#while bread can stand alone by itself easy.

[darewolfcreates]

Really excited for this splatfest. I really love food.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 14

Let's Go Home | Loki x Reader

You and Loki continue to practice your magic, relaxing and enjoying some peaceful quality time together at his cabin while you discuss your future...until you find something odd by the fireplace. A thunderstorm brings a familiar face and a warning.

Warnings: Rated f for fluffy and T for Thor. Some language, suggestion of sex and Avengers being mean to Loki.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

The evening crept slowly up the valley towards the cabin, like a lover it softly wound its way around your twin flames, green and blue, that had warmed you during the day. 

“We should retreat for the night,” Loki suggested, patting your leg and standing with a stretch of his long limbs. You couldn’t help but admire the way his thick aran sweater rose up his muscular back, revealing a strip of skin. Your heart thudded even harder when he turned to you, “are you coming, darling?” His lips twitched with the suggestion of a smirk and you smiled back, allowing him to pull you into his arms so you could walk back inside together. 

Loki’s flame coiled around itself until it became a serpent, following you over the dark wooden boards of the decking. Loki bathed in the joy of your smile, overcome with pride when you left his arms to stare at your own blue flame, still flickering alone in the darkness. It grew lower without your attention, and, to your joint surprise, rose into a small, fat, fiery, calf, its shaggy, flame hair, bounced in front of its wide eyes as it playfully chased Loki’s snake through the kitchen door. 

“Well, I didn’t expect a cow.” Loki sighed, looking at you expectantly. 

“Neither did I!” 

“You didn’t make it on purpose?” 

“No! I just thought about your snake and how I’d like to be able to make my own animal and…the flame moulded itself,” you shrugged one shoulder, “isn’t it cute though!” 

The flames, one stately and precise, one bounding, made their way to the hearth in the living area. The snake wound itself around the smaller kindling, settling inside them as if to sleep, while the calf climbed atop the still smouldering log and allowed its flame to melt slowly into the growing embers. 

You stared at the spectacle, “I never knew you could do that.” 

“Neither did I, darling,” Loki muttered, “neither did I.” 

The fire continued to crackle merrily in the hearth, the images of your snake and calf now blurred together in the flames, and you snuggled down on the floor, bowls on the coffee table, to enjoy your meal. Sat on the floor of the cabin, woollen socks wrapped around your toes and Loki’s soft smile watching you, it was easy to forget that yesterday you’d been readying for a mission. Such a leisurely meal felt odd compared to the hurried snack you’d snuck into your handbag, too nervous to eat anything more. 

Between you, you pulled a few more tins and cans from the cupboards and Loki used his magic to provide any of the staples you couldn’t find. Working around each other, the candle lights flickering against the backdrop of the bare stone, you made a simple dinner of stew with heavy dumplings floating in the rich gravy. Loki seemed to have a magical bakery, solely for your use, and procured thick slabs of crusty white bread and salted butter from a wave of his hand. 

The candles flickered and you caught Loki’s eyes resting on you. 

“Will we go back to Tønsberg ?” You asked, mopping the last of your gravy with a slice of bread. 

“If you liked it there,” Loki watched, amused, as you attempted to lick away the butter caught on your lip, before leaning forwards and brushing it away with his thumb. 

“Do you like it there?” You raised an eyebrow, unsure of how much Loki really did like being with the other Asgardians. 

“Yes, of course.” He chuckled, “I know that it appears to Midgard that I am the eternal black sheep, as it were, but I can assure you that that is part of my role. I should love to live among my people again.”

“Okay.” You nodded and went back to your stew, truthfully thinking of settling anywhere was such a new concept you weren’t sure what to think. 

“Asynja -” he said sternly, “if you no longer wish to reside there, you only have to say. We can go wherever you’d like.” 

“No, no, it’s not that it’s just -” you weren’t sure how to explain, that village was beautiful, welcoming and awe inspiring, cosy and incredible all at once. Placed so carefully along the shoreline it was like stepping into a postcard. But it was also the same place you’d been kidnapped. Even if you were taken somewhere else afterwards, you weren’t sure you’d ever walk along the street alone again. But Loki made so much sense, that was his home, his people and he’d lost so much already - your mind spiralled, your spoon dropping into your bowl with a wet splash. 

“My darling,” Loki reached for you, pulling you into his embrace, your back resting on his chest and his chin tucked over your shoulder, “I’ll never let you out of my sight again, do you understand?” You nodded against him and he nuzzled into your neck, kissing you gently. “No harm will ever come to you again, I simply will not allow it. You are far too precious, my wonderful, beautiful Goddess, to be allowed to suffer in any way.” He kissed your cheek and neck again, his breath so close it felt like your own. 

“Loki -” you whined, fidgeting in his grasp, always so bashful in his earnest declarations. 

“Darling,” he sighed in answer. 

“Take me to bed.” You turned to look over your shoulder to find his eyes sparkling and his face happy, relaxed. With one smooth movement he stood, carrying you in his arms to the bedroom. 

You slept fitfully that night, strange dreams haunting you and dragging you in and out of consciousness. Everytime you stirred Loki held you tight, his body warmed by the blankets and the comforting heat that radiated from your back as he wound his arms around you again. 

“Shhh, it’s just dreams.” His voice called through the night, a low whistle behind the screams of the fallen, fire raging and pulling the air from the room - you thrashed and fought - animals raced before your eyes, cows, sheep, a lamb with a fleece of pure flame. You tried to reach for them, to look for water, for help, and none came, the more you fought the higher the flames stretched. 

“My darling, I’m here.” Loki’s voice was a rumble through your chest, your very heart reverberating in response. A cool palm pressed against your forehead, the other sitting low on your stomach, fingers dimpling in your soft belly, his legs entwined with yours, your feet sliding on his shins as you moved - “I’m here, and you are safe and well, there is nothing to fear.” 

The flames dimmed, flickering and faltering until the sun reclaimed them, at once setting and then rising again, higher than before, bathing the world in glowing light. 

You hummed, eyebrows creased, shuffling back into Loki’s strong, secure arms, the flat, firm plane of his chest grounded you, so strong you couldn’t fight against his hold, your body relaxing under his touch. Loki’s breath tickled across your shoulder, leading the way for his lips to place kisses on your bare skin. 

Though the sun shone above, the burnt ground didn’t crack or falter, but sighed, water rising to the surface, ashes pooling and running over the ruins. Between each minute pearl of soil a seedling raised its face to the sky, opening its arms and forging forward, growing taller and taller, branches, leaves and roots filling the sky, creaking under the weight of fruit, bouncing with the force of birds taking flight, raining soft blossom onto your upturned face. 

You smiled, sleepily pulling Loki’s hand towards your face and mouthing, “I love you,” into his palm. 

Was that the feeling that had been drawing him closer these past months, the thread that seemed to sinch around his heart, tied with a bow around your little finger, ready at your beck and call. Was that the feeling that made his blood burn when you were taken? Was this the feeling that told him you were his and his alone, that angry bubble that swelled whenever anyone dared to touch you. Was that the feeling that made him feel soft and secure and safe. 

Was it love? 

He lay awake, watching your features soften as your nightmare passed into blissful dreams once more. 

In the living room of the cabin, the box burned brightly again, seeking its lost treasure. 

Not for the first time, Thor wondered how he’d ended up with a younger brother capable of causing him so much bother. He’d been happily eating a new flavour of Midgardian breakfasting food, noting it’s sweeter flavour and fruity inside, when Tony had sat down opposite him and snatched both the box and Thor’s plate away.

“C’mon, Cinnabon, where are they?” Tony looked decidedly too serious for 9am in the morning, a time when Thor much preferred to have a relaxing breakfast after his run and before his gym session with the Captain. These Midgardians had far too much of a sense of time and far too little ability to enjoy the moment. 

“Where are who?” Thor asked, taking the box back with ease, “try our new secret flavour, can you guess what it is?” the box asked and Thor let out a single guffaw, “you Midgardians are so funny, why not just buy the flavour that you want to eat.” He laughed again, shaking his head and eating the second half of his breakfast in a single bite.

“It’s a marketing thing, don’t dodge the question.” Tony snapped, reaching for the box again. 

“Uhm nah bodging dah westion,” Thor said, still chewing. 

“You know where they are.” Tony stared him down and Thor rolled his eyes. 

“Why do you care, Stark. You got your toplap thing-” 

“Laptop-”

“Toplap, laptop, who cares, they got it for you, now you have it and they are who knows where,” he shrugged, brushing crumbs from his beard, “I certainly do not care, my brother can be quarrelsome, but there has not been a single cross word between us since you paired him up with that little troublemaker. He is quite taken with her, he behaves like a Prince now.” Thor took a swig from a large mug, “and she is very agreeable. Funny, kind, she matches Loki’s temperament supremely well, Stark. I must commend your match making efforts.” Thor narrowed his eyes. He knew how the team thought of him, a tool for their schemes and plans, but ostensibly an idiot. As if spending a thousand years training at the heels of his mother and father hadn’t taught him anything of diplomacy. 

Tony gave an exasperated sigh, “this was not about match making this was about - you know what, nevermind. We can’t have them loose on Earth, we need to know where they are, or did you forget your brother is also a criminal here?” 

“He served his time on Asgard.” Thor swept the crumbs from the table onto his plate with a single swipe of his hand. Prince he may be, but his mother, nanny and tutors had taught him manners at least and it gave him a distraction from thinking about what a disaster Loki’s penance had been, how hard he’d fought for any justice for his brother beyond locking him away. 

“And what about the girl, Estrid,” Tony continued. 

“What crime has she committed - save for giving you a run for your money, eh, Stark, it is no crime to be a nuisance!” Thor laughed again, “Or my brother would certainly still be behind Asgardian bars once more.” He willed the man to take the out he was trying to give, the conversation at a dead end unless Stark backed down. 

“Thor, we need to be serious about this, we still don’t know what kind of powers she holds or why, she had a fucking spear, it was on fire. There are other people involved now.” Tony was grinding his teeth in frustration, his eyes dark and set. 

Thor pushed his mug and plate to one side, clasping his hands together in front of him on the table. 

“I say this with the utmost respect for your planet, Stark. Though I note you are not a ruler here, merely a player. But Loki is a Prince of Asgard, he is my brother. I have helped you when necessary, I have brought him to justice when required. But we live long lives and we are merciful people. He has served his time, we have discussed his reasons and agreed he was under duress, and I will not aid you in any further punishment you feel that he deserves.”

“He killed people, Thor, you can’t just -” 

“And how many people have you killed, Stark? With your weapons? Deliberately and for profit. I will not tell you again. Loki is my brother, his justice has been dealt with by Asgard, as has his rehabilitation. You required our help and we gave it, the girl made her own choices and has decided to leave with Loki. You have no jurisdiction over either of them. You will leave them both alone.” Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Thor stood to his full height, hands still planted on the table as he bent forwards, “I will hear no more of my brother being a criminal-” 

“But -” 

“Or of the girl belonging here, she is free to choose her allegiance and if she chooses Asgard then we will accept her with open arms. I will place her under my protection, as Crown Prince of Asgard, and I have faith our King will do the same. Do not bother me with this nonsense again.”

Thor stormed from the room, calling Mjolnir without a backward glance.

You woke late the next morning, your head fuzzy and the bed empty. The sheets were still warm to the touch where Loki had laid next to you, even his socks were still on the bare floorboards beside the bed. 

With a smile you tripped out of bed, opening the curtains to another crisp day, the frost clinging to the edges of each leaf like glitter and marbling the window with stars. Sapphire magic swirled around your feet, covering them with soft woollen tights, curling around each leg, your shoulders, once bare, felt soft cashmere fall down each arm and over your hips, stopping at your mid thighs and brushing against you as you moved away from the window. You’d seen this outfit in a magazine a few weeks ago and now all your magic needed was a flash of inspiration to create it for you. 

It was strange to be able to wield such power now, to have your fire at your fingertips, to dream things into existence, and yet Loki had lived like this for a millenia. How long had you had this ability, pressed down and restricted by the unseen hands of others? As nice as it was to live quietly for a while, a thousand questions still invaded your thoughts. 

Padding into the living room you lent against the wooden beam between the kitchen and living room, watching Loki quietly. He was wearing a pair of dark black and green plaid pyjama trousers and nothing else. His strong back rippled with muscle with every movement as he laid out toast and tea on a kitchen table. He was humming a tune again, brushing the back of his hand over his forehead. He turned, catching your eye and smiling while you allowed your eyes to wander down his chiselled chest. Even making breakfast he was every bit a god, as if he’d been created from the purest marble. 

“Good morning, my darling ásynja, how’re you feeling?” With his hands on your waist he drew you into his embrace and you wound yourself around him in response. 

“I’m feeling okay, tired though, I had the strangest dreams.” He rubbed a hand down your back and you let your fingers trace the indents on his stomach. 

“You were thrashing in the night, I was worried.” He kissed your temple and, using a single finger, tipped your chin up so he could study your face, “do you wish to discuss it?” 

“After toast, maybe.” You smiled, kissing him back, soft and slow and lazy. 

You ate together, curled on the sofa, and watched the hazy frost of the morning get darker as rain rolled in, the droplets catching on the glass. When the fire died down Loki knelt to relight it but jumped back, cursing, his hand bleeding. 

“Loki, are you okay?” You jumped from the sofa, but Loki held his hand out to keep you back. 

“There’s something sharp down here, I don’t want you to cut your feet.” He moved his hand and light began to glow brighter around the hearth. 

“I’m getting something to clean that with.” You climbed over the back of the sofa instead and hurried to the kitchen for a clean cloth and some water. 

Loki continued to search for the object, poking at the ashes around the tiles until he found the two halves of the broken glass bead that had escaped the box the night before. “I think I found something.” 

You both returned to the coach and, after insisting on cleaning the cut on Loki’s palm, you took the two glass halves from him. 

“What on earth is it?” 

Bigger than a normal marble it was milky and opaque, like Loki it seemed to hum with magic, drawing you closer. Experimentally you pressed both halves together and, with a jolt, they fused allowing its message to be told once more. 

“I saw a vision of a flock in chaos, a tup of pure chaos and a ewe of love, a ram standing watch, a singular lamb frolicking, a lamb with a fiery fleece. It has burnt the farm. But from the ashes rises lush land, strong crops and healthy babes. I have told this vision to my husband, and Lugh, he does not believe me when I say she is no threat, he believes this to be a prophecy of Ragnarok, he cannot see the verdant land beyond the fire. You must hide the girl, my friend, should they reach her I fear destruction, for the Nine Realms, or for her.” 

Stunned you both stared at each other. 

“That was my mother.” Loki looked tearful, but there was a soft smile on his face, “I missed her voice.” 

You held his, uninjured, hand and squeezed it, “do you understand what she was saying?” 

“All I know is Ragnarok, and sadly that has already consumed Asgard. If it was prophesying the end of my land then it has already come true.” He looked out of the window into the relentless rain that cloaked the valley. “My mother was Vanir, they are known for their prophecies, but my mother often kept them to herself, to protect people from their own fear. To share a prophecy, she must have been incredibly worried.” 

“She was talking to Lugh, the man from Baron Zemo’s house?” 

Loki looked at you, long and hard, and you watched his thoughts race behind his eyes as he nodded. 

You hummed, thinking over this revelation, if this prophecy was something Lugh needed to know, but it was about a girl, and he was so keen to protect you… “is this about me?” You chewed on your thumb, considering who you could be the ewe? The lamb? 

Loki reached out and pulled you closer again until you were curled into his lap, eyes focussed on the rain, lost in your thoughts. “I’m wondering the same thing,” he didn’t even need to read your mind to know what you were worried about, the prophecy had to be about you.

“We should share this with someone,” you suggested, taking a deep shaking breath and allowing your body to relax into his arms, your head on his shoulder. “I - I don’t want to tell anyone, but I also think -” your mind raced, whatever was coming sounded huge, destructive, and you didn’t want to be responsible. Someone had to have a way out. 

“Let us leave and seek advice, it was in our plans to return to Tønsberg and we may be able to find someone there who can tell us more.” Loki kissed your temple, “and I cannot lie to you, my darling, I am longing to see you among my people again.” 

Outside the rain turned almost sideways, lashing the window while the sky rumbled and a flash of blinding light lit up the otherwise dim cabin, when it faded there was a figure silhouetted on the other side of the window. 

“Oh my god!” You shouted, turning into Loki and hiding your face, fingers digging into your shoulders. “Loki!” Instinctively a plate of armour had covered your chest and shoulders and Loki was both pleasantly surprised that your magic was starting to react to you so naturally, and very relieved that you hadn’t also conjured your spear. 

His chest gave an answering rumble as laughter bubble up, “my darling, look again.” He tipped your chin up and there, through the window, was Thor, his wet hair dripping in long shanks over his shoulders but he lifted Mjolnir to wave at you through the window, his usual friendly smile plastered on his face. 

Thor entered the cabin doorway a sodden mess, but was dry and in a hoody and sweat pants before he reached the comfort of the fire, Loki’s magic banishing his soaked clothes to the bathroom to dry. The God perched his hammer by the hearth and warmed his hands. 

“Thank you for the shelter, brother, though I do enjoy a good storm, it is much more enjoyable from behind the window.” He smiled, turning his back to the fire and his sparkling eyes to you. “And how are you, trouble?” He asked. 

“Trouble? Me!” You protested with a laugh, “I’ll have you know I’ve been very well behaved.” You laughed, allowing him to pull you into a firm hug. 

Loki returned to the living room with a tray of mulled wine and ginger cookies.

“Tell him, Loki, I’ve been right here, practising my magic, laying low.” Thor thumped onto the floor, leaning on the coffee table and holding his mug in his hand, you chose to use the handle, balancing a cookie on the arm of the couch. 

“That, little one, appears to be the trouble.” 

“Out with it, Thor, we’ve had enough cryptic messages for one day.” Loki drawled, sprawling onto the couch beside you. 

Thor raised his eyebrow, intrigued. “Well I certainly wish to hear these other cryptic messages, but what I mean, brother, is that Stark wishes to see his ward back in his compound. 

“I’m not his ward!” 

“She’s not his ward!” 

You protested at the same time. 

“Well, this is not the way that Stark sees it, he wishes for you to return,” he pointed at you and then Loki, “and for you to be imprisoned again, I suppose. He wanted me to aid him in returning you both.” 

Loki shot to his feet, standing in front of you, “she goes nowhere.” 

Thor sprawled backwards, “fear not, I did not agree with him. I told him you are both under the protection of Asgard,” he looked around Loki’s legs, “should you wish, of course,” he winked. 

“We wish, we definitely wish.” You placed a reassuring hand on the small of Loki’s back, tugging him back to the sofa by his waistband.

“Well then, shall we return to Asga - Tønsberg ?” Thor stood, hand out to retrieve Mjolnir and smiled at you both. 

“I think there’s something you should hear first.” Loki said thoughtfully, settling back into his seat. 

Thor raised his eyebrows, “you wish to delay reaching the safety of Tønsberg?” 

“Have you ever heard of any of mother’s prophecies?” Loki had already started pulling the two milky halves of the marble from his pocket. 

“No, have you?” Thor leaned forwards again, resting his elbows on the table. 

Loki slid the two halves of the marble together and let it rest on the table against his mug, that same lovely voice floating into the quiet room. Thor’s eyes instantly softened and you felt Loki stiffen next to you, holding in the silent tears he’d shed earlier that he seemed to believe you hadn’t noticed. When the prophecy ended the room remained quiet for a few moments and then Thor huffed out a long breath of air. 

“Well then.” He looked utterly confused. “Where did you get that?” 

“Lugh himself gave it to me.” You tucked your feet up underneath you and reached forwards to take the delicate marble between your fingers. Loki opened his jacket before you could ask and you tucked it into the inside pocket, next to his heart. 

“And you believe it to be about you?” Thor raised both eyebrows, you nodded. “And you think you are not Trouble?” He laughed. 

“Brother, please, this is very serious.” Loki insisted. 

“Yes, yes. I think I know where we should go before Tønsberg .” 

“Where?” 

“The Golden Palace of course.” Thor grinned. 

<< Part 13

Part 15>>

[marshmallowprotection]

What do you think of Saeyoung's MC giving SE Saeran a kitten 😺

SE Saeran is the last person in the world that you’d expect to have a pet. He is already a vulnerable person and he has a hard time taking care of himself. So, it would stand to reason to think that he wouldn't be able to feel confident in taking care of another life.

At least, it would be easy to assume that on the surface. There's something funny about cats, though.

They often say that if you are struggling with your mental health, one of the things you can do to make things easier is to get a pet for yourself. Sometimes the only motivation you can find is taking care of them. The best way to take care of your animal is to take care of yourself, as well. This would be a gentle way of getting him to focus on his needs as well as the needs of the small life that sits with him.

The funny thing about him is that animals love him. He is indifferent to them because he never grew up understanding why people liked them in the first place. He doesn't hate animals, he just doesn't get the hype. However, he doesn't turn away the kitten that is given to him. He can be pretty stiff, though. He doesn't know what you're supposed to do with a cat.

What exactly do cats do?

Are you supposed to play with them or are you supposed to leave them alone? What does a cat want from you? Why do people enjoy having them around? They are needy... they need your help to be fed and taken care of. What makes them different than a toddler? They're just like kids! They need help and attention from the people around them that have to see to their needs.

Most of the time, he would be staring at this cat without knowing what it wanted. Sure, there's food and water and any other thing a cat could need, but it doesn't feel like it's enough for him. It sort of makes him feel like when he was a child. It didn't matter that he was getting the bare minimum, there wasn't anything for his emotional needs to back it up. A bowl of rice... maybe bread... water... that was it. Just a whole lot of nothing in the darkness.

This cat would make him reflect in a way that he doesn't like to. It's not a bad thing, it's just one of those things that he didn't intend to think too hard about after the fact. He has enough trouble dealing with the present, he doesn't like dipping into the past. It is what it is, he suffered what he suffered, but seeing someone in a similar spot as he was... well, it's hard to not do anything.

It would take a while for him to warm up to the cat since he would be bouncing between feelings of his past and feelings of a confusing present, but that all would change when he winds up having a panic attack on a bad day and the cat decides to plant itself on top of him. Saeran would feel lost at first, staring at this cat as if it's lost any sort of semblance of its brain when it decided to crawl on top of him.

Yet, the weight of its body against his chest is nice. The cat is nice. It's warm... it purrs like a motorboat. It stares at him as if it knows a world he knows. Sure, that sounds wild, but the more he thinks about that, the less he thinks about his panic. It doesn't take long for him to think that this cat... cares about him for some reason. As hard as it is for him to love something, he thinks he likes this cat.

It's strange.

But, who is he but strange?

Once he begins to understand that they have a mind of their own, he begins to empathize with them. This kitten likes to have its space but also wants to be in his business when it's determined to do so. Cats prefer to have personal space. He can understand that. He doesn't like people bothering him or pushing him around. It's easy for him to sympathize with the plight of cats.

In fact, now that he has a cat in his arms when he feels anxious, it makes him want to smack his big brother on the shoulder more for terrorizing Elizabeth the 3rd. He sees his struggle in this cat and he wants to protect it since... he knows what it feels like to not have a person in your corner.

That cat would go everywhere with Saeran. If you want to know where to find them, just step outside the bunker where you'll see Saeran and his cat curled up on the grass, enjoying the sun and the breeze of summertime.

[stoicbreviary]

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 31 

Socrates had two ways of dealing with the difficulties of his friends: where ignorance was the cause, he tried to meet the trouble by a dose of common sense; or where want and poverty were to blame, by lessoning them that they should assist one another according to their ability.

And here I may mention certain incidents which occurred within my own knowledge. How, for instance, he chanced upon Aristarchus wearing the look of one who suffered from a fit of the "sullens," and thus accosted him. 

Socrates: "You seem to have some trouble on your mind, Aristarchus; if so, you should share it with your friends. Perhaps together we might lighten the weight of it a little." 

Aristarchus answered: "Yes, Socrates, I am in sore straits indeed. Ever since the party strife declared itself in the city, what with the rush of people to Piraeus, and the wholesale banishments, I have been fairly at the mercy of my poor deserted female relatives. Sisters, nieces, cousins, they have all come flocking to me for protection. I have fourteen freeborn souls, I tell you, under my single roof, and how are we to live? 

"We can get nothing out of the soil—that is in the hands of the enemy; nothing from my house property, for there is scarcely a living soul left in the city; my furniture? no one will buy it; money? there is none to be borrowed—you would have a better chance to find it by looking for it on the road than to borrow it from a banker. 

"Yes, Socrates, to stand by and see one's relatives die of hunger is hard indeed, and yet to feed so many at such a pinch impossible."

After he listened to the story, Socrates asked: "How comes it that Ceramon, with so many mouths to feed, not only contrives to furnish himself and them with the necessaries of life, but to realize a handsome surplus, whilst you being in like plight are afraid you will one and all perish of starvation for want of the necessaries of life?" 

Aristarchus: "Why, bless your soul, do you not see he has only slaves and I have freeborn souls to feed?" 

Socrates: "And which should you say were the better human beings, the freeborn members of your household or Ceramon's slaves?" 

Aristarchus: "The free souls under my roof without a doubt."

Socrates: "Is it not a shame, then, that he with his baser folk to back him should be in easy circumstances, while you and your far superior household are in difficulties?" 

Aristarchus: "To be sure it is, when he has only a set of handicraftsmen to feed, and I my liberally-educated household." 

Socrates: "What is a handicraftsman? Does not the term apply to all who can make any sort of useful product or commodity?" 

Aristarchus: "Certainly." 

Socrates: "Barley meal is a useful product, is it not?" 

Aristarchus: "Preeminently so." 

Socrates: "And loaves of bread?" 

Aristarchus: "No less." 

Socrates: "Well, and what do you say to cloaks for men and for women—tunics, mantles, vests?" 

Aristarchus: "Yes, they are all highly useful commodities." 

Socrates: "Then your household do not know how to make any of these?" 

Aristarchus: "On the contrary, I believe they can make them all." 

Socrates: "Then you are not aware that by means of the manufacture of one of these alone—his barley meal store—Nausicydes not only maintains himself and his domestics, but many pigs and cattle besides, and realizes such large profits that he frequently contributes to the state benevolences; while there is Cyrebus, again, who, out of a bread factory, more than maintains the whole of his establishment, and lives in the lap of luxury; and Demeas of Collytus gets a livelihood out of a cloak business, and Menon as a mantua-maker, and so, again, more than half the Megarians by the making of vests." 

Aristarchus: "Bless me, yes! They have got a set of barbarian fellows, whom they purchase and keep, to manufacture by forced labor whatever takes their fancy. My kinswomen, I need not tell you, are freeborn ladies." 

Socrates: "Then, on the ground that they are freeborn and your kinswomen, you think that they ought to do nothing but eat and sleep? Or is it your opinion that people who live in this way—I speak of freeborn people in general—lead happier lives, and are more to be congratulated, than those who give their time and attention to such useful arts of life as they are skilled in? 

"Is this what you see in the world, that for the purpose of learning what it is well to know, and of recollecting the lessons taught, or with a view to health and strength of body, or for the sake of acquiring and preserving all that gives life its charm, idleness and inattention are found to be helpful, whilst work and study are simply a dead loss? 

"Pray, when those relatives of yours were taught what you tell me they know, did they learn it as barren information which they would never turn to practical account, or, on the contrary, as something with which they were to be seriously concerned some day, and from which they were to reap advantage? Do human beings in general attain to well-tempered manhood by a course of idling, or by carefully attending to what will be of use? Which will help a man the more to grow in justice and uprightness, to be up and doing, or to sit with folded hands revolving the ways and means of existence? 

"As things now stand, if I am not mistaken, there is no love lost between you. You cannot help feeling that they are costly to you, and they must see that you find them a burden? This is a perilous state of affairs, in which hatred and bitterness have every prospect of increasing, whilst the preexisting bond of affection is likely to be snapped.

"But now, if only you allow them free scope for their energies, when you come to see how useful they can be, you will grow quite fond of them, and they, when they perceive that they can please you, will cling to their benefactor warmly. 

"Thus, with the memory of former kindnesses made sweeter, you will increase the grace which flows from kindnesses tenfold; you will in consequence be knit in closer bonds of love and domesticity. If, indeed, they were called upon to do any shameful work, let them choose death rather than that; but now they know, it would seem, the very arts and accomplishments which are regarded as the loveliest and the most suitable for women; and the things which we know, any of us, are just those which we can best perform, that is to say, with ease and expedition; it is a joy to do them, and the result is beautiful. 

"Do not hesitate, then, to initiate your friends in what will bring advantage to them and you alike; probably they will gladly respond to your summons." 

"Well, upon my word," Aristarchus answered, "I like so well what you say, Socrates, that though hitherto I have not been disposed to borrow, knowing that when I had spent what I got I should not be in a condition to repay, I think I can now bring myself to do so in order to raise a fund for these works."

Thereupon a capital was provided; wools were purchased; the good man's relatives set to work, and even whilst they breakfasted they worked, and on and on till work was ended and they supped. 

Smiles took the place of frowns; they no longer looked askance with suspicion, but full into each other's eyes with happiness. They loved their kinsman for his kindness to them. He became attached to them as helpmates; and the end of it all was, he came to Socrates and told him with delight how matters fared; "and now," he added, "they tax me with being the only drone in the house, who sit and eat the bread of idleness." 

To which Socrates: "Why do not you tell them the fable of the dog? Once on a time, so goes the story, when beasts could speak, the sheep said to her master, 'What a marvel is this, master, that to us, your own sheep, who provide you with fleeces and lambs and cheese, you give nothing, save only what we may nibble off earth's bosom; but with this dog of yours, who provides you with nothing of the sort, you share the very meat out of your mouth.'

"When the dog heard these words, he answered promptly, 'Ay, in good sooth, for is it not I who keep you safe and sound, you sheep, so that you are not stolen by man nor harried by wolves; since, if I did not keep watch over you, you would not be able so much as to graze afield, fearing to be destroyed.' 

"And so, says the tale, the sheep had to admit that the dog was rightly preferred to themselves in honor. And so do you tell your flock yonder that like the dog in the fable you are their guardian and overseer, and it is thanks to you that they are protected from evil and evildoers, so that they work their work and live their lives in blissful security." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.7 

IMAGE: Anton Mauve, Shepherd and Sheep (c. 1880) 

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction - part 3

Chapter 3 - The Chosen Three…Again?

Gale and I step into the building of the Inn after a fresh stroll through Waterdeep, which smells of freshly baked sourdough bread and blueberry muffins. Quite the pleasure to the senses, I must say. It reminds me of innocent days where my mother would bake me a delicious homemade breakfast twice a week before going to the temple to pray to Sȇlune. As we enter the Inn, I notice a couple high elves and a dwarf playing some morning tunes on the lute and flutes to set the mood for those morning people. Rolan is sitting down at a table alone with his cup of coffee. Rolan’s face lights up as he notices us approach him.

“Ah! My friends, come sit!” Gale and I accompany him at the table and immediately a waitress hands us our menus. “It’s good to see you both. And how nice it is to get away for a little while.”

“How has it been at the tower?” Gale asks with a welcoming tone. “Are you practicing becoming a master wizard? I wouldn’t doubt it if you’re there already.”

“Ah, you’re too kind. Unfortunately, I’m not where I want to be just yet. I’m only improving every day. I’m having to partake in my studies more frequently, as well as teaching Cal and Lia the wonders of magic. Just in case anything happens to me. Enough about my life story.” He studies our baby, smiling but looking rather perplexed. “Say, you’ve had your baby for a while now, right? Or am I going mad as a hatter?” Crap! We never told him our situation and that Jenevelle won’t ever age.

“Whew, it’s a very long story, but here it goes,” I mention, mentally preparing myself for his reaction. I go into detail with him about what happened with Jenevelle and how the devils needed her soul to destroy Raphael. How we were promised immortality and that the outcome would have been torture if we didn’t do what we did. As I explain, he looks rather astonished and I can’t exactly tell if he’s judging me.

“Oh Gods, I’m… I’m so sorry. That could not have been an easy predicament to be in. I’m glad it all worked out in the end, at least.” Abruptly, as Gale begins speaking to Rolan, the sounds around me become muffled and my vision fades to darkness, but like a cloud of smoke. This has happened to me before, ages ago…right after I had Jenevelle. Images of Gortash, Orin, and even Ketheric appear right in front of my very eyes, and it’s as if they’re actually here. Holy shit.

“Hello Emmy.” Gortash’s voice still sounds the same, though I can tell hatred is being spat right at me. I swallow the fear and horror as his haunting voice speaks to me. Tell me I’m fucking dreaming and this isn’t happening. I guess if mind flayers can change forms and hags can curse people, anything is possible.

“Well, are you going to say anything, or just sit there silently, mentally squirming at our words as we claw our way into your soul? You’re wasting every second that could be used to slaughter every breathing piece of flesh left standing,” Orin teases, flashing her bloody teeth as she smiles.

“Quiet, Orin. Emmy, dear, we’ve been watching you. My, you are quite the impressive specimen, killing not only all three of us, but the netherbrain itself. You even destroyed countless assassins of Bhaal. I’m impressed. It’s a shame you didn’t put that talent to use and dominate the brain like I instructed before. So inconsiderate and stupid.” I try to speak, but I’m interrupted by Ketheric.

“If you make a single sound, your husband, your friend, and everyone else in this building will hear you. Choose wisely,” he growls, smirking at me. I clench my fists, feeling rage flush through me as I fight off the urge to speak.

“Now, as I was saying,” Gortash retorts, cracking his knuckles. “Imagine all of the lives you could have saved by dominating the brain. You could have controlled all the Bhaal cultists –”

“No, no, no, no, NO! You tyrant, are you listening to yourself?!”

“Unlike you, Orin, I crave control. Power. Not the deaths and flesh of millions of people. Not the screams of the innocent begging for mercy.” This is absolute chaos – no pun intended. Why do they feel the need to harass me, even after their deaths? How is this even happening? They must have been the unsettling presence I felt last night; what else could it be? So many questions are rummaging through my head, gnawing at my brain like animals.

“You will pay for what you did. On the contrary…we are able to create another elder brain,” Gortash adds. How I want to respond to his pathetic words, how I want to pin him against a wall and kill him again.

“If our gods are willing to provide the means of this happening,” Ketheric chimes in, his eyes practically staring Gortash down as a means of dominance, which is a foolish idea. They must not realize I’m immortal. If they do, they’re really good at pretending to be completely unaware. What I do know is that they know something I don’t; at least Gortash does. His disturbing and ominous smirk is hinting that he’s hiding some sort of secret from me.

“Oh, poor little baby, too afraid to speak. To cry. To do our bidding or ask questions.” Orin laughs as she speaks, licking her bloody fingers as she gazes hauntingly into my soul with her pale eyes. Gortash closes his eyes.

“We’ll speak again soon.” Those words alone were the most disturbing out of everything he said; what does he mean by that? I know damn well Gortash is keeping something from me, and it’s making me uncomfortable on every level.

My vision is back to normal and I can hear every sound around me now; was time somehow frozen? It appears Gale and Rolan are completely unaware of my temporary absence from reality. The waitress comes back again to take our order, just shortly after I zone back in, but I’m too stunned to speak.

“What would you like to eat, my love?” Gale asks with a kind smile on his face. I order the strawberry cream pancakes, which honestly sounds beyond incredible right now. I look down at Jenevelle, who is lying comfortably in my baby-wearing wrap. She reaches up at me, gazing at me with her sweet, angelic brown eyes as if she’s saying, “It will be okay mommy.”

I hate that I saw those three again. I hate that Gortash tried to guilt trip me for not dominating the brain. Why can’t they just stay dead like everyone else who passes away? I want to tell Gale about this, but will he believe me? It all sounds ridiculous when I think it through.

As we finish our breakfast, I hear the door open and, surprise, here comes Karlach and Wyll, who we seem to bump into a lot considering Waterdeep is a relatively large city.

“Rolan? Emmy? GALE?!”

“Karlach, why are you the most surprised to see me?” Gale questions with bewilderment. I stand up and bolt toward them. Karlach greets me with open arms, ready to embrace me with one of her famous hugs, but all I can think about is how anxious I am.

“Karlach! Listen, I need to talk to you. Could you and Wyll drop by later?”

“Sure thing, Em! Wait, what did you do?” I playfully roll my eyes and sit back down at the table. I let everyone chat to catch up, but Gale notices I’m not acting myself; he’s good at that. Damn it.

What pisses me off is that I had so many questions I needed to ask, but I couldn’t and those dead chosen bastards knew it. I’m not going to be playing their preposterous games. I need to let it go, maybe I’m overthinking the entire situation.

[namiraswriting]

With the window left open, curtains dancing in the soft breeze, the Odai river can be heard below. More so than the water itself is the echoing of boats sloshing about, towing cargo and travelers alike through the heart of Balmora.

A young girl, a servant working for the house, had come through earlier in the day to open all the windows, letting the air in. The homes here, hollow stone things with tall ceilings, were built to let in cold air off the river, keeping the buildings cool during hot summers.

They could, of course, open the windows themselves, but it might be overstepping.

"Don't bother with it," Denanu had said to him once before, "someone will find it rude, and then we'll have an issue on our hands."

He's never had servants before, who quietly slip in and out of rooms, making his bed and setting out his things at the start of every day. These people, he imagines he might have drank with them in the South Wall years beforehand. Now they don't look him in the eyes, bowing their heads when he speaks

The river smells green, algae and soil wafting in on the wind, almost nostalgic to him now. The place he'd lived in before wasn't grand, and it certainly wasn't waterfront, but he used to come stand beneath the shade of the bridges, watching local fisherman hauling in the day's catch. These days, he stays in a manor, one he's not permitted to leave without some sort of house chaperone breathing down his neck.

Sitting at a low table, he gingerly picks up a soft white cake, roughly the size of his palm. It's warm still, coated in powdered sugar and smelling of marshmerrow. He tries in vain not to get powder on the dark silk of his robes while he takes a bite, spare hand cupped beneath his mouth. It's chewy and sweet, with some spice in the background that he doesn't recognize. With no one there to watch him, he places an elbow on the table, slouching forward and contemplating the flavor of his food with a bored expression.

He's not a fan of sweets, never has been, but he has nothing better to occupy his time than to eat. Set out on the table before him is an elaborate spread; fresh yam bread paired with spicy scrib jelly, sliced honeydew, pickled pumpkin, steamed saltrice, fried fish, and ash hopper dumplings. And, of course, the powdered marshmerrow cakes.

All of this is paired with imported flin from Cyrodiil, and an easy blend of gingergreen tea. His own cup had been poured for him when he'd sat down, nearly twenty minutes ago now, and he uses the cold tea to wash away the sticky taste of cake.

He's alone, for the most part, with very little to do until company arrives. He'd dressed for the day - bathed and shaved and dutifully put on what was selected for him to wear. He'd read over notes a few times, things written down by Denanu to help keep track of who's who, and to manage his ever growing schedule. He'd stared longingly out more than one window, smoking his pipe and thinking of the local street food that he's not permitted to enjoy.

[junisfics]

Hate Fucking ft Eren Jaeger (Day XV)

Focus: Hate Fucking

Warnings: Smut / Nsfw 18 + (Rough Sex), Brief Violence (Blood, Asphyxiation)

Word Count: 2k

You could kill him.

That impulsive, hate ridden, destructive maniac. You want to rip his throat out with your teeth.

Your jaw is clenched tightly, eyebrows furrowed together in anger, as you sit beside Sasha and across from Connie. They chatter nonsense as you eye him down from across the room.

Just hours ago he had taken out all his pent up anger by mercilessly insulting you after your defeat during training. Although wasn't for the reason one would think.

He had you pinned to grass bare dirt, knee pressing into your right arm and opposite foot pressing painfully into your right wrist. The tendons in your forearms rapping up against the sole of his shoe like the strings on a guitar.

His knife held against your throat, every swallow you take causing it to bob gently. His other hand bracing him up by the ground beside your skull, preventing him from sitting on your upper stomach.

"Get off me." You spit, writhing beneath his unexpectedly heavy body.

You speak with your eyes boring into his own. His brows knit together, beads of sweat trailing down his dirt covered face.

"You couldn't even give it your best for me?! You're going easy?! Piece of shit!" He practically growls, pushing the knife further against your quivering throat to enunciate the expletive.

He hates the way you distract him. Never did it cross his mind that you didn't give him your all, it was only the most convincing excuse he could come up with. He despises you for the way your innocent eyes glint as you look at him, and he hates you more for the uncertain lust that lures behind them as he has you pinned beneath him.

"Eren, I'm not - I didn't - get - you're hurting me,"

Recklessly, he throws the knife aside, causing the blade to slit a shallow cut against the fragile skin of your neck. It stings, assumingly more than a deeper cut would have. His large hand replaces the blade, his sweat poisons the wound and sending harsh waves of prickly pain through your body, he squeezes... hard.

Pathetic croaks slip under his palm and past your lips, blood rushing to your face and a deep buzz filling your ears.

Your limbs flail in response, desperately trying to shake him off.

His nose is scrunched, teeth grit into a snarl, face inches away from yours as he alternates the pressure on your neck.

Hard, bruising, enough to threaten unconscious, but before that can happen his grip goes soft enough to give you a moment of uninterrupted breaths. All the time while looking into your fearful eyes, like he's waiting for the light to go out.

You hated the way your body heated up under his dominance. You can't blame yourself, who wouldn't feel at least a twinge of excitement when pressed that closely up against a guy that attractive.

"Eren - p - please, I can't - I" You're voice is hoarse, tears flooding your vision.

He's tackled off. You sit up quickly, hands go flying to your abused throat, clutching and clawing at it mindlessly as you swallow heavy gulps of air. Sasha's by your side, squatting back on her calves with an arm thrown around your heaving shoulders.

Connie throws violent punches to Eren's face as he presses his skull into the dirt with his other hand.

His face bruised, Connie's fist split open a gash in his cheekbone. His pretty green eyes surrounded by popped blood vessels.

You admire his wounds from your table, completely disregarding your dinner and pushing it to Sasha. You go as far as thinking he's pretty... when his mouth is shut. Such a shame that such a handsome face is attached to a shitty person.

"Connie took care of him, y/n, he won't bother you again." Sasha says through the bread stuffing her mouth.

"He's just... an angry person."

***

You shower off the emulsion of sweat and blood that's covering your skin. Scrubbing so harshly with the tattered rag that red welts leave in its wake. The gash on your throat pulses and stings but your glad it's clean.

The itchy fabric of your shirt clings to your damp skin, the now cold water in your hair drips down your your chest as you squeeze it in your fist to wring it out. Legs guiding you back to your room.

Before you can completely retreat, the door gets pushed open as you attempt to close it.

"Hey -" Your mouth shuts immediately.

Eren enters shamelessly, shutting the door behind him as you back away slowly. Your heart wracks against your chest, breath caught once again in your throat no thanks to him.

He's come to finish you off, he's got you alone and now he's come to pummel you into next year.

His hand grips your jaw to avoid the slit on your throat, pressing your cheeks together so your lips pucker ever so slightly. You reach up to his wrist, reaching for sinewy muscle that strains under his grasp.

His eyes look down to you, a dangerous look passing through them momentarily. His face too close for comfort, his hot breath passing through his grit teeth and fanning over your face.

He walks forward, sending you stumbling back against the closed door.

You feel embarrassingly helpless before him. You pray he can't feel the shaking in your legs.

If he starts getting violent will someone know? Will someone hear? Would there be anyone to stop him this time?

"I fucking hate you." He spits, leaning against you and resting his palm against the wood of the door beside your head, "I think about killing you every fucking day we're stuck in this stupid cottage."

Your stomach turns at his words, but you have no courage to speak out against him. Something inside you tells you to listen to him... to wait.

"You drive me insane"

"Eren -" You speak through puckered lips, one hand holding his wrist and the other pushing against his chest.

Whimpers leave your mouth, desperate cries for him to release you, leave you, apologize, something.

"Fuck - " His voice falters for a moment and his jaw slacks as he glances down to the floor, "Do you know what you do?"

His eyes meet yours, the gears in your head begin to turn. They're softer this time, apologetic.

"I - I don't - please, Eren - I don't know what - "

"Stop begging, fucking stop," He closes his eyes tightly as the hand on the door drops to the field of skin between your neck and shoulder.

He squeezes tightly, desperately trying to restrain himself.

"You're so god damn lucky my need for you is stronger then my hate." His face gets too close to quickly, leaning down so your noses are a breath apart, "because I hate you so fucking much."

It's not your stomach that turns within itself this time, it's something else... something lower. All of a sudden his grip is erotic and his body heat is radiating onto yours in all the right places. He's so close, the tension is straining.

"I - I'm - " You're stupid. You can't even think. Your entire body short circuits.

"Let me have you." He begs, voice needy and dropping octaves lower.

He begs.

You mouth drops open as arousal sparks deep inside you. A shudder wracks your body at his words.

"I know you want it. I see it. G - god, fuck, please y/n." Both hands come to hold your face in his hands, "I hate the things you do to me."

His hips stutter forward against your stomach and you can feel him, hard, throbbing in his pants. A whine escapes your lips.

It's pathetic... embarassing... how much you want him. How much you want the man that constantly dances on your last nerve to take you in his strong hands.

"I hate you." Your voice is weak and unconvincing to both him and you.

His mouth takes yours, swallowing your whimpers and flooding you with him. You taste him on your tongue, dull taste of mint toothpaste and herbal tea. You're drunk for it. Hands gripping at the collar of his shirt to pull his toned body flush against you. It's borderline violent, his tongue drinking in your breathy moans and teeth biting at your lips.

You need him. You need this. You need this feeling, this tension, flooded out of your system and gone for good. You want it fucked out of you.

You push against his neck to give you enough space to mumble against his soft lips, "I need you to fuck me, fuck me as hard as you hate me, please."

His cock twitches, jaw dropping at your desperation. A groan choked up in his throat.

You lick at his open mouth and he takes it in his mouth and sucks on it. Never, never in your entire life would you have thought your cunt would flutter around nothing due to someone taking your tongue in their mouth.

He lowers himself into a squat, taking the waistband of your sleeping pants and dragging them down your thighs, biting at the supple skin that's revealed. His calloused hands hold onto your legs as he licks a broad stripe up your inner left leg all the way up to your hip bone.

You let out a breathy moan as he kitten licks at your clit through your panties.

"No, please, I need you - need your cock." You plead and he lets out a curse as he stands.

You kiss him again. Hands grabbing at his torso to get a hold on the waistline of his pants. He follows you, using one hand to press your chest against the door and the other pushing his clothes down his thighs just enough so his aching cock is freed.

Roughly, he grips the backs of your thighs and hoists them around his waist. Cock slipping between your bodies and brushing against your clothed cunt. Pushing you high enough up the door to take his length in his hand, you pull your panties to the side. His tip teases your entrance. You're sheathed onto his length, filthily moaning out as his cock drags across your walls.

"Fucking shit." He groans into your neck, "You're so wet, you're so fucking wet."

It's overwhelming. The flexing of his muscles underneath your grip, his low groans against your skin followed by open mouth kisses. You bite down on your lip, walls fluttering around his throbbing cock in reaction to his words.

"Oh my god, y/n. Did you just cum?"

You did.

You're cunt gripping his dick like a vice. You came just as he buried himself to the hilt. His tip kissing your cervix gently.

"Give me another." You beg, fisting his shirt tighter in your fist.

You're fucked into the door, shirt riding up as you're dragged up and down the both literal and figurative wood.

"You - Eren - you're so big." Your grip on his shoulders is bruising, arms wrap around his neck and forehead falling against his, mouth open in heavy pants.

"You're so pretty like this. God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this. How long I've been conflicted by you. I've fucked my hand to your pretty face every fucking night wishing it was your cunt."

You can't believe it. This whole time he hasn't hated you for anything you've done... he's hated you because he was hating the way you made him feel. You're cunt throbs around him at the mere thought.

"And now... fuck - fuck - just like that - now I have you... and my cock is inside you and not my fucking fist."

You came harder then you ever have before, head slamming back against the door and legs shaking as you suck him in and milk him dry. He slams you down one more time onto his cock and holds you there, throbbing inside you.

[amerrierworld]

Such a Messy Affair

this is not a request it’s just me getting this idea out of my head bc I literally can’t stop thinking about Lady D and I can’t get any other work done unless I finish it so here ya go, surprise fic!

Summary: Letting Alcina drink your blood is... messy to say the least

Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,896

Warnings: vampire sssssssssmuttttttt, bath sex, biting, blood drinking, blood kink (you know how it is), possessive!Alcina but she is a softie. PSA: don’t do this in real life I beg you

Offering your own blood for your monstrous lover instead of her cutting through the servants like butter seemed an easy solution at first. You figured, with her pristine and noble behaviour, it’d be a quick and simple activity to do every couple days or weeks. She’d let you recover, eat some food, and maybe spend some time ravishing you while you rested on the bed. That sounded nice.

And sometimes it was like that. Sometimes it was a couple of drops, and she was fine. Sometimes you could still stand afterwards, and there was only a dull throb in your neck for a few hours.

But you hadn’t realized what your offer really meant. You hadn’t exactly seen how Alcina would feed on anyone else, and thus you weren’t prepared for one of the first times where she really, desperately, needed to feed.

It was late one night, and though Alcina barely ever slept, she would always come see you and spend time with you even if it meant she wouldn’t stay to slumber by your side. She had been out and about with her daughters, and when she got back she spent more time in the wine cellar than usual. 

You were waiting up for her patiently, but your mortal body didn’t like that, and you had almost drifted off to sleep when the door slammed open. Alcina looked pale, nearly sweaty, and downright feral as she stared at you from the doorway. You knew immediately that she was hungry.

You had barely offered her to drink your blood when she had stumbled into the bedroom, golden eyes flashing red, and you were pushed back onto the mattress, her whole body covering yours in a flash.

You squeaked in surprise as she tugged the collar of your shirt down, smoothing your skin with a trembling hand before pressing her fangs into the tender flesh without hesitation. Before, she’d stab you just a little, leaving a surface level cut, and then suck the wound. This time, she pushed even deeper, mouth growling and moaning against your skin. Your head swam as you felt her draining you.

Then she pulled away, suddenly, and the deep puncture wounds kept oozing blood. Usually, she’d spend her sweet time licking up the last few red streaks, but something told you she wasn’t interested in that tonight.

She yanked the shirt even further down, ripping the fabric, and then her teeth sank into your upper arm, taking you by surprise. A sharp ‘oh!’ escaped you, and Alcina grunted in approval at the sound. Your fingers twitched as they started to feel tingly and she managed to compose herself enough to pull away before your arm dried up and fell off entirely.

She straddled your legs as she sat up, chin smeared with blood and resembling her daughters more than usual. You knew she didn’t place all of her weight on you, because otherwise you would definitely die by being crushed. Instead, you felt her presence on you, a comforting heaviness that made your heart and mind woozy. 

Alcina tugged off her gloves with her snarling teeth, and grabbed your waist, shuffling down to your middle and biting right through the fabric of your shirt just above your hip. 

Her hands gripped your thighs, keeping them still, reminiscent of how she’d pin you down when she fucked you with her tongue, and you couldn’t help but squirm as something warm that wasn’t blood flooded your core. 

Warm blood kept trickling down your neck and soaking the fine silken sheets underneath, but you were both too far gone to notice it. She didn’t drink as much from this wound as the other two, sucking lightly and laving her tongue over your heated skin, and now you really were turned on.

Your hand grabbed at her curled and styled hair, pushing through the dark locks to hold her head as you whined. You would have lifted your head to look at her, to see those hungry eyes stare at you, but you thought a movement that simple would still definitely make you pass out at this point.

You whined in protest as she pulled away, releasing your body, shuffling off of your legs. You heard her heavy breathing, saw her tall shadow in the dim firelight, and knew that in a few moments, the well-mannered, sultry-voiced matriarch would come back to you.

You were sticky down below, nearly embarrassingly so. You weren’t wearing pants, and your underwear was soaked, though now it seemed it wasn’t just the  arousal that was staining it. 

You raised a hand to your neck, tracing the sensitive and abused skin and pulling away to find streaks of blood along your fingers.

“Oh.. my..” you heard Alcina breathe, “I believe I have turned you into a bit of a massacre, dear one.”

You chuckled weakly, head spinning from blood loss and arousal, and you wished you had the strength to get up and fuck Alcina yourself, but your consciousness was slipping.

“I have to clean you up,” your lover began, hovering over you once more, tender hands reaching to hold you.

You shook your head, “n-no.. don’t have the strength..”

Alcina hesitated, but saw your eyes glossing over, and relented.

“At least let me stop the bleeding,” she murmured. You nodded, and barely registered her pressing fabric or bandages of some kind to all three wounds.

“Oh, I’ve really pushed you this time, didn’t I, sweet girl?” Alcina muttered apologetically as you laid there, limp and nearly asleep. You managed a near-drunken smile and raised your hands to beckon her closer, to hold you.

“Hmm.. don’t mind,” you replied. Her body dipped onto the mattress, tutting at the blood stains, and quickly removed her expensive dress so that you came in contact with glorious, soft and pale skin as she cuddled you. “Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Alcina agreed, and you drifted off.

-

When you woke up, the world was a little clearer again, and you felt refreshed. You still felt somewhat empty, and weak, but not as bad as before. You were still in the bed, and still covered in dried up blood, but the sheets were changed and you were lying on a large towel to catch any other drips.

“I was going to clean you up while you were sleeping, but I feared I’d hurt you,” Alcina said softly. You saw her sitting at the vanity, in a white silken bathrobe, brushing through her hair. 

You sat up slowly, peeling the bandages off of you. The holes had closed up, and there seemed to be no infection, much to your relief.

“I must apologize, I don’t know what came over me,” Alcina said, watching as you inspected the wounds, “I just... I needed...”

“It’s alright,” you said, meeting her eyes with a sweet smile, “you haven’t eaten in a while, and you seemed to be so drained that.. well, I can’t expect you to not be.. ravenous once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Alcina sighed, tapping her fingers on her desk as a servant came in with a platter of food. She helped you sit up and placed it over your lap.

“Eat, my pet,” Alcina said once you were alone again, “you need your strength.”

“You’re not still hungry, are you?” you asked as you dug into the bread and meats you had in front of you.

“No, no,” she waved her hand in dismissal. Then, after a pause, “at least not for your blood, sweetling.”

You nearly choked on your food at the dark tone her voice had suddenly taken on. She stood up and sauntered over to the bed, her robe loosening enough so you could see more of her ample cleavage, but still left you craving more.

She sat down next to you, inspected your body, and her nostrils flared as she looked over the dried blood staining your skin. You kept nibbling on some bread, knowing you face must be flushed.

“You reacted... differently, than how you normally do when I drink from you,” she murmured, her low voice making you tremble. She had impeccable smell, and you knew she would have been able to sense your arousal when she had pinned you down and feasted on you.

You blushed, but managed to say, “you were very... insistent. Like how you are when we’re in bed, and I guess my body just...” you lifted a shoulder and shrugged to finish your sentence.

Alcina tilted her head in thought, and a wide, gorgeous grin took over her face, making you tremble underneath her gaze.

“I’ve had a bath drawn,” she said, switching the topic suddenly. “Let me clean you up? Please?”

You nodded before you even realized it, and she tugged you away from your meal, lifting you in her arms before heading into the bathroom. 

She let you undress yourself, slipped off her robe and stepped into the bath, a loud, pleasured groan escaping her as the hot water surrounded her. You blushed, and hurried after her.

Getting into the bath was a workout in itself. You had to hoist yourself up and climb over the edge quite unceremoniously. Alcina caught you before you submerged into the water and let you climb into her lap.

Her finely manicured nails scratched along your scalp, helping ease the tension and making you sigh contently, leaning forward and letting your head drop on the tops of her breasts. A deep chuckle from her vibrated through you, and some of the water around you rippled with the motion. 

One of the puncture wounds on your neck had opened up again, oozing a little blood. You only noticed because Alcina had pounced on it with her wicked tongue before you could react.

“I can always smell you so clearly when you’re in the bath with me,” she grunted, “every part of you. Your blood, sweat.. and arousal.”

You whined as her hands wrapped around you tightly, her mouth pressed against your neck. Your back arched, head tipping back, and you grabbed at her hair, now wet and silky from the water. 

The blood was already washing off of you from the water alone, but Alcina kept her promise and grabbed some soap and a washcloth, rubbing along your body. Your eyes fluttered, your hips bucked, and you felt like drowning in her touch.

The blood was gone quickly, and the wounds didn’t threaten to drain you dry anymore, but Alcina kept washing your body with a gentle touch. She lowered her head to your neck again, this time pressing soft kisses until you trembled.

Determined not to let her have her way entirely, you yanked sharply at the dark tresses in her hair. You knew how sensitive she was along her scalp, and how much she enjoyed it when you pulled. Her head shot up in surprise and a strained gasp escaped her mouth. 

You took the opportunity and lunged forward to kiss her on her lips, slipping your tongue inside with a vengeance.

A hand slid between your wet bodies and cupped your sex without hesitation, and you squealed, your legs locking at the sudden pressure.

Alcina began gently rubbing along your slit, the palm of her hand pressing into your clit, and you held onto her for dear life, gasping raggedly.

“Tell me how it made you feel, dear,” she hissed, “when I feasted on you, when I needed you.”

You squirmed, arched your back, bit your lip and whined as her fingers pressed a little harder, threatening to slip inside but not quite.

“I-I felt..” you began, gasping as her long tongue stroked up your neck to behind your ear. 

“I felt.. like I was floating,” you tried again, “like I was swimming in.. in air, and- and you were the only thing grounding me.”

“Oh?” there was a teasing and light-hearted tone in Alcina’s voice, but her grip tightened and you knew she was enjoying this.

“W-with your hands..” you sighed, pleasure clouding your mind, “so strong and holding me down, so I wouldn’t float up all the way to space.. keeping m-me where I- where I belong. In our bed, in.. in your arms.”

Alcina snarled with lust, and pushed inside your cunt with three unforgiving fingers. You cried out, nearly screamed, as she began thrusting relentlessly. The water was already brimming the edge of the tub, and now it was spilling onto the bathroom floor with loud sloshes. You could barely hold on as you clung to Alcina’s neck, letting her one hand fuck you and the other grab your waist as  she bounced you in her hold, because you couldn’t find purchase for you feet to move yourself.

She fucked you until you nearly blacked out, the rough pace and your still-sluggish brain making you limp in her grip. All you could do was whine and plead, kissing her neck, her jaw, anywhere you could reach. 

With a sharp jab and a curl of her fingertips you came, unabashedly, all over her hand. You couldn’t smell your arousal over the flowery bath oils, but you knew she could, and her breathing was ragged in your ear as she slowly stroked your inner walls, feeling you clench around her.

You could barely catch your breath before her mouth was on yours, hard and sloppy, and you knew she needed release as soon as possible. But it was a bit difficult with the current position you were in. Going down on her would surely end in drowning and your arms were not long enough to reach under the water between her legs. 

“Alcina..” you whispered, making her golden eyes focus on you intently. You snuggled a little closer, kissed her chest and practically climbed up her body to meet her gaze.

“Will you... will you touch yourself for me?” you asked, voice timid. Alcina stared into your eyes a moment, and you pressed on, “I wanna see you come undone. Like this. A-and I can’t.. you know.. reach.”

That made her smile a bit, and you brimmed with glee at the sight. Slowly, ever so slowly, her hand dipped underneath the water. First her fingertips would rub against her clit, you knew. They’d tease against the hood and her lips until she was riled up. 

You wouldn’t be able to see through the bubbles and water down below, so you kept your gaze on her face. Watched the small lines that formed between her brows as they furrowed in concentration. Her eyelashes fluttering as she pressed a little harder, her lips parting a bit more as she breathed a little deeper.

You bit your own lip, and felt your cunt pulse at the sight. You knew then, when she was hot and squirming, she would ease the hood back and press directly against the sensitive bundle of nerves, making short, quick motions with her fingers until her hips began rocking.

You had seen it all, had delved between her legs with abandon, had used your hands until they ached, and your jaw until you felt numb. But this.. seeing her come undone, seeing it in her eyes and face.. It made you burst with love and lust.

“That’s it..” you urged as the water began sloshing again, and she began working the whole of her arm, “you look so beautiful, Alcina.”

She groaned deeply, head tipping back, revealing a creamy neck that begged to be sucked. If this was how she felt when seeing your throat, you could understand why she had barely any control when feeding from you.

“I’m yours,” you whispered as you leaned forward, kissing her chin and going down her neck, “only yours. I wanna watch you come, so badly, mistress.”

“Fuck.”

You smiled, looked up at her, and kept going, “to know that I make you feel like this.. I really am the luckiest human in the world, hm?”

“O-oh, little one,” she whined, bucking her hips, nearly throwing you out of the bath. You wondered how many fingers she had inside herself.

“Will you come for me?” you asked, sweetly, “will you come for your pet?”

“I just wanna make you feel good,” you purred, losing yourself in your train of thought as you pressed your face in her neck, “I just wanna be of service to you, my lady. Wanna please you.”

With a loud cry that was a borderline roar, Alcina’s arm tensed, fingers rubbing vigorously, and her hips raised out of the water and locked. You were raised out of the water too, and held on for dear life as tremors overtook her body.

You leaned forward and kissed her as she gasped and thrashed about. One of her hands grabbed the back of yoru head and pushed you as close to her as possible.

“Love you,” you mumbled as she fell back in the water again, her arm going limp, “love you more than anything.”

Her chuckle made your head spin, and her hands trailed up and down your back, like they did when washing you. She was still breathing heavily, but the lust and hunger in her was finally sated.

“You’re perfect, sweetling,” she whispered, raising your hands to her mouth and kissing along your palm. You instantly cupped her face and swiped your thumb along her cheekbone.

“The perfect little pet,” she sighed.

A/N: i saw a head canon somewhere that Alcina has a loyalty kink? Yeah I agree :) let me know if you like it~

[seyenna]

Philza and/or Techno and/or Ranboo fic recs

just some of my fav dsmp fics, mainly phil, techno or ranboo bc i’m biased but also a bunch of sbi and others

this one goes out mainly to zablr discord my beloved

pls tell me if the links don’t work

all of these are on ao3

rating\status(complete/ongoing)\warnings\word count\misc tags

ichor flows free amongst the iron by summer_rising

T\o\violence\13k\series\gods AU

Summary:

A gods and goddesses AU of the Dream SMP, dramatized for all our benefits.

First work:

  "Two gods meeting on a mountaintop overlooking the stormy sea? Very classy, Dream, I appreciate your taste."

  Dream didn't turn to look at him, but the faint shake of his shoulders let Techno know he had heard.

  "Scar's healing up nicely, I see," Techno mumbled with a light nod of his head.

  "Mhm. Cut nice and clean. Not that I expected any less from you, of course."

   ~~

   The god of power and the god of luck meet on a mountaintop to discuss Luck's standing in the ongoing political disaster.

We're Only Young by ImperialKatwala

G\o\-\66k\series\Dream & Technoblade

It's easy to forget amid the chaos and bloodshed how similar - and how young - Dream and Technoblade really are.

And when the sun comes up, you'll find a brand new god. by SkyboxZoo

M\o\violence\19k\gods AU

Summary:

The wounds from the fight had healed nigh instantly, but the golden blood still soaked Techno’s shirt. His cloak had gotten torn off and his hair had fallen out of its pony-tail. Ichor pooled in his boots. The man left a trail of golden, bloody footprints in his wake.

old gods (new gods) by WriterWinged

T\o\-\9k\series\gods AU

Summary of first work:

Survival, Blood, Madness. Philza, Technoblade, Wilbur Soot. Three gods who have never cared for mortal life, who play with them when they want to, who kill their toys just as easily. How, then, did a mortal end up in their hands?

This House Is A Fucking Nightmare by SilverWing15

T\c\-\17k\series\sbi

Summary:

AU Where Phil isn't quite as willing to stand by while his sons drop like flies

Summary of third part (my fav):

Does lingering too long in the shadow of a god make you a god? The voices in his head seem to think so.

His brothers know he's older than them but they don't know how much

OR: Technoblade doesn't think his brothers realize how different they are from ordinary men. After all, ordinary men may fight the gods, but they don't win.

It's been a long day. by BecausePlot

G\c\-\3k\Philza & Ranboo

Summary:

Sides are bad: he knows that much. He’s seen it tear people apart time and time again, so when he decided to separate himself from Tubbo and keep his distance, he knew he was in the right.

Well. He thought he was in the right, at the time. Sitting all by himself on the steps to the Prime Path, he’s not so sure anymore.

Yes, the sides might have torn the others apart, might have made them so weak that they have no choice but to fold under Dream’s hand, but at least they aren’t lonely.

So are sides bad?

‘I don’t know.’

~*~

Or, Ranboo looks out at the ruins of L'Manburg, feeling more lost and lonely than he ever has.

But, as he soon finds, he's not as alone as he thinks.

the voices in my head, they say a lot of things by rosyasteria

-\c\violence\1k\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

Some days the voices didn’t listen. They didn’t let up. They screamed instead of whispered, relentless, assaulting his ears until they bled.

tell them i was the warmest place you knew and you turned me cold by rosyasteria

-\c\-\2k\Techonblade-centric

Summary:        

Technoblade cared. But in the end it just fucked him over.

For the majority of his life, Techno felt like less of a companion, less of a family member, and more like a weapon to be wielded. 'The Blade' they called him; never 'friend'.

It Leaves Little Time for Anything Else by mirandible

M\c\-\1k\part of series\Dream & Technoblade

Summary:

   A young man aims for the top, but fate has other plans for him. So does Technoblade, apparently.

   (Or: answering the question of “Why does Techno hide his scars if they’re supposed to be some sort of trophy? Why keep your point of pride a secret?”)

the best requiem is a bar of silence (and I'll sing it, even if I must hold back my tears) by jello12451

T\o\-\10k\Philza & Technoblade

Summary:

   He can’t help the noise of celebration that escapes him. Techno- this means that Techno’s free, and he got his horse back, and everything is alright-

  Tubbo, filled with rage at Phil’s cheers, turns and impulsively shoots an arrow.

   He doesn’t expect to hit his target.

---

  Alternatively: What if Phil didn't have a bucket of water when Tubbo shot him?

Change fate by being aggressively kind by sircantus

T\o\-\13k\sbi, Philza-centric

Summary:

   “You do understand that you’re caring for the thing meant to bring destruction and chaos to our world, right?” The woman asks, Phil looking behind him fondly as Techno grabs at the ends of his wings.

   “He’s just a child.” Phil answers distractedly, humming as his wings get gently yanked at.

   “He’s the first of three to destroy life as we know it! Shouldn’t we, well, get rid of him?!”

   “Oh, no.” Phil raises his eyes with a sharp glare. “Believe me, I have my own way of preventing the apocalypse.”

   ---

   Or, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy are basically chaotic forces of nature, destined from birth to end the world and bring destruction. Most who hear of the tale of them are trying their best to track them down, and to end the monsters while they’re still young, still just children.

   Phil has a different plan.

   (In which Phil raises the minecraft equivalents of the anti-christ with love and support, so much so to the point where the world ending is really just a funny thought, and Phil has three kids who casually have powers that are bit more extreme than anything else in the world)

I promised you that everything would be fine by findingkairos

G\c\-\6k\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

   manifestation: (n.)

1.     an event, action, or object that clearly shows or embodies something abstract or theoretical;

2.     a version or incarnation of something or someone;

3.     an appearance of a ghost or spirit;

4.     the Blood God.

When he's young and still alone, still establishing his reputation as the immortal warrior, Technoblade makes up an imaginary friend.

Years later, the blood god is very real and very much a god: one that is prepared to do anything for their first and only friend.

the inner mechanism of a black box by Bee_4

T\c\violence, self-harm\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

   Technoblade lets himself get imprisoned for Philza’s sake. He doesn’t plan on being there long. Unfortunately, he’s underestimated Pandora’s Vault.

   There are things that will make even the Blade fall apart in due time, as it turns out.

carry all my sins by BananasofThorns

T\c\-\4k\Ranboo-centric

Summary:

Ranboo swallows. “All my armor and weapons and stuff are missing. Fundy and I were gonna go looking for them after the festival, I think.”

“I see.” Tubbo smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s just a festival. We could probably find someone to lend you a sword or an axe or something.”

He starts towards the stage, waving at people when they call his name, and Ranboo follows. The original panic has dulled to a cold buzz in his chest, but apprehension still wraps itself around his body like chains. He doesn’t like being without his armor and tools; he feels too exposed, and if something happens, he’ll be helpless.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo calls, glancing back.

Ranboo shakes his head and hurries to catch up. “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” he repeats. “Everything’s gonna be fine."

Tubbo grins. “That’s the spirit.”

Rule 5: be loyal. L'manberg doesn't do well with supposed traitors. Ranboo deals with the consequences.

Sojourn by Lacy_Star

T\o\-\13k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

“Well…” Ranboo started slowly, “You see, uh… I kinda… don’t have a house anymore, obviously. Um… Phil found me in—“ He paused, cutting himself off and squinting at the floorboards— very discreet, “Phil… found me. And… um… He said I could stay by you guys. Like, um, by the dog house he wants to build?” He paused, then began to ramble, “But, uh, if you don’t want me here, I understand— and I’m sorry for coming in your house when you weren’t here, I swear I didn’t touch anything— it was just cold outside and—“

Techno just stared at him. And how, how was this the second time this had happened to him? How was this the second time he returned home after battle to discover an injured teenage boy waiting for him, seeking assistance with nowhere to go? And how badly had that ended last time, in nothing but betrayal and insults?

---

AKA: Phil drags a half-enderman home after Doomsday, and Techno decides that they can keep it. For now.

can an axe count as rent? by aboutfivebees

T\c\-\4k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

Ranboo’s struggling to settle into his new life on the Arctic Anarchist Commune, but at least he’s got bread.

or the struggles of an enderman hybrid to come up with a housewarming gift to give to his friends, who are just trying to adopt him

The Caged Bird Sings of Freedom by StarPrince_Punk

T\o\-\25k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

The Blade's stance was still tense, his body prepared to fight at a moment’s notice if need be. “What’s your name?” Phil asked “My… name?” The Blade asked. “Yeah. Your name isn’t actually The Blade, right? That’s like a stage name?” Phil tried to keep his tone light. “What’s your real name?” The Blade hesitated. “No one… No one’s called me by my name in a long time.” ------- When Phil comes across Ranboo in his panic room after L'Manberg's destruction, it reminds him of when he first met Technoblade. And just like when he met Techno, Phil's first instinct is that he has to help this kid. While living together, Techno and Ranboo learn that they're much more similar than they had previously thought, and Phil learns that it's not too late for him to be a better dad.

This already feels like more of a home by H3118ENDER

T\o\violence, death\18k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

As the ashes of L'Manberg settle the conflict continues to come to life setting the stage for a new wave of blood shed. Stuck slam in the middle of past and present friends Ranboo is coming to learn that even without nations to their names feelings and feuds don't die but people, people do.

A Shadow of a Shadow by unappetizingegg

T\c\-\4k\ Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

There were a few beats of silence, and then- “What are your plans, now? Do you need a place to stay?”

That caught him off guard. Surely he’d heard incorrectly. Phil was offering him a home, right after he’d orchestrated the destruction of his past one? It didn’t make any sense, none of it did. Why would Phil say that?

Then he remembered, he remembered Techno stopping him in the fight. He remembered being handed his book, the question in Techno’s gaze. He swore, in that moment, Technoblade, the Technoblade, had been worried about him. He remembered that he had been told to leave, to run, to get away and preserve himself. He had spared him, he remembered that Techno had spared him.

Techno had helped him. Phil had tried to protect him, to get him away from the danger.

They were there for him.

 ---

alternatively:

Ranboo is alone. But he really isn't.

Meritocracy by oddsbodkins

G\o\-\18k\Dream & Technoblade, sbi, medieval AU

Summary:

Dream is more successful than he'd ever imagined - but there's one thing that's been bothering him. Technoblade, his biggest rival, the Acolyte of the Blood God and King of the Arena, went missing last spring, just before Dream got the chance to duel him. Without that one achievement to pave his way, all the following victories have felt cheap.

So, Dream hired some goons to dig Technoblade up and pester him into coming back to the Capitol, for one last showdown. Easy enough, right?

Interlude I: "Promises to Keep" by Ozzyyy

T\c\-\1k\part of a series\Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

These woods are lovely, dark, and deep But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep.

--

Techno has a plan. It's crazy. It's insane, it's actually just batshit bonkers. But if chaos cannot be enjoyed together, then what's it worth, yeah? There's a certain beauty in watching the world burn from the center of the flames. Phil intends to be there.

I Don't Want To Start A Fight (wouldn't you rather start a riot?) by KryOnBlock

T\c\violence, death\15k\Technoblade & Philza & Ranboo

Summary:

An universal ping rang out from behind him, the third and final he knew, and Phil sobbed, clutching the body tighter.

Techno didn’t move.

It always has been Technoblade and Philza, Philza and Technoblade. Take on half, and you shall never go back.

Sheltered by Lulatic

G\c\-\6k\Ranboo & Technoblade

Summary:

It was cold outside. But Techno never heard Ranboo complain.

That was the best excuse he could muster to keep him out.

Antarctic Princes 'verse by BirchWrites

T\o\-\15k\series\sbi

Summary:

Loosely-connected one shots set in an AU where the Antarctic Empire and the Dream SMP are in the same world. Ordered chronologically, but each fic can be read as a standalone thing

Summary of first part:

Oh shit. Forget arrested; Dream’s going to have to tell Wilbur that he watched Tommy get stabbed for being terminally stupid.

May we cross paths again by QueenLunaFreed

G\c\-\1k\Dream & Technoblade

Summary:

“Even if tomorrow it’s just us versus the entire server, Dream, I’m telling you right now - I have confidence.”

---

Dream couldn’t comprehend the pacing contradiction in front of him, the weakness he could clearly see, but would never comment on. Because this man has been defying Dream's expectations since they first met, because despite them not being friends and having no reason to trust each other, Dream knew that Technoblade is the only person who he’d trust to do this right. To destroy L'Manberg alongside him yet again, this time for real.

leave me your starlight by findingkairos

T\o\-\18k\Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

For you the world, Phil.

Once upon a time, Philza Minecraft is the only person who does not shy away from the bloody teen that regularly turns the tide of war.

This cements a friendship that will last wars, empires, worlds, and lifetimes.

 ---

(Featuring: Back to Back Badasses, healthy relationships, accidental deification, intentional world domination, and Phil's past coming back to haunt his best friend.)

[heliads]

Neighbour

Bucky first moves into the apartment building because it’ll provide him a safe home away from the dangers of his work as an Avenger. He doesn’t plan on meeting Y/N, the girl down the hall.

masterlist

The apartment building is the perfect fit. It’s four blocks across and three blocks down from the Avengers Tower in New York City, far enough away that Bucky can easily walk to the building and close enough that the tower’s shadow still chills his back. It’s nice to be able to have a place to live that isn’t a part of the Avengers, like almost every other aspect of Bucky’s existence. 

It also doesn’t hurt that it seems to calm Tony down to have Bucky away from him- he supposes the Civil War situation and the unmentionable crimes he’d committed as the Winter Soldier still tighten an invisible noose around Tony’s neck whenever the billionaire looks at him. The more time Bucky has away from the entire Avengers world, the better. The separation of church and state; except, in his case, more like the separation of government secrets and any potential relaxation at home. Although Bucky’s never been one for relaxation.

His few meager possessions have finally been moved into this new apartment building, and they decorate a few sparse shelves. The rooms aren’t quite luxurious, nor bare, more somewhere along the lines of furnished. This isn’t due to lack of funding- no, Steve and everyone else had made sure Bucky had more than enough money to support himself. This was all his choice- maybe born from a habit of only needing a few things so he could pack up easily for a life on the run, maybe even from before then, when scrimping and saving for wartime efforts were commonplace.

Money didn’t form the decision as to why Bucky chose to live in an apartment building, though. That was purely for protection. The thoughts had spiraled into his head as soon as Bucky had begun considering a future living situation. A house by himself was no good- even with neighbours, he would still be easily targeted. And if he lived alone, with few neighbours? Even worse- he could be singled out and killed by any decent strike team. Living without anyone around would cause Bucky to be a lone wolf, separated from the protection of the pack and left to the mercy of a none too benevolent world.

An apartment complex, on the other hand, would do nicely. There are 15 stories, about 275 total apartments but only 260 in use. There are enough people in the building to hide Bucky, enough inhabitants coming and going to ensure that one war-worn soldier in particular would be disguised in the crowd. No sniper, no matter how well trained, would risk firing into the building at him. No strike team could excuse a raid on his room, and thus Bucky ensures his safety as best he can by living here.

This being said, Bucky still flinches at the sound of a knock at the door. No one should know he was there, and any coworkers would only speak to him at the Avengers Tower or some other S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to guarantee no suspicions were raised as a result of high-profile government agents coming to his apartment. Bucky walks slowly over to the door, back hand moving silently to grab a knife hidden in a discreet pocket on his belt. His hand closes around the ridged rubber handle and the blade shines in the light from an open window. Bucky glances once in the peephole in the door, then groans under his breath, putting his knife away hurriedly before opening the door.

Standing before him is a cheerful young woman, holding a cloth covered plate in her hands. When she sees him, her smile grows even broader, if that was possible. “Ah, you must be Mr. Barnes. I’m Y/N, your neighbour from down the hall. The door next to the window?” Bucky forces a smile, still confused as to why she was there. “Bucky. Uh, I go by Bucky.” The woman nods. “Bucky it is. Well, I always bring new neighbours some freshly baked cookies. I figure it’s a nice way to start off your first few days here, right?”

She carefully unwraps the cloth from around the plate, revealing a small mound of chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven based on the steam just beginning to emanate from the plate. Bucky tries not to stare- he hasn’t had homemade cookies in what feels like years. Could be decades.

He takes the plate from her after standing there for a moment. “Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate it.” Y/N smiles at him again. “No problem! Hey, if you ever need something, even just someone to talk to, I’m right down the hall. Apartment on the left of that window there. Just knock.” Bucky nods slowly. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” The woman waves goodbye, then heads back down the hallway once more, leaving Bucky standing in his doorway holding the plate of cookies. So that was his neighbour.

After Bucky manages to make it back inside, he sits down in one of his newly purchased chairs, thinking. He hadn’t planned on speaking to any of the other inhabitants of the apartment building- he’s always been taught that friendships with non-Avengers or other agents were risky. Too big of a chance of them being double agents or hurt because of him, so Bucky had decided not to talk to anyone else in the building. Yet here he was, already telling Y/N his name. Hey, at least her cookies were good. 

Bucky finds himself stumbling up to his apartment building after a long, rough day. The problem with his line of work is that it constantly left him questioning everything he did. When he helped use his skills to track someone down, was it worth it? When he had to go in on missions and infiltrate HYDRA bases, who was benefiting from it? When he looked into someone’s eyes and pulled the trigger, was he killing a criminal or murdering an innocent?

Bucky’s head is a swirling mess by the time he finally gets to his floor, and his feet drag him out of the elevator without being directed by a single thought. His eyes latch on the shape of his front door, but Bucky realizes that the last thing he wants right now is to be alone. Unconsciously, his head turns to face another door, one near him. It’s bathed in a light from the window right next to it. 

Y/N.

Her words rise, unbidden, from some unknown depths of his memory. If you ever need something, even just someone to talk to, I’m right down the hall. He doesn’t know why he stops by her door, doesn’t know why his hand rises to knock twice on the hard wood, doesn’t know why the door knob twists open under the guide of his fingers when she calls for him to come in.

Y/N’s apartment looks a lot like his. It faces the bustling streets of the city, the junctures of the streets. She has art hung around the walls, and tall bookcases are wedged in the corners. A faded blanket is draped across a pale green couch, and light from an antique lamp paints the room in a bright coat of gold. After a second, Bucky’s eyes find Y/N, bent over her kitchen counter. He can see now why she couldn’t answer the door herself- her hands are covered in flour, busily kneading a mound of dough in front of her.

She smiles when she sees him approach. “Hey, Bucky! Sorry about this- I’m just finishing a loaf of bread.” Bucky chuckles softly in spite of himself. “Didn’t realize you like baking this much.” Y/N laughs, a soft sound like the chiming of bells. “It’s a habit.” Her hands methodically fold the dough in front of her, pushing it forward only to pull it back over itself once more. Light motes of flour occasionally drift up from the counter.

It takes Bucky a moment to realize she’s looking at him expectantly, and he clears his throat. “Right. I just wanted to- I remembered you said something about-” Y/N glances up at him with her lips curving into a smile, and he suddenly can’t finish his sentence. She reaches into a tall plastic container next to her, and dusts her dough with a pinch more of flour. “Well, no matter the reason, I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve been meaning to ask someone about this program I’m supposed to be reviewing for work. It’s not that long, only ten or so minutes. If you don’t mind, I’ll put it on while I finish up the bread and you can tell me your thoughts.”

She crosses the kitchen to rinse off her flour-powdered hands, and after dashing a towel about them, pulls up a short video on her TV. It’s actually quite interesting, some overview of a project regarding city planning. Towards the end, Y/N puts her bread in some warm drawer (“to proof so it will rise!” or whatever that means) and cleans her hands once more before perching on a chair next to him.

Once the screen fades to black, she turns to him. “So, what do you think? I’ve got to decide in a few days whether or not to support this guy and his project, but I’m not sure. I mean, more space for the hospitals would definitely be useful, but if it keeps encroaching on park land like that, it won’t be great for the environment.” Bucky frowns. “What if he extended it in the other direction instead? He’s got more room around the east side of the building.” Y/N furrows her brow in concentration, playing back the video so she can see what he’s talking about.

He ends up staying for half an hour more, spending almost the entire time discussing the proposed project. He didn’t mean to stay that long, but it’s so easy to talk to Y/N that he barely felt any time pass at all. When he eventually heads out, after promising to drop by again soon, he closes the door behind him with more reluctance than he had realized. His chest feels strangely light, and there’s an odd expression on his face. A smile.

The weeks fly by in his new apartment, coming and going far faster than Bucky had expected. He ends up visiting Y/N often, and they quickly become fast friends. For someone who’s not supposed to be engaging with civilians, Bucky’s breaking his own rules quite easily. 

He’s at work at the Avengers Tower when he first hears about it. Bucky had noticed a sudden increase in commotion outside of his station, and he hadn’t considered it much before Steve had come bursting into the room. All his friend had to do was hold out the case file in his hand and Bucky’s heart rate had gone through the roof.

Y/N was missing. No, Y/N was captured. By HYDRA agents. Because of him. There were photos of her in some cell, hands tied behind her back. She was being held ransom to hurt him, to punish him for defecting from his title as HYDRA’s Winter Soldier. It hadn’t taken long for Bucky to put together a team and find out where she was being held, but the entire time he was preparing Bucky felt a constant twist in his stomach, a pain like a knife being slowly stabbed through him.

The HYDRA outpost where Y/N is being held is small, barely large enough to trigger S.H.I.E.L.D. sensors. Yet there it is, guards posted outside the door and everything. Bucky barely says a word to his team, already taking out the guards and storming inside. It’s strange- enemy soldiers in the halls look terrified at the sight of him, and Bucky doesn’t realize why until he comes face to face with his own reflection in a polished metal door. He looks like a wild animal, emotionless and cold, seconds away from a kill. He looks angry- no, furious. Beyond furious. What was dear to him had been taken away, and he was ready to do anything to get her back.

The HYDRA structure is small, and so it doesn’t take long for Bucky to find Y/N. She looks up when she sees him, and he can see the confusion and relief warring in her eyes when he walks through the door. He doesn’t say a word while they’re leaving the building, and neither does she. It’s only when they’re both alone in a closed off room on a Quinjet leaving the HYDRA compound that Bucky finally opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m leaving the apartment building. I’ll probably never see you again.” Y/N jerks her head up, shocked. “Because of the attack? Why wouldn’t you see me?” Bucky methodically takes off his armor, removing mics and thick pieces of armored uniform. “It’s not safe for you. I’m not putting you in any position when you can get hurt.”

Y/N laughs harshly, a strange, discordant contrast to the bubbly laugh he’s used to hearing. “Bucky, you not seeing me won’t make a difference. I knew that when I first met you, and I decided to get to know you anyway. I was the first one to take this risk, and I’m not letting you walk away from me because the consequences have been made real.” Bucky looks at her, confused. “What are you talking about? You knew who I was?”

Y/N nods, turning her head away so Bucky can’t see her face. “I knew you were the Winter Soldier. James Buchanan Barnes. I knew that being anywhere remotely near you would be dangerous to me, but I stayed because you were important to me. Please, don’t give up on me because of what might happen.”

Bucky throws his hands in the air, frustrated. “What might happen? Y/N, it already did happen. You could have been killed-or worse- all because of me. This is for the best. Don’t think I want this to happen, because I don’t. I just-” His voice cracks on the last word. “I just need you to be safe.” Y/N walks over to him, gently taking his hands in hers. “I will be safe. If you’re there with me. Bucky, we both know they won’t try something like this again, not for a while. Not after their first attempt went so badly. It’s alright to be worried, but please, don’t leave me.”

Bucky looks at her, earnest eyes meeting his tense ones, then sighs. “Fine. I won’t go. Just promise me you’ll be careful? You’ll contact me if anything seems wrong?” Y/N smiles at him. “Of course I will. As long as I’ve got you, I know I’ll be alright.”

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 73

Title: Best Laid Plans

Warnings: some profanity, talk of domestic abuse, child death

Tagging:  @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother, @lokitrasho, @miss-smutty,  @raith-way​, @ocappreciation​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/85024549

He’s up at quarter to six; throwing on a muscle shirt and a pair of work out pants and slipping into the well worn sneakers he keeps by the back door. A run on the beach as the sun peeks over the horizon is exactly what he needs; his bad knees cushioned by sand beneath him, a steady, cool breeze blowing in off the ocean, and the sky painted in vivid orange and gold and stunning pink streaks. The two dogs run on either side of him; their tags clinking against their collars, each carrying a tennis ball in their mouths in hopes of play after the hard work is done. The excursion to his body is calming to both brain and soul; pushing all thoughts of Mark and his devious intentions onto the back burner and concentrating on nothing but his breathing and his heart rate and the sights and sounds around him. And once at the finish line, he bends at the waist and places his hands on his thighs; eyes closed as the sweat trickles off his forehead and runs down his nose and his temples and gathers at the nape of his neck. Chest heaving and burning; a familiar discomfort that serves to remind him of just how far he’s come. Fighting against the odds to complete the long and painful recovery after the incident with Nathan and coming out almost as good as he was before; strong, agile, his health better than it's ever been. He’d somehow survived and he’d long ago swore he'd never take another minute for granted; always grateful to wake up and find himself on top of the ground instead of below it.

After a half an hour of entertaining the dogs, he returns home; splashing cold water on his face and neck and running wet hands through his sweaty hair and then heading for the kitchen. Busying himself with the morning routine; brewing his coffee and the three shots of espresso he always adds to it. The smoothies are next; a wide selection of fresh fruit and various supplements and vitamins recommended by both his doctor and Esme’s fetal and maternal medicine specialist. And the moment he hears her footsteps above -small and light, but just heavy enough to NOT be a child- he begins preparing her breakfast; kettle boiling for her tea while he throws a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and gathers up a container of plain yogurt and a handful of different fruits to chop. He glances over his shoulder and smiles in greeting when she joins him; messy hair held away from her face and out of her eyes with a sparkly purple headband stolen from one of their daughters and her tiny frame clad in a pair of baggy Hello Kitty night shorts and one of his t-shirts. And before he can open his mouth to offer up a ‘good morning’, she’s wrapping her around his waist from behind; yawning loudly and rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt before laying her head against his back.

“Babe…” he warns. “ I probably stink. Gonna make you pass out. Give the baby in utero PTSD.”

“Bullshit. You smell good. You smell like a man. MY man. “

“All the kids still asleep?”

Esme nods. “You already went for a run?”

“Just a small one. Took the dogs with me. Tired them out.”

“I thought you said Sunday was your ‘set in stone rest day’?

“I did. But that’s just for lifting heavy.” Turning around to face her, he takes her face in his hands, turning her head up towards him as he leans down to kiss her. “I’m still going to run every day.”

“You know how I feel about this; when it comes to you pushing yourself too hard.”

“I know you worry. I know you don’t blow out my knee or fuck my femur up somehow. I’m taking it easy; I’m not going full tilt and I’m not ignoring my body when it starts screaming at me. I’m doing a lot better; when it comes to recognizing the signs and paying attention to them.”

“I just want you to be careful. I don’t want you hurting yourself. And you've been spending a lot of time in the gym. You went from one three hour a work out a day to TWO. That’s a lot, babe. Even for a bad ass like you. I know you feel this need to be bigger and stronger and…”

“I’m past that. Maybe just looking to put on another ten. That’s it. That’s probably as big as I’ll ever get again. Sorry. No return to the thicc, lumberjack stage that you enjoyed so much.”

“I DID enjoy it. You had the big muscles and the extra weight in your tummy and your hair was short and your beard was really thick. It was a good look on you. A VERY good look.”

“But…”

“But I love you EVERY way. And how your body is right now? That’s how you looked when we met. When I fell in love with you. So it tends to be my favourite. It’s very sentimental to me. And you know what would make it even MORE sentimental?”

“If you want me to get the haircut, I’ll get the haircut.”

“You would do that for little old me? You’d do that to keep your pregnant and extremely hormonal wife happy?”

“I would do anything for you. Pregnant or not.”

“Best husband ever,” she declares, and stands on her tip toes as he kisses her once more; hands tightly grasping the sides of his t-shirt.

She’d long ago gotten used to that ‘after work out’ stench; the potent tang of sweat , the lingering remains of laundry detergent, and the cool, brisk, freshness of antiperspirant. It’s HIS smell. One that reminds her of safety and protection and love. Of HOME. When he’s away, it’s those combined, familiar scents that offer comfort; bringing solace to her aching heart and effectively relieving at least some of the fear and worry nagging at her. Sleeping with his pillow every night and often wearing one of his t-shirts or bundling herself up in one of his hoodies; soothed by the smell of him clinging to the sheets and clothes and subduing her rattled nerves just enough for her to fall asleep.

It never gets easier; kissing him goodbye at the front door or the airport and then wondering -as he walks away- if she’ll ever see him again. The job isn’t a life you ever really get used to; lying to yourself when you tell others that you’re completely fine with your husband being thousands of miles away, putting his life on the line in the hopes of saving another. But she copes; knowing he can more than handle himself when it comes to the physical aspect and that he’ll do whatever it takes to get back to her and the kids. But the ache is real when he’s not under the same roof; both her and their brood feeling his absence and both saddened and angered about it. And the worry and fear never disappear; feeling as if she’s holding her breath the entire time, never releasing it until the moment he walks back through the front door. Safe and sound.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he turns towards the counter once more; snagging a knife from the butcher’s block and preparing the only breakfast her stomach has been able to handle. Dry toast accompanied by chunks of fresh fruit, a smoothie containing all the vitamins and supplements recommended by her doctor, and a tea that helps with calming both her tummy and her nerves. While the nausea lingers throughout the entire day, the mornings have been especially horrendous; unable to keep even the smallest sips of water down and struggling with both weakness and dizziness. All of the pregnancies have been the same in that respect; losing weight before actually managing to put it on, suffering from headaches and queasiness and even a handful of scares that sent them running to the hospital in fear there was something terribly wrong. But the sixth pregnancy is turning out to be an even bigger struggle; half a dozen different medications fighting to keep her blood pressure down, help her sleep, and keep her eating and drinking properly.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” Tyler remarks, as she moves to the stove to tend to the boiling kettle. Offering a mug with the tea bag already in it; his hand briefly resting on the small of her back as he places a kiss on her temple. “You were sleeping pretty good when I went on my run.”

Sighing, she sets the mug down on the stovetop and fills it with water. “I probably still would be if your spawn didn’t wake me up out of nowhere and send me on a mad dash to the bathroom. I’ve come to expect SOME sickness, but this?”

“This one’s giving you an extra hard time, huh? What did the doctor say? Something about making too much human growth hormone? I don’t know. She completely lost me when she broke out the science speak.”

“A variant of it. And it’s too much of ALL the hormones. Kind of weird; that the last pregnancy would be the worst. You’d think it would be the easiest; your body totally used to everything, able to push that sucker out with only two tries. I swear to Christ, Tyler. If this is another Millie labour…”

“You’ll cut my dick off?”

“That’s a little extreme. You need your dick. It’s still very useful. I’ll just chop your balls off. So you can’t make any more swimmers.”

“How about we not do that and just let the surgeon handle things?”

“I want a goddamn guarantee from him that this isn’t going to happen again; your penis remarkably healing itself and letting those swimmers of yours have free reign.”

“I’m going to jump in here for a second. You realize your body fucked up too, yeah? That it took BOTH of us to make this baby? Your tubes were tied. Right after you had Kota and Brookie. You’re not supposed to be able to get pregnant in the first place.”

She stares at him over the rim of her mug. “Even if I hadn’t gotten them tied, you weren’t supposed to be able to produce any sperm. Ever again. For the rest of your natural born life. But low and behold…”

“You…” He points the knife at her. “...need to accept some responsibility in all of this.”

She huffs, taking a sip of tea and then setting it on the stove; hands on her hips in a show of defiance. “I will do no such thing.”

“Come on, this can’t all be pinned entirely on me. Both our bodies had to screw up for this to happen. So be a big girl…” snagging her by the front of her t-shirt, he gently pulls her into him. “...and take some of the blame.”

She stares up at him; a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and those enormous, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “No. You can’t make me.”

“Listen pocket wife, I’m a foot and three inches taller than you and almost a hundred pounds heavier. I can make you.”

“I’d like to see you try. You don’t intimidate me. Your muscles and your resting asshole face and all those tattoos and scars. They don’t scare me a bit.”

“You realize I have ways of convincing you, don’t you? Ways that don’t involve intimidation. “

“Yeah?” Both hands clutch the front of her shirt as her body leans into his. “What kind of ways are we talking about then?”

He swipes the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. “Sexual ones.”

“You realize that sounds more like pleasure than punishment, right?”

“You remember that thing we did back in New York City. In the bathtub. The thing you claim to hate but always seem to love? The one thing that I always can count on to make you squirt? Do you know what thing I’m talking about?”

“I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about.”

“Well next time around, when you least expect it? I’m going to do that twice as much. Only this time there won’t be a happy ending. For you, anyway.”

Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“You’re evil.”

“Most evil husband out there.”

“You may be the most evil, but you’re also the sexiest out there. So at least you have THAT going for you,” she chides, giving a tiny yelp when he brings a palm down on the cheek of her ass in a ringing slap. Giggling when his hand reverts to lightly pinching and squeezing before drawing her into him; body pressed against his and her hands tightening their grip on his shirt as he leans down to kiss her. Long and slow and deep; the brief contact between their tongues finding her curling her toes and sighing into his mouth.

When he pulls away he’s smiling down at her; blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of unbridled lust and pure adoration. Hand moving from her ass to the side of her cheek; knuckles grazing over the soft skin before gentle fingertips clear wayward strands of hair away from her face and tuck them behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

“You need glasses.”

“I already knew that. But needing them doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful.”

The smile she gives is shaky; tears welling in her eyes as a lump of emotion wedges firmly in her throat. It’s overwhelming at times; seeing his love, adoration, and affection laid so bare. This big, strong man with his myriad of tattoos and scars and a lifetime of trauma, guilt, and regret. So brave and fearless yet so vulnerable at the same time; possessing a heart that he’s even bigger than his body and a beauty to his soul that not even his father, Asif, Mahajan, or Nathan had been able to rob him of. Working as a team, she’d spent years helping chip away at the seemingly impenetrable walls that he’d built around his heart; patiently urging him outside of his comfort zone and encouraging that humanity lingering inside of him to make itself fully known. In the end, the reward was far beyond anything she could ever imagined; a man that loves her so wholly and completely. And profoundly. So much so it often takes her breath away; and all consuming and often leaving her feeling unworthy of such devotion.

He frowns when he notices the tears in her eyes and the tell tale wobble of her lower lip and chin. “What’s the matter? Why are you gonna cry? What…?”

Her voice comes out as a childlike whimper; reminding him of Addie when she’s been scolded or has had a particularly rough run in with Millie and the teasing was just too much to take. “I really need a hug right now.”

Setting the knife on the counter, he gathers her in his arms. One arm circling her waist as a hand settles on the back of her skull; palm lightly pressing her head into his chest. And when she stands on the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order to return the embrace, he crouches down until she’s able to successfully wrap both arms around his neck. His beautiful, tiny wife; his best friend, truest confident, and his rock during his darkest and most dire of times. Always sticking by his side no matter how difficult he sometimes makes things; forever patient and attentive during the long and painful recovery after Nathan, always forgiving him for his sins and mistakes even when he can’t forgive himself. Suddenly seeming so weak and vulnerable herself; her entire body trembling and her tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he promises, and presses a kiss to her ear. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s ALL gonna be okay.”

*****

He hates seeing her like this; face lined with worry and exhaustion, shoulders drooped as if carrying the weight of the world upon them, eyes dark and downcast instead of sparkling and playful. He’d long ago gotten used to her morning persona; overly cheerful and extremely talkative compared to his grumpiness and need for complete and utter silence until he’s at least finished his coffee. So it’s unsettling when she deviates from the norm; missing the familiarity and the routine of her chattiness and her teasing and witty banter. Instead completely silent as she sits across from him at the table on the back deck; her feet resting in his lap as she merely nibbles at the dry toast and moves the pieces of various fruits around on her plate.

He gestures at her plate with his fork. “You need to eat. Start putting weight on instead of it dropping off.”

“It’s not like I’m NOT trying.” She spears a chunk of watermelon and brings it to her lips, taking a tiny bite before setting it back down again. “I WANT to eat. My body is BEGGING me to eat. But it’s kind of hard when you just feel...I don’t know...off.”

“Something we need to worry about? Something to do with the baby?”

“No. I feel fine that way. Other than being crazy nauseous and already having insane heartburn. How much hair is this kid going to have? Because the only other time I suffered this bad…”

“We ended up with Addie. Hairiest damn kid I have EVER seen. Hands down.”

She manages a smile, then nibbles at a slice of dry toast. “Remember how it was practically head to toe? Because she was a preemie?”

“She looked like a little monkey. A cute one, mind you. But a monkey.”

“Don’t ever say that to her. It’ll be her new obsession; monkey this, monkey that. None of our other babies had much hair. If any at all. Well, Declan…”

“I will never forget seeing that head of hair. Bright red.”

“You looked so confused,” Esme muses, as she once more pulls her plate towards her and attempts to eat. “When he was crowning. It was like he had two heads or something.”

Tyler winks at her from across the table. “I was trying to figure out when you had time to get busy with me AND the cable guy.”

“Baby, he is all yours. Without a doubt. The cable man didn’t stand a chance getting close to me. So unless you can get pregnant just by breathing the same air as someone…”

“I hope you’d have better standards than that guy. If you’re going to do something like that, can you at least have the respect to go a notch higher than I am in quality?”

“That’s not even remotely possible. You’re already on the very top rung of quality. In fact, you’re in another league all your own. All by yourself. If you have the best, why settle for less?”

A grin plays on his mouth. “You are so good for my ego.”

“Besides, we both know I’m the last person that would EVER do something like that. I am way too hopelessly and madly and wildly in love with you. Always have been. Always will be. So unless you’re planning on going somewhere, you’re stuck with me. For the long haul.”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am. And with who I’m with. You know that, yeah? That I’d never do something like that. No matter who’s trying to get with me? I would never...EVER..cheat on you.”

“This is stemming from my insecurities, isn't it? Those women yesterday.”

“I just wanted to get it out there. I don’t care about any of them. There might as well not even be any other women on earth. The only one that matters? The only one I want? Is you. And that’s not going to change.”

“And you say I’m good for YOUR ego?”

“I mean, maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Maybe you already realize all that. Or maybe you’re going to tell me that you don’t need the words; you can see everything in my eyes anyway. I just think sometimes I should say it. Who knows, maybe I need to tell you more than you need to hear it.”

Well…” She reaches for his hand that rests on the tabletop, running her fingertips along his forearm and over his palm before lacing their fingers together. “...a girl DOES like to hear how much she’s adored and worshipped.”

“I thought you like it better when I SHOW you how much.”

“That too. But sometimes it’s a nice little bonus; hearing the words.”

Pushing his chair away, he stands and leans across the table; free hand reaching out to cradle her cheek in its palm. “I worship you. I adore you. I love you. And I can’t live without you.”

While tears sparkle in her eyes, her smile is genuine; filling out her cheeks and crinkling the bridge of her nose. “And you say you’re not romantic.”

He bends down to kiss her; the soft press and languid movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth. “I do have my moments,” he says with a grin, running the tip of a finger down the bridge of her nose, playfully tapping the end of it before returning to his seat.

They sit in companionable silence. Enjoying the crisp, refreshing breeze that rolls in off the ocean and the familiar yet calming sounds of the outdoors. The waves rolling up onto the shore, the rustling of the trees as they sway in the wind and the different melodies that come from Esme’s collection of wind chimes attached to the awnings of the pool house. It’s home. The familiar yet never boring sights and sounds of the where they’re the most comfortable; where they grow and nurture their family and take advantage of the many spoils given to them by such a beautiful and expansive piece of land.

Returning to Australia had been the best move they’d ever made. The start of strengthening not only their marriage, but every aspect of the life and relationship they share; making sure to nurture and grow each separate component that makes them, THEM. Often having to pull back from the chaos and stress of everyday existence to remind themselves that they’re not just spouses and people raising kids together; they’re each other’s confidants, best friends and devoted and faithful lovers. Two unique individuals that share a bond unlike many could ever fully understand; broken and in tatters when they’d first met yet somehow managing to comfort and heal one another. What had happened in Dhaka will forever remain the foundation their life together has been built open. A rather odd concoction of many things; shared grief and regret, adrenaline and fear, profound lust accompanied by the pangs of the heart that remind you that you’re still human. And a lot of blood, sweat and tears. All combined with the unforgettable stenches of raw sewage, blood and sweat, and spilled gasoline.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He breaks the silence first, pushing away his empty plate and reaching for his smoothie. Satisfied with her attempt to get food into her belly; her own meal almost completely finished save for a couple bites of toast and a small handful of grapes. Her feet once more resting in his lap; both hands curled around the plastic tumbler that contains the thickened ‘super shake’ he’d made for her earlier.

“By ‘it’ I’m assuming you mean Mark?”

Tyler nods.

“What more is there to say? He’s in town. Not like there’s anything we can really do about it. Not until he at least makes a move.”

“I’ve got guys trying to track him down. Looking into every hotel, every bed and breakfast, every short term rental within a fifty mile radius. Unless he’s gone totally off the grid and he’s holed up in a cave somewhere, my guys will find him.”

“Is that really what you were doing last night? Taking care of all of that stuff? Getting people going on all this?”

“It was some of what I was doing. Not all of it. When you came in, I was doing exactly what I told you I was. I’d already gotten it all set up; guys already starting to dig. Told ‘em not to leave any stone unturned; Mark’s crafty and he’s slippery and he’s going to do everything he can to avoid me catching up to him. He wants the element of surprise; get to you when my guard is down. I’m hoping to get to him before that happens.”

“When do you ever let your guard down?”

“Even I slip up, Esme. You know that better than anyone.”

“Tyler Rake doesn’t make mistakes when it’s family on his line. He rarely makes them when it’s complete strangers he’s looking out for. You’re not the type to fall asleep at the wheel, babe. Especially when it comes to the kids. And ESPECIALLY when it comes to me.”

“I can’t be around you twenty-four seven. There’s going to be times I can’t be with you. As much as I’d love to be glued to your hip…”

“Do you trust the guys you picked? You don’t exactly hand that out lightly, Tyler. And you’ve always been very careful about who you bring into the business. You’ve always had the strictest hiring practices I’ve ever seen. You don’t just bring anyone aboard. And if you’re willing to put them in charge of keeping an eye on him…”

“I trust them when it comes to the job. They’re some of the best I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“Other than yourself, you mean.

“They’re good, Me. They’re quick on their feet and they’re strong as fuck and they will not back down. From anyone or anything.”

“But…”

“But I don’t fully trust anyone when it comes to you. That’s not something I can give; just hand over your life like that. No matter how well I know someone or how good of a merc they are. But I don’t have a choice, do I? It’s not possible to be around every second of every day. I wish it was. I wish I was the only one taking care of you. But…”

“If your gut tells you that these guys can handle it, then that’s what you go with. I trust you, Tyler. Whether it’s protecting me on your own or making the decision to hand it off to someone else. Your instincts are so strong. Some of the strongest I have ever seen. And if they’re telling you that this is right...that these men are right…”

“They’re telling me that I don’t have any other choice. That I NEED to trust these guys. And I want to Esme; I want to be able to sit here and tell you that I trust them one hundred percent. But other than you? There’s no one I trust that way.”

“If you say this is the right decision and that these are the right people, then I’ll go with that. Because I trust YOU. I always have. I always will. So if this is the move you need to make and you’re confident in it…”

“As confident as I’m gonna be.”

“Then there’s nothing more to talk about. If you trust them, then so do I. Simple as that.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words, then offers a small smile and once more takes her hand; lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“I know you don’t have any answers. And to be honest, I don’t expect any. But I just don’t understand. Why is he doing this? Why now? If it’s a revenge thing, why wait this long? I haven’t been married to him for fifteen years. Why wait that long?”

“I don’t know, Me. I don’t even know if that’s his angle.”

“Everything says it is. What else could he possibly want? Do you think he’s a threat? To me?”

“Yeah,” Tyler reluctantly admits. “I do. He wouldn’t come out of the woodwork after all this time and play all those little mind games in New York and then make it a point to show up here IF he wasn’t planning something. I just don't know exactly what it is. Or when he’s gonna make his move. And hopefully the guys I have trying to find him will track him down. Sooner the better.”

“What will they do with him? If they do find him?”

“Found a little out of the way place in the northern territory. Somewhere they can keep him; until I can get there. Off the beaten track, no through roads, heavy bush. Not a single soul around. Figure that’s for the best, yeah? Keep him somewhere no one can hear screaming and pleading for his life.”

“You’re going to handle that yourself?”

“Hopefully. Told my guys that they can rough him up, but I want him very much alive. So he can feel every goddamn thing I do to him. And I know you’re probably thinking this is a throwback to McMann; taking him hostage and torturing his ass. But…”

“You do what you need to do, Tyler. You do whatever you feel he deserves. I’m not going to think any less of you. And Lord knows that I’ve had quite a few fantasies about how brutal I would love you to be if you ever got your hands on him. I’m not going to ask how and I don’t expect you to tell me. You just do what you need to do. To make him suffer and make him pay for what…” Her voice cracks; tears of both rage and insurmountable pain welling in her eyes. “...just make him pay. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

Sliding his chair away from the table, he’s at her side in only three long strides; dropping to a knee in front of her and taking her trembling hands in his.

“Promise me, Tyler. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

“I’ll make him pay, Esme. I promise.”

“Everything he did to him. Everything he said. It’s just all coming back. All those horrible, mean, degrading things he called me. All the times he forced me to do disgusting, horrible things to him. All the nasty, gross shit that HE did to ME.”

He feels the rage that immediately begins to take hold; his jaw setting and tightening and the blue of his eyes becoming much darker. Bile settling in the back of his throat; acrid and burning. He hates hearing about it; the horrific things that she’d been subjected to at the hands of someone who was supposed to love her, protect her, and give her a good life. The person he loves more than anything else in the world and would gladly lay his life down for. Not just his wife, but his best friend and the mother of his children and the centre of his universe.

“You don’t have to talk about this,” he says, and tightly squeezes her hands. “Nothing good will come from going there. Nothing…”

“He is an evil, sick, demented person,” she continues, words struggling to make it through the sobs. “He used to make me clean the baseboards and the grout with my toothbrush and then he’d force me to use it afterwards. If he was in a mood and didn’t like what I made for dinner, he’d throw it on the floor and he’d make me get on my hands and knees and force me to eat it. Like I was a dog! And when I tried to fight back, the beatings just got worse and worse and worse and…”

“That’s enough,” he gently orders, and releases his hold on her hands in favour of drawing her into his embrace. An arm wrapped around her waist and a palm resting on the back of her head; pressing a kiss to her temple and her cheek before drawing her face down to his shoulder. “No more. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t go back to that place.”

One of her hands clutch desperately at the back of his shirt, the other clamping down on the nape of his neck. “How do I ever get over it? How do I ever fully leave all that behind? I thought I was doing okay with it. I thought I was finally putting it all past me. I thought…”

“Sometimes there’s things we don’t really get over. Not completely, anyway. And that was fucking hell; the shit that he put you through. I’m sorry, Me. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Is it weird that sometimes I think about ‘what if’? That I’ll wonder what it would have been like if we’d met some other way? Some other time. Some other place. Before all the bad shit ever happened. Imagine? If we’d met before all of that; if we’d found each other and healed one another sooner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking about that stuff. But babe….listen to me….” He pulls away and cradles her face in his hands; thumbs swiping at the tears that continue to fall “...you can’t live the rest of your life thinking about that. Because if none of the bad ever happened? We wouldn’t have met. Because all the loss and the bullshit put us on the path that led us to each other. And yeah; it was fucking painful and I wanted to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger so many times. But in the end, all that crap? All the hard stuff? It brought you into my life. You know that. I KNOW you know that.”

“What if it was all for nothing? You spent YEARS trying to make up for all his mistakes. You didn’t care how messy I was or how messy my life had been before you. You just picked up the pieces and you put me back together. And you never complained ONCE; You just did it.”

“I did it because I love you. Because I couldn’t exactly go and find the guy and kill him with my bare fucking hands. And believe me, I’ve thought about it many times. About how I’d do it. And how I’d make it as slow and painful as possible.”

“All the time and the work you put into fixing me. What if Mark puts me over the edge and I become a big mess again? What if all of a sudden I’m in a million fucking pieces again? What then? It will all be for nothing?”

“No. It won’t. And you know why? Because even if you fall apart a thousand times, each time I’m going to pick those pieces up and I’m going to find a way to make them up. I love you, Esme. More than I ever loved anyone. More than I even thought was possible. And if it DOES happen...you do fall apart...I’m just going to be here to pick you...and all those pieces….back up.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“Baby, you deserve the fucking world. And I’d give it to you if I could. Come here…” Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tangles his fingers in her hair and draws her head down onto his shoulder; other hand moving in slow, comforting circles in the middle of her back. “...everything’s alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not that I’m scared. Not of him getting a hold of me. I know that you’d never let him get that close. You’d do anything to protect me. I’ve never...ever...doubted that. I just hate what it’s doing to me; him being back in my life. I feel like I’m drowning in all this stuff from the past and that there’s no way you’ll be able to pull me out of it. Like it’s going to suck me under and you won’t stand a chance of getting me back.”

“That’s not going to happen. I won’t LET that happen.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,,” she admits. “Worrying all the time about the baby and trying so hard to take care of the other kids and now this crap with Mark and him being so close to us.”

“I know it’s really overwhelming right now, Me. I know it’s a lot of things being heaped on your plate. And believe me, I am taking as much of it off as I can. And this stress with Mark is just making everything else seem even worse. But I got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I just need you to trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

“You got lots of help with the kids. You got me, you got Stel, Riley’s always willing to drop everything and lend a hand. And you know how much grandpa Koen loves to spend time with them. He’s always ready, willing, and able to step up.”

Managing a laugh, she pulls back and swipes at her tears with the back of her hands. “He was in fine form last night, huh?”

“He was definitely on top of his ‘shit talk Tyler’ game.”

“Everything he says, he says with love. He’s a wreck, you know. When he showed up in Dhaka. He was all laughs and jokes at first and I’m sure that was just to calm his nerves, because when he got to your room? He just lost it. Totally broke down. I’ve never seen him get that emotional since.”

“I guess he’s got a little bit of a soft spot for me. Considering I was an enormous shit head when I first met him and he threatened to beat the attitude out of me. And believe me; he tried a couple times. Tough love, yeah? He’s the guy that turned me into the solider I became. And tried to stop me from destroying myself after everything fell apart. Spent years trying to talk some sense into me. Never stuck.”

“Guess you just weren’t ready for that yet. You just had a bit more of your journey to take. I’m sorry it was as crappy as it was. That you had to go through what you did.”

“Lost my kid and my sobriety. And probably most of my sanity.”

“It’s not fair. That you had to go through so much. Starting right from you were a little boy. Not a single step of your path has been easy.”

“No. I guess it hasn’t. But every one of those steps was worth it. ‘Cause look where I am now. I’m a long way from The Kimberley.”

“Leaps and bounds,” she smiles. “Even in the last five years.”

“It was worth it. It was ALL worth it. And this? Whatever the hell THIS is? With Mark? That’s just another bump in the road we gotta get past. I just need you to trust me. That’s it.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Tyler. Always.”

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he promises, and once more gathers her into a tight, protective embrace. “I didn’t lose you in New York and I’m sure as hell not gonna lose you now. Especially not to him.”

The scrape of the screen door opening upon its track captures his attention, and he glances up in time to see his oldest son step onto the porch. Hair mussed from sleep and sticking up in several different directions; barefoot and clad in only a pair of blue, red, and white plaid pyjama bottoms. And it’s the first time that he’s noticed just how grown up that his namesake is becoming; only ten, but tall and athletically built with well chiselled ab muscles and noticeable definition in his arms and shoulders. All long limbs and torso and tanned skin; brilliant, expressive blue eyes and his once shoulder length dirty blond hair now chopped short. Despite his issues with impulse control, his diagnosis with ADHD, and his volatile temper, he always seems much older and wiser than his actual age; independent and detail and routine oriented and always willing to step up and lend a hand with his younger siblings or with chores and repairs around the house. And it’s bitter sweet; his first son after losing Austin growing up in what seems like the blink of an eye. Proud of him for the person...the man...that he’s becoming but missing the little boy he was; the one who’d be attached to his hip and who explored the world with wide eyed, breathless abandon and wanted nothing more than to exactly like his old man.

“Dad?” Worry tarnishes the ten year old’s voice; eyes darkening and narrowing as he observes the sight in front of him. “What’s going on? What…?”

“Nothing, mate. Your mum and I were just having a chat. She just got a little...worked up.”

“About what?” He finally approaches, a hand on the back of his mother’s chair as he leans in to check on her. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Just some adult stuff. Your mum’s just a little emotional today.”

“Mummy?” TJ lays a palm on her shoulder, gently squeezing and then pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Are you okay? What happened? What..?”

“I’m alright,” Esme assures him, and turns her face into his, pecking his lips. “Daddy and I were just talking and…”

“You don’t look alright. You’re crying. Why are you crying?” A mixture of panic, worry, and the beginnings of anger creep into his voice. And he fixes his father with a steely glare. “What’s wrong with mum? Why is she crying? What were you talking about that would upset her?”

“Just a couple serious things,” Tyler informs him. “ADULT things. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

TJ’s jaw clenches. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything. Why would you…?”

“Daddy didn’t do a thing,” Esme assures him. “Like he said we were having a chat and things turned a little serious and I got emotional. That’s it. He didn’t do anything or say anything wrong. I got upset and I started to cry and he was just trying to comfort me. That’s it.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause if something else happened…”

Turning sideways in her chair, she clasps her son’s face in her hand. “Tyler James. Listen to what I’m saying. Daddy did nothing wrong. I started crying and he got worried and he was trying to calm me down. He didn’t say or do anything. He was trying to help. He wanted to cheer me up. That’s all.”

“Mummy…”

“That’s all,” she insists. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but we’re telling the truth. I just got emotional about some things we were talking about. That’s all. Daddy would never...EVER...do anything to make me cry. Unless it’s happy tears.”

TJ sighs heavily. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. But thank you.,” she presses a kiss to his lips and smooths a hand over his unruly hair. “I’m okay, baby man. There is nothing for you to worry about, okay? And good morning, by the way. Thought for sure you’d sleep in a lot longer; all the running around you did after the littlest yesterday.”

“Dad said we could go surfing. Before everyone else got up. I set my alarm.”

“Well the water looks perfect today. Or as you would say, the waves looking ‘bitchin’.”

Excitement replaces worry and simmering anger. “Dad checked the surf report last night. They said it was going to be perfect conditions. And that it could just be us. I like when it’s just us. It’s a lot more fun. And we sit on our boards and talk. A lot.”

“Then I’ll let you guys get to it. I’m sure you have a lot of boy stuff to talk about.”

Tyler pushes himself to his feet as his wife slips out of her chair; hand on the small of her back as she stands. “You good?”

“I’m good,” she assures him, standing on her tiptoes to return his kiss. “I’ll take the dirty stuff in and I’ll grab some towels and throw them out here for you guys. And maybe I’ll even crash on the couch; until the rest of the hoodlums wake up.”

“If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll be fine, Tae. Everything will be fine.”

Nodding in agreement, he offers a small smile and presses his lips to her temple. Watching as she gathers the dirty dishes, mugs, and cutlery and carries them into the house. TJ gallantly holding the door open for her; a broad, beaming smile spreading across his face as she plants a kiss on his cheek.

“IS mum okay?” The ten year old turns to him once Esme is out of ear shot.

“She’s fine, mate. She’s just going through some stuff.”

“Bad stuff or…?”

“Just some stuff. Nothing you need to worry about. You’re mum’s alright. And you know I’d never hurt her, yeah? That I would never...ever...say or do anything to break her heart. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. But you used to. Do stuff like that. I know I was just little then, but…”

“I’m not that guy anymore, TJ. I haven’t been him in a long time. I would never hurt your mother. I love her in ways you can’t even begin to understand. And I would do anything to make her happy and to keep her safe.”

“Is there a reason to? Keep her safe?”

“No,” Tyler lies. “There’s not.”

*****

From the moment he first held Austin in his arms, Tyler had pictured these moments; introducing his son to surfing and forming a tremendous bond over their shared love of the water. Teaching him how to not only handle the waves, but to give himself over to the release and the escape that comes not with conquering them, but being submissive to them; gliding smoothly and confidently yet remembering that nature always has the upper hand and should never be questioned or underestimated. When he had first found out he was going to be a father, he’d often daydream about sharing his passions with his offspring; surfing, fishing, hiking, and camping trips. But military life had been all consuming, as had been his commitment to it; putting fighting the battles of others higher on his list of priorities than his wife and soon to be born child. And having the baby home hadn’t changed a damn thing; signing up for extra tours whenever he got the chance, putting his be all and end all into the army and having nothing left to give his family.

For his fifth birthday, he’d gifted Austin with two things; a custom made surfboard and the promise that he’d change his ways and become the dad that his kiddo needed and deserved. Neither of things ever came to fruition; Austin diagnosed with cancer just three weeks later and the board going unused and Tyler’s promise dying the moment the news had been dropped into their laps. And when Austin had died, so had all of the dreams and the hopes that Tyler had had as father; the loss tremendous and robbing him of both his heart and soul. The grief composed of many things. Not just the loss of his boy, but of all of those expectations, and fantasized moments, and the memories that would have been made during them.

He never dreamed that he’d ever be a father again; his marriage and his military career both disintegrating and finding him throwing himself headlong into mercenary life and a battle with booze and drug addiction. Wracked with so much guilt, regret, and profound grief that he truly believed he deserved his self imposed exile from the rest of humanity. He was a monster and not deserving of any form of a normal life; taking the most dire and dangerous of jobs in hopes one would kill him, drinking and popping pills in hopes of not just numbing the physical pain, but the mental anguish as well.

In the blink of an eye and in the midst of his deepest and darkest moments of suicidal ideation, everything changed. In the form of a tiny, tattooed and pierced brunette with the most beautiful smile and dark eyes he’d ever seen. Since then, every blessing has come with great sacrifice. Ones that he’s willing to pay over, and over, and over again for even a slice of the life that he has now. It’s a normalcy that isn’t normally rewarded to guys like him; a wife and children and a beautiful home in an even more beautiful place. So many bridges burned and toes trampled upon; exuberant coin in your pocket in exchange for scars that litter your body and enemies within all four corners of the world. It’s generally a short existence; catching a bullet in the midst of all the action or a bodyguard or a mercenary -contracted to take you out- catching you by surprise. Most never even attempt any form of domesticity; preferring the company of random women -or men- instead of committing and settling down. The job follows you. Stays with you. Remains embedded in your soul. Accompanied by long lists of evil people you’ve crossed and will forever seek revenge, debts that you can never repay and will forever be held over your head, and addiction and mental health issues. You’re never fully away from it; it will follow you wherever you go, keep you up at night, have you constantly looking over your shoulder or being wary of the smallest of bumps in the night. It’s easier to not get someone else tangled up in the madness; half the time it’s hard just to keep yourself alive, let alone a spouse and children. They’d be the first to pay the price for your misdeeds, and bringing them into that kind of world would be considered not just risky, but selfish as fuck.

Sometimes he still sees himself that way; a weakened, pathetic version of himself that opted to put targets on the backs of others instead of just dealing with his issues and his loneliness in a healthier, SOLO way. But love had found him. Somehow. In the midst of all the darkness and ruin and decay of his life, something...someone... so beautiful and bright had stumbled into his path. She’d effortlessly and easily saw past the hardened and fearless facade he’d created through an endless cycle of self loathing, sorrow, and regret; slowly chipping away at the walls he’d built around the remains of his heart and making him feel alive again. Opening his eyes to a different future and sparking a longing and a desperation and a hunger that he had felt to his very soul. Wanting her...ALL of her...in a way he’d never wanted anyone else. Trusting her in a way he hadn’t since the death of his mother; finding himself both soothed and ignited by the compassion in her voice, the kindness in her eyes, and the gentleness of her hands whenever she touched him.

His heart had been hers long before he’d ever gotten the nerve to tell her so. And he’d been both terrified and filled with hope when he’d even dare to think about a life...a future...with her. He has always felt that his time with her has been far more than he deserves; that kind of existence reserved for those who are morally stronger AND superior. But for some reason, fate had smiled upon him; giving a woman that so plainly wears her heart upon her sleeve and remains stalwartly devoted and faithful. Bearing him seven...eventually eight...children and building a home and a life beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

He’d spent the better part of an hour feeling tremendously grateful and unabashedly proud as he’d watched part of that life so confidently handling the waves below and around him. Ten years old but sometimes so wise and mature beyond his years; misunderstood by so many and not given the credit or the attention that he so rightfully deserves. A fearless, tough kid with an enormous heart; so much love caught up inside him that he’s sometimes unable to express or even cope with it. Exploring the world and the elements with near reckless abandon; always looking for adventure and forever staring challenge straight in the eye. And it’s bittersweet; the act of making the memories with THIS son that his mind had created with for the boy he’d lost years before.

“What do you think it feels like?” TJ asks, as they sit side by side. A hundred yards from shore where the water is calmer; perched upon their boards with their legs dangling over the sides. “To get bit by a shark.”

Tyler glances over; noticing small inklings of his wife inside the ten year old. The way his namesake tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow as he contemplates a question. The smooth bridge of the nose and the shape of his jaw. But he’s definitely a ‘chip off the old block’; the brilliant blue eyes and the broad shoulders and the long, lanky body, the cheeky smirk and the smile that brightens his entire face. And there’s more. So much more. A strikingly similar personality; dry witted and quick with the sarcasm and the smart ass comments. And the temper; volatile and unpredictable, always seeming as if it’s on a permanent, slow boil.

“I don’t know, mate. But I can guarantee that it does NOT feel good.”

“Mick Fanning...the surfer that mum likes...he got attacked by one. During a competition. A great white. Hit him right in the face with its tail! Can you imagine? I would have been shitting bricks for sure! It would be kind of cool to see one, though. We’ve only ever seen a couple of dorsals in the water. When we’ve been hanging out on the beach. Kinda weird we’ve NEVER come across one.”

“I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you. I’ve spotted a few in my time. Long before you were even a twinkle in your mumma’s eyes. Wasn’t close enough to go one on one with ‘em. Thank Christ.”

“Sometimes I get this really weird feeling in my stomach. When we’re out here. It’s like something is just moving around in there; kicking at your insides and tugging at them and stuff. Like my body is telling me that there’s something underneath me. Maybe even WATCHING me. You ever get something like that? Where you just KNOW something is there?”

“Had that happen a lot. Always been too chicken shit to look down, though.”

“I like that, you know. That you’re not afraid to admit you’re scared of things. Lots of guys are. They act all big and bad and like nothing bothers them, but you know it’s all bullshit. You’ve never been like that. Even since I was little. You’ve always talked about being scared of things and how it’s okay to be afraid of stuff. And that we shouldn’t be embarrassed to get emotional. Cry and stuff. Do you still feel that way?”

“I do. I feel even stronger about it now. Nothing wrong with a guy being vulnerable. Doesn’t make them weak or pathetic or less of a man.”

TJ grins over at him. “Just makes them human.”

“You know, you sound a hell of a lot like your mum sometimes.”

“That’s a good thing, if you ask me. ‘Cause mum’s pretty awesome.”

“Yeah…” Tyler smiles wistfully, then glances towards the shore; his wife up from her nap and getting the littles settled for breakfast on the deck as the older kid’s lend a hand. “...she certainly is.”

TJ’s expression turns serious. “You meant it, right? When you said you didn’t say or do anything to make mum cry.”

“Everything we both told you was the truth; we were talking about some adult stuff and she got emotional. All I was trying to do was comfort her. That’s it. You know how your mum can be; when she’s feeling overwhelmed and hasn’t been sleeping well and she tries to take too much on.”

“She needs to learn how to rely on other people . And ask for help when she needs it.”

“It’s hard for her. Even after all the years she’s been with me. She finds it difficult to ask for help. Guess she’s so used to people letting her down, that she just can’t shake that part of her. We’ll just keep an eye on her and just chip in where we need to and hope for the best, yeah?”

TJ nods, then gives a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, dad. For kinda flipping out on you earlier. But I saw you kneeling in front of mummy and then I could tell she was crying and my brain just immediately went to think you’d done something wrong.”

“We’re a lot like, you and I. In a lot of ways. I tend to react a little too quickly, a little too soon. Old habits die hard. But I would never…EVER...hurt your mum. That is the last thing I want to do. Intentional or not. I love her, mate. In ways you can’t even understand. In ways I can’t even understand sometimes. I just hope that one day you get to feel that way about someone. Or close to it.”

“I just worry about her,” TJ sighs. “I don’t like when she’s upset. Especially when she cries. I hate seeing it; mummy sad. I wish I could find a way so she’d never be sad EVER again. Wouldn’t that be nice? If we could find a way to make sure mummy NEVER got sad again?”

“Yeah, mate. It would. But life isn’t like that. We gotta go through the good AND the bad. Unfortunately.”

“Mum’s been through a lot. I mean, I know you have too. But mum...I don’t know...she’s different. She’s...well...she’s my mum. I know you’re tough and strong and brave and all that. That you can handle things better. But mum puts on a good show for people I think. She lets on that she’s okay and she’s totally fine with taking care of everything one else. But sometimes? Sometimes I don’t think she’s okay at all. Do you ever think that? That she’s just pretending to be alright?”

“I don’t just don’t think. I know she’s doing it. And believe me, I’ve tried to get her out of it. But your mum…”

“And she has the nerve to call US stubborn? She is way worse.”

“She’s got a hard head,” Tyler agrees. “And in some ways, it’s a good thing. She never gave up on me. Even when everyone around her was telling her she should. She just ignored them. Had my back no matter what other people said.”

“It’s ‘cause she loves you. And you’re the first person to ever really love her. Other than her dad and he died when she was young, so ....” TJ rakes a hand through his wet hair. “...sometimes it must feel like it’s just you and mum against the world, huh?”

“I’ve felt that way. A few times. But then all you guys started coming along and our team got even bigger. I like to think we ALL have each other’s backs.”

“Of course we do. We’re family. We’re all in this together. And we’re Rakes. Means we’re tough and we don’t back down. From anyone or anything. We might be scared, but we’re still standing up for what’s right. That’s what you taught us. That even though we might be afraid, we gotta do the right thing. Always. A man isn’t measured by the things he has, but by the people he’s helped.”

Tyler grins. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it in a book at school. One of the grade eight kids left on the playground and I was bored and I found it and I just started reading it. I guess I liked that line for some reason. It stuck in my head. Even if there isn't much else up there.”

“Don’t you do that,” Tyler gently scolds. “I don’t want to EVER hear you do that. Talk shit about yourself.”

TJ frowns. “It’s kinda hard when everyone around you is doing it.”

“At school?”

He nods. “I’m the dumb, crazy kid. That’s what everyone thinks. Especially the teachers.”

“They ever say that to you?”

“Not to my face. But I walked by the staff room once and they were talking about that ‘Rake kid’. About how he’ll probably end up in juvenile detention by the time he’s thirteen. And in and out of jail when he’s older. You can’t tell me that it was about Takota or Declan. I might be stupid, but I’m not THAT stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all. And I don’t want you ever calling yourself that again. You just need some help. Find different ways to learn. Not everyone learns the same way. I was like you in school; couldn’t focus, got ignored when I asked for help, that turned into me goofing off or getting frustrated. Lots of times I put a fist into a locker or a wall. A LOT.”

“Is that why you didn’t go to college? Like mum? Is that why you went into the military?”

“I suppose that’s part of it. Guess I liked the danger and adventure of it too. Going off and fighting bad guys and getting to shoot guns and all of that shit. Never thought about actually having to kill people and what that would feel like.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Not good, mate. Not good at all.”

“Even if it’s bad people? Like that Nathan that hurt you?”

“People like him are exceptions. But for the most part? I don’t like doing it. Not even if it’s in the course of helping someone else. But sometimes…”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” his son finishes for him. “Sometimes it’s you or them, right?”

“Exactly. And don’t worry about school, alright? I’ll give them a call. Ask for a meeting. Get things sorted and get you the help you need. And deserve.”

“Man…” TJ grins. “...they are going to shit their pants when they hear from you.”

Tyler reaches out to ruffle his namesake’s hair. “Maybe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Wanna head in? See what mum’s cooking up?”

“I don’t know." The ten year old's nose crinkles in disgust. "Do you think it’ll be edible?”

“Is it ever?”

TJ laughs. “Dad…”

“Whatever you do, do NOT tell her I said that.”

“Don’t worry…” Leaning across his board, the ten year old wraps both arms around one of Tyler’s; squeezing tightly and laying his head against his dad’s shoulder. “...your secret’s safe with me.”

[tsuumu]

beautiful stranger.

oikawa x reader

a short piece in which oikawa tooru approaches you on a idyllic evening. it’s a little awkward though, since you’re trying to die.

word count: 3.3k

tw: indirect and direct implications of suicide.

your warm hands stay gripped onto the metal rails in front of you, applying enough force to watch your knuckles turn white. you find yourself doing it over and over until your fingers numb from the continued pressure. alone, you’re mulling over mundane affairs. you’d rather not be thinking about them but find this loop all too easy to fall into.

the shadow of the railing casts over a large canal, its water sifting freely, far beneath you. it laps over itself, slithers of fish break the transparent surface as they swim. some of their scales rise to kiss the sunlight in opaque relfections.

thin layers of petals scatter the ground beneath your feet that have slipped from overhead trees and continue to flutter down freely. glowers of dying sunlight seep through the shapes of them as they fall.

in this moment, autumn is alive.

it’s really lovely right now.

you’re here, all caught up in chasing that feeling of peace. safety in an open space. you have to cope with that fact that tranquility never comes easily for you.

there’s nothing that should be leaving you as deeply unsettled as you are. you’ve learnt to largely ignore feeling so overwhelmed, though it stirs and resurfaces times you wish it wouldn’t.

what’s bugging you is that you can’t quite get a grasp on your own life.

for starters, everything lacks coherent meaning. to you, there’s something constantly missing every single day. nothing purchasable, nothing attainable through hard-work and any level of perseverance. truly, it affects you so much so that even just standing here, feet glued to the very spot that is undeniably ‘lovely’, brings you nothing but unimaginable sadness.

earlier, you brushed it away as an off day but you know that’s not true. you’ve been feeling like this all the time.

it is, therefore, not at all abnormal to wonder: can a person have such thing as an off life?

you really don’t like to think about things like this too much. once you begin to muse over deep naysay you find yourself snowballing.

solutions are painfully unobtainable and it’s generally as productive as chasing pavements.

do i really enjoy being alone? or am i obsessed with the sensation loneliness brings?

“you know, if you stare long enough, you might end up wanting to jump in.”

at once, your vision snaps up, taken aback by the additional voice. you hadn’t realised that during your mindless lamenting, another person had quietly joined you by the evening canal-side.

fair skinned, dark eyed, chocolate curls brushed neatly over his features and cowlicks that bob against the light gusts of wind.

a boy offers you a smile, before shifting his feet towards the empty space to your left. you can’t seem to process him, staring at the empty spot he’d been in seconds earlier.

you’re not supposed to be here right now.

“i was totally kidding by the way.” he adds. “that was really dark, sorry.”

you’re silent in return, eyes casting back onto the running stream. the water is shallow and the fall long, so jumping in would certainly prove fatal. you know all of this too well. it’d disturb the fish who are just here to live, though, it’ll only be for a moment. they won’t know any better.

you don’t really know what to say. it’s troubling that he’s here and hearing it out loud disturbs you, like a direct call out. at no point were you prepared for any kind of conversation prior.

the two of you stand there in complete silence. it’s not particularly awkward, you just don’t know why he’s approached you so easily, talking to you like he’s known you well enough to make outlandish jokes.

asking directly for his intentions seems rude, so you’ll put up with it until he leaves.

“do you always come here?” the stranger pipes up once more, though his focus doesn’t leave the water. you breathe in deeply.

“sometimes.”

“oh, i see.”

his palms lay flat and he pushes gently off of the rails, only to fall back onto them with all his weight. he does it again, repeating the process over and over at a steady pace. you stay hunched over, keeping your distance. he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest though, clearly absorbed in his surroundings.

“it’s like a set out of a movie, this place. seems like somewhere i’d ask my girlfriend to marry me.”

your tongue rolls around in your mouth.

yes. you think. his girlfriend would most likely be thrilled-over the top-squealing if he did. that’s entirely his business.

you really don’t care to hear of other people’s romantic endeavours.

is it out of jealousy? you don’t know. maybe.

this conversation is meaningless. you wish he’d go away sooner so you could have this time to yourself.

also, jealousy is an ugly word. you hate it.

he stops his movement with a exhale of air, tilting his head back to blink up at the warm sky. the last touches daylight mingle with the oncoming darkness, creating a deep tinge of orangey-yellow.

“when’s your birthday?”

‎a petal lands on the bridge of your hand, sticking to your skin.

“do you want my social security number?” you deject.

“what? no!”

“are you sure? really, i’ll give it to you.”

“no!”

“then why are you asking for my personal information?”

‎

he falls silent for a moment, before mumbling out a small: “just wondering.”

a tinge of guilt creeps over you at his apologetic tone. you admit, your answers thus far must make you seem like a completely unapproachable asswipe. you’re not at all. you just aren’t all that sure how to make small talk with strangers when you’re trying to part with the world by dinner time.

it feels like an unexpected guest at your very lonesome party.

“it’s (insert birth month).” you fold.

he purses his lips, face contorting a little.

“i see.”

he doesn’t continue down that path after your response. the both of you return to a mutual silence, staring into the portrait scenery ahead. the stream fills the soundscape pleasantly. fallen leaves have gathered at the base of your shoes, brushing over the tip gently with the turn of the wind. you observe them quietly.

“can i ask you another question?”

he seems a tad more timid now.

he definitely thinks you’re the type to blow up and give him an earful about minding his own business, doesn’t he?

you’d never raise your voice. in general, but also because it’d break the comfort of the scenery the world has so generously given you.

“sure.”

“do you believe in soulmates?”

‎the question is a little random but not impossible to answer by any means.

“no.”

“what?”

“i said not really.”

“you said no.”

“that’s the same thing.”

“...fair enough.”

‎he exhales out, sounding a little disheartened by your curt response. perhaps to him, you were a tough nut to crack; an ambiguity for him to understand. were all people like that? you weren’t playing hard to get, in fact, you’d answered every single enquiry he has had to offer. his efforts are amusing, though.

you raise a brow at him.

“i’m sorry, was that the wrong answer?”

for a moment, he doesn’t reply, stuffing his hands into his pockets, gazing down at the head of his shoe. pivoting his ankle, he draws small circles with the tip of his foot into the ground, into the dead leaves.

“not at all.”

“your expression says otherwise.”

“um, it was just a bit bleak, i guess.”

you let your arms droop way over the railing, fingers wading through the autumn air. you’d never really taken the concepts of soulmates to heart. it was romantic bullshit put out by somebody looking for a fantasy to indulge in. out of seven billion people, there could hardly be a singular person made for you. people aren’t born for other people. if that were the case, it wouldn’t be a rose-tinted fantasy. it would be suffocating. where’s the freedom in love?

“most people always answer like you these days anyway.”

“oh, sorry.”

he looks up at you, tilting his head.

“no, don’t be.”

back to a default mute, left with nothing but the faint chitter of overhead swallows and the odd rumble of cars passing by.

“tooru.” he states, after a while.

“what?”

“tooru. my name is tooru.”

“oh, okay.”

“oikawa tooru.”

‎your fingertips have become flushed. maybe you’d pressed a little too hard on that cold surface earlier. now that all your blood has come rushing back, the tingling sensation feels foreign.

his name slips of the tongue rather easily, don’t you think?

“nice to meet you, oikawa tooru.”

“it is nice, isn’t it?”

for the first time, your gazes meet properly and you offer him a crooked smile.

“i suppose so.”

off the side of the canal, almost right under the bridge, a small cluster of ducks have gathered. adult ducks tend to be considerably larger than its offspring —as is factual with any animal— so it’s easy for you to tell that there’s only one parent there, along with three of its ducklings.

people like to come to the canal to feed the ducks bread, though you’d heard somewhere that it’s actually quite bad for them.

you wonder. do ducks care particularly if one of its ducklings die? will it do something with the body, cry out, hurt?

or is grief exceptionally human?

“i don’t actually have a girlfriend, by the way.”

he sifts out his phone, tapping the screen and sliding it open. you watch him turn it to its side, before leaning over to take a picture of the depths below. you just watch.

“oh, okay.”

he doesn’t elaborate, focused intently on his current task. your attention returns to the shape of the birds, bobbing up and down rhythmically.

there’s only so much you can say about the canal. yeah, it’s beautiful. you don’t have the right vocabulary to describe the way it makes you feel. honestly, it feels abysmal to even try. you’re convinced though, that you’re in love with the way the water moves. you’ve always appriciated it whenever you walk past, told yourself jokingly that you could die there if you had to.

funny, that.

beautiful things tend to hurt in an unbearably amplified manner.

“say, tooru?”

“yeah?”

“if i climbed over the railing right now, would you stop me?”

you’re both fixated on the paddling now. his phone is back in his pocket, elbows propped up. he hums, taking his time to think over your question.

“most likely.”

your fingers meet one another and the tingling spreads to your palms.

“i’m thinking of jumping, actually.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“my joke earlier...”

“yeah.”

his fingers drum rhythmically on the slender poles under the rail top.

“then i’d jump right in with you.”

the corners of his mouth tug slightly at your perplexity, supressing a chortle. he’s not laughing at you, though. it’s more a gesture of understanding. this tooru doesn’t know you at all, yet he gets it. he gets it all too well.

you get that he gets it.

tooru clears his throat. “bad day?”

“that’s an understatement.”

“well, you’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

by now, the ducks have swam away, you can make out the general shape of them, melding into the distant, mute colours of the bankside. the sky look minutes away from being set alight. time has never been your friend, you see.

“i feel crazy for trying.” you’re rather blunt about it.

“fair enough.”

“…is that all?”

“well, do you want me to tell you that you’re not crazy?”

you lull into silence.

“i don’t know.”

with that, you shift to angle yourself so that he’s in your immediate peripheral, the thought of gawking at him seems ridiculous but you want to look at him. you find it hard to do it up front for some reason.

“i’m no suicide expert, but it’d probably be lonely doing something like that by yourself. wouldn’t it be comforting to know someone’s falling with you?”

your fingers run absently across the jagged surface of the rails, the old paint has been chipped away at, after all its years of protecting. in all it’s history, had anyone else hitched themselves over this very rail?

were they asking for the same answers as you?

god. that’s awful. you don’t want to think about that.

you catch each others’ eyes for a second but you resign quickly, focusing as hard as you can on the flecks of black on your thumb.

“that would be selfish of me.”

“not if i’m offering.”

you scramble to look anywhere else, abruptly turning. you’re facing away from the canal, stomach fluttering a little as you fall onto the rail’s length.

in all your time by yourself, you’d never been given an irrefutable reason to ‘be’. it’d always been a live-for-the-day type of experience. if a day is good, you’re utterly blissed out by it, totally in love with life. if it’s bad, you have little reason to go on. nothing particularly interests you enough to dedicate your days persuing it. fame seems tedious, looks are temporary, a six figure career sounds like emotional jail-time, or a slow, schedule-filled trek to death. whichever description sounds more sufferable.

you see, in essence, we all get off at the same bus stop. some journeys are simply shorter than others.

“you’re guilt-tripping me out of it.”

“i’m not!”

you’ve never stopped to ask yourself what it is you want.

death interests you, you suppose. though, you don’t see the reason to wait around and pretend to ignore it until one day it drags you kicking and screaming.

“oikawa tooru, don’t you have better things to be doing than offering to jump off bridges with strangers?”

that coy smile tugs at his lips once more. nothing you say seems to phase him. it’s like he knows you. he’s thinking: yeah, this isn’t anything out of the ordinary for them.

“should i? you look at that water like it’s someone you hate. or love. maybe both. i got curious.”

“curious?”

“yes. and quite frankly, you’ve left me curious. practically starving. you haven’t even told me your name.”

“my name doesn’t matter.”

“boo. that’s not true at all.”

his tongue pokes out, tugging at the corner of his eye. you shake your head, genuinely unable to hide your amusement, turning to him properly this time.

and really, it’s like the canal side and oikawa tooru were made from the same stardust. he blends right into the picture, as effortlessly pretty as the rest of it.

the strands of hair out of place, a little disheveled from the breeze. the scarf buried into his nose, glasses a little misty from the heat of his own breath but when they clear, you see his eyes all too well.

you’d like to tuck those strands into place, they’re bothering you just a little.

“(y/n).”

your brows furrow a little.

really, this could all very well be some sort of fantastical dream. as nice as it all is, it feels painfully unreal. boys don’t look like that on autumn evenings or offer to die with you.

that’s it.

tooru must be a figment of your imagination.

no. wrong. not a dream.

this is a corner of your mind you haven’t ventured into yet, psychologically, some kind of safety net. a sliced off piece of reality you’ve come to hide in because you’ve utterly lost your mind. he is nothing but a part of you that makes you feel at ease as you come to terms with your self-destruction.

god, that bothers you more. you are crazy.

your hand extends, reaches out all on its own.

you just want to know if he’s real.

oikawa tooru glances down for a moment, he’s probably wondering about you, what’s left you in such a state. though, he’s happy to slide his palm against yours, latching onto it. he shakes once, twice. a little more. tightens his hold a bit.

the weight of his fingers as they brush lightly against your palm is fantastical. he’s so warm. you can feel it spread through you from the pads of your fingers.

he’s very real.

tooru has rather pretty hands.

the contact makes you feel kind of delirious, a produce of being utterly touch-starved. just a simple touch. you’re embarrassed to say it but it takes everything inside of you not to start weeping or hold on frantically in case he does disappear, do something bizzare that’ll scare him away forever.

hey, tooru. are you made of honey?

“well, (y/n), i’m offering you my life right now.”

the sun has set foot on the horizon, plunging in ever so slightly. as a child, the thought of night scared you, feeling largely betrayed by the sun’s farewell. now, it’s a unique kind of comfort to see the moon. it’s as lonely as those who lay their eyes upon it.

“i don’t want it.”

his fingers slip downwards against the dips of your palm.

“you don’t?”

“no, i mean... i don’t want death. not right now..”

you don’t even want to think about it anymore. funny, how things like that work. you were so sure of it. today was the day. your dark rendezvous. weren’t you itching for it?

this bastard.

this man you’ve never met. he clasps onto your hand once and suddenly he stops your nauseating rollercoaster of thoughts and leaves you wondering if, actually, you’d like to see the canal-side again tomorrow, or in fifty years.

who are you really, oikawa tooru?

“no?”

“yeah.”

“then what do you want to do?”

“stay right here, i think.”

your fingers curl, maintaining your hold on him. you should be shy or awkward about this whole ordeal but so you’re desperate for that warmth to continue.

you both stand there, facing one another, hands extended. it’s a little robotic looking. you’re pretty stiff but very sure this is what feels right.

to you, existence is based solely on feeling your way through stages of life. that sickeningly sweet innocence of youth. childhood memories that to you, are dwindled husks of gold, valuable in some aspects but almost meaningless in others. to laugh or to cry allows an individual to create a deep-set connection to the environment around them. it is no longer passing scenery but a moment in your life you once lived through.

that’s beautiful, isn’t it?

unfortunately, emotion provides both a living fantasy and the potential for agony. life is not sweet, nor innocent. it is what you make of it.

it is what your mind is forced to make of it.

and as much as one wishes they were as coddled and loved as they were children, life beyond those years is lonely, difficult and more than you were ever capable of.

were you weak? perhaps.

but maybe people aren’t built for life. we’re all weak.

and realistically, if you are unable to clamber over one obstacle after another -established by those before you- you’re doomed to fall behind.

that will hurt. you will hurt unforgivably because self-worth is no longer a beautiful gift of internal discovery and love but another way to be measured and downsized externally. a practice that leads to hatred. a desire to die.

that’s really where it all began for you. a romantic, a poet at heart, living inside your own, kinder world. that is until reality knocked on your door, invited itself in, just to set the entire thing on fire and leave you as vulnerable as the day you were born.

you aren’t allowed to hide. it comes looking for you eventually.

your stance on life hasn’t changed, afterall, you’ve spent nights mourning over how much it can hurt to live. to fall asleep exhausted with yourself, only to wake up and do it all over again. what you do know, however, is that droning, lonely feeling isn’t there right now. that ongoing, battering ruckus inside your head has ceased. tooru, the strange magician, has left you thoughtless and a little dumb.

you like being this stupid. for once, there’s nothing intrusive prodding the inside of your head.

it’s frightfully quiet, actually. you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. how much time has passed since he’d made that awful joke?

his gaze is on your lingering contact, before lightly pulling you closer, twisting his wrist down so you’re holding hands. your gaze moves to the bankside. you feel comforted. maybe it isn’t death, maybe all you want is a hand to hold.

probably not. that is a stupid, sappy thought. you’re still fanatic about ending your life.

you were so close to doing it, without even really understanding what you were doing. the canal scenery is overpowering, numbing, if you will. without oikawa tooru, you may well have kissed those fishs’ fluorescent scales with your own two lips, as cold as ice with some unfortunate early-morning runner discovering you by twilight.

“we can do that.” he hesitates. “if i’m honest, i would have been pretty scared to jump.”

“yet you still offered?”

tooru hums merrily in confirmation.

“why?”

“because you’re cute.”

you can’t believe your own ears.

“what? seriously?”

“yeah. originally, i wanted your number but things took a small turn.”

you burst out in gutteral laughter, free hand back onto the railing for support. for a moment, you look at him, shaking your head in utter amazement.

“you’re a piece of work, tooru, you know?”

“yeah, i know.”

he smiles back at you. the shadows cast by the setting sun only make him all the more enigmatic.

now that you think about it, you can’t figure this guy out at all. it’s like staring at a wordless piece of paper and trying to find something legible.

“how do you know i won’t come back and repeat all of this tomorrow?”

tooru tilts his head ever so slightly, observing you. his eyes flutter down to your lips, speaking like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“because you told me your name.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“well, now that i know that, you’re no longer just a beautiful stranger.”

you understood now. he hadn’t just offered you his life, he’d offered you him. by living on, you’d accepted graciously. he knows that if you visit the canal side again, you’ll only remember this moment.

a bad moment that he, in all his glory, turned into a good one. the day you two first met.

oh, clever boy. he saved you.

though you must say, oikawa tooru, you’re very much mistaken.

you are the beautiful stranger.

a tear runs down your cheek, a little warmer than you could’ve expected.

one turns into two, slipping more and more. eventually, you’re standing over the canal, hand in hand with oikawa tooru, sobbing quietly as the water runs peacefully below the both of you.

[pretty-little-birdie]

Unexpected Suspect

Words: 2,379

Tw: Mild Violence (if an angry bird counts)

Hurt/Comfort (a little hurt but mainly fluff!)

A self indulgent fic I made based off an idea @baka-monarch had about all the MCYT G/T blogs being borrowers on the DSMP and being caught by the members! I definitely had to throw my own fic into the mix! (Honestly was tempted to do Ghostbur but I figured Foolish would be a great fit!)

Memory let out a silent giggle, placing a hand over her mouth as she grabbed the end of the hammer and quickly tugged it towards the little hole she had made in the wall. The little borrower had been causing mischief around the mansion for the past couple of days, much to the demi-god’s dismay.

Most borrowers would think she’s nuts for messing with a being, especially one with god-like abilities, but to Memory, this was just easy entertainment when she wasn’t out doing the normal borrower things. As long as she wasn’t caught, she didn’t mind taking the risk. She did always return the items she took in the end.

Once she was safely tucked away in her little hole in the wall with the hammer she stole, she heard the exasperated sigh of a familiar totem god and pushed the wood to the side ever so slightly to glance out at the golden figure looking around, stifling a laugh.

“I know I put it right here! How does this keep happening? It’s like someone is messing with me!” Foolish huffed, pushing himself up from looking under the little dresser in the hallway.

Memory let out a silent laugh into her hand and closed the little door she created and hid until she heard his footsteps fade down the hallway. Once she decided that he was far enough away and she was out of sight, she pushed the little piece of wood out of her way and pulled the hammer back out into the middle of the hallway. Panting softly, she heard footsteps coming back in the distance and quickly ran back to her little hole in the wall and closed the slab of wood behind her.

“What? No! I know for a fact this hammer was not here before! What the heck!” Foolish exclaimed, Memory watching from a crack in the wall as the totem placed a hand on his forehead and held the hammer in his other hand.

Deciding that work was more important, Foolish sighed and went back to the room he was previously working on. He could always try to figure out what little troublemaker was taking and returning his things. Being a god, he had a few ideas on what this being could be, however his guesses were almost always crossed off as the being would do something that would cross another off his list.

Having finally had her fun, Memory smiled to herself and skipped through the walls. She had just built her little home recently and since the mansion was still under construction she had to be careful on where she created her passageways until he was no longer building.

“So! Half enderman boy has memory issues, definitely useful if I were to be seen! He would forget, the piglin can’t speak english well so that means he can’t communicate he saw me, so the only issue is the goat and the golden guy. The goat could definitely catch me, so I need to be careful around him, the piglin too, he’s a young bean, that would be really bad,” Memory spoke to herself, reminding herself of the inhabitants of the mansion. While Foolish wouldn’t be living in the mansion, she figured he’d still come around and wanted to be prepared.

“The golden guy looks like what those beans call a totem, kinda odd, he’s pretty observant though, I need to be super careful,” Memory pushed some of her short hair from her face with a sigh.

Once she pushed aside a small piece of cloth that led underneath the floorboards to her little base, Memory dug around for any more food scraps she had packed from when she had to flee from L’Manburg a few weeks prior. She couldn’t help the small whine she released seeing as her food supply was finally run dry.

“Man...I haven’t been borrowing in weeks, I could have sworn I still had a small piece of Niki’s bread left,” the borrower sighed, her wings drooping a bit and her tail now laid on the ground. “Well, sitting around and sulking isn’t going to get me anywhere, I’ll have to see what I can grab around here and HOPEFULLY make it last a while,” She huffed, digging through a few things before grabbing her borrowing bag and strapping it tightly around her torso. She wrapped her grapple around her hips and poked a sewing needle through her pants slightly as a sort of sheath to hold it in place.

Memory quickly made her way out of her little home and through the passageways until she got to her desired area. This door led to outside in SnowChester, however outside was where Foolish kept a lot of his supplies, so she had no choice but leave the safety of the mansion to get to his supplies.

Memory poked her head out a bit to see if Foolish was outside, thankfully he seemed to still be busy with the room he was working on and she estimated that would be just enough time to grab what she needed and get back to the walls before he needed to come out for something. With one deep breath, Memory pushed out of the hole and into the open, running towards the little overhang in front of the mansion. Just as her luck would have it, she heard Foolish stepping out of the mansion and quickly slid underneath the furnace.

She watched as he quickly approached. Shit. He saw her. She thought she had more time, her breathing quickened slightly. Her wings puffed up along with her tail as a hand was placed on the ground right in front of the furnace. From how his position looked, he was going to look straight under right at her. At that moment, she felt like a cornered animal.

Hastily tugging her sewing needle from it’s makeshift sheath from her position on her stomach, she quickly threw the needle just as a pair of emerald colored eyes peered in at her. Foolish gave a surprised yelp as the needle flew at him, making him quickly flinch back and fall backwards in surprise. No way...he had ruled out borrowers a long time ago, they were almost never the mischievous type.

With the small window of time she had, Memory quickly ran out from the furnace on the other side. While running out in the snowy biome was not ideal at all, to her, it was better than being stuck with a bean who would hurt her with no hesitation at all. Anything else was better than that. She dove herself into a bush although she heard Foolish call out to her, she ignored him. Now without her weapon and stuck in the cold of the snowy biome, there are not many options she could really weigh in. If she left the bush, she put herself in the open to be caught by Foolish or something else. However, if she didn’t she risked freezing to death in the snow.

Foolish rushed over, looking around for the little borrower, having not had enough time to see where they went before they hid away from sight. Quickly pushing himself up and walking behind the little stand where all his supplies were being kept, he searched around, his eyes scanning the area for any little movements.

“Hey there little borrower, I swear I don’t mean any harm. I didn’t mean to scare you...was it you who was taking and returning my things?” he questioned, nearly slapping himself at the question before adding, “I’m not upset if it was you! Just would like to know what sort of mischievous creature is messing with me!” He gave a soft laugh and waved his hand gently in dismissal.

Memory watched him from the bush, not even her tail dare move a muscle as he stalked closer to the bush she was in. He wasn’t mad? What if he was lying? What if this was some elaborate trick to catch her and hurt her for all the times she got bored and messed with him? What if-

Memory screamed out suddenly when a not so happy bird pinned her down. It seemed in her attempts to keep her eyes on Foolish and keep herself hidden, she had neglected to see the bush she was using as her hiding spot was also home to a mama bird and her nest full of baby birds. She pecked at Memory, the girl barely dodging the beak as a golden hand quickly reached into the bush; a voice shooing the bird with many apologies before Memory was grabbed into a fist and pulled from her hiding spot.

Foolish quickly cupped the little life against his chest, hiding her away from the outside world and swatting lightly at the angry bird that flew at his head and the hand at his chest.

“Ah! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! We’ll leave your nest alone, I promise!” Foolish begged as he rushed off, the bird chasing him a few more feet before deciding he was far enough away and went back to her nest.

Panting, Foolish quickly made his way back to the mansion and went inside. He gently pulled his hand from his chest, the scared little borrower curled up at the center of his palm. Her head was against her knees with her arms covering her head, her tail wrapped itself around her waist and her wings covered her body like a shield. Foolish did not touch her further from her being in his palm and walked over to a workbench he had set up inside to save time and gently slid her onto it and took a step back.

“ Are you okay?” He asked, his hands placed up in the air to let her have full control over this situation. This wasn’t his first run-in with a borrower after all.

Memory was absolutely frozen in place as she was placed down on the workbench. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. She stayed in her little balled up state, her eyes scrunched up closed as her body now began to shake like a leaf, the adrenaline in her veins now exiting her system. She knew she had to look so pathetic, just sitting there and shaking like a leaf.

“Hey, I know your kind is very skittish of people, but I swear I mean no harm to you at all, I can even help you find a better house to live in if you want to leave,” Foolish spoke softly as to not startle the girl any more than he already had. He watched as the girl began to slowly, cautiously, pushing herself up, her blue eyes training themselves onto Foolish, wide and full of fear. Her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes peeking above her knees.

“I’m not supposed to speak to beans,” Memory finally spoke meekly.

“I know,” Foolish gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just thought you could silently answer,” he gave a kind smile.

“How do you know about my kind?” Memory questioned, her look hardening at him.

“I’m a god, I’ve been alive for a long time. I met many creatures and beings during my time,” he replied, it was process after all.

“A god?” she seemed skeptical, “what type of god?” The questions seemed to bring her a sort of comfort, so of course he was going to answer them!

“A totem god, also one of the ocean,” he replied, giving no hesitation so the girl didn’t think he was trying to trick her.

“Why did you help me?” Memory asked, finally asking the burning question, “especially since you knew I was the one messing with your stuff,” she added.

“Well, you needed help, I wasn’t going to let a bird get you especially since I was definitely the reason you ran into that bush. And you did always return my stuff, it’s not like you took things I needed and didn’t return them,” Foolish shrugged, noting the surprised look on the little borrower’s face. “Can I ask you a question now?” He asked, watching the girl tense up slightly before nodding at him lightly. “Great, what is your name?”

“Memory.”

“Uh? Do you have memory problems like Ranboo?”

“No! That’s my name! My name is Memory.”

“OH! Sorry!”

Memory began to laugh a bit, curling herself a bit and seeming to relax the more she spoke with Foolish. He couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

“Now I see why they call you Foolish, you are quite the foolish bean,” Memory snickered a bit, a teasing tone in her voice.

“Wh..Foolish is my name!” He laughed, now it was Memory’s turn to feel a little embarrassed as they both a bit.

“Okay, maybe we’re both a little foolish,” Memory giggled.

Foolish did find it a little odd just how comfortable the girl was with him already, most borrowers it would take hours, days, weeks, months even to get this much process, but with Memory she was already so relaxed, albeit a little jumpy, but relaxed. Foolish opened his mouth to continue on with the conversation when he heard two voices call out for him. Tubbo and Ranboo, shoot he forgot they were stopping by today.

Memory shot up to her feet, quickly scanning around for the voices however she wasn’t able to pinpoint them like Foolish could. She yelped as Foolish scooped her into his hand and pushed her into his jacket pocket. While he did seem to be in a rush, he was still gentle. Memory, of course, struggled a bit, pushing at the golden hand before he gently pinned her down.

“Hey, Tubbo! Ranboo!” Foolish greeted the two as he walked over and met the two.

Memory froze, oh, he was hiding her from them. She stilled herself and calmed her breathing. While not fully trusting Foolish, she figured he was her best bet rather than risking herself to run back to one of her entrances that were much too far away to get to in time. For now, she’d have to stay here and wait out the two beans until she could go back home.

[anubislover]

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 19: Lying Hearts

“How can anyone stand to live in a city like this?” Nami grumbled as the light glinted off of yet another painfully white building. True, the setting sun had lessened the glare slightly, but after an entire afternoon of it, she was developing quite the headache, even with the sunglasses.

Law shrugged and continued walking at a leisurely pace, still unaffected. “I’m sure if you’re born somewhere like this it’s easier, but people can learn to tolerate almost anything given enough time, I suppose.”

“Do you think you’d be able to learn to tolerate bread?”

“I said almost. I’d sooner die of starvation.”

She shook her head with a chuckle but kept pace, following his lead. Instead of heading straight back to the submarine, Law had insisted on a few detours through Atifakuto—partially in case anyone had grown suspicious and decided to follow them, but also to scope out potential escape routes under the guise of sightseeing. Nami, for her part, had been exceedingly helpful in this, mapping out in her head which stairways lead where and pointing out various places to hide. If Law found her compliance suspicious, he didn’t say anything; it was in their best interest to work together, especially with some potentially valuable goods on the line, so her behavior was easily rationalized.

For her, however, there was more than artifacts or even belli at stake. This heist had to go well. She needed Law to trust her enough to open up about why he was so obsessed with Amber Lead. Perhaps if he could do that, she wouldn’t even have to sneak into his quarters to take a look at the ledgers. She could just ask and he’d let her in like a rational human being.

Of course, in order for either of their plans to succeed they needed to know where the vase was. Luckily, the rest of the Hearts hadn’t been sitting idle on the submarine. They’d been investigating every possible gallery, art collector, museum, and auction house their prize could possibly be at. The second they had a lead, they’d call on the mini Den Den Mushi.

Until then, though, Law and Nami were forced to meander about the city, planning and killing time.

“So, while we wait for some intel, what else are you going to buy me?” she asked as they wandered the fourth level. They’d passed quite a few shops, and while most had stocked dull business suits similar to the last store, Nami felt her bags were tragically light. They were in a beautiful-if-blinding city, and she was walking away with only one outfit? What a travesty.

Snorting dismissively, Law glanced down at her with a clear look of are you kidding me? on his face. “Nothing. I told you I was only getting you one outfit. I’m your captain, not your sugar daddy.”

“You know, for a man who wants this little job to go well, you’re not putting in nearly the effort you should,” she quipped, a sly smile on her lips, eyelashes fluttering prettily. “I’m supposed to look professional and put together if I’m gonna pull off being your lovely assistant. That means I need matching shoes and accessories. Maybe a cute leather purse or briefcase to really sell it.”

“If you want those so badly then buy them yourself. Or,” he smirked, halting his pace to turn around and catch her chin between his fingers, tilting her head up towards him as he stepped in close enough so she could feel his body heat, “you earn them by doing certain favors for daddy.”

Her cheeks only pinkened a little at his innuendos while she stuck out her tongue and shoved him away. Last night’s dream wasn’t quite as close to the forefront of her mind anymore, but that didn’t mean his smirk didn’t do things to her she’d rather ignore. “Pass. You should know by now that it takes more than clothes for me to play nice.”

“Mmm, I do. That’s what makes it so much fun,” he purred, gold eyes glinting in wicked amusement. One gloved hand was shoved into his pocket while his free arm slung itself casually over her shoulder as he continued stalking along the fastidiously clean road. “But since you’re currently insisting on being a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to provide for her, you can instead borrow some shoes from Ikkaku, and she might still have a pair of glasses or something from the time she pretended to be a receptionist at a Naval base.”

Brown eyes widened at his statement. Not because he was suggesting that she borrow clothes or anything, but the bombshell he’d just casually dropped in light of her recent discovery.

“Was this for one of your plans?” she asked, shoulders stiffening.

He shrugged like it was no big deal, though he did give her a curious glance at the way she tensed beneath him. “Yeah. We needed someone on the inside, and they’d put out an advertisement for an attractive female in her early twenties. It’s not like Uni or Penguin could do it.”

“But…holy shit, Law, are you serious?” she hissed, dragging him over to an unoccupied part of the street behind a solitary gated tree so she could scold him in private. There weren’t too many people about, but the last thing they need was to get unwanted attention because they’d caused a scene, even if Law totally deserved to get chewed out at the top of her lungs for being such an asshole. “Ikkaku has Marine brothers who want her dead and you sent her into the lion’s den? What the fuck?!”

Caught off-guard by her anger, Law’s eyebrows shot up briefly before furrowing. “She told you about them?”

Damn. In her shock and anger on her friend’s behalf, she’d forgotten that this was a subject she wasn’t technically supposed to know. But instead of admitting guilt, she doubled down and threw on her best poker face.

“Yeah. She told me,” she lied easily. Too easily. It came as naturally as it had back in the days she’d been working under Arlong, getting close to pirates by lying through her teeth and then robbing them blind. How many crews and captains had she deceived before Luffy? Nami had honestly lost count, but once she’d joined up with the Straw Hats, lying to a supposed ally hadn’t been quite as instinctual.

But this isn’t Luffy, and Law’s keeping way more secrets than I am, she rationalized. It’s just a little white lie anyway. He’d be way more pissed at Shachi and Penguin for telling me. I’m looking after those guys.

Law’s expression hardened, and for a moment she wondered if he’d seen through her bluff. She didn’t think she’d gotten too rusty in the lying department, but Law was smart and distrusting in general, so she couldn’t quite tell. Trepidation hung heavy in the air as she waited for him to speak, mind going a mile a minute coming up with new lies and explanations to appease him. Worse came to worst, she could throw the guys under the bus, even if she didn’t really want to, but they were his best friends, so Law would doubtlessly be more forgiving towards them, right?

Thankfully, it seemed his anger came from a completely different place, as he snarled quietly through clenched teeth, “Nami-ya, I am, as you have pointed out rather frequently in the past, a control freak. Do you really think I would devise a plan that required sending my top mechanic into a Marine base if there was even a chance she could be recognized? Especially by her utter shit of a brother?”

She flinched at the vitriol in his voice. It seemed she’d touched a nerve, and unless she wanted to lose all the progress she’d worked for, she knew it was best to back down. “Sorry. You’re right.”

“I’ll accept your apology if you tell me what prompted her to tell you,” he stated, crossing his arms. “It’s not information she makes widely known, even to those who are permanent members of my crew.”

Well. At least this was easy enough to justify, and she’d be doing both Law and Ikkaku a favor, right? Sure, the guys would obviously tell him later, but being the first to warn him might earn her a few more crumbs of trust. “There was an article in the paper about Marine reinforcements coming to the Grand Line. Ushi was interviewed. He seemed pretty intent on taking down the Heart Pirates.”

Law froze, his frown deepening into a dark sneer. The tic in his jaw and the way his fists clenched reminded her of his reaction to Ikkaku having been attacked on Grimm. “That fucker will stay away from Ikkaku if he’s got any brains in him.”

“You’re pretty protective of her,” she said. Sure, he’d perhaps phrased his defense in a way that implied his priority was the plan, it was clear from the hiss in his voice that Ikkaku’s safety had been genuinely considered.

The brim of his hat hid his eyes as he stated, “I’m protective of all my crew. She’s just…it’s hard to find submarine engineers, let alone ones as skilled as her. Ikkaku’s hard to replace.”

Well that stinks to high heaven of bullshit, she thought. Sure, the Surgeon of Death had a rightly-earned cruel reputation, but he’d shown time and again his crew meant a lot to him. Stepping in close, she used her finger to lift his hat enough to see his expression unobstructed. “Is that why you let her sass you? Because if she walked you’d be dead in the water?”

The gold orbs glared down at her, though the held no heat. “Everyone on the crew is a vital component. Like gears in a well-oiled machine. You’ve gotta take care of them to make sure they don’t break.”

When Nami merely raised a disbelieving eyebrow, he sighed, body deflating slightly. “Look, Nami-ya, everyone on my crew, we’ve all got shit in our pasts. Some have overcome it. Some still carry the scars. Ikkaku…hers is one of the few that’s actively still trying to get her. So yeah, maybe I’m a bit more protective, but it’s for a damn good reason.”

Ok, now that was a fair point. “I’m surprised you haven’t just killed him.”

“Oh, I want to,” he snarled. “No brother should try to hurt their siblings. They’re supposed to look after them. The only reason Ushi-ya still draws breath is because Ikkaku begged me to spare his pathetic life.”

It suddenly dawned on Nami that, despite his criticizing Luffy for not being more bloodthirsty, Law was…surprisingly merciful in his own ways, too. He didn’t murder Ikkaku’s brother, despite having clear reason to, just because she asked. He rescued Jean Bart from a life of slavery despite not knowing him. And while she didn’t fully understand the Ope Ope no Mi’s powers, she wondered if his cuts didn’t draw blood because he didn’t want them to?

She wasn’t sure if he had a complexity addiction or if he genuinely wanted to minimize bloodshed, but once again another side of the incredibly fascinating man had been revealed.

Taking a deep breath to calm his anger, he gave Nami a sadistic smile. “Doesn’t mean I let him off the hook with a sternly-worded warning, though. Wanna know what I did to him the last time we met?”

Nami turned a bit green as she remembered Jinzo’s still-beating heart in his hands. Complex and caring towards his crew or not, he was still a twisted bastard. “Fuck no!”

Briefly he pouted at not getting to regale her with the gory details before shrugging. “Pity. It was quite the eventful evening. In fact, it was also the night of mine and Drake-ya’s first kiss.”

“How the hell are those two things connected?!”

“Well, I had to distract him somehow. He was guarding my poor mechanic like a dragon would a virtuous princess.”

Before she could demand more details, or even snort at the idea of Ikkaku being virtuous, the sound of the mini Den Den Mushi reached their ears, interrupting the conversation.

Looking around to make sure there weren’t any eavesdroppers, Law pulled out the little snail phone and clicked down on the top. “Guessing you’ve got something for me?”

“I do,” the snail answered, and Nami recognized the faint accent that indicated they were speaking to Cousteau. “Only one place that specializes in North Blue history. Jubilee & Atlas Antiques. It’s an auction house and gallery on the fifth level, a block away from the Elevate Deliverer Restoration Church.”

“Well that’s a needlessly long name,” he quipped, rolling his eyes. Mentally, Nami had to agree, though it also sounded vaguely familiar. “At least that makes it easier to find. Anything else I should know? Other landmarks, nearby guard stations, that sort of thing?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Cousteau replied, “No station, though there would probably be at least a few guards wandering around at night. It’s, uh, right by a fountain. Blessings from the White City.”

Nami’s eyes widened a little. Oh. Now she remembered. That had been the church with the huge stained-glass windows. The one in her book, by the tribute to Flevance.

“…I see.”

The little snail chewed its lip, clearly concerned. “Captain, if you want, I can do all the surveillance—”

“It’s fine,” he cut in, tone sharp before smoothing out, “I saw it earlier. In fact, I’m glad it’s so close. Nami-ya and I will check out the gallery. We’re nearby and I’d rather see it with my own eyes to get the lay of the land. Unless anyone else has a better lead, you and the others can head back to the ship.”

“Understood, sir. Anything else you need?” he asked, sounding relieved.

“Just tell Clione I might have a job for him later on, so don’t make any evening plans.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

The call ended, and Nami peered up at Law, expecting signs of the same darkness that had crossed his face when they’d visited the fountain earlier. Instead, his face was totally blank, staring down at the tiny snail, expressionless.

Somehow, that was far, far more unnerving.

“Law?” she asked, touching his arm hesitantly.

As if awoken from a trance he shook his head before smirking down at her. “Well, hope you don’t mind one last detour before heading back to the ship? I know it’s more stairs but look on the bright side; at this rate, the definition of your calf muscles will be a thing of beauty.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, turning on his heels and heading towards the direction of the stairs to the next level. Frowning, she began to doubt whether or not this was all a good idea. She didn’t know exactly what his deal was, but she really felt like he was too close to this. But she had the feeling trying to talk him out of it would be an exercise in futility, and would set her back far more than any lie she might spin.

Oh well, she sighed internally, jogging to catch up, so long as he doesn’t do anything stupid. He’s sensible enough to keep a cool head, no matter what his problem is. It’ll be fine.

While it wasn’t far, it took longer than either of them would have expected to actually find Jubilee & Atlas Antiques. Mainly because it was a surprisingly nondescript building compared to the opulent churches and museums nearby. Honestly, based on the exterior, one could easily have passed it by. Like everything else the building was pristinely white, the windows boasting small arches over them and flower boxes containing white impatiens. Really, the most impressive thing about it was the marble plaque out front boasting the company’s name in gold leaf.

But the two pirates didn’t really care about the appearance; it was what was inside that counted. That, and the information board out front, which stated in bold, black letters that there would be a showing and auction of North Blue artworks at 8pm that evening.

“Why don’t you just Scan the place, grab the vase, and walk away? Seems like that would be easy compared to putting on this charade?” Nami asked, eyeing the building. It was hardly Harpin’s mansion; it would take almost no effort for Law to use his powers to steal every item of value inside it, replacing artifacts, paintings, and money with pebbles and potted plants with a mere flick of his fingers, then teleporting them away to safety.

Really, if he weren’t such an ass, Trafalgar Law would be a thief’s dream partner.

Of course, he was an ass, so he gave her a look that implied he considered her question to be phenomenally stupid. “Because there’s no guarantee that the vase is even in there—for all I know it’s being kept in a secondary location until the actual event for security or health reasons. It is a relic from a city that suffered a notorious death toll both before and after the World Government had quarantined it,” he explained lowly. “On top of that, my Room would draw too much attention, so if it’s not in there, we’ll have blown our whole cover and probably the operation.”

Though disappointed that they couldn’t just whisk it away with his powers, she conceded that he had a point. Versatile and useful as they were, the Ope Ope no Mi’s abilities did have their drawbacks. Actually infiltrating the auction house was a safer move.

Yet for a moment, she saw Law glare at the building, as if he were equally frustrated that they couldn’t just grab their prize and go. Perhaps even a great mastermind like him sometimes wished to take the direct path. “At least we can be sure it’ll be presented at this auction,” he reassured, almost as much to himself as her as his hand rested on Nami’s lower back while he escorted her away. “Makes it easier to come up with a plan and contingencies when I actually know the target. My crew did good.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger in thought. She supposed he was right, and the pride in his voice when he mentioned the Hearts’ contribution…well, she knew better than to argue with that. Seemed the lesson he learned on the last island was sticking. “Still too bad we don’t have blueprints like Harpin’s house, though.”

“It can’t be helped. That was a job I’d been planning for months. This is more…spontaneous. Why? Scared and looking to back out?” he asked, glancing down at her with a challenging grin.

Nami scoffed. She was a thief that specialized in robbing pirates. Sure, she was a scaredy-cat, but when treasure of some kind was at stake, there were few risks she wouldn’t take. “Not a chance. Just pointing out that we’re going in more blind than last time.”

“Maybe, but at least our prize will be out in the open and not in the home of a former Marine with tentacles. Hell, we might even get it legally.”

“Law,” she started, brow furrowing. She wasn’t scared, but she did have a reasonable concern, especially with how intent he seemed on this one item. “What are we going to do if we don’t win the vase?”

The pair stopped by the Flevance fountain, Law taking a long moment to stare solemnly at the beautiful white angels. Without a word he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small coin, pressing it to his lips before flipping it into the water.

When he turned back to her, his gold eyes were as hard as the statues’ and twice as cold.

“Simple; we take it from whoever did.”

XXX

Hidden in a small cove on an unpopulated section of Atifakuto’s coast, the sight of the Polar Tang’s sunny yellow hull was a welcome relief after a whole day of the city’s stark white walls. Law seemed to agree as his tense posture relaxed into a comfortable slouch, even giving a few of the guys a small grin when they called out to them. To Nami, of course, the submarine was still far from the Sunny and thus would never be home, but she couldn’t help but smile at Law’s reaction. The Dark Doctor really did have some softness deep down.

Of course, that didn’t last long, as the moment they were within the safety of the cargo bay he was once more all business. “Dinner is in an hour. Rest up, brush up on your notes, do whatever you need to prepare for the auction tonight; I’ve got a few more dominoes to put in place,” Law stated. He’d been silent for most of the walk back, though Nami attributed that to him mentally filing through all the information they now had and formulating his plan. Much as she missed and loved Luffy, having a captain who didn’t just go rushing in like an idiot was a nice change of pace.

That didn’t mean she appreciated his tone, though. “Say please,” she quipped, hip jutting out. She might have decided to be more compliant for the sake of gaining his trust, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him boss her around.

Besides, if she were too accommodating, he’d probably grow suspicious and then she’d be right back at square one.

He scowled but apparently decided it would be a waste of time to argue. They were on a tight schedule, after all, so her attitude would have to be tolerated. For now. “Please,” he grumbled before marching off, beckoning Clione to follow him. The biologist glanced between the two, bewildered, but smartly said nothing before chasing after his captain.

Flashing a self-satisfied grin at Law’s retreating back, Nami practically skipped to her quarters. Even though they weren’t as prepared as she’d like, so far, things were going well. Perhaps they couldn’t just use Law’s powers to swipe the vase, but by obtaining it through legal means, they wouldn’t have the authorities after them, which would be nice. Besides, it wasn’t her money that would be spent at the auction.

Her research of the North Blue had taught her a few things, including just how valuable things from Flevance were. After all, things made from the white ore had been in high-demand during the city’s heyday; now that it was in ruins, any remaining artifacts would surely triple in price. And, admittedly, if that fountain had been anything to go by, the vase could very well be extremely beautiful. Something any art collector or historian might want for themselves.

Once more, she wondered why the hell Law wanted it. He collected coins, not art, so she doubted it would be something he wanted just for the heck of it. What was his obsession with Flevance—

That train of thought was derailed when Nami walked into her room. She blinked then rubbed her eyes, certain her vision was still messed up from the sun, because Ikkaku was still sitting at her desk, working on some little device, practically in the same position as that morning. Really, the only difference was the lack of towel around her head, though her curly hair was a tangled bird’s nest.

“Have you even moved today?” Nami exclaimed loudly, flabbergasted.

The mechanic jumped a few inches out of her chair, a pen cartwheeling through the air before falling back onto the surface of the desk with a clatter. Apparently since she’d had the room to herself, she hadn’t felt the need to put the earplugs back in, leaving her vulnerable to Nami’s loud voice. “Damn, girl, you scared me,” Ikkaku said with a breathy laugh. She glanced around, noticing the time on the clock and the fact that her hair had dried completely. “Guess I was in the zone.”

“You haven’t been working all day, have you?” Nami asked, plopping her shopping bag on her bed. “At least tell me you had lunch.”

“Sounding an awful lot like Law there,” she teased, pushing away from her desk to stretch. There was an audible pop from her back, and her dark eyes closed in relief. “Like me, too. The boys and I are always bugging a certain workaholic captain to eat something and not subsist solely on coffee and aspirin. But to answer your question, yes, I did have lunch.” She pointed at an empty plate that had been shoved into the far corner of the desk, a few grains of rice stuck to the surface. “Bepo brought me some onigiri.”

“Good. If you didn’t, I’d be dragging you into the galley and force-feeding you a sandwich, then charging you a cooking and inconvenience fee.”

Snorting, Ikkaku cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders, further releasing the tension sitting hunched over in one spot for hours had built up. “Dinner’s soon enough; even if I hadn’t eaten, I could have waited. And good luck making a sandwich with no bread on board.” Despite her dismissal tone, though, she gave a wry grin. “But thanks for caring, I guess, even if it does come with a price tag.”

“What are friends for?” Nami shrugged with a smile that was a little forced. It was such an alien feeling, this sudden awkwardness. Since first arriving on the Tang, she and Ikkaku had gotten on like a house on fire. It was almost inevitable, being the two women on the ship surrounded by men dealing with that insanity together. Hell, even if that hadn’t been the case, Ikkaku had practically sacrificed herself for her back at the club on Grimm. A companion like that was more than she’d even dared to dream of before she’d met Luffy.

Was it really right for Nami to act like she didn’t know about her brother? Should she just tell her that the guys told her about Ushi? Really, what was the point of keeping it a secret? It wasn’t that Nami thought she’d slip up and spill the beans—lying was her specialty, after all—but Ikkaku wasn’t some mark or stranger. She was her friend.

Hell, even if they were on opposite crews, she’d even dare to call her nakama.

The issue resolved itself, however, when the other woman’s expression turned a little melancholy. Ikkaku sighed as she rested her cheek on her fist, her other hand idly playing with the pen. “Heh. Funny, I used to ask myself that question a lot when I was younger. I didn’t really have friends back on my home island. I lived with my Gramps in a lighthouse, so besides the occasional trip to town, it was a pretty isolated life.”

“What about your brothers?” Nami asked, masking her interest by taking her purchases out of the bag so they wouldn’t wrinkle before the auction. A swell of relief surged through her. If Ikkaku talked about Ushi herself, the whole charade of pretending not to know about him wouldn’t even be necessary! She just had to carefully press for the right crumbs of information, maybe even offer up a couple tidbits about her own life in exchange. No big deal. Tit for tat, right? “Nojiko was my best friend growing up. Hell, probably my only friend until Luffy came along.”

A dark look crossed Ikkaku’s face. “Yeah, well, Nojiko on her worst day was probably a way better sibling than all of them combined.”

“I don’t think you’ve talked about them much. I basically just know that they exist and said you wouldn’t really make it as an engineer because you’re a girl.”

A long sigh escaped her lips. “That’s…the nice version. Didn’t want to unload my shitty childhood on you, especially since yours sounded worse. I mean, my island was never taken over by pirates, and I didn’t work for the guy who murdered my mom.”

Well, that was certainly true, but then again, people with healthy, normal childhoods seldom became pirates. Or at least, those that did rarely lasted long on such cutthroat seas. Nami should have realized there was more to the mechanic’s past than some run-of-the-mill misogyny. “Maybe, but I don’t mind. We’ve all gone through some rough shit, right? We wouldn’t be in this line of work otherwise.”

“True. I just…I guess I just like to pretend he doesn’t exist most of the time.”

“He?” she asked as if she didn’t already know.

Ikkaku’s calloused hand dropped the pen to instead clench into a tight fist, and there was a haunted look in her dark eyes as she stared off into space. “Ushi. He’s the oldest. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t afraid of him. Spent our childhood making our other brothers use me as a punching bag. When he wasn’t doing that, he gave me almost hourly reminders that I was a burden on the family, that no one really loved me, that I’d never amount to anything.” There was a hitch in her breath and a pause, and Nami noticed her close her eyes tightly for a moment. As if she were fighting back tears. It was a look she’d never expected to see on the tough, vibrant woman’s face. “Then, when I was seven, he tried to kill me.”

“What?!” Nami exclaimed, dropping her blazer to the floor in shock.

“Yeah. Joras had a huge fucking forest, and he led me into it to look for mushrooms or some shit. Can’t remember. Next thing I know, he’s shoved me into a pit, and by the time I’d climbed out, he was long gone and it was night. I think…I think it was supposed to be my grave, ‘cause it was really fucking deep. Or at least it seemed that way. Maybe I’m misremembering.”

Somehow, Nami doubted that. Sure, memories could get warped with age and fear, but some details remained solid for the rest of a person’s life. “But, you got out, right? And I’m sure your parents must have been worried sick!” She could almost picture it. A young Ikkaku, sticks and leaves caught in her messy curls, knees and elbows scraped, face covered in dirt and tears, frightened but once more able to smile when she was finally found, her mother and father scooping her into their arms, scolding her for worrying them but just so relieved she was safe…

At least, that’s what Bellemere or Mister Genzo would have done if Nami had gone missing.

From the bitter laugh that escaped her throat, Ikkaku hadn’t been so fortunate. “I spent three days wandering around those fucking woods, scared and cold and wondering if I was gonna die out there. My parents didn’t even notice I was gone.” After a long moment of silence, her fist unclenched and some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Gramps found me, though. When I didn’t come home after two days and a storm rolled in, my brothers Nausagi and Fukuro ran two miles to the lighthouse to tell him what Ushi had done. Maybe they realized he’d gone too far. Or they were scared I’d come back as a vengeful zombie. Either way, Gramps rescued me and demanded custody. Mama and Pops were glad to hand me over. One less mouth to feed, and I wouldn’t be causing their Future Marine Hero any more trouble.”

“That’s…that’s horrible.” And yet Nami could tell she was getting the abridged version of the story. “Tell me your grandfather was a better guardian.”

Despite the childhood trauma she’d just confessed to, Ikkaku merely shrugged, a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah. He was. Gramps was crazy, but he loved me and taught me how to fight. Told me to never lose my smile, ‘cause that’s my best protection against a world that’ll try to break me.”

“Bellemere said something similar to me and Nojiko. ‘Whatever happens, never lose your ability to laugh. If you can survive, happy times, lots of ‘em, will come your way’.”

“Smart lady.” She tried to casually run her fingers through her hair, only to find them caught in the tangled knots. She let out a light chuckle at her predicament and added, “I think she and Gramps would have gotten along pretty well. Well, assuming she liked salty former smugglers who had the gumption to threaten Law with a shot gun. Not that he didn’t deserve it a little.”

Nami had to smile at that, and she could only imagine what he’d said that had nearly gotten him shot. It was definitely something snarky, a shit-eating grin on his face while he provoked a protective grandfather just because he could.

Noticing Ikkaku’s hair situation, she abandoned her suit to instead pick up a wide-toothed comb. “Well, I’m not sure about Bellmere, but I’d certainly love to meet him.”

“Of course you would.” Leaning back in the chair, she allowed Nami to carefully put her thick curls to rights. “How was shopping? Boss show you the blinding sights of the city?”

“It was…enlightening,” she said cautiously. There was still so much to sort out, and every time she thought she had an answer to one of her questions, four more popped up in its place.

Grabbing the pen she’d been playing with earlier, Ikkaku handed it to her over her shoulder. “Here; I made you something, since I doubt you’ll be able to bring your Clima-Tact with you. Kinda why I was so focused—I wanted it to be ready by tonight.”

Curious, Nami inspected the item. It was a plain black ballpoint pen maybe a bit longer than her hand. There was an almost unnoticeable jolly roger engraved into the middle, and she ran her thumb over it idly. “You spent the whole afternoon making me a pen? I could have just as easily brought my stylus.”

“Oh, but a stylus is only good for writing. This is so much more useful. ‘The pen is mightier than the sword’, right? Click the top.”

She did so, and instead of an ink-filled nub, a small syringe, similar to an epi-pen, popped out. Her eyes widened in realization as Ikkaku explained, “Inside’s a powerful tranquilizer. Should knock any fool out in minutes if injected into the bloodstream. Takes longer if it’s ingested. It’s non-lethal to humans, so it should be safe to use on anyone you’re looking to knock out. Assuming they aren’t really Fishmen in disguise.”

“Why? Does it react differently for them?”

She grimaced. “Yeah. Severe allergic reaction. Anaphylactic shock typically. So, unless you want that on your conscience, humans only.”

Tucking the pen away for later, Nami nodded in understanding and went back to combing her hair. “Gotcha. Doubt it’ll be a problem, though. Jean Bart said this place is pretty humans-only.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s impossible for someone to have that kind of bloodline. If it’s diluted through a few generations, a lot of the time you can hide it and pass for human.”

“Hmmm, hadn’t thought of that.”

There was a moment where Nami could tell she was mulling something over. Even faced away from her, Ikkaku wasn’t hard to read, and it was only a matter of time before she voiced whatever question was on her mind.

While she waited, the ginger took the time to appreciate the texture of Ikkaku’s hair, combing out each curl individually so it wouldn’t frizz. The thick, black locks were coarser than her own, yet surprisingly soft despite her hard life at sea. Hair maintenance was extremely difficult living on the ocean, the salt and fluctuating weather of the Grand Line wreaking havoc on Nami’s much finer strands. And while Ikkaku was far more feminine than one would expect upon first meeting her, in the time they’d roomed together, she didn’t seem to put much more extensive care into her shiny locks than some leave-in conditioner.

Guess she’s just got some good genetics, Nami thought appreciatively. Either that or she’s hiding some amazing shampoo formula, and damn if she is I’ll never forgive her!

When Ikkaku at last broke her silence, the hesitation in her voice was palpable. “Hey, it was a Fishman who held you prisoner all those years, right? You ever…blame all Fishmen for what he did?”

It was an unexpected question, but a fair one, Nami supposed. Arlong had committed a crime so heinous she knew she’d never forgive him, and she knew there were plenty of people, especially ones who spent years abused by such a monster, who would project that hatred onto an entire race. But why even ask?

“I…not really. I mean, I can’t say I never lumped them all together in my head, since Arlong and his crew were my only baseline for Fishmen for a long time.” She bit her lip, thinking. “But that was when I was a kid. My view of things was a lot more black-and-white, mostly because I was bitter at my situation. As I got older, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was stupid to think all Fishmen were like him. He was the one who hurt me, so he’s the only one who should get my hate.”

“So, you don’t hate them all?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Hell, I was even able to forgive a member of his crew. I’m sure you heard about how Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon?”

Ikkaku craned her neck up to look at her, dark eyes widening in shocked understanding. “Yeah? You saying the Fishman he defended—”

“One of Arlong’s crew. Hatchi. Like all of them, he hurt me too, but it was on his captain’s orders, and he clearly regretted it.” Well, it had been a bit more complex than that. Hell, when they’d first encountered him again, she’d nearly gone back on her promise to Camie to rescue him. Even if he hadn’t abused her like the others, he’d still been complacent in it. Still destroyed villagers homes, held her hostage, attacked the Navy ships that tried to come to the rescue. He hadn’t been blameless in the least. She would have had every right to demand that he be left to be killed or enslaved. That it was karma come to bite him in the ass.

Yet what had swayed her, apart from Camie’s determination to save him, was her own friends’ reactions to seeing him again. Those who knew her past had immediately been ready to turn the ship around and leave Hatchi to his fate. Of course she’d expected Sanji to be her knight in shining armor and want nothing to do with someone who had abused a lady, even by proxy. Zoro and Usopp had been a bit more surprising, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. They knew what she’d been put through. Had fought and bled for her. Despite their sometimes heated disagreements, Nami knew she could count on them to always have her back.

The one who shocked her the most was Luffy. He might have flip-flopped between reason and his stomach, but the fact was, her loving, forgiving captain had actually held a grudge on her behalf. Hatchi and Arlong hadn’t done anything to him personally, but his nakama had suffered, and that wasn’t something he’d easily set aside. That genuine show of solidarity and loyalty to her had melted what ice had still been around her heart, which allowed her to truly forgive the octopus Fishman.

Yes, Hatchi had hurt her, but her hatred was solely reserved for Arlong, not his underlings who genuinely felt remorse.

“I’m not a saint or anything but hating Hatchi…it seemed pointless. He wasn’t the one who killed my mother. And blaming all Fishmen for the actions of one seemed pretty shitty. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kill Arlong if I had the chance, though.”

Nami could practically feel the tension drain from Ikkaku’s shoulders, and she couldn’t hide her smile before she looked away. “That’s good to know. That asshole deserves it, from what you’ve told me. He and my brother should meet, then get sacrificed to some kind of horrible sea monster. Plenty of hungry Sea Kings out there to feed.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer pair of guys,” Nami giggled as she ran the comb through the last strand of hair. “Though, that might be cruel to the Sea King. Poor thing deserves a better meal than shit like them.”

“True. We’ll just have to think of something else then. We can ask Law; he’s always got great suggestions.”

A shudder ran down her spine, though she had to admit, it wasn’t as horrified as she’d like. She justified it with the fact that Arlong was scum who deserved whatever painful death the likes of Law might propose. So did Ushi, from the sounds of things. Though, Law had said Ikkaku had begged him not to kill her brother. Why? Did she still care about Ushi due to their familial ties? Or was there something else?

Maybe she just doesn’t want her brother’s death on her conscience, Nami thought, putting the comb away and proceeding to raid the closet for shoes. I just hope that doesn’t come back to bite her someday.

XXX

Dinner on the Tang was certainly livelier and noisier than breakfast. Mainly because the crew didn’t have to walk on eggshells while waiting for Law to get his caffeine hit. Most of the time about a dozen different conversations could be heard, utensils clattered against plates, insults were tossed about, and laughter filled the air. But at the moment, the whole galley was silent save for Nami, who was telling the Heart Pirates—save for a few who’d been sent out on last-minute errands—all about her crew’s wild adventure on Skypiea.

“…so, after Luffy beat the crap out of him, Enel flew off to the moon in his gold airship, and we escaped the island with the help of an octopus balloon, our ship loaded with treasure!”

There was a pregnant pause as the Hearts stared at her in a mix of awe and disbelief. She’d had their undivided attention ever since Law announced that the Straw Hats had found Noland’s lost city of gold, all but demanding she tell the tale and not skimp on the details.

Naturally, those details made the story even more bizarre, practically unbelievable, but she gave them what they asked for, so they couldn’t complain. Even Law’s jaw had dropped once or twice in incredulity. Mostly at the part where Luffy’d been eaten by a giant snake and thus been hidden from Enel’s senses.

Finally, a few of the crew managed to find their voices.

“An orangutan nearly wrecked your ship with singing?” Shachi asked, face utterly baffled.

Penguin grabbed his hat and smacked him over the head with it. “That’s what you’re stuck on? That’s from way back in the beginning of the story!”

The ginger punched him in the shoulder in retaliation, which quickly devolved into a childish slap fight. “Well it’s weird, ok?”

“Weirder than Straw Hat punching Kami or the knock-up stream business or the ship that flew to the moon?”

“Yeah! You ever met an orangutan that could sing?!”

“No, but that’s not the point!”

“You met Monte Blac Cricket?” Ermine interrupted, eyes so wide the whites could be seen even under the rim of their hat, though their mouth quickly split into a smile. “Holy shit, I’d wondered what had happened to him!”

“Wasn’t he your friend or something?” Seiuchi asked through a mouth full of rice.

They shook their head, looking a little wistful, a faint blush rising to their cheeks. “Just a neighbor. The people of Lvneel were dicks to his family and anyone who associated with them didn’t get treated much better. But I always thought there had to be some truth to Noland’s story.”

“Because a city of gold is so fantastical it’s gotta be real?” Nami asked, amused. She’d half-expected everyone to laugh at her like the people on Jaya when she’d asked about Sky Island—she’d even glossed over that part, finding no reason to recap such a blow to her pride. Yet instead, they’d been respectful, even entranced by her tale. It seemed to help that she’d been able to fill in a few blanks with what she remembered from Noland’s ledger, thus adding credibility to the man himself instead of just imagining the lying fool the king’s slander had reduced him to.

Usopp would probably love these guys, she thought fondly. Not that they’d likely believe his fantastical lies, but they’d probably at least let him spin his yarns to his heart’s content.

“Because you don’t tell a king about a city of gold unless you’ve got something to show for it,” Uni interjected wisely, ladling some more curry onto her plate. He paused to smile at her with his eyes, the bottom half of his face still distinctly covered by his bandana despite it being dinnertime. This close, Nami couldn’t help but try to subtly look for signs of scarring, and in fact could spot a line of slightly-paler skin peeking out just over the edge. “That, and history’s rarely all that accurate. Full of lies and twisted to suit a certain narrative.”

“That’s the World Government way. I’m sure we’ll see plenty of it tonight,” Law stated, leaning back in his chair as he munched on some onigiri. The bulge in his cheek might have been comical, but the glint in his eye was humorless. “Can’t wait to hear the dumbass assumptions people make about us Northerners.”

Murmurs of agreement echoed throughout the room, though an angry tic formed on Nami’s forehead.

“Are you saying the stuff you had me study is going to be a load of crap?” she demanded, pointing her finger accusingly. Of course she knew history was skewed at best, but she’d spent days cramming! Had weird sexual dreams about him because of it!

Yes she was blaming the book for that and no one could stop her.

He shrugged and took another bite of rice, unbothered by her irritation. “It’s the information you’ll need to be able to regurgitate if anyone asks you about the North.”

“Yeah,” Penguin chimed in, nodding sagely. He and Shachi had finally been pulled apart by Jean Bart and had resumed eating like nothing had happened. “These people aren’t interested in the truth. They just want to feel superior to the ‘uneducated masses’.”

“Buncha pretentious pricks,” Shachi sniggered, balancing a spoon on his upper lip. “Bet they’d have a fucking fit if they found out El Dorodo’s not only real, but in the fucking sky!”

“I mean, can’t say I’d blame them,” Jude grumbled, playing a bit with his food like a grumpy child. “I figured we’d be the ones to find it, but this whole time we’ve been sailing around in a submarine for nothing!”

“You got something to say about my ship?” Ikkaku snapped, glaring at her crewmate. Behind her, Crozier, Cousteau, and Ermine made slashing motions across their throats, silently reminding him that disparaging the Polar Tang in any way in front of its chief engineer was a sure death sentence.

Before he could say anything, Uni thwapped him on the forehead with the spoon, apparently taking just as much offense. “How can you say it’s been for nothing—we’ve found tons of cool shit down here! May not have been El Dorado, but there have been some amazing sunken cities. And fish! We’ve discovered more aquatic animals than any other ocean explorer,” he pointed out excitedly, Cousteau nodding in agreement. “I mean, we’ve seen deep-sea fish not recorded in any book! Extracted hallucinogenic venom from puffer fish! Taken samples of bioluminescent plankton! We’ve seen octopi punch fish!”

“You ever figure out why they do that?” Shachi asked, cocking his head.

“Best I can figure? Spite.”

As weird as this little tangent was, Nami found herself giggling a bit at how excited Uni was. She didn’t know him too well, given how he was one of the quieter, more reserved members of the crew, but it was endearing to see him so animated and giddy as he discussed marine life.

“Plus, it’s cool to study navigational currents and everything, and underwater topography. The maps I can make from that kind of intel are really good,” Bepo added, twiddling his claws a bit beside her.

“Right! And if that’s still not enough to convince you, who needs a city of gold when you can get your hands on more sunken treasure than most pirates see in their lifetimes?” Uni asked, puffing out his chest.

She couldn’t help it—Nami’s eyes lit up with belli signs at the thought of how many sunken ships the submarine probably came across, all that gold theirs for the taking. Most treasure was basically lost once it hit the bottom of the ocean, but the Hearts’ ship and diving equipment turned the ocean floor into their personal piggy bank.

It seemed Jude had the same thought. “You’re right, you’re right,” he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, it’s a great ship, and we’ve definitely found more than a city’s worth of loot—and yes the fish are cool Uni put the spoon away—but it’s still annoying to find out that we’ve been searching the wrong place this whole time.”

“Eh, happens to every pirate crew,” Jean Bart said, sipping his drink. “You find a treasure map only to discover the gold’s already dug up. Same with legends of lost cities. The fact that the Straw Hats actually found El Dorado and came away with a profit just means they’ve got the Devil’s luck on their side.”

“Or the favor of some god. Probably not that Enel guy, though,” Shachi said with a smirk. “And hopefully nothing from Joras, either.”

There was a murmur of agreement among the crew at that, though Ikkaku looked more uncomfortable than amused. Nami wasn’t the only one to catch that, though, as Uni reproachfully smacked the side of his head with the spoon.

“Dude. Don’t joke about the eldritch horror gods, yeah?”

“Sorry,” the ginger said, blushing slightly as he wiped away the curry splattered across his face.

“Eldritch horror gods?” Nami asked, recoiling at the thought. What the fuck?! Joras sounded vaguely familiar and given the context she guessed it had to be someplace in the North Blue, but she sure as hell didn’t recall reading anything about that! Was this something related to Northern culture, or were the guys just fucking with her?

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over, Nami-ya,” Law stated with a smirk, though she didn’t miss the glare he sent Shachi’s way. “We’ve been sailing under the ocean for over five years and I’ve yet to see a sleeping god who can turn you mad with terror.”

“No, just an underwater ruin or two that talks about him,” Ikkaku muttered, picking at her food.

Underwater ruins with tales of sleeping gods? Sounds like something Robin would be interested in, Nami thought, nervous sweat running down her neck. Not that she’d be able to blame her. Sure, the archeologist was macabre as hell, but Nami could appreciate her thirst for knowledge, creepy or not. Who knew what history and cultures had been lost to the seas? Maybe there were even Poneglyphs down at the bottom of the ocean!

Damn. Robin and Law would probably get along great. She wasn’t sure if she was frightened or comforted by this thought.

Uni seemed to notice her unease and patted her shoulder. “We’ve seen some strange stuff down there, but nothing more dangerous than Sea Kings. Which, I mean, aren’t exactly friendly guppies, but they’ll leave us be. The Tang’s Seastone coating and electrical defenses ensure that.”

Though she still found the whole concept horrifying, she was appreciated how hard Uni was trying to keep the peace and not make things needlessly frightening for her. The whole crew had a morbid sense of humor, but while she’d mostly adapted, she still found this whole conversation creepy. It made her feel a little guilty for wanting to pry into his business. Yeah, it was annoying to know the crew was hiding stuff from her, but Uni deserved a little privacy, right?

“Yeah, and if there were anything more, Uni’s fish buddies would warn us ahead of time!” Malamute added.

“Fish buddies?” Nami asked, eyebrows lifting to her hairline in surprise. So much for respecting his privacy. “Wait, can you talk to fish?”

The man in question stiffened beside her. “I, uh, I can understand fish a little,” he said, looking nervous. His large hands twisted the napkin in his lap, and he refused to look at her. “It’s a Haki thing.”

“Haki can do that?” she asked, surprised.

“Observation Haki can do a lot of things, and Uni’s the best at it on the ship,” Law cut in harshly, glare brokering no argument. “It’s a skill that’s saved our asses plenty of times.”

Nami blanched at his defensive tone. “Hey, I’ll take your word for it, but you don’t have to act like I insulted his mother or something.”

“It’s ok, Law,” Uni said, shrugging a bit, though his face seemed to sink a little further into his bandana. “I know she didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a fair question, and it is a weird talent.”

“It’s not weird. It’s fucking useful as hell and I won’t hear anyone belittling my crew.”

“I’d never belittle him—” Nami snapped, starting to stand up to give Law a piece of her mind before Bepo’s heavy paws fell on her shoulders, gently but firmly keeping her seated.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. “Law doesn’t mean you. It’s just…the last person outside the crew that found out, he was extremely cruel about it. Beat Uni to a pulp and even threatened to sell him as a freak show attraction before Captain found them.”

“Oh my god,” she replied, anger cooling quickly as she covered her mouth in horror, imagining Uni bruised and bloody on the ground at the hands of some bastard. Well, that would sure as hell explain why Law had taken such offense. If such a thing had happened to Chopper because he could speak to animals, she’d likely be just as pissed. From the scowls on the rest of the Hearts’ faces, the whole crew felt similar. Her gaze flicked to the fuming captain. “I’m guessing he ended up on your operating table?”

“I wish,” he growled, gold eyes glinting in fury as he crossed his arms. “Marines showed up before I could cut out his heart. Must have been his lucky day, but luck won’t be enough to save him if I ever run into Hyena-ya again.”

“Hyena?” she asked, the name not ringing any bells.

“Bellamy the Hyena,” Bepo explained, snout wrinkling in distaste. “He’s also from the North.”

Oh. My. God, Nami thought, wondering if the world was really so small. “You said Bellamy, right? Blonde hair? Spring powers? Asshole with a stupid grin?”

Law cocked an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Seems you’ve encountered him before.”

She ground her teeth as she remembered the way he’d mocked Luffy’s dreams in the bar. “Yeah. On Jaya. His crew laughed at me for asking about Sky Island and his first mate tried to buy me. Later he stole Cricket’s gold, so Luffy went after him. I didn’t see the fight but given what an ass that guy was…yeah, Luffy wiped that stupid smile off his face.”

Once more the room fell silent, but quickly broke out into thunderous applause.

“Hah! I would have paid good money to see that!” Ikkaku laughed, spirits lifted.

“If he hurt Cricket, I’m glad he got the beating he deserved,” Ermine said with a grin.

Uni smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily. “When you see Straw Hat again, shake his hand for me! That guy’s a dick.”

Even Law was put in a better mood, though there was still a malicious edge to his smirk. “Good on Mugiwara-ya. Still wouldn’t mind doing some permanent damage to the fucker myself, though. Bad enough he insulted my crew, but that bastard should pick his idols more carefully.”

Nami’s brow furrowed at that. His idols? The hell did that mean?

She didn’t have time to vocalizing that question, though. Sweat ran down her neck when said smirk then took a more lecherous edge as he rested his chin on his fist, eyes glinting with mischief. “But Sarquiss-ya tried to buy you? I might have prioritize kicking his ass, then. I’m the only one who gets to be your sugar daddy.”

“Oh shut up! You didn’t even buy me new shoes!”

“You got her a suit but no shoes? For shame, Boss,” Ikkaku giggled, getting up to help Seiuchi and Jude clear the tables. “I thought you were supposed to be a ladies’ man.”

“I’m a cruel bastard who doesn’t do something for nothing. She can borrow yours.”

Sauntering over, she playfully poked him in the forehead. “Says who?”

Law snorted and childishly poked her right back. “Me. Your captain. The guy who pays your salary.”

“You pay me to keep the submarine running and sass you when you’re being an idiot.”

“I don’t pay you for that.”

“Mmmm, you’re right; that’s a service I provide for free.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say those two were siblings,” Nami chuckled under her breath.

“Right? When I was first recruited I was convinced they were secretly related,” Uni agreed.

Bepo gave them both a smile and said quietly, “I think it’s good for them. Especially Law. I think he secretly likes having a little sister again.”

Brown eyes widened at that little tidbit. Law had a sister? What happened to her? Bepo had stated the past tense, so there was either some kind of falling out or…

…oh no, she thought, turning to watch Law continue to bicker good-naturedly with Ikkaku, his expression annoyed but the glimmer in his eyes belying that he was enjoying himself. Another piece of the puzzle that was the Surgeon of Death had fallen into her lap, but it wasn’t a particularly happy one. Sure, people died or were killed all the time, but Nami couldn’t imagine what she’d be like if she’d lost Nojiko. And depending on how young they’d been or how she’d died, that could really fuck with a guy.

“Nami-ya.”

Her attention was yanked from her musing as Law called her name. He was on his feet, plate clean and smirk dangerous as he regarded her. Nami wondered whether this would be the last time she’d see him in a genuinely good mood for the rest of the evening. “It’s seven o’clock. Time to get ready to watch history be defiled by pretentious morons. And for your obnoxious thunder god’s sake, make sure you’re wearing shoes you can actually run in.”

( @ninhaoma-ya, @awesomi, @vannahfanfics)

[seihun]

i have never once been jealous of park chanyeol in my entire life

ϟ pairings and aus :: oh sehun x reader, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff

ϟ word count :: 2.3k

ϟ author’s note :: this is technically a part of a (now completed!) au i’ve been posting, but it can also be read as a stand-alone!! so, i hope you enjoy!! i’ll link things later, if necessary :) more notes at the end!!

Sehun hears you before he sees you, sending a panicked text to Junmyeon before you come crashing through the front door.

Except you don’t.

Sehun swears that he’s hearing your voice, though, loud and clear. He shoves his phone into his back pocket, ignoring the repeated notifications from his elders, and trudges towards the window.

Sure enough you’re there, alright, and that is your voice. Through the small hole he’s made in the curtain, he sees you opening the back door to a car, obviously searching for something inside. His eyebrows pinch together for a moment, unsure of what you’re looking for, or who’s car that is, but he’s not left wondering for long.

Because Chanyeol rounds the rear of the vehicle, playfully shoving you out of the way as he reaches into the backseat himself. He can hear the two of you talking, laughing, but he drowns out the words; too focused on watching the scene in front of him.

Chanyeol pulls out two white plastic bags, full of what appear to be containers of food, but that’s not what Sehun sees. He sees your bright-eyed look of affection, the cheek to cheek grin painted on your face as you take a bag from Chanyeol. He hands you another one, a grocery bag this time; the exchange is quick, but Sehun feels like he’s been watching for a lifetime.

Chanyeol must have said something funny, because he has you laughing again, gently nudging his hip with yours before giggling himself. You have him goodbye with your free hand, before turning to head for the stairs to the front door.

He rushes to close the curtains, almost trips over a pair of Baekhyun’s shoes on his way to open the door for you.

“Hey, there you are!” you greet him, shoving the door closed with your foot. Sehun smiles back, taking the bags of food from you while you take your shoes off, following him into the living room after.

It’s easy banter as you help him unpack all the food. You hand him the bubble tea, and excited, waiting grin on your face. It’s almost childlike, the way you glimmer up at him, waiting for him to take the first sip���like a kindergartner waiting for their parent to taste a cupcake they decorated.

It’s good, of course. It’s his favorite, and Sehun’s satisfied smile seems to be all the approval to you need.

“I got spaghetti, and ziti, and three types of garlic bread—and also carbonara. We probably won’t finish it, but if there was this deal going on and Chanyeol insisted we should buy as much to get the discount, and I figured Baekhyun would probably—”

“I think you should ask Chanyeol out.”

If Sehun surprised himself with the words that came out of your mouth, he surprised you ten times over. At least, so he thinks, judging by the way you completely freeze, wide eyed with an aluminum foil take-out container barely maintained in your loosening grip.

“You—what? Why would I ask out Chanyeol?” you question, blinking slowly and setting the container on the coffee table.

Sehun shrugs, preoccupying himself with opening the rest of the food. He’s careful to avoid eye-contact, lest tears threaten to spill from his own. “Chanyeol’s a good guy,” he says, words quiet, slow, deliberate, “And he seems to like you a lot.”

“I mean—yeah, Chanyeol’s great, but I, um, I don’t think he likes me like that, though.”

“He probably does,” Sehun pushes, “He has no reason not to.”

“Hun, where is this coming from?” you ask with a chuckle. You shove his shoulder playfully, forcing him to look up from twirling pasta around his fork.

He shrugs again, bringing your mood down a notch. “I just—I don’t know, I think you deserve to be happy and date someone if you want. And Chanyeol’s a good guy.”

He’s twiddling his thumbs, biting his lip: telltale signs he’s anxious or lying, or in this case, both. He notices his actions, but stops them too abruptly, insighting disbelief on your features in the form of crinkled eyebrows.

“What—I mean, does something give you the impression that I’m not happy now?”

“No!” Sehun’s tone is pitched and jumpy. Then quiet and somber, “I’m just saying, you know. If you like him, you should go for it.”

It’s silent for a while, too long for Sehun’s comfort, filled only with longing stares and curious eyes. He dares not say anything else, untrusting of the sound of his own voice and his ability to swallow his sorrow; forces himself to stuff food into his mouth as a distraction.

“Thank you for looking out for me.” You scoot over, sitting directly next to him on the couch before wrapping your arms around his torso. Sehun borderline chokes on his garlic bread. “You’re a good guy, too, Hun,” you add, head resting against his bicep, words eerily close to those Junmyeon was murmuring to him just hours ago.

Neither of you say anything for a moment more, Sehun trying his best will away the scratchy feeling in his throat. He closes his eyes briefly, and sighs. It’s not that he didn’t know it before, but the realization that he’d do anything for you crashes into him. It hurts just a much as it gives him a sense of relief.

He can’t hear the way your heart beats in your chest, can’t hear the whirlpool of thoughts threatening to overflow in your mind, but maybe it’s for the best.

“Well! Come on then,” you startle him, words breaking through the silence. You lean forward to reach for the food, “This pasta isn’t gonna eat itself!”

A few days later, Sehun sees you off to your study session with Chanyeol. Study-date is probably the more appropriate term. If you hadn’t texted Chanyeol at all over the weekend to say something, Sehun was sure you’d speak up today.

Because, like a self-inflicting fool, Sehun brought it up just before you opened the door to exit his car; and completed his act by sending you his best smile and most supportive words. After confirming you’d safely entered Chanyeol’s house, he proceeded to slam his forehead against the top of his steering wheel for approximately seventeen minutes straight, before driving himself to Junmyeon and Minseok to wallow in his emotions. As per usual.

“So, you told the girl you’re in love with to ask out some other guy, and now you’re upset that she might have gone and done just that,” Junmyeon ponders, looking down at his lap where Sehun attempts to bury his face into the pillow resting upon it.

Sehun groans, kicking his feet a little like a child. Minseok tuts at him from the loveseat, “When we said talk to her I thought it was clear that you were supposed to ask her out. Not encourage her to ask someone else out.”

Sehun continues moping, laying dramatically on his back, half of his limbs falling off of the small couch. Maybe encouraging you to ask out the guy he’s extremely jealous of wasn’t the brightest idea he’s had in terms of his goals to ask you out—but if you wanted to date Chanyeol, then so be it. Sehun wasn’t irrational enough to try and push the taller out of the picture due to spite.

“Part of me admires you, Sehunnie,” Junmyeon starts, tapping his fingers against the younger’s forehead, “But I can’t help but think that you’ve been reading this wrong.”

“You mean like he’s been reading everything wrong,” Minseok scoffs, “Sehun can’t tell when certain people are in love with him. No wonder he falsely assumes the opposite for others.”

“You’re extra sarcastic today,” Sehun grumbles. “It’s not appreciated.”

“Sorry I’m not team watch Sehun’s existential crisis unfold,” Minseok grins, “I told you the only way this is ever going to work is if you talk about your feelings.”

Sehun whines this time, flipping himself onto his stomach to resume burying his head into the pillow. The older boys laugh at him, Junmyeon doing his best to comfort his friend with pats on the back, but it makes Sehun feel like a patronized toddler.

“I need a drink,” the youngest mumbles soon after, pulling his face from the plush, “Or food. Or both.”

Lazily, he pushes himself from the couch, turning in the direction of the kitchen. The others follow suit—Junmyeon out of concern for both their liquor and food supply, and Minseok for purely entertainment purposes.

A curious knock on the door stops all three of the boys in their tracks. Junmyeon and Minseok weren’t expecting anyone else over—anyone who knocks that is. That ruled out the possibility of it being Baekhyun immediately, and with Yixing away visiting his parents, neither of them could rack their brains for an expected guest.

Still, it’s Minseok who makes his way towards the entrance, gingerly stepping up on his toes to look through the peep hole before opening the door with a knowing grin.

He’s greeted by your even smaller, fuming figure. Hands balled into fists with a kindergarten-esque scowl on your face.

“Where is he?” you demand, marching into their apartment before receiving an answer.

Minseok simply chuckles, letting you storm into the living area, and closing the door behind you. Shocked, both Sehun and Junmyeon are at a standstill. The older is equal parts confused and concerned, but Sehun is petrified.

You stop abruptly in front of him, and Sehun opens his mouth to start spewing apologies—for whatever it is that you’re upset about, he’s not sure, but he knows a few are due—but he doesn’t have the chance to, before you’re fisting his shirt in your hand, and pulling him down into a kiss.

If Sehun could describe the feeling of an out-of-body experience, it would be this. Kissing you, being kissed by you; something he’s imagined, dare he say dreamt of. Despite his eyes fluttering shut, it’s like he’s watching himself being kissed,unable to wrap his head around that fact that you stood in front of him, pulled him towards you, and kissed him.

He doesn’t have time to consider relishing in the moment, either. Because he hears Minseok and Junmyeon wooing in the background, loud and obnoxious, and because you pull away, parting your lips from his.

There’s a storm of emotions brewing in your eyes, a similar phenomenon happening in his own; but before he has the chance, to act, to say anything, your scrunch your nose, and jostle his shirt in your hold.

“You think you can just tell me to go ask out Chanyeol—which I didn’t by the way, because I’m not exactly keen on looking like a clown—and then come here and sob into Junmyeon’s lap?”

Sehun blinks. “Well, it’s not that—I—”

“You are the biggest idiot I know,” you say, “Who tells the person they like to go ask out someone else?”

“A fool!” Minseok hollers. Sehun doesn’t even have the clarity of mind to toss him a glare.

Flustered, cheeks a little red, and neck very warm, he sputters, “I thought you liked him!”

“Hun, I don’t get it,” you frown, untwisting your hand from his shirt in favor of running your palms along the length of his arm, “Why would you want to see me with Chanyeol if you like me?”

Sehun sighs before inhaling deeply. Slowly, he bends his arms to rest his hands on either of your shoulders, gently tugging you closer. He stares at you, eyes watery with a mix of emotions even he couldn’t hope to make out.

Carefully, his hands tread upwards, gently cupping your jaw in his hold and tilting your head upwards. “Because I love you.”

“Exactly,” the word leaves your mouth in exasperation. Sehun watches the confusion dance in your eyes. “It clearly made you upset, so why encourage it?”

“I already told you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips, “Because I love you.”

“I don’t—you’d make yourself sad because you love me?”

Minseok’s right about a lot of things—(as much as he hates to admit it)—so maybe, just maybe, saying what’s on his mind will end this once and for all. For better, or for worse.

So he sighs, then lets out a breathless chuckle, before stepping just a millimeter closer.  “I just want you to be happy. And if Chanyeol could have made you happy, I would bear the pain.”

He thinks you might cry, with the way your eyes grow cloudy. If you were going to, you do a good job at sweeping the tears away, offering him an ironic chuckle instead.

“I’m happy now, Sehun. You make me happy, idiot. I’m sorry, though, if I didn’t make that clear before. I should have just said it—and I was going to that day, but then you started talking about Chanyeol, so I figured you didn’t like me like that and—“

“I do,” he cuts you off quickly, thumb padding against your lower lip, “I love you.”

The tow of you just stand there, staring at each other, blissfully happy for a little bit, before Minseok reminds them you of his and Junmyeon’s presence.

“So, are you going to kiss her this time, or?” Minseok chimes in, the dirty grin on his face never left. From beside him, Junmyeon chuckles, eggs on the teasing to hide from the fact that he was ready to cry moments ago.

Sehun pulls you into him with a roll of his eyes, squeezing you into a hug. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, giving Minseok the finger behind your back.

The older chuckles, opting to further his embarrassment by snapping a picture. Junmyeon’s loud laughter permeates the living room, as he immediately receives the image. Sehun’s phone pings in his pocket and he groans, letting his chin rest atop your head—that means Baekhyun and Yixing have that picture too, which means Sehun’s life is over. Unfortunate, because he feels like it just began.

You pull away first, not before leaving a fleeting kiss against the fabric of Sehun’s shirt—and even so, the action makes him warm inside. He could get used to this.

“They’re never going to let me live this down,” he mumbles, peeking as the elders chuckle at something on Minseok’s phone. Sehun’s going to have to remove himself from every group he’s ever been in.

“Do you wanna get out of here,” you pull his attention back to you with a laugh, gently lacing your hands together, “Maybe get boba or something?”

And Sehun grins, squeezing your interwinted hands before dipping down to kiss the crown of your head, “Absolutely.”

He doesn’t even care to grab his jacket from the kitchen stool, opting to snag Junmyeon’s cardigan misshapenly strewn over the couch. With your hands tied, Sehun makes quick work of heading for the door, leaving his older friends chuckling at his tinted cheeks and hasty mannerisms.

He should have known trying to get out without one last jab would be borderline impossible.

“I hope boba is code for go home and make out!”

“Minseok!”

ϟ more author’s notes :: this is the first (and probably one of the very few) times i’ll ever formally write on this blog, mostly because it took me a year and day to even plan and begin to write this LOL i think i’ll stay in my lane and stick to fake texts and instagram posts, i’ve learned my lesson. ps: hope all you team sehun anons are happy—and if it wouldn’t have taken 5k more words of writing, i would have made her talk to chanyeol about it too just to create some drama :’)

[giftwrappingpaper]

wangxian bakery au

prompt: "I'd love to enable a creator to write/draw that self-indulgent niche workplace AU they've always wanted to make."

Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying baking bread in the kitchen of a hole-in-the-wall bakery in Yiling.

-----

A low, all too familiar voice hesitantly calls his name. "Wei Ying?"

No fucking way. Wei Ying looks up, raised eyebrows wrinkling his flour-dusted forehead. Yep, that’s Lan Zhan alright; no matter how many years pass, Wei Ying could recognize that face anywhere. His sharp, meticulously perfect appearance makes him look like a high-fashion magazine model cutout slapped on a stock photo of yellowed plaster and secondhand baking equipment.

“No customers in the back,” Wei Ying advises before returning his attention to the dough in his hands. A picture of informality, with a small smirk playing on his lips — a half-hearted attempt to conceal the shock and surmounting panic bubbling in his gut.

How the hell did he find me? one side of his brain despairs, while the other side reassures that at least it isn’t Jiang Cheng.

Lan Zhan continues his stalwart breach of Burial Bakery’s kitchen. What a rebel. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

“That’s me.”

“You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re in a...bakery. Baking.”

Wei Ying breathed in the calming smell of fresh sourdough and tangy levain. Thank the heavens he had been able to convince Wen Ning to take a lunch break, leaving Wei Ying to man the kitchen alone. This isn’t going to be pretty.

“That’s kinda what we do here, yeah,” he says, eyes trained on his workbench, crowded with floured bannetons and formless lumps of dough. “A helping hand would be nice. I’d appreciate that much more than the gawking.”

Lan Zhan blinks, jawing clenching and ears flushing. Wei Ying’s smirk lifts into something softer. Even after all this time, it’s still so easy to rile him up.

“How’d you even find me, anyway?” he wonders, stretching his dough flat against the workbench, stopping right when it’s about to rip. Gently, of course. Wouldn’t want to pop the gas built up after hours of proofing.

“The back door is open,” Lan Zhan answers faintly. His expression mirrors the face of a guy after finding a years-long missing sock long since chalked off as having been eaten by the dryer. “I saw you from the counter.”

A quick glance to the entrance confirms this. Wen Ning must’ve forgotten to close the door when he left. Damn, that’s no good. Can’t let the cold air flow in. Might mess with the dough proofing in the walk-in.

“Could you close that for me?” Wei Ying asks, briefly letting go of the dough to rub the back of his neck. When Lan Zhan continues to stand there, motionless like a beautiful, bewildered statue, Wei Ying tsks and says, “I’m not going anywhere, Lan Zhan. Gotta get yesterday's proofed loaves in the oven by the hour.”

Miraculously, Lan Zhan obeys. Wei Ying half expected him not to. He and Lan Zhan have never been the closest of friends; Wei Ying was an annoying student, and Lan Zhan has a zero tolerance for annoying classmates. But people can change, he supposes. It’s been over four years, and neither of them are the same people they were before Wei Ying packed up his things and gave up his cushioned life in the Jiang estate and his scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country to start slumming it with the Wen siblings and A-Yuan in their closet of an apartment.

“Aw, thanks,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan returns. He belatedly realizes that he should’ve asked Lan Zhan to close the door behind him as he leaves the kitchen that he, as a non-employee, isn’t supposed to be in. Oh well; Wen Qing can chew him out for all the health codes he’s violating later. Isn’t she supposed to be manning the front? Lan Zhan must have snuck past her to get here, so she’s just as guilty.

“So you’ve been here the whole time?” Lan Zhan says, watching Wei Ying shape the dough. “Since you — left?”

“Basically.” Stitch the dough into itself. Then fold and tuck. Push the dough underneath itself with the palm of your hands to create surface tension, giving the newly formed loaf that tight, professional finish. Took Wei Ying ages to get the method down pat enough to be consistent. “Wanted to get out of the Jiangs’ hair, so I left soon after dropping out of uni.”

Dust the loaf with rice flour. Place it into a banneton, seam side up. Into the rack, then repeat. “A friend of mine had just inherited their family bakery. I volunteered to help out, and it eventually ended up becoming a full-time thing.”

Lan Zhan stands there without a word — not that Wei Ying minds. He hadn’t let himself dream they’d see each other again, hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up that he'd be lucky enough to see a familiar face again after all this time. Damn, he thinks, sneaking glance after glance between the loaves he’s shaping, he’s more handsome now than ever. Who knew the gorgeous teenager he’d harassed throughout two years of university would turn out to become a gorgeous adult who somehow stumbles into Wei Ying’s bakery? Even the unflattering cast of the yellow, flickering overhead light Wen Qing had been meaning to replace can’t wash out how black Lan Zhan’s hair is, how his skin is as smooth as a baby’s. How golden his eyes are, peering at Wei Ying as if he’s the sunrise after a long, cloudy night.

Bah. Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Wei Ying really is as self-centered as Aunt Yu claimed him to be.

“I wasn’t aware of your...baking aspirations,” Lan Zhan says, causing Wei Ying to choke out a laugh. He’d forgotten how funny Lan Zhan could be.

“Me neither,” Wei Ying admits. He sidesteps the kitchen mixer he’d spent the last year fixing up — he’d bought it in a sorry state, but Hobart engines are built to last a lifetime, and he couldn’t pass up the deal he paid for — to place another filled banneton into the rack. “But I’m not too mad at where I’ve ended up. Speaking of. How did you end up here?”

Lan Zhan's shoulders hunch suspiciously, and Wei Ying's eyebrows arch into fucking parabolas. “I wanted bread,” Lan Zhan replies defensively. “So I went to a bakery.”

Wei Ying scoffs, unimpressed. “A bakery all the way in Yiling?”

Lan Zhan glances away. “I travel a lot for work.”

Fine — he’ll let it go for now. “Well, as long as you don’t tell anyone back home about this, I guess it’s fine.” Wei Ying pauses. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you?”

The thought should scare him, but a traitorously large part of him thrills at it instead. The Jiangs' are a key food supplier for the Lans' hotel chain, so Lan Zhan has to have some form of communication with them. Does Jiejie think about him from time to time? And Jiang Cheng...well. They’re still brothers, aren't they? Surely he must, at some small capacity, miss him.

But no brotherly love, whatever left there may be, could erase this: the cold silence that hung over the Jiang family table whenever Wei Ying would show up for dinner. Aunt Yu’s constant disapproval and Jiang Cheng’s wavering willingness to put up with it. The car ride. The screech of metal. The hospital said their Range Rover flipped four times. Wei Ying must have passed out after the first. But he was lucky: only a broken arm and whiplash. He had lied about being too hurt to attend the funeral.

It had been a good decision to leave. It had to be.

The back of his neck stings; a constant reminder. He hangs his head low as he stitches the dough.

“I’m not going to...rat you out,” Lan Zhan denies. He’s closer than he’d been since the last time Wei Ying looked up, his slack-clad hip brushing against the corner of Wei Ying’s workbench. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. Thanks.” Another banneton in the rack. Slower output than usual. He’s going to have to speed up to reach today’s quota. He gestures to the door. “Now, if you’re not gonna help out…”

Lan Zhan doesn’t take the hint. “You left. Without saying goodbye.”

“Must’ve forgotten to leave a note,” Wei Ying says, nonplussed.

“No one knew where you had gone off to.”

“Kinda preferred it that way.”

“But I didn’t —” Lan Zhan stops. Takes a breath. This is the most emotional Wei Ying has ever seen him, if mildly discomfited could constitute as emotional.

When he meets Wei Ying’s eyes again, his face is in its usual state of aloofness. “I was worried about you,” he tells him. “I wish I had known that you were alright.”

A block of guilt presses on Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just — with all that happened with the, the accident, and the handling of the estate —”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me you’re not comfortable with.”

“And my relationship with Jiang Cheng was down the fucking gutter —”

“He misses you.”

“I just felt that it everything would’ve been better off if —”

“I understand.”

“— I just left, y’know?”

At this, Lan Zhan frowns. “I fail to see how your sudden disappearance made anything better,” he says.

“Well, you weren’t there.” Wei Ying sighs, and what little fight he had to defend himself from the past drops to the floor. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

Lan Zhan bristles. “I didn’t mean to — that’s not why I’m here.”

Then why are you here? But Wei Ying is done playing this game. “Look, it’s really nice to see you again. But I kind of have a lot on my plate right now, so if you don’t mind.” This time, his gesture to the door is clear. Leave.

Of course Lan Zhan doesn’t leave; he’s always been so damn stubborn. After a beat, he walks over to the empty sink — Wei Ying prefers to wash the dishes as he goes — and washes his hands. Dries them. Rolls up the sleeves of his button up, revealing forearms Wei Ying can’t help but swallow at. Makes his way to Wei Ying’s side, staring down at the lumps of dough like how a runner glares at the bottom of her shoe after stepping on a pile of dogshit.

“Alright,” he says, “how do I do this?”

Wei Ying blinks. “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

Lan Zhan experimentally cups the nearest dough mound with his palms. It sticks to his hands as he lifts them, streaks of the stuff already clinging to his slender fingers.

“Gross,” he says, monotone, pinching two ends to stretch it; an imitation, Wei Ying realizes, of his own technique.

Wei Ying stares. An incredulous smile spreads across his lips. “You’re —” He laughs. “You’re so weird, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan squints at him, confused, hands still making a mess out of the dough. “You asked for my help.”

Perhaps all those years away from home was enough penance for, at the very least, this. “Yeah," he says, soft. "I guess I did.” Wei Ying sways closer to Lan Zhan’s side. He discreetly sniffs the air in a selfish bid to find...ah, there it is, masked between notes of wheat flour and sourdough starter: sandalwood aftershave, brushing past Wei Ying's nose when Lan Zhan turns to him with an expectant glance.

Wei Ying laughs again. “No, not like that. Like this.”

He lays a floured hand over Lan Zhan’s and, together, they get to work.

-----

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