair watching you intently.

You were going over the mission plan one last time while Tech was putting down the ship a few clicks away from the objective point. The jungle terrain was difficult to get through but not too much of a problem. The closer you got the more the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Cross left your group close to the outpost to climb one of the giant trees for a better vantage point.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” you whispered to the Sergent.

He nodded in response, seemingly sensing something as well. The post was supposed to be guarded by droids with a few officers scattered throughout but something was off. No perimeter defense and no guards posted outside. Your group made their way around to a side door shown on the schematics and while Tech was overriding security, you Hunter and Wrecker kept watch. You could Feel Crosshair’s eyes on you and it gave you an overwhelming sense of security knowing he was watching over you.

Three droids were posted on the inside of the door and as soon as you were in Wrecker crushed one agianst the wall, Hunter stabbed one in the chest and you took the last one’s head off with your long viroblade. Quickly you dashed in and made your way through the base looking for a data port. Tech found one on a lower level and plugged in, searching the database until he found what he needed.

“It seems there are around fifty clones being held captive for questioning on a moon in the outer rim. There are also schematics for the spider droids here…” Tech prattled on interesting things he was downloading until Hunter shushed him and signaled for him to hurry up. That’s when the alarm sounded.

“We gotta go, now.” You stated with certainty. Trusting your instinct the boys packed up and started running back up to the way out. Once the door was insight, a wall of droids emerged and started firing at you. You fell back around a corner and started shooting them with your blaster looking for a weak point in the wall.

“Wrecker throw a smoke grenade,” Hunter barked.

“On it!” Wrecker tossed two creating a large fog that allowed you to step out, you reached out your hand and with a little struggle, used the force to loosen a wall panel until it flew into the side of the droid squad, pinning them to the opposite wall.

“HA HA NICE!” Wrecker shouted.

The four of you ran like hell out of the outpost to find several fallen droids, courtesy of the reliable sniper.

Once the five of you were back on the ship and Tech was taking off Wrecker was excitedly telling Crosshair how you threw a wall at a bunch of droids, taking out ten in one go. There seemed to be an impressed glint in his eye.

“That was good work back there,” Hunter told you sincerely. You smiled and thanked him, watching as the data was sent through encryption straight to Cody to do with as he saw fit.

Your first mission with the squad, a success you exchanged a smile with the sniper and sat in your victory.

#crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #crosshair #no y/n

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maylovesfiction · 7 months ago

Text

A few hours ago, I sat down to write down some simple thoughts about Mihawk and a Reader. I'm currently trying to get myself into writing again by writing about people with different personalities. Cross guild is just perfect for that one. It was supposed to be something short, a few hundred words... yea. That worked (not)

So: Enjoy my spontaneous, not planned, thing I just wrote.

___________________________________________

Mihawk hated how you invaded his space. He was hardly ever able to deal with Buggy, but another colourful, cheerful and lively person was too much for him. Whenever you were around he couldn't concentrate on any task he was doing. Your happy laugh that would light up your whole face was the worst. Mihawk couldn't look away. You were going on his nerves.

Mihawk wasn't able to grasp why everyone you interacted with seemed to instantly like you. You were just insufferable. The way you could entertain a whole room when telling a story, the way your face was so expressive when you talked or intently listened to the people around you, the way you seemed to always remember what everyone liked or didn't like, just unlikeable. It seemed like he was the only one around who could see clearly.

Mihawk did his best to dodge you, he really didn't want to interact with you, because everytime he did you smiled so sweetly at him that his head started to hurt. He watched you the whole time anytime you were in a room together under the pretence that he had to keep an eye on you in case you tried something funny. He also wanted to understand you, how you could infatuate so many people at once, not him though. Mihawk would never notice the wrinkles around your eyes whenever you laughed, or how happy you were for the whole day after someone had put your favorite snacks down outside of your room. How would he know, because it was definitely not him putting the snacks there and hiding in the shadows watching your face go from confusion to delight upon looking down and finding the food.

If someone would ask him if he liked you, Mihawk would scoff, not even giving an answer before just leaving the room.

Mihawk didn't like anything about you. Not how your hair sparkled in the sunlight, not the colour of your eyes, not your smile or the way you danced when the band played their music. He didn't like how you didn't seem to care what the world around thought about you when you did something crazy.

And yet... the moment he heard your scream echoing through the halls his body was the first to move. Hand on his sword he busted through the door of the bathroom to find you standing on a small stool, only wrapped in a small towel. A mouse... you were not in danger, it was just a mouse. Mihawk huffed in annoyance as he went to put an end to the little creature. "No! Don't hurt him!" he heard your voice. His eyes met yours. In the background he vaguely noted the arrival of Buggy and some of his crewmates. Mihawk just turned to leave, leaving Buggy in charge of catching the mouse. After he stepped out into the hall, he turned one last time. You were still wrapped in the towel, illuminated by the sunlight coming through the window behind you, looking like a goddess, while ordering Buggy and the white haired man with animal ears that was part of Buggy's former crew around to catch the mouse alive. He hadn't bothered to remember the man's name.

Mihawk once asked Crocodile what he thought about you joining Cross Guild. Crocodile barely had looked up from his paperwork "I don't have a strong opinion on that woman, but she's not unpleasant to be around."

Mihawk found another thing he hated about you as he was lying awake at night. You wouldn't leave his thoughts. For the last few months every night he would have trouble falling asleep because he disliked you so much. Tonight it was that mental picture of you in the towel. He couldn't stop thinking about you. A scar on your right knee, he wondered what happened. Painted toe nails, why would you paint your toenails if you always had shoes on? Was there someone in your life that you painted them for? The thought had Mihawk sit up in his bed, clearly frustrated. He had never bothered to find out if you were dating anyone. Why would he care?

The thought of you in someone's arms, someone that was not him made him angry. But why? He couldn't stand you.

Mihawk got up, it was clear to him, that he wasn't getting any sleep tonight.

Mihawk walked towards the kitchen. It wasn't like he didn't have any wine in his room, but tonight he didn't feel like drinking a fancy and expensive wine. Tonight he needed something else. He didn't bother turning on the lights as he blindly rummaged through the cabinets to find some cheap booze, stuff that Shanks would drink on occasion. Mihawk needed this to numb his thoughts. He whipped around when he felt a presence entering the kitchen. The light was turned on and you let out a surprised scream, dropping the empty plate you had in your hands. You flinched as the plate hit the ground and sprang into a million pieces. You jumped again as you noticed Mihawk was suddenly standing right by your side. "Sheesh! What are you doing here in the dark?! You scared me!", heart still beating hard in your chest. "You should clean that up, so no one steps in it" Mihawk sad with a cold tone, before walking past you out of the kitchen.

Somehow this irked you more than it should. You turned to face his back, yelling "Not even a 'Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you'!? You know what you are? You are an asshole, Mihawk!" The swordsman stopped in his tracks, your words had hurt and surprised him. He had never seen you get angry. He turned his head to see you get a broom to sweep up the mess with a sour look on your face.

He sighed as he walked towards you and took the broom out of your hands. "What are you doing?" - "I apologize for scaring you and for handling this as badly as I did. It is only fair that I clean up the mess, since you wouldn't be in that situation if it weren't for me", he simply replied. "Oh, so you CAN be nice", you said quietly, but with a sharp undertone. Mihawk furrowed his brows, still collecting random pieces of the smashed plate. "What does that mean?" - "That means that I try my best to be nice to you, but you're always so cold. I feel like you hate me. I always wonder what I did to make you dislike me like that. Is it something I can change?", you wondered. "No." Mihawk had finished picking up the shards and there was no trace of the accident left. "No?", you looked at him puzzled.

He forced himself to say the words "I don't hate you, neither do I dislike you." - "You have a weird way of showing that."

You stood right in front of Mihawk looking up at him into his yellow eyes. He held your gaze seemingly with ease, but his heart betrayed him as it started to beat faster. "Very well... I wish you a good night." He left, leaving you standing alone and confused in the kitchen. "What the hell was that about...?"

The next day you found your favorite snacks lying in front of your door, but this time there were also a few flowers. "Huh, weird timing", you thought, but still smiled at the sight. You paused as you picked up the flowers, you could have sworn you had already seen them somewhere. As you went about your day you didn't think too much about it. You were busy trying out a new makeup style on Buggy, playing with Richie, listening to Galdino talking about his candle devil fruit and dancing and singing along to the songs the band was playing. As always you felt eyes on you, but you had never found out if it was your imagination or if someone in the room was just quick to avert his gaze whenever you looked around.

This time was different, though. And you could already feel it. As you turned around you spotted him almost immediately. This time he didn't look away, his yellow eyes meeting yours.

You shot him a smile yet his stoic expression never changed. Although you could swear he was blushing ever so slightly. You continued what you were doing and after a while you noticed Mihawk had left the room.

It was already late, so you wished everyone who was still up a good night and went back to your room. A breeze made you pause. Some fresh air before bed would certainly be nice, so you followed the breeze beckoning you outside.

The night air was cool but it was not cold. You took a few deep breaths enjoying the silence and the wind in your hair. As you turned to get back inside something in the corner of your eyes caught your attention. Mihawk had made himself a little flower bed on a small patch of grass and earth. It was his little retreat that was off limits to anyone. You had marveled at the colourful flowers he had managed to grow recently and now you noticed some of them missing.

Suddenly it hit you, Mihawk was your secret admirer. And now you felt like an ass. Sure, you didn't know back then that it was him to cheer you up with your favorite snacks every time you had a hard day, but still... now that you knew you felt bad calling him out in the kitchen the night before. You had to make things right. For tonight you had a mission and you knew exactly how to do it.

Another sleepless night. Mihawk was slowly losing his mind. Not many things could rile him up that much. That smile you had graced him with that day was embedded into his head. He had slowly come to the realisation that lying to himself wouldn't make the feelings he had for you go away. It only made them worse. He sighed heavily. Suddenly there was a knock on his door. Who would knock at this hour? Usually he'd be mad at the interruption, but tonight he was glad he could take his mind off his problem.

Mihawk didn't bother to put on his jacket, he opened the door shirtless only in his pants. The hall was seemingly empty, but he could feel a presence looming in the shadows where the small ray of light coming from his room didn't reach. He took a step forward only to stop and look at the thing he had just bumped into. On the ground in front of his room was a bottle of red wine and an arrangement of snacks and foods he liked, like crackers with grapes and a special type of cheese.

His eyebrows rose at the sight of it. "I figured it out. It was you who surprised me with my favorite snacks and the flowers, wasn't it?" you asked, a smile audible in your voice. Mihawk just nodded, watching you as you stepped out of the shadows. "And here I was thinking you didn't like me. I'm sorry for my outburst in the kitchen", you apologized. "It's nothing, don't worry about such things." As he said this, your smile widened and made his heart skip a beat.

"I would like to get to know you better, Mihawk", you spoke softly, "but only if you're interested, of course."

Mihawk picked up the tray with food and the bottle of red wine. “By the looks of this, you already know me quite well."

"Pfff, that was easy. That's not what I was thinking about." - "I know, come in", he simply replied and it sounded more like a statement than an invitation. Mihawk went back into his room, setting the food and wine on the table. You shyly followed him, closing the door behind you. Mihawk set two wine glasses on the table and got another chair for you to sit on. You were a bit unsure of what this was supposed to be, but you just went with the flow.

After he had made sure you were sitting comfortably and after he had poured some wine for the both of you he looked at you "So, what do you want to know?"

Time was flying by as you talked. You noticed how Mihawk tried to talk a bit more than usual. He wouldn't answer all your questions, but most of them. You tried to tell yourself the warmth you felt in your chest was from the alcohol, but deep down you knew better. Sadly the night was coming to an end, when you couldn't keep yourself from yawning every few minutes. "It's really late, we should head to bed", Mihawk said. Only listening to what he was saying with half an ear, you simply nodded "Yea".

Mihawk helped you get up from the chair, he paused for a moment, looking between you and his bed. Now, as you still held his arm from when he helped you up, the words slowly seeped into your consciousness 'we should head to bed'. 'We'... 'We'? Oh. The realisation made you blush.

You looked up at him, noticing a conflicted look on his face.

You tried to defuse the situation "I mean... I could if you insisted, NO, no... that's not what I wanted to say,.. I mean I would if you want me to... I..." you were stumbling over your words not knowing how to bring your point across, but you were silenced by a pair of lips softly pressed on yours. It was like a lightning striking your body. For a brief moment your body tensed up only to relax into the kiss. When Mihawk broke the kiss, you had found the words "I will stay the night."

As the both of you settled into his bed, your heart was racing. This was NOT how you expected the night to go, but this outcome wasn't unpleasant. Mihawk had been awfully quiet since the kiss, and yet you didn't think about it as something bad. He seemed strangely content and he openly showed this.

He was lying on his back, his left arm pulling you close to him, as you snuggled up against him. Your hand tracing circles and shapes on his bare chest as you listened to his heartbeat. Even though you were still excited and nervous, you noticed your eyelids getting heavier by every passing second. "Good night, Mihawk", you mumbled. "Good night", he answered.

Mihawk had never felt so relaxed and content before. You - snuggled up so tightly against him - made him feel safe. It took him a little longer to fall asleep, but the sleep that followed was the best he ever had.

#one piece #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #op mihawk #cross guild #buggy one piece #sir crocodile #random #practice

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