shirohige-pirates
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Hey Doll
CisFem Reader x Thatch
CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.
tag list: @mfreedomstuff @harahettania @clumsyraccoon
Chapter 9: Peanut Butter
Please note that this chapter contains toxic messages about food. If you struggle with eating disorders please take care reading this chapter, as the words from the Reader’s parents may be triggering.
The events of the day before had been so exhausting, that you’d fallen asleep in the cab with Haruta so soundly, that when you woke up you were tucked into the guest bed at Edward’s estate, missing only your shoes. The duffel bags from the trip to your parents were covered with sticky notes. Some of the notes just said where the items had been, so words like “closet left” “closet right” were written on them.
A few notes explained how they didn’t want to wake you, but if you were hungry when you woke up there was a covered dish in the fridge that was all yours. You weren’t sure what time it was, only that it was dark outside, but then you remembered Thatch telling you about the alarm clock from your first night, and so you look over to see it’s three in the morning.
You must have been exhausted.
You’d be more mortified, but your stomach was trying to eat it’s way out through your ribcage. You hadn’t had dinner and your appetite had been in the gutter from nerves the last forty-eight hours. The relief yesterday had brought, however, had returned your appetite with a vengeance.
Opening the door to the guest room you were relieved to find the halls were lit well-enough. It wasn’t bright in the house by any means, but the soft dim light was enough. Your quiet footfalls sounded a little loud to your ears, but you weren’t walking heavy or jogging down the hall so you were sure you were being quieter than you thought.
The kitchen was lit brightly compared to the hall. A little pop card on the breakfast bar made you smile, warmth running through you. The hand writing was neat, and a little heavy, it made you think of Thatch out of all the other people in the house. The words too, since he seemed to be sincere in his concern.
Don’t worry about the time, eat if you’re hungry.
The reassurance was appreciated, but unnecessary. You were hungry enough you would’ve risked raiding the fridge for at least some cheese and bread, even without such express permission. Opening up the refrigerator there’s a plate with a couple layers of plastic wrap over it, and a smaller pop card that just said “Doll” in the same handwriting.
You wince a little, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to explain that nickname to Thatch as you pull the plate out and set it on the counter.
Admittedly, though, it was far more endearing when he said it. It would be nice, maybe, to be able to hear that word without feeling it twist in your gut. To wrest it from the hands of your parents and let it become something else.
Pulling the layers of wrap off the plate, you look at the collection of food available in confusion for a moment, before realization dawns on you. Thatch didn’t know what you liked eating.
The breakfast, while a little fancy at least, was pretty standard fare. Matchbooks didn’t include things beyond favorite foods and allergies, and the favorite foods part could be hit or miss. Seems he decided to play things safe.
There were some lightly toasted finger sandwiches, celery sticks with peanut butter in them and some with cream cheese. There was an assortment of meats and cheeses and crackers, like a very small charcuterie board. A couple of rice balls, wrapped in their own plastic with what filling was inside them written on the plastic, and two small cups, one filled with fruit the other with raw vegetables.
The assortment aside, how he managed to fit it all on the plate was amazing. It was all stacked carefully, some things tucked nearly under others. It was way more food than you could eat, even with as hungry as you were, but that seemed to be the idea. No matter how hungry you were, you’d be sated.
Picking up one of the cubes of cheese you looked it over. Probably cheddar, it looked orange and it was solid, so you couldn’t think what else it would be.
Don’t eat that, you’ll get fat, Doll. It’s hard enough keeping you in shape as it is.
You pop the cube into your mouth and chew. The flavor’s stronger than you expected, but it doesn’t taste bad. You remember something about the dentist saying it goes well on broccoli, and that the combination was good for your teeth. Even then your mother hadn’t relented.
You had no idea what the small cup of dip was, but it was a thick white base with green flecks in it, and you dipped a carrot in it before eating that. The dip was creamy and savory, a mix of herbs when you’d expected something with more of an onion flavor, like chives.
Don’t you dare dip those in anything! The carrots are bad enough on their own.
Cream cheese?! Absolutely not! Go mingle or something, walk off what you’ve shoveled into your mouth already.
The crunch of the celery was satisfying as the cream cheese pressed against your tongue. The celery was sweet too, not bitter like you’d expected. You didn’t know if that had to do with the age of it or not, but Thatch had pulled all the tough ribs out of it too, so maybe that made a difference.
It all tasted so good, but you were careful not to eat too fast. You didn’t normally have so much cream and cheese and you didn’t want to make yourself sick on accident. You moved the peanut butter celery sticks aside, wrapping them in the plastic. The smell of the peanut butter brought up bad memories, and you wanted to enjoy the rest of the food.
Eat all of it, Doll. Then we’re going to practice. Don’t worry, it tastes the same coming up as it does going down.
Stopping long enough to get yourself a glass of water, you unwrapped one of the rice balls and took a bite. You’d never had cold rice before, but it was almost kind of like dough, the rice was smashed together enough it didn’t crumble. It had a flavor not unlike what you knew from sushi, one of the few things you truly liked that your parents let you eat.
Your mother thought it looked elegant and expensive, but she always complained about the rice.
The filling, rice, and nori came together to make the entire thing delicious, and comfortably filling. You sat for a moment, looking over what was left, trying to decide if you really had more room or not. Your hunger was sated, but you couldn’t really remember the last time you truly felt full.
You flinch at the sound of someone clearing their throat and turn around to see Thatch standing a few feet back. He comes up to the side of the breakfast bar that you aren’t on and gives you a sleepy smile. His hair’s pulled back in a half-hearted ponytail, shorter lengths framing his face. He’s got a thin long-sleeved pull-over shirt on and a pair of sweats.
The suit from the first night hadn’t hidden his broad frame and sheer size, but the tighter shirt now and the sweats were highlighting his form a lot more.
It was nice.
Really nice.
“Been up long?” He asks, starting the task of making coffee.
“No,” you glance at the time on the microwave, though tearing your eyes away is a little difficult. “Twenty minutes or so. Thank you,” you say, and Thatch turns toward you, head tilted slightly. “For the notes. They were very helpful.”
“Good.” He replies, clearing his throat a little. “Want some coff- er, wait, juice maybe?”
“Some more water, if you don’t mind.” You slide the glass to his side of the bar, and look over the plate again. “Everything tastes so good I don’t want to mess up the flavors.”
A weird noise from Thatch causes you to look up. He’s got a hand on the glass, but hasn’t turned away yet. His face is frozen in shock for a split second before red blooms across his cheeks to his ears. He turns away quickly, failing miserably to hide his reaction.
“I’mma-just-get-you-that-water.” He mumbles, taking a moment to collect himself while he fills the glass before he comes back to the bar. You’re already eating the second rice ball, and he clears his throat. “It’s… been a while since someone complimented my cooking like that.”
“I can’t imagine people tell you it’s bad.” You say incredulously. You can almost hear your mother in the back of your mind, scolding you for speaking with the rice ball still at your lips, but the thought had struck you so hard it overrode your manners.
Thatch laughs, his embarrassment dissipating into something else. “Nah, but everyone gets used to a certain level of things. My brothers are used to my cooking, and people come to the pastry shop for it, so it’s, ah, not the same.” He scratches the end of his nose idly. “I’m glad you like it.”
His smile is warm. His golden brown hair, the deep green of his eyes - some part of your mind equated them to a forest, and all the comforts and peace to be found within. You look away when you realize you were staring, eyes shifting away in genuine shyness.
“… I do.” The words are quiet, and for some reason feel far more binding than words should feel for a conversation about food.
You continue eating, going slowly so you don’t get uncomfortably full. There’s an easy silence between you both, broken only by the ambient sounds of his coffee routine. He squirts something in it from a bottle he took from the fridge, and when he comes over to the counter you notice it still looks like black coffee.
“What was that?” You question, looking up from the coffee to his eyes.
“Huh— oh! It’s just a simple syrup. Water and sugar, boiled until it dissolves, cool it and it keeps a long while. It sweetens coffee better than sugar. Takes less.” He explains, taking a sip of the drink before giving you a smile. “If you ever want to try coffee I know a couple dozen ways to make it.”
“One day.” You say returning he soft smile, finishing the rice ball and leaning back from the plate.
Thatch pulls the plate-turned-tray closer to himself and rearranges everything until it’s stacked neatly again. He seems to do it almost automatically, the skills for arrangement and efficiency carved into his muscles a long time ago.
“All done?” He asks, making sure before he actually takes it away.
“Yes. Thank you so much. Not only was it delicious, it was very thoughtful of you.” You admit, fingers wrapping around the glass of water. It was something you could hold and focus on without worrying about staring at him again.
“My pleasure.” He says, setting the plate back in the fridge. “Well, today is set to go at your speed, doll.”
“Huh?”
“It’s almost four in the mornin’,” he starts to explain. “Pops’ll be up in about an hour, Izou shortly after. Marco’s at work, but he’ll be back soon, and Haruta slept over, but he’ll be up about the same as Pops.”
He takes a moment to stretch, arms going high over his head. You gape at the spectacle, at least for a moment, before you look back down at the glass of water between your fingers. He makes a few satisfied sounds, and you’re certain he’s completely oblivious, or at least mostly oblivious. If he really wanted to show off, you feel like he’d be more overt about it.
Probably by doing cheesy off-brand body builder poses with a big grin on his face.
The thought makes you smile and Thatch continues on with his explanation now that the stretch is out of his system.
“Ah, what I mean is, your things are still all in those duffel bags. I can load up the car, and we can go over to my apartment before everyone wakes up, that way you can have the whole day to start settling in. Or you can stay here for another day or two until you’re ready. I promise though, there’s a lock on the door that’ll be your room, and even if there wasn’t, I wouldn’t go in without permission, so you don’t have to worry.” He adds the last bit hastily, looking a little flustered. “It’s - whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“… Won’t it be rude if we leave before everyone else is up?”
Thatch smiles, shaking his head. “Nah, there might be some teasing, but they’d take it as a good thing. You’ve just… I mean, it’s been really loud and busy the last couple of days, and the apartment will be a lot quieter.”
You nod. “Quiet sounds nice.” You agree, feeling the heat rush into your face despite it all. “And, they say that spending time together is important.”
“Alright then, let’s get loaded up and leave these guys to their own breakfast.” He says, coming around the kitchen bar and offering his hand. “If you decide you want to come back here though, you can.”
“Come back here?” You question, taking his hand and tilting your head.
“If you get uncomfortable, or need to get away from me, I mean. Though, it might be easier to just tell me to leave, if you need some space.” He admits, as you both head to the guest room.
You smile. “I’m certain you’ll be a proper gentleman.”
“For you, doll,” he says, leaning down easy, and kissing the top of your head. “I’ll do my best.”
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So... my bday is in two days.... so I drew myself a treat.... 🥖🥞🌶
The things I would allow this man to do to me is unimaginable....
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Hey Doll
CisFem Reader x Thatch
CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.
tag list: @mfreedomstuff @harahettania @clumsyraccoon
Chapter 8: Choices
You sat in the front of what could only lovingly be called a truck. More utility than horsepower or show, the back had a tarp covered bed with wooden shelves that could be used as seats in a pinch. The only proper seats in this vehicle were the ones you and Haruta were sitting on, and he was driving.
None of the Edwards thought it was okay to have you ride in the back, and there hadn’t been much of a discussion as you’d been shuttled into the passenger seat. Most of your conversation with Haruta was how to get to your house, but during the long drive he did talk about himself a little bit. He was mostly a personal assistant, and he’d petitioned successfully to be removed from the match program almost five years ago.
His reasoning had been simple: all his time was dedicated to being a personal assistant to Pops and the family as a whole. He loved the work, loved his family, and was pretty much available to them 24/7. He wasn’t going to reduce that availability if the government made him marry, and once Pops retired he was just going to end up supporting whichever brother ended up in that position. It wouldn’t be fair to force someone to marry him when he was already hitched to a job he loved.
When you arrived at the block your parents’ house was on, you weren’t surprised to see local marines already in the area. The cruisers were against the curbs, and none of them had lights on or were blocking anything, but there were at least four of them that you could see.
“Pops said there was going to be an audience.” Haruta says, banging on the dividing wall between the cab and the truck bed. “They don’t look particularly hostile though.”
“My parents… don’t have the best relationship with the local marines.” You admit flatly. “But they can’t just ignore them.”
Haruta parks, blocking the driveway, but none of the marines approach the truck. You step out from it, staying near the cab as the truck shifts while the guys get out from the back of it. Two marines come up to you as you’re waiting, and you give them a small wave.
Tashigi and Koby were younger members of the local precinct, but between Captain Smoker and Section Chief Garp, the two were trained well. Tashigi looks irritated, but Koby has a kind smile on his face, despite the concern between his brows.
“Evening.” You greet, offering a small nod. “I’m here to collect my things.”
Tashigi clicks her tongue, looking toward the house. “I should haul them down to the station. We knew you hadn’t been forced to stay with the Edward family, but when they said that they were coming to trash the house, we couldn’t not show up.” Her eyes shift up as Newgate and the rest of his impressive family lined up behind you. “Well, that explains why Captain Smoker went inside.”
“Are you going to stay out here with us?” Koby asks, and you shake your head.
“Mr. Edward is going to stay with me while the others pack my things.” You explain, and Koby looks relieved that Smoker won’t be your only defense inside.
“Are you ready?” Newgate questions, warm hand on your shoulder for a moment, and you nod, walking toward the front door, with the others close behind.
The door opens before you reach it, and the stern face of Captain Smoker greets you. He has an unlit cigar in his mouth, and you can see irritation already throbbing in a vein on his forehead. He looks from you to Edward Newgate, to the three behind him, and the truck at the end of the drive way in the span of a couple of seconds. His eyes settle back on you before he takes a step back and makes room for everyone to enter.
“I’m just here to keep the peace.” He says as you pass by. “Unless more than words are thrown I won’t interject.”
“Thank you.” You reply and hear Newgate grunt behind you.
When you see your parents in the kitchen you turn away from them and point down the hallway. “It’s the second door on the left.” You explain as the three walk by and head down the hall.
“Ah, heh, it’s reassuring that you’ve decided to… stay with the Edwards.” Your father says, taking a couple of steps toward you. “We were worried for you, Doll. We had to leave so suddenly.”
“I wonder why that was?” Newgate grumbles and you realize both of your parents look nervous. “Perhaps you’d like to enlighten your daughter about why you were escorted off my property?”
In your room the three brothers exchanged quick glances before getting to work. “No offense to your girl, Thatch,” Marco says, pulling open your closet and stuffing hung clothes into a duffel bag. “But this is the cutest creepy room I’ve ever seen, yoi.”
“It is… kind of empty?” Thatch admits, opening a few boxes that had been apparently packed and set on your bed. They appeared to be just clothes, and so he dumped the boxes into the duffel. “Like there’s stuff, but it doesn’t feel like anyone owns it.”
“It’s like walking into a catalog.” Izou scoffs, opening up the door to the attached bath and nearly hissing. “What the hell?” He grumbles.
“What’s up?”
“It’s a wonder the poor girl hasn’t melted into a puddle of goo!” Izou growls. “I’ve never seen so much crap in a single bathroom. Half these cleansers are cheap junk,” he says, tossing one bottle off a shelf and into a small wastebasket. “And the other half hardly does anything at all! The way she was nervous at breakfast, it’s no wonder, if her parents convinced her this shit does anything.”
“Tell us how you really feel.” Marco murmurs and Thatch grunts as the two continue to stuff what little they can find into more duffel bags. By the time they’re done Thatch should have three for each arm, and that should help make the kind of impression his dad wanted him to make.
“Thatch.” Izou’s word is clipped and Thatch turns toward him. Izou’s face would be neutral to most people, but he can see the rage in his brother’s eyes. “Scare the piss out of these cunts.” He insists.
Thatch looks away. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do that, but he meant to try his best. Sure this room was uncomfortable, and yeah he was sure your folks had done shitty things to you, but he wasn’t sure what. His anger was so formless it was hard to really hold onto. The best he could hope for at this point was some kind of resting bitch face, but that wasn’t really his thing either.
Unlike Izou, he didn’t fake emotions well.
“… Put all that crap in a duffel then,” Thatch says. “The more I have to carry, the better, we’ll toss it later.”
“Thatch.” Izou repeats, his voice is so angry it’s cold, and he’s holding a small book up for him to read.
“Izou, is that her dia-.” He starts and then stops. “That’s -.”
Thatch’s eyes are boring a hole into the journal, but Izou’s watching his brother’s anger finally come to the surface. He’s mad he found the damnable book, but he’s also glad he was able to provide Thatch some much needed motivation.
Someone else might feel bad for her parents, but Izou was angry the only thing Thatch was going hurl were words.
“If you think it’s for the best then, we won’t argue, Doll.” Your mother says, giving a sigh that’s not quite dramatic, but barely genuine. “I just hope we’ll be able to set this entire, terrible, misunderstanding behind us, in time for your wedding.”
You want to tell her no, that you don’t want her there. That you want nothing to do with either of them. You want to shout that the last 24 hours at the Edward estate was the most relaxing day you’ve had in a decade.
But you can’t.
Your mouth won’t form words of defiance against your parents, no matter how much you want to. It was hard enough to stand beside someone else while the four of you talked. You could feel yourself almost automatically wanting to stand beside them. Between them. In a place where you didn’t have to think or consider your words. Your parents would prompt you.
They were prompting you now. You should reply with confidence, but your voice was small.
“That would be-.”
“Impossible.” Edward Newgate cuts in. “Unless you’re going to be honest with your daughter I cannot allow it.”
“How cruel!” Your mother gasps, tears welling in her eyes. “All the years we’ve raised and protected her, to deny us to be at our only child’s wedding!”
“That conversation was between the three of us, and the resolution was clear!” Your father tries to bellow, but after hearing Newgate do so the night before, it doesn’t quite live up to the term.
You wonder why you ever thought it was so loud before? How it could sound so small now?
“Hey.”
You turn toward the sound, looking over toward the source along with your parents. You almost don’t recognize who it is, the tone of Thatch’s voice is so unnatural. Newgate steps you back, blocking your view, so you don’t know what expression is on Thatch’s face, but when you look back over at your parents you can see the blood draining from their faces.
“You don’t deserve to speak to her.” He says, the tone in his voice so low and dangerous you’re glad you can’t see the look on his face right now. “Unless it’s to get on your worthless knees and beg her FORGIVENESS!” He’s bellowing by the end, voice and volume on par with his father’s.
You see your mother’s mouth open and close a couple times, but she can’t seem to peel her gaze away from Thatch, and until she can do that she’s not going to find the bravery to speak. Your father looks like he’s trying to speak as well, but your mother grabs his hand and he stops trying. The tense silence that follows is broken only by Newgate.
“Come on, Miss Kakusho,” he says gently, guiding you toward the front door. “Let’s get you home.”
You nod, allowing yourself to be guided. Thatch’s words were ringing in your ears, and you were struggling to process them. That your parents would apologize - that they should need to - that they were worthless. No one had ever said anything like that to them, not that you’d ever heard.
For years you wondered, how wretched must you be, being worth less than your parents? You knew how little value most people saw in them, and by association how much less they must see in you. Knowing that you still clung to every scrap of praise, desperate for some validation, some statement of your own humanity.
Something filled with more love than ‘Doll’.
Panic wells up inside you for a moment. Worry claws at you, that you had somehow ruined The Plan, that the one thing you were meant to be good at was now lost and shattered at your feet. But before you could even focus on it you were jared out of your thoughts by Koby’s voice.
“Oh good, no one came out in cuffs.” He says to no one in particular, relief heavy in his voice.
“Shame.” Tashigi says under her breath. Her eyes aren’t on you and the Edwards, but focused on your house. You’re not surprised. Tashigi was with Smoker on a few of the occasions they were called by concerned neighbors.
Smoker had left her with you while he spoke with your parents in hopes that you’d give Tashigi enough cause to be able to do something about them. You never did, and Tashigi never blamed you. Over the years, however, she’d became openly disdainful of your parents.
It didn’t matter.
Newgate helped you into the cab as Marco and Izou helped unload Thatch’s six-bag haul into the back of the truck. Once the four in the back are settled there’s a smack at the dividing wall, and Haruta puts the truck in gear, pulling away from your house.
You kept expecting something to happen.
For your parents to come running out of the house, making a fuss, or for the marines to stop you for some reason. The tense knot in your stomach wasn’t showing outwardly, but you kept your gaze in your lap until the entire scene was out of view.
It didn’t matter.
The words kicked around in your head again, and you let out a long slow breath, trying to release the tension inside you. You were a block away and nothing was different. There wasn’t a commotion, no sirens, no concern from Haruta.
It didn’t matter.
There was nothing but the sound of the engine, and the soft shuffle of Haruta’s clothes as he operated the truck. The clunk of the gear shift. The smell of oil and paint and grease and work, that was deep in the cracks of a truck probably older than you.
It didn’t matter.
The only people with you now, were your fiance and his family. The only decisions you had to worry about were to be expected. Some of them weren’t going to be just for you to decide, because a marriage wasn’t for just a single person, but they would be normal decisions. Decisions everyone else made.
It didn’t matter if The Plan was ruined. It didn’t even matter if it was your fault, though you still hoped it wasn’t. The only thing you had to think about, the only thing you had to worry about - no, that wasn’t the right way to think about it.
The only thing that mattered was that, going forward, you’d have a choice. It might take a while for a choice to be entirely yours, it was going to take a while for you to learn who you even were, but the truth of it hit you like a wave and you put your hands up to your face.
You cried quiet and soft tears, persistent beads of realization fell over your cheeks. Emotions too complicated for you to quite sort out slipped between your fingers and pattered softly onto your lap. Haruta didn’t say anything, just handed over a small packet of tissues.
You took them with a quiet word of thanks, dabbing away tears that kept coming despite your attempts to stall them. You didn’t know how to explain why you were crying, and you were grateful that he wasn’t asking you anything.
It seemed so silly, to be relieved by such a small thing, or maybe you were afraid of it. Right then, you weren’t really sure.
All you could think was that tomorrow would be the first day you’d get to pick out your own clothes.
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Hey Doll
CisFem Reader x Thatch
CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.
tag list: @mfreedomstuff @harahettania @clumsyraccoon
Chapter 7: How Does Your Garden Grow
Thatch guides you out to the garden, but once you stepped out into the backyard you had a much better sense of how rich Edward Newgate really was. The house had been large and impressive, the amenities and decor a balance of functional modern and a cozy traditional feel, so you already had some sense of things.
The backyard, if it was even proper to call it that, highlighted that the estate had two wings that came off the front section of the house, and created a courtyard feel for the area just off the back patio. There were a few places set up for people to sit around and eat, a barbecue pit, and a stone oven which had function, certainly, but also played the part of center piece with a mini bar and seating around it.
It was easy to picture most of the family outside enjoying a meal from the grill more often than not.
The garden stretched out even beyond the penned in courtyard. The patio you were on was elevated slightly compared to the rest of it, and you could see the paths leading out into distinct areas.
“Aside from just grilling food, we use this area for social events and other parties.” Thatch says, after giving you a moment to take it all in. “I think Pops wrote a third of the house and the entire courtyard off as a business expense when he expanded the place a couple of decades ago.”
Taking a few steps forward, he steps down from the back porch and looks up at you with a smile. “There’s a few different sections, but we don’t have to walk all of them today. There’s even a green house off the south wing. It has some vegetables in it, herbs, spices - things that are just harder to find fresh on this island.
“Is there something you like?” He prompts and your gaze shifts from everything else back to him.
“Pardon?”
“You were excited last night when I mentioned we had a garden.”
You can feel the blood rush to your face and you just hope it’s not visible. “I was - am - interested.” You correct and Thatch smiles. “I’ve seen plenty of flowers, but I’ve never really seen them just… growing.” You admit somberly. “They were already always cut and arranged.”
His smile falters a little, brows creasing, but it doesn’t last long before the smile is renewed. “I know what to show you then, shall we?” He questions, offering an elbow.
You accept it, placing your hand as you had just like last night. You lift your arm up a little higher than before, so Thatch doesn’t have to lean down as far. He explains some of the reasonings behind the layout and design, how things had changed over the years.
It’s interesting, but you recognize nervous chatter when you hear it, and you realize quickly that he’s just talking to distract himself. It certainly makes it easier to be around him with no one else around, the way he gets flustered being near you. It’s endearing, and your only fear is that it will turn out to be a falsehood.
Things didn’t look up and then continue to look up. Not like this. Something was going to break. Thatch was either going to turn mean once you moved into his apartment, or Mr. Edward was going to demand a rematch because you were just a fake, some doll hardly worth his kind and valued son. Something was going to break.
As long as it wasn’t you, you wouldn’t be blamed.
“Everything okay?” Thatch prompts and you look up, and then around, and realize that you can’t see the estate anymore.
“Yeah, I’m just… nervous.” You say honestly, before realizing that you’re saying that while isolated and alone with him, and continue speaking so you can clarify. “About this afternoon. I’m not nervous right now, I’m just,” you look around again. “Unsure where we are.”
The space itself is beautiful. The hedges are well-kept and there’s flowers lining the space in front of them. They’re tall though, maybe to create a sense of privacy or to help keep each section visually separate from the others, or maybe just because they grow best that way.
All thoughts of the estate and its location leave you, however, when you finally start to take your immediate surroundings in. The flowers lining the hedges are just a preview to the glory of the flowers around you right now.
Stepping away from Thatch, you reach out and brush your fingers over the petals of flowers you could name by heart, from what they meant to how they needed to be arranged. They all looked so different right now, so vibrant. Laid out with intent, you’re sure, but then left to fill in the gaps on their own.
Flower types were taken into account well, including shape and color, to create an aesthetically pleasing space. It also smelled amazing, softer scents lifting up sweeter ones. In the open garden it wasn’t so powerful as to be overwhelming, but you imagined there were some days where one didn’t walk the gardens - they left them to the bees.
“It’s beautiful.” You say quietly and Thatch smiles.
“Yeah… it is.” He clears his throat before motioning to a nearby stone bench. “If you want to sit and enjoy the sights for a while before we go back, we have time.”
“That would be nice.” You agree, going over and sitting down on the bench, your back to the hedges so you can look out over the majority of the space. “Did you and your family design these?”
“Hm? The different gardens?”
“Yeah.”
“It ended up being a kind of coming of age thing,” Thatch explains, standing a few paces away from you. “Not just to give something to the estate, but to have a place that was ours in a sense. Prove we could oversee a smaller project like this, how well we would or wouldn’t rely on others, that sort of stuff.”
“Growing up when your father owns a business is certainly unique.”
“Heh, it can be a little stressful, but it’s not like we’re in competition with ourselves, and it’s not like you have to do any of it either. A couple of my brothers hired other brothers to design their gardens, and aside from myself, Marco and Izou, only two others own their own businesses. But it’s not like we tease Haruta or Vista for their choices.” He explains.
“Family is not a source of any of the stress, then?”
“Exactly!” He beams. “Aside from the occasional brotherly aggravation.” He admits with fake grumble.
You smile, but even in the garden it fades. There’s a few moments of silence, and you let yourself enjoy the sun - you should’ve put sunblock on, Doll - and the soft breeze - don’t let your hair smudge your make up, Doll - and the sweet scents - ugh I hate these outdoor venues, the flowers stink.
It wasn’t often you got to enjoy the outdoors in peace, and Thatch seemed content to let you do just that. Looking over at him you catch his eyes shifting away from you, pink on his cheeks. Usually you could tell when someone was looking at you, but it didn’t seem to be the case with him.
“This… isn’t your garden though, is it?” You question, hesitantly. You don’t know him as well as you’d like in order to make such an assumption, but you do know flowers, and dealing with people’s associations to them. While these are beautiful, they don’t strike you as flowers Thatch would choose.
He scratches the back of his head idly. “Nah, this one is Izou’s. I can decorate pastries, but all this?” He waves his hand over the impressive collection of blossoms. “I might’ve been able to commission Izou, but yeah, this one isn’t mine.” He grins, looking down at you. “How’d you know?”
You look away, pressing your lips together. How strange was it for such a conversation to feel so intimate? It wasn’t like you’d never talked about flowers to someone before now. You’d critiqued arrangements and had gotten into flower arranging to such a degree you had been able to spot famous, and local, arrangers easily.
This shouldn’t be any different than any other explanation.
“This garden is well-designed and beautiful. The scents of the flowers are complex, but not off-putting, and the colors are exacting.” You’re not looking at him to see the concern on his face, and so you continue. “But it’s very harsh, in a way. Unforgiving. There’s no softness, and it’s not very in… inviting.” You manage to finish, feeling your heart speed up a little as you’re pointedly avoiding looking at him now.
“Plus the flowers all mean rude things.” You mutter after a moment and Thatch bursts out laughing.
“They do?” He asks, still laughing, and you nod.
“Meadowsweet implies uselessness.” You explain, pointing as you move from one flower to the next. “Orange lilies are signs of hatred, and the foxglove is insincerity.”
It takes Thatch a moment to stop laughing long enough to explain. “Izou wasn’t - haaa - wasn’t happy about the garden project.” He breathes in deep, turning away and nearly wheezing. “Told Pops he’d still put his - his - hahaha - his heart into it.”
You smile at the implication. Malicious compliance was something you could certainly understand. You’d only spoken with him a little this morning, and mostly about his business, but you could see him enjoying this space. Especially since no one else seemed to know just what it was built around.
A shrill short whistle cuts through the air and Thatch holds out a hand.
“That would be my dad letting the entire neighborhood know his sons need to come inside.” He explains. “Shall we?”
You take his hand as you stand, and leave it in his loose grip as you walk back to the house. Thatch walks much slower with your hand in his, you aren’t entirely sure if he’s being considerate, or if he’s just prolonging the return to the house. Maybe, honestly, a bit of both.
“There you are,” Izou says, greeting you both as you make it to the back patio. “Pops was - oh? Holding hands already, Thatch you sly dog.” He teases.
You don’t withdraw your hand and Thatch doesn’t let go, instead sighing at Izou as he holds your hand until you’re at the top of the patio. Finally letting go he looks at his brother.
“Everything’s settled then?”
“Yup, we’re not leaving for a little while still. The bird’s nesting in the living room, and Pops wanted to talk to the both of you before we left.” He says, and then gives you a much kinder smile. “Just to make sure we’re all on the same page, it’s nothing bad.”
“Certainly. I’m honestly surprised my parents agreed.”
“I don’t think Haruta left them much of a choice.” Izou admits with a mischievous smile.
Edward Newgate was waiting in the dining room, sitting where you’d sat earlier while Izou had talked about his business. He was dressed differently than you’d seen before, his clothing more casual, but there was something intimidating about him. Intimidating in a mafia sense and less in an international CEO kind of way.
Your parents were certainly grifters, and you thought maybe their tendencies would give them a leg up when it came to being dubious, but now you felt you may have been wrong. You were suddenly curious how Whitebeard Shipping and Trade had been initially financed.
You sat across from Newgate, and Thatch sat beside you. The old man’s stern face softened a bit as he regarded you.
“I apologize that you have to come with us, Miss Kakusho.” He says gently, and you shake your head.
“No, it’s okay. I understand why.” You agree. It was very possible that you’d arrive at your parents house and they’d have marines there, trying to convince them that you’d been kidnapped by Edward Newgate and were being held against your will. Or they’d simply bar them entry and screech about trespassing, or lie about what room was yours.
“Alright. The plan is to have Marco, Thatch, and Izou pack your room and empty it. Haruta will be driving, and I’ll be staying with you.” He says.
“They’re… going to pack my room up?” You question tilting your head.
“It’s not gonna be pretty.” Izou says. “We have some forty-two inch duffel bags, we’re just going to toss everything in those.”
“One room, the three of us, nothing of sentimental value to you,” Thatch looks up at the ceiling, calculating something in his head. “I can’t imagine it’ll take more than twenty minutes.”
“We can give Marco some coffee before we leave and he’ll pack it all in ten.” Izou muses.
“We want things to make it into the bags.” Thatch admonishes, a grin on his face.
“Concerns?” Pops asks you.
You look at the table, pressing your lips together. “Some, but I will do my best.”
“Such as?” He prods, and you shake your head.
“It’ll be okay then.” Thatch says after a moment of silence. “If you can’t put it to words we’ll still figure out how to make it work.” He assures you, putting one of his hands over yours and giving you a smile.
“Before we go though, I just want to make sure we’re in the same boat.” Pops says, but his voice seems warmer than before, like he’s trying to be as gentle as he can. “You do not want to stay with your parents, correct?”
“Correct.” You answer.
“You want us to gather your things and come back here, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Alright. That’s good enough for now. We’ll worry about when you’ll move into Thatch’s apartment tomorrow.” He says. “But now I know what lines to hold your parents to while we’re there.”
Edward Newgate stands up and you’re reminded of how large he is. Wider across than Thatch and a little taller, his physical dimensions were nothing compared to his presence. This was a man who could shoulder the world with one arm as far as you were concerned.
“Wake Marco. No pleasantries for this trip, my sons, we’ll get this unpleasant business handled quickly.”
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Hey Doll Sneak Peak
I should be working on zine work, but instead here's where my brain is:
Enjoy this snippet of the next chapter of Hey Doll, or pass it up if you don't want to be spoiled beforehand XD Nothing spicy under the cut, just a lot of cuteness.
“This… isn’t your garden though, is it?” You question, hesitantly. You don’t know him as well as you’d like to make such an assumption, but you do know flowers, and dealing with people's associations to them. While these are beautiful, they don’t strike you as flowers Thatch would choose.
He scratches the back of his head idly. “Nah, this one is Izou’s. I can decorate pastries, but all this?” He waves his hand over the impressive collection of blossoms. “I might’ve been able to commission Izou, but yeah, this one isn’t mine.” He grins, looking down at you. “How’d you know?”
You look away, pressing your lips together. How strange was it for such a conversation to feel so intimate? It wasn’t like you’d never talked about flowers to someone before now. You’d critiqued arrangements and had gotten into flower arranging to such a degree you had been able to spot famous, and local, arrangers easily.
This shouldn't be any different than any other explanation.
“This garden is well-designed and beautiful. The scents of the flowers are complex, but not off-putting, and the colors are exacting.” You’re not looking at him to see the concern on his face, so you continue. “But it’s very harsh, in a way. Unforgiving. There’s no softness, and it’s not very in… inviting.” You manage to finish, feeling your heart speed up a little as you’re pointedly avoiding looking at him now.
“Plus the flowers all mean rude things.” You mutter after a moment and Thatch bursts out laughing.
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Marco visited Australia when he was a kid. It's canon I swear.
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Hey Doll Poll
So I have a solid number of things planned for my Thatch x Reader and all its glory, but I was curious about something, and figured I'd just bust out a poll.
In Hey Doll - no matter the results of this poll - the primary antagonists are already set, and not any of the usual suspects either.
But a secondary or tertiary possibility could be fun. I'm not saying I'm going to do anything with this if the story doesn't allow for it, but!
You can vote even if you haven't yet started Hey Doll, or even if you don't mean too. If the vibes compel you to click a shiny button
then
CLICK IT.
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precious cinammon rolls
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Just Like Fire
CisFem Reader x Portgas D. Ace
CW: angst, language, erotic, violence, serial killer, stalking, poisoning, over-bearing controlling parents, attempted forced marriage, possible dub-con, Munchausen by proxy (aka Factitious Disorder), wildly cute and fluffy despite the warnings. 18+ only
Summary: You're Sabo's biological sister in this AU. After college you moved in with your dear brother and his two sworn brothers in order to avoid going back home. You and Sabo despise your family equally.
Tags: @fiestynatureweeb @nalleanna @airwolf92 @art3misa635 @sleepisfortheweakpooh @ghostfacefricker6969 @harahettania @mfreedomstuff
Chapter 22: 3 to 1
When you and Ace arrived at the All Blue it was still busy. You were there about ten minutes before closing and while no new customers were coming in, at least half the tables were still occupied. A severe-looking man with cropped green hair had been standing guard at the front doors, but he’d let you and Ace through.
“Zoro turns away customers for Sanji when the place gets busy to this point. Business is good, but getting your staff home at a decent hour is more important, at least to Lyn and Sanji.” Ace says as the two of you work your way through the restaurant to the bar.
The bartender that Ace had pointed out the last time gives you both a smile. “Ace, are you here to help close?” She asks and he nods.
“Sabo’s sister needed to talk to Sanji about something, so we volunteered to help free up some time for him, what can we do to help?”
“Ah, if you can get the tables and booths cleaned up that are empty, that’d help. Zoro can’t help until we can lock up, and we’re going to be a bit with the last few tables tonight.” She says, and looks toward you. “I’m Lyn.” She reaches out a hand, shaking yours.
“Quill,” you say. “Sabo’s mysterious sister.”
“Ever worked in a restaurant?” Lyn prompts, and you can tell from her grin she’s expecting you to say no before you even say it.
“Ah, no.”
Her grin breaks into a full smile. “It’s okay, there’s plenty of easy stuff to do. Our dishwasher could probably use an extra set of hands, how’re your shoes?”
“My shoes?” You question looking down. “I’ve got the sneakers I wore camping earlier on.”
“That’s good, better’n being in heels. I’ll introduce you, don’t worry, Duval’s bad at winking, but if you can help him stack trays he can get the dishes washed faster.” Lyn nods for you to follow her, lifting a section of the bar and having you come back.
The kitchen is brighter than the front of the house, and there’s almost eight other people back there. One of them is a tall man who would probably tower over Ace, with blond hair and a smile that seems a bit strained. Lyn introduced the two of you and had Duval show you how to stack trays so you could help him out.
It wasn’t difficult work, but it was more physical than you were used to. Grateful for your nap earlier and the fact that you weren’t fighting against your mother’s “medicine” anymore, you managed to be more of a help than hindrance; Duval only had to fix a couple of your trays.
Once the last of the customers are gone and the place is nearly closed up and cleaned, you, Ace, Lyn, and Sanji are sitting in a back booth while the last couple of employees finish up and leave.
“Luffy said something about you needing to ask about my brothers,” Sanji says, an apologetic look on his face. “He’s never been one for details, so I don’t know why you wanted to talk about them, but if there’s anything I can do to help you, it would be my pleasure.”
You smile, and then bite your lip a little. You make a few more gestures before Ace takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m… technically, betrothed to Ichiji.” You finally manage to say and watch as both Lyn and Sanji’s eyes go wide and their jaws go slack. “Aside from the obvious fact that I don’t want to marry him, I’ve also recently learned that I am, in fact, cursed.”
Lyn’s mouth closes, but Sanji’s goes almost wider, he murmurs a swear under his breath in a foreign language and you nearly snort.
“My parents don’t know yet, and I don’t know what curse I have either,” you continue. “At least not yet, but my parents are my problem, and the details of my curse aren’t something I can control. What I need to know, what I was hoping you could tell me, was that if I tell Ichiji I’m cursed, what’s he possibly going to do?”
Sanji stares blankly for a moment, and then opens and closes his mouth a couple times before closing it and furrowing his brows. He’s quiet as he takes out a cigarette and lights it, barely inhaling before billowing smoker into the ceiling.
“Ichiji won’t marry someone who’s cursed.” He says flatly, but despite his words it doesn’t look like he’s thrilled about whatever else is on his mind. “What he’ll do in reaction is hard to say. He could lose his cool the moment you tell him, or he could decide he simply doesn’t care. The real problem would be the old man.
“Judge could make the whole thing a spectacle.” Sanji continues. “I don’t think he’d get the Celestials involved, but he could ask for heavy restitution from your family.” He pauses, shock crossing his face for a second before he takes another drag. “Er, if I can ask, how’d you learn you were cursed so late in life?”
“Oh, well… um. It seems my mother has been poisoning me most of my life,” you admit quietly. “And I think my curse saved me, but I was so weak I couldn’t do anything else with it.”
“Your mother did what?” Lyn questions before putting her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I just, that’s horrible.”
“Haaa… yeah, and it’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay what she did, but I mean, you don’t have to apologize.” You clarify.
“Well, if that’s the case I can’t imagine you’ll be upset if Judge goes for your family then.” He says with a shrug. “I could be there when you meet with Ichiji, if you want? I might be disowned, but I’m not disavowed, he can’t lash out at me without any repercussions.”
You shake your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think he’s been particularly invested in any of this himself. He’s had a sense about Ace and I before I did, but even that didn’t bother him. He might be relieved, honestly.”
Sanji shakes his head. “No, relief isn’t really something he can feel. But you’re right, he might just not care.”
“The only thing that leaves then, is telling my parents.” You say, letting out a long slow breath and leaning your head on Ace’s shoulder.
“When are you meeting with Ichiji?” Sanji prompts and you look at your phone.
“Six hours? We’re supposed to meet for a brunch.” You answer.
“Ask him how far he had to travel,” Sanji says. “If he’s not in town for business and has been traveling just to meet with you, pay for that brunch yourself.” He asserts. “Even if he has been in town for business, you should still probably do that.”
“Will that help keep him calm?” You question, lifting your head off Ace’s shoulder.
Sanji nods. “Be extra polite.” He shudders. “Stoke his ego if you can manage it. He and the others are real bastards about rights versus commoners. I maintained my rights even though I didn’t want them because the Government stepped in, but with a curse… tch.”
“He’ll know that the government will bury my ties to my family.” You admit. “Yeah, I was already thinking about that. Not that it’ll make any difference if reparations are demanded.”
“You’re still royalty?” Ace questions, looking at Sanji.
Sanji shakes his head. “I sold my rights to fund this place.” He says. “But even with my rights sold my blood’s still legitimate. Ichiji and the others can’t treat me like a commoner without repercussions. Honestly, it might be the only reason the restaurant’s never been targeted.”
“But, two more months and it won’t matter.”
“Huh?” You and Ace make the same sound at the same time and Lyn and Sanji both smile.
“Germa’s only in town for another two months. With all the other islands and seas, they’ll probably never end up back on this island again.” He explains. “After that it won’t matter what my brothers think, they’ll be too far away to do anything about it.”
Ace sinks back into the booth, relaxing. “You scared me, I thought you two were going to sell the place and go elope or something.”
Lyn laughs. “We promise we’re not going to sell this place any time soon.”
“Noticing a distinct lack of promising to not elope.” You say, raising your brows a little and smiling.
Both of them flush and Sanji clears his throat. “Nami-swan and Robin-chan wouldn’t forgive us.” He insists, and Lyn nods.
“We don’t have plans to elope, but if we have to.” She lets the thought hang and you nod in understanding.
“Oh, uh, are you two busy on the fifteenth?” You question, shifting the conversation. “I figure the least I can do for all your help is invite you to enjoy delicious food with us as the 1st division celebrates my birthday. Though I suppose I could volunteer to help with closing a couple more times.”
“You’re welcome to help out here whenever you want, but it’s certainly not required. We’re both happy to have been able to help.” Lyn assures you.
“I’ll be happy to bring a large order of appetizers,” Sanji says, a bright smile on his face. “It’s been a while since I cooked for them.”
Ace puts his arms up in celebration. “I’ll let Thatch know, and he can work out the details with you.” Ace hugs you, his cheek pressed to yours. “Your first birthday here and we’re all gonna be so blessed.”
You could feel your face go hot at the exuberant display of affection, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. “You sound like Luffy.” You tease.
“Oh, we’re not going to be able to tell him about this. He’ll whine constantly for the next two weeks and then he won’t sleep the night before.” Ace sighs, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, not releasing his hug.
“A-Ace.” You stammer, you can feel the familiar sensation from before and you’re worried you’re going to set Sanji’s booth on fire.
Ace looks up and into your eyes and smiles as he lets go. “Oops.” He looks just about ready to lean in and kiss you, and you’re torn between wanting to let him, and not wanting to do so in front of others just yet.
“Look at you, positively smitten.” Lyn says, eyes on Ace. “If I remember correctly, you were in here just a few months ago -.”
“S-saying absolutely nothing interestin’!” Ace exclaims, giving you a little space without leaping fully to the other side of the seat.
“Ah, true. True.” She agrees with a grin. “I’m sure I have you mistaken with someone else who was ready to swear off all manner of love and dating. Dramatically convinced that there wasn’t any one in this whole wide world that was going to be able to-.”
“Lyn, mercy, please.” Ace begs.
You can feel the heat rolling off him as you turn your head, giving Ace a pointed stare while Lyn hums softly in amusement. To Ace’s credit he looked caught somewhere between embarrassed and adorable. He put his arms in front of his face to shield himself from the inquiring look you were giving him, and so you moved just a little bit closer.
“Don’t ignite.” You admonish, poking his side playfully and causing him to yelp.
“You’re in my restaurant,” Sanji starts, trying to cover the pink on his own face. “And I feel like I’m the one intruding.”
“Ah, ha ha, sorry about that.” You lean away from Ace. “With, with that we should probably get going. We’ve kept you both as it is.” You admit, scooting out of the booth.
Lyn hands you a card after she gets up. “The numbers for here, and both our personal cells.” She explains.
“If things go bad with Ichiji, let us know.” Sanji clarifies. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to do much, but I don’t want anyone in that family thinking they can do whatever they want.”
“Appreciated.” You tuck the card away, hoping that things go smoothly. You’re certain that Sabo would break the law without a second thought if Ichiji did anything, and you know Ace would too. There were too many people willing to step up for you, and considering the complications of nobility in relation to the laws, you were more worried for others than yourself.
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Это прексный мужчина для тренировок рисовать волосы на теле
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Я настраивала себя половину месяца на это. Я хз, но каждый год одно и тоже. Я просто не могу нормально сеть и нарисовать Тэтча на фест и у меня просо не получалось его нормально рисовать :/
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Ещё один год этот прекрасный мужчина умудряется меня радовать
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Hey Doll
CisFem Reader x Thatch
CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.
tag list: @mfreedomstuff @harahettania @clumsyraccoon
Chapter 6: The Tea
“They had to have abused her, Pops!” Thatch is struggling to keep his voice down. There’s pain in his face and his words, and Edward can’t argue the truth of his assumptions. “The way she acts compared ta’ them, and the two times she’s all but broken down around us.”
Once it had been decided that you would be escorted to your parents’ home to retrieve your things, Edward had asked you to go back downstairs. He wanted to talk to his son in private, and work out a few details regarding how things would go.
“Two times?”
Thatch steps back from the desk and sighs. “When we were alone yesterday. I said I’d try an’ push back the deadline if she wanted. I didn’t want her to feel forced into anything.” He rolls his eyes, knowing his dad’s glare is directed at him for promising something that was exceptionally difficult to do. Not impossible for the old man, but still.
“But, the way she reacted to it. She got so focused on the word forced, and got super defensive, sayin’ she’s never felt forced, but it was like she wasn’t talking about the program at all.”
Newgate’s quiet for a moment. “Even if that’s the case, unless she’s willing to talk about it, there’s not much we can do. Do you think she’d be able to speak out against her parents?”
Newgate could see his son deflate in real time, and grunted in response. “Me either, and you’re not going to undo what’s probably twenty years of abuse in a couple days, Thatch. I can’t press charges against her parents for choosing her things, or stopping her from drinking caffeine.”
“No, I know.” Thatch grumbles, sitting down in a nearby chair. “I don’t know if I can be in the same space as those two. The more she talks about them, the more it pisses me off.”
“Well, you’re going to have to. I need everyone there, the faster we get her things gathered and removed, the better.” Edward’s tone isn’t leaving any room for Thatch to argue. “I’ll stay with your fiance and deal with her parents. Your job might be to impart just how foolish they’d be to try anything in the future.”
“How-.” Thatch stops. “Oh. I mean, yeah. With how she’s talkin’, I probably could.”
Edward nods. “Let Marco and Izou load you up, carry the whole room out in one go. Be intimidating for once in your life, Thatchy-boy.”
Thatch almost snorts. “If I get the point across, you gotta stop calling me that.”
His father laughs, that deep bass laugh that almost makes Thatch’s ribcage rattle. “You’re going to have to bare your teeth more often than that, boy.”
Thatch sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes before he pulls himself up and out of the chair he’d started to sink into. “Who’s going to call them then?”
“I’ll have Haruta do it. He’s removed from what happened, and he’ll stick by the instructions I give him without letting anything deter him.” He says, waving Thatch away. “Get. Go downstairs and make sure Izou hasn’t pulled out the family photo albums.” Thatch is already on his feet and out the door at the idea.
Having left you at the mercy of his brothers wasn’t a concern so much as how little mercy his brothers would show him. With everything else that had gone on, he wouldn’t put it past them to use something like baby pictures to “help” distract you from the last 24 hours. Taking steps almost three at a time, he hops the banister to shorten the distance a little and finds all of you in the dining room, just off the kitchen.
Izou looks over first, giving him a catty smile. “Worried, brother?”
Thatch grimaces. “With you lot, yeah.” He grunts.
You look up as Thatch gets closer and give him a soft smile. There’s a schematic of the manor rolled out on the table, and Izou and Marco had been walking you through it. There’s a look of relief and confusion on Thatch’s face.
“I wanted to see the house, but I didn’t want us to all be gone when you came down.” You explain. “Marco suggested this.”
“Not… pictures?” Thatch tilts his head and Marco laughs.
“You really wanted me to risk the kid pictures that would’ve been mixed in?” He asks and Thatch shakes his head. “Izou would’ve hunted down every embarrassing photo of the both of us.”
“Only because you weren’t going to back me up.” Izou clarifies with a grin. Elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand, he leans toward you a little, deviousness leaking from his every action. “I’m sure if you ask, however, Miss Kakusho, not even Thatch would say no.”
You can see Thatch flinch and when you look up he looks away, the ear you can see already turning red. You look back over to Izou’s whose grin has somehow gotten even more mischievous than it already was. He looks away from Thatch and looks back to you, raising his brow questioningly.
“Oh I… I wouldn’t want to impose. I haven’t, um, even read the Match Book yet.” You say, hoping it’s enough.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Wait, seriously, yoi?” Marco asks, looking from you to Thatch. “She doesn’t know anything?”
“We talked for almost two hours last night.” Thatch replies. “She knows some stuff.”
“She know how you got that scar?” Marco prompts, and Thatch’s face flushes. “No, eh?”
“I - I don’t need to know.” You insist, a little hastily. You can feel the heat rising in your face, but you try to maintain your calm. “I mean.” You clear your throat, composing yourself. “Thatch has been very kind and considerate, and I don’t want him to feel obligated.”
There’s a silence between all three, and your gaze falls down into your lap - you don’t trust yourself to look up at Thatch right now. “You’ve all been very kind, considering how rudely my parents acted.”
“Of course he’s been kind,” Izou says, breaking the tension in the air with a dismissive tone. “What kind of ass would treat someone different just because their parents are rude? And Thatch is such a sap anyway.”
“Oi, you didn’t need to add that last part.” Thatch retorts, trying not to raise his voice.
“I wouldn’t dare to lie to your sweet fiance, Thatchy-boy.” Izou says teasingly. Thatch starts to reach for him, but Izou doesn’t seem bothered and Marco’s just laughing.
You’d never really experienced sibling dynamics before, but you were adjusting to these three fairly quickly. It wasn’t that the emotions themselves weren’t genuine, it was that there was something present along with them. A kind of trust that Izou wasn’t really angering Thatch, and Thatch could stop him if he wanted, but that the squabble had more in it than just what was at the surface.
“Bah,” Thatch growls. “I’m going to grab a shower and a change of clothes. Don’t let these two clowns give you a hard time.” He says, looking down at you with a smile. “I won’t be long. Ah, oh -.” He looks back to Marco and Izou. “Pops is havin’ Haruta arrange a time, and we’re going to go and get her stuff.”
“Ah, I’ll leave you with her then, Izou.” Marco says. “I’m going to get some sleep if that’s the plan.”
“Sure, sure.” Izou says, and Thatch crosses his arms, glaring down at the long-haired brother. Izou tries to ignore him, but you can see his face twitch in irritation after a moment. “Fine, fine - I promise I won’t open any family albums or embellish any stories while you’re gone.”
Thatch relaxes and looks at you. “If you tell him no, he’ll listen, despite how he looks.” He assures you, before dodging a swat from Izou.
“You wretch, how I look, come back here, I’m going to snatch that pompadour off your head.” Izou threatens, and starts after Thatch whose already moving away.
“Don’t leave my fiance alone, it’d be rude!” Thatch says, a song in his voice that makes Izou practically growl before he sits back down.
He grumbles something under his breath and all you can really make out are some untoward words about the rules and where Thatch could shove them. You smile, despite the irritation on his face, you can see the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and the light in his eyes. He’s not truly upset. He takes a moment, putting an errant strand of hair back in place gracefully before regarding you.
“No pictures, no exaggerated tales of daring and adventure, and if we go on a walk in the garden Thatch might pout for real.” He smiles, seemingly interested in the idea for a moment. “That doesn’t leave many options.”
“Tell me about yourself.” You prompt and you see his brows raise a little. “We’ll be family soon, right? Would you rather tell me about yourself, or leave it up to someone else?”
Izou’s smile breaks into a laugh and he leans his chin on the back of his hands, folded in front of him as he gives you a rare grin. “You’re a quick learner. Alright, I’ll tell you about myself, if for no other reason that to head off my dear brothers from trying to paint a different picture.
“Like Marco and Thatch, I own my own company. I’m a little more hands off than they are, but I’m no less dedicated. I’ve just delegated a lot of work to people more capable than I am.” He explains, an amused expression crossing his face. “What I know well is tea, the beverage and the social kind,” he clarifies. “I handle the social aspects of the business more than anything else, but I trust the people I have in charge of the more logistical aspects.”
“So you… trade tea?” You question evenly. “In what ways? Is it a local operation?”
Izou nods slightly, never really lifting his head off his hands. “Import and export. We’ve also set standards for tea as well, bringing up the overall quality in the market and limiting problems with counterfeiting and other shady practices.”
“Counterfeit tea? How’s that work?”
“Most of the time it’s just a matter of labeling it incorrectly. The idea is that your consumers won’t know the difference between one quality and another. So you could sell blended tea as a pure tea, and if you’re trying to pull one over on people with more expensive varieties, you can really walk away with quite the ill-gotten profit.” He explains. “But we include pop cards with visuals so people can see the differences. Not only does it prove the quality and integrity of our brand, but it also educates our clients against people who would try to cheat them.”
“Interesting.” You respond. If there was one thing you were good at, it was talking to people about their business, or their interests. It was so much easier to listen to someone and prompt them to tell you more, than it was to try and build up any real emotion for your own curated interests.
“I imagine it’s harder to spot when you’re dealing with bagged tea instead of loose leaves, or is that not the case?”
“Only a little. There’s some things you can still look out for, like an excess of dust, or there’s different grades of fannings and broken leaf that can effect quality. It won’t necessarily be bad tea, if you know how to deal with it, but if someone’s trying to sell it as something different, it’s easy enough to spot.” He gives you an amused look. “Everything’s easier to do once you learn how to do it, and that’s why we try to educate our clients.”
Izou continued to talk to you about tea, speaking on the different varieties and grades. He was so knowledgeable about leaves and seasons and ways of measuring quality, that you wondered why he even needed to delegate, and he laughed. Not at you, but just laughing a little in amusement before leaning back in his chair.
“Tea I know, but I’m not an accountant, and I’m not good at tracking inventory. There’s an entire team of people who compile and crunch data to try and find better ways to move inventory faster so that we can do everything efficiently. Even if I was skilled at that sort of thing, I’m just one person.” He smiles, waving one hand idly in the direction Marco had gone.
“Marco doesn’t even work directly with the people in his company. He goes in after hours and does the quality work. It’s what he’s good at, and if he does it at night he’s not getting in anyone else’s way, and no one else is bothering him. He can focus on what he wants to focus on, and get things done faster.” Izou starts to speak and stops, smirking a little before catching your gaze.
“If I can speak briefly about Thatch?”
“Certainly.”
“Thatch runs the pastry shop almost the same way I run my business. His focus is almost entirely on overseeing things. He does plenty of hands on stuff as well, but there’s no way he could physically fill all the orders he gets. Instead he tests, refines, and teaches his staff recipes, and then oversees quality, steps in to help when it’s needed, and delegates other aspects of the shop to other employees.” He explains. “The point isn’t just to do what you can, it’s to know what you can’t do. Those are the things Pops wanted us to learn, and that’s why none of us work for Whitebeard Shipping and Trade.”
“I didn’t -.”
“No, don’t worry about it.” Izou interrupts. “I know you wouldn’t be concerned, but you are aware of that much aren’t you?”
You nod. “I didn’t read the book, but my parents did talk about it while they read it.” You admit. “One of you is going to take over the family business, or at least that’s the assumption.”
“Thatch’s heart isn’t really in it.” Izou says plainly, and you can’t help the relief that comes over you. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s an easy silence between you until Thatch comes back from his shower.
His hair isn’t up in the pompadour yet, and the long locks are framing his face, still a little heavy with dampness. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and a longer sleeved button up that’s not yet buttoned up over it. He looks a little flushed, like he’d rushed his usual process and Izou gives him a sour look.
“You didn’t trust me!” He accuses and Thatch flusters, putting his hands up.
“I did, I did!” Thatch asserts. “I just… didn’t want to take too long, is all.” He looks over at you and you look away before you can stop yourself. “Eh?”
Izou grins. “Ah.”
“What?” Thatch asks, and Izou just shakes his head, getting up from the table and stepping away.
“It’s my turn to get ready for this evening’s festivities. You can stay here and keep your fiance company.” He says, patting the table as he leaves. “We should let Marco sleep as long as we can, so maybe you could take her for a walk in the garden while your hair dries?”
“I…” Thatch starts, having already started to seat himself in the chair Izou had vacated. “Yeah, we can do that, if you’d like?” He asks you. You still can’t look at him, but you nod.
“That sounds nice.” You agree, looking up before looking away again. He looked very different with his hair down like that. The pompadour suited him, even if it did take some getting used to, but seeing his hair down was bad for your heart. With the scar around his eye he almost looked like he would be in a mafia or some kind of gang, and not someone who owns and operates a bakery.
You just aren’t sure how to say any of that, or if you even should. The difference was just jarring enough that you needed a moment more to get yourself in order before you’re finally able to look up at him.
“You can sit for a moment, if you want to.” You add, smiling. “Or, um, if you wanted to finish getting ready I can wait for a few moments by myself, it’s okay.” You motion around your own head, pantomiming the pompadour style.
“Ah, no, I’m going to leave it down for today.” He admits scratching idly at the side of his face. “Pops says I look more intimidating with it down.”
Intimidating isn’t the word you would use.
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