#I get so hopelessly passionate about art. I want to shake everyone by the shoulders and shout | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwroteinapastlife · 4 years

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Least Favorite

Hey everyone! This is a little extra from my ChloNath fake dating fic, Honey I’m Home, but it also functions as a standalone oneshot for those who haven’t read HIH. Enjoy!

Warning: Contains detailed descriptions of blood.

He had painted her numerous times, but not like this. Running a thumb coated in gold down her cheek, yellow and black dipped fingers over her neck. He’d never kissed a canvas before. His canvas had never kissed him before. Whispered his name before.

Nathaniel.

Laid across his chest, restricting his breathing before.

“Nathaniel.” ...Or shaken his shoulder, jolting him from sleep before. “Wake up.”

Nathaniel blinked tired eyes, vision blurry from the mess of blonde hair draped across his face. He pulled it back to find a dark room, only dimly lit by the first dull hints of light peeking out from behind the curtains.

“Chloé?” he asked groggily. “What time is it?”

She was already partially on top of him, but he wheezed as Chloé leaned further forward across his chest to check the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. “5:03.” He opened his mouth to complain but before he could, she was talking over him. “How many drawings do you have of me?”

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut a couple times as if that could clear the fog in his head. He felt like he was missing something. “What?”

“How many drawings do you have of me?” she repeated, voice more insistent. “Or paintings, or pastels, or whatever.”

Nathaniel blinked up at the woman hovering over him, watching him with an expression that was far too awake, alert, and inquisitive for this god awful hour. His brain was moving slowly, he knew it was, but no, he wasn’t missing anything. It was just Chlo�� being Chloé. “The sun’s not even up yet. Why are you awake?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged, brushing past him. “Answer the question. How many? It’s more than I’ve seen, isn’t it?” Nathaniel pressed his lips together, glaring at her. A knowing smile spread across her lips. “It is; I knew it. How many?”

“...I don’t know.”

She drummed her hand on his chest persistently. “Aw come on, tell me.”

Nathaniel rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead and let out a long sigh, resigning himself to the world of the living. “I’m serious,” he admitted. “Too many to count.”

Any embarrassment he might have had to confess such a thing melted under the light of that smile. “Show me,” she said, still a demand, but speaking the slightest bit softer.

“Okay.”

It took about five seconds of her watching him expectantly to realize, “You mean right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Nathaniel frowned at her, but he knew it was pointless. Both of them knew he would do anything for that stupidly beautiful face. She knew he would do anything for that stupidly beautiful face. Even cater to her random demands at the crack of dawn.

Five minutes later Nathaniel found himself sitting in front of his computer with Chloé on his lap, one arm around her waist while the other maneuvered the mouse to pull up his art folders. He double clicked the folder titled Her Majesty then handed over the reins. As Chloé leaned forward to scroll through the various files, he rested his forehead against her back and closed his eyes, a small but powerful portion of him still hopelessly clinging to the notion of sleep.

“What even are these titles? A-l-k-s-d-f-j-a-l-s-k,” he huffed a small laugh as she read out each individual letter in the keyboard smash, “bees, bees question mark, bees and honey, go to sleep, gothefucktosleep—all one word—hella gangsta…” a pause as she scrolled further down, “oh and here’s just a sea of wips. Wip 14, wip 178, wip 389, wip 509—Jeez how many works in progress can you have?”

“A lot,” he responded, voice muffled by her shirt—well, his shirt, just on her.

“How do you even keep track of anything this way? There’s no organization system, no order; it’s just complete chaos. You don’t even have unfinished works separate from the finished ones!”

“Excuse me,” he grumbled, “I agreed to show you my art, not have my system criticized at five in the morning.”

“I’m serious though, how do you not lose track of everything?”

He shrugged. “It works for me.”

Even if he wasn’t looking, he knew she was shaking her head. “Absolute madness.”

A comfortable silence finally settled over them as Chloé began actually opening up images to look at them. He breathed slow and deep, sinking himself in the lingering scent of her perfume from yesterday. The sound of clicking slowly grew more and more distant as the comforting beat of her heart took over, the peaceful lull of sleep seeping back into his body.

Right as his mind was starting to cross over into dream mode, Chloé’s voice shattered the silence, waking him again with a tiny shock. “Show me your least favorite drawing of me.”

“What?”

“Your least favorite. The worst one. I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I do,” she replied simply, as if that should be self-evident. She twisted to look at him, forcing Nathaniel to pick up his head and open his eyes again. He frowned at her expectant look. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” He pressed his lips together, his frown only deepening. She narrowed her eyes, giving him an inquisitive smirk. “Is it dirty?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“You have dirty ones though, don’t you?”

“N—,” he paused as he thought. “…No.”

A wicked grin spread across her lips. “What was that hesitation, Nathaniel?”

“I don’t have any dirty drawings of you.”

“But you have something.”

Two seconds of staring, a battle of wills. He was—unfortunately—very weak. Nathaniel sighed and leaned forward, taking the mouse. He scrolled until he found the file titled Summer Heat.

“Ooh.” She leaned forward to inspect it as he dropped his head against her back again, this time more so trying to hide his embarrassment than fall back asleep.

The drawing wasn’t dirty, but he would be lying if he claimed it wasn’t created in the passion of heat and desire. It was pinup style, featuring a practically glowing Chloé seated on the hood of a car—fashioned after Bumblebee from Transformers, naturally. She had one leg pulled up to rest her elbow on while the other leg extended down toward the ground. From the arm resting on her knee she held a cherry red lollipop up to matching lips that were parted in a seductive smirk. She wore a yellow and black striped T-shirt tucked into black high waisted shorts that really didn’t offer much coverage of her thighs, and draped over one shoulder was a black leather jacket with a patch on the sleeve depicting a bee with a crown. Light shined off of everything—the gold buttons on her shorts, the gloss on her lips, the sheen on her skin—serving to accentuate her every curve and the sweat slicked heat of the summer sun.

“Wow,” she said. “I’m hot.”

Nathaniel huffed a laugh more out of relief than anything. “Yes you are. And it was really hot that day, and I… Yeah.” He even had her hair pulled back in the exact yellow bow she had been wearing at the time.

“I should get a pair of shorts like that…” she mused.

“No, you really shouldn’t.” Or I will die; please have mercy.

She giggled and he got the distinct impression that she was going to actively seek out those shorts now.

“Alright, now show me your least favorite.”

“…No.”

“Come ooooon,” she groaned, twisting toward him again. He frowned, blinking tired eyes up at her. “I doubt it’s as bad as you think.”

“It’s not that it’s bad, it’s…” He bit the inside of his cheek, unsure how to finish that sentence.

After a few seconds with no answer, Chloé squeezed his arm gently. “Come on, show me.”

He stared up at curious eyes in a dark room, the only light that of the screen behind her, outlining her figure in a heavenly glow. She was radiant, beautiful, breathtaking, and he was so helpless to do anything but her every bidding. As he watched her this time—looking back and forth between those eyes that absolutely owned everything that he was—it was less a test of will, and more a question of how stubbornly he would deny her in order to keep from making old scars fresh for the both of them.

The gaze that looked back was patient, but adamant. Somehow, she knew this wasn’t a battle of will, but a battle she would win nonetheless.

Would he ever learn to say no to her?

With a long breath out, Nathaniel finally released what was left of his resistance and took the mouse. He didn’t look when he opened up the file. He didn’t need to. Despite giving it physical form, the image it seemed would forever be etched into his mind in full, painstaking detail.

“Oh,” she whispered as she leaned forward. Nathaniel rested the side of his head against her, pressing his ear to her back to listen to that reassuring heartbeat as he wrapped a second arm around her and pulled her close. “This is...real.”

It was a complete work, and objectively speaking probably one of his best. The details and shading were as fleshed out as his artwork got, complete with every tiny speck of dirt on her skin, every stray strand of hair. Every drop of blood. The piece was entirely greyscale with the exception of the blood—bright awful vibrant red pooling at her waist, soaking her shirt, painting her hand. Smudges of it colored his own hand where it sat atop hers, holding pressure to the wound to keep her from bleeding out right there in that alley.

His other hand held her head, fingers tangled through long locks, knotted and frizzy and loose from her usual ponytail. Decorating her cheek were two drops of water where his tears had fallen, and worst of all were the eyes. Eyes that were usually so bright, so fiery, so spirited, were instead emotionless, dull—not quite lifeless, but tired and void as they looked up at him with that excruciating blank stare.

He hated it. He couldn’t stand to look at the image and he hadn’t since finishing it and putting it away. Making it in the first place was utter hell. Every stroke of his stylus pained him. He felt like he was the one cutting into her flesh, as if he were the cause of her injury. He was hurting her—hurting Chloé held in his own arms on the screen.

He could feel the scar under his palm where it rested on her waist now.

“I didn’t want to make it in the first place,” he murmured. Her hand settled over his, fingers delicately brushing the backs of his knuckles. “It was stuck in my head for weeks. It wouldn’t go away, even after you stabilized, even after you were out of the hospital, even after you were already up in the air again. It was just there, burned into my mind’s eye at all times, the scene playing over and over and… I finally made this just to...get rid of it. Give it physical form so it could be put away.”

“I get why you didn’t want to show me now,” she whispered. Then a tiny breath of laughter. “And why you didn’t want to leave the hospital. I mean… Did I really look so…?” She never finished that sentence, but he could fill in the unspoken word on the end.

“Yeah.”

She stared at the image for a few more seconds before closing out of it. Nathaniel picked up his head again as she turned to face him, and was relieved to find her still just as at ease as she was before. If seeing herself near death had shaken her at all, it didn’t show.

Cold fingers combed back hair from his forehead. “I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“What do you think, idiot?” Even if her words were aggressive, her tone was anything but. She spoke softly, with the gentlest hint of laughter in her voice. “For saving my life.”

“I don’t thank you every time you save my life, or all of Paris,” he rebuked.

She immediately rolled her eyes, an amused sort of annoyance taking to her face. “Yeah, but that’s my job.”

He felt a calm smile returning to his lips. “Yeah, and being your sidekick is mine.”

“Oh I see.” She shifted her position so she sat perpendicular to him and draped an arm over his shoulder. His hands naturally settled at her hips. “So I’m just a job to you.”

Nathaniel found his face tilting upward in automatic response to the way Chloé inclined her head, an intimate space coming into existence between them complete with the magnetic draw of gravity itself. “Of course,” he responded, matching her sarcasm with his own, but still not breaking the quiet of the moment, “what else could you ever possibly be to me?”

Her second hand brushed more loose hair behind his ear before settling at the base of his neck. “Certainly nothing romantic. I mean, look at us.” She was speaking in a low murmur now that sent a subtle but powerful spark down the length of his spine. His thumbs dipped under the hem of her shirt as she leaned in closer. A strand of her hair tickled his collarbone. Whispered words brushed his lips. “There’s no chemistry here.”

Even if they had been dating for five months, Nathaniel still wasn’t used to Chloé’s kiss—her real kiss. The kiss that was only shared with him behind closed doors in the intimacy of private spaces. The kiss that felt like a dance with fire itself and left him breathless every time.

She was absolute rapture thinly contained in a work of art.

The whispered words were out of his mouth before his thoughts could even place them. “I love you.”

“Good,” she whispered back. Her forehead rested against his, fingers steadily combing back his hair. “Because I love you too.”

#chlonath #miraculous ladybug #hih #mentions of blood #fluff

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ohsomanylovelywords · 5 years

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(Kyoru) Kagura POV - A Different Smile

A/N: Victor is inspired by @kyon-kichi (it/xe, they them) from Tumblr (and the Fruits Basket Fanfic Friends Discord) because Victor said, "i love kagura so much,,,, idk why but i will marry her," so I felt it was my mission to make that a possibility. This is part of a series of drabbles on Ao3 (including previous chapters from Momiji and Uo’s POV)

His stupid face. And his stupid smile.

I remember that first smile so clearly. A little boy drawing fried eggs in the dirt. He looked so lonely. But then I grabbed his hand, and he smiled.

Every day we played together, that timid smile grew a little brighter. And, it made me feel so good. Like I was so good.

But I wasn’t good enough. Not when it really mattered.

I still remember the bracelet sliding from his wrist and, reflected in his transformed eyes, the smile sliding so easily from my face.

After that day, his smiles were always guarded, hidden behind a veil of self-deprecation or anger. I’ve probably spent half of my life just categorizing his smiles.

1. His smile when Sensei praises him

Back then, Kyo rarely ever smiled. His mother hid him. His father blamed him. We pitied him. Then, Sensei took him in. At first, it was as if Kyo’s face was breaking with the effort to keep a smile off of it, like he felt guilty for being so happy. But he quickly grew accustomed to Shihan's patience and kindness.

At the dojo, he would watch in awe as Sensei taught us martial arts. When Kyo was old enough to train with us, he was eager to prove his skills, enthusiastically imitating Sensei’s moves.

“Good work, Kyo!” He lit up with every word of encouragement. Later, Kyo would be embarrassed when Shihan praised him, but even then, he couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face.

2. His smile when he’s competitive and gearing up for a fight

When Kyo returned, I thought that would be my only chance to see him smile. He and Yuki couldn’t stand the sight of each other, but at least their fights gave Kyo a reason to get excited.

Once, Yuki was walking by the dojo. He didn’t even enter, but Kyo took his proximity as an affront in and of itself.

“What are you doing here?”

Yuki looked at Kyo with barely concealed annoyance and pointed past him to Tohru sitting in the corner. “I’m walking Honda-san to work, remember? Because you were too busy at the dojo to accompany her.”

Seething, Kyo squared off against him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, how can Honda-san possibly rely on someone so simple-minded he’ll spend hours training just to lose every fight because he refuses to go off the offensive?”

“Wanna bet?” Kyo’s canines glinted in challenge.

He made several impressive attempts, but Yuki avoided each attack until he found an opening and sent Kyo flying.

“Ready, Honda-san?”

Tohru looked conflicted. “But, Kyo-kun…”

“Just leave him. You shouldn’t be late to work on his account.”

Kyo scowled, ready for another fight. “I bet I could bring her there and back faster than you could.”

“Be my guest. Looks like you could use the chance to cool off,” Yuki said, dryly.

Kyo dragged a confused Tohru toward the path. “Let’s get going.”

“Wait, Kyo-kun, I need my bag.”

Kyo waited off to the side while Tohru gathered her things and said goodbye to everyone.

Impatient, Kyo called after her. “Come on, Tohru, you don’t want to be late.”

Tohru rushed back to him and smiled. “I’m not worried. If Kyo-kun is walking with me, I know we’ll get there on time.”

Flustered, Kyo blushed and pushed her ahead of him onto the path.

He had more reasons to smile than he used to.

3. His smile when he’s teasing someone

Kyo probably wouldn’t admit it, but he actually enjoys spending time with people.

I’ve seen him talking to friends outside his school, challenging them to card games or a round of basketball, always insisting he’ll kick their asses. He may seem like a sore loser, but that’s just because he puts all of his emotions into whatever he’s doing. And, that competitive energy gets everyone else excited, too. Excluding Yuki, I think Kyo genuinely likes competing with others.

Lately, when Haru tries to goad Kyo into a fight, he obliges, enjoying the chance to show off his skills and help Haru hone his. When Momiji invites Kyo to join in on a fun activity, he usually does, no matter how childish he claims it seems. And, when either of them starts telling some outlandish story, Kyo just shakes his head, amused. He treats Haru and Momiji like annoying little brothers. But, even when they get on his nerves, you can tell he cares about them by the way they make him laugh.

Then, there’s Tohru. At first, I tried to ignore it, but he’s just so painfully obvious. Nearly everything she does makes him smile, whether intentionally or by accident. He’s always teasing her, flirting even when he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

Over time, he’s become so much freer with his smiles, but I hate that ugly part of myself that still wishes I was the only one who could elicit that response from him.

4. His smile when he’s letting me down gently

When I finally confessed to him, he didn’t yell or get angry. He was so calm. And that’s when I really knew it was over.

I had been clinging onto a Kyo that no longer existed, but with every soft smile I had fallen for a Kyo that wasn’t really mine.

He thanked me, but the smile was bittersweet. A kinder version of the smile I had given him back then, that very first day, like my own pity reflecting back at me.

5. His smile when he’s hopelessly in love

Until this morning, I had successfully avoided him for weeks. But despite my best efforts at getting over him, my heart still skipped a beat when I spotted him and Tohru coming out of the dojo.

She was saying something to Shihan, but Kyo seemed impatient to leave, gently pushing his head against her shoulder. Tohru giggled at his silent request for affection, running a hand through his hair before waving goodbye. He looked so content.

I’m happy for them, I swear. But, right then, I could barely stomach the affection. It felt like a knife wrenching through my chest.

Sneaking around to the back door, I chanced a last glance at them, but Kyo’s eyes caught mine, his eyebrow slightly raised, just barely frowning at me as I ducked back behind my hiding place.

“Damn it! He wasn’t supposed to see me!” I kicked the back door open forcefully.

Kunimitsu winced. “Kagura, I told you to stop doing that. Victor, are you okay?”

In my haste to get inside, I had crashed into someone, bringing both of us crashing down to the dojo floor. Victor was new to the dojo, a friend of Kunimitsu. I’d seen them here a few times, observing the practices, but we had never actually interacted.

Victor just laughed and pulled us both off the floor. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re passionate.”

Kyo had definitely never smiled at me like that.

#kyoru #kagura sohma #fruits basket #my fanfic #fb manga spoilers #kind of #probably the last chapter of this drabble series #but glad i did it #and excited to move on to some 3rd person fics now #i don't feel like the voice was super consistent here #but i still have some lines i really like

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enthusiastic-sarcastic · 5 years

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One Entirely Haphazard Arrangement (Tim Murphy x Reader) [Pt. 1]

A/N: Ok so this is longggg overdue and I apologize for taking so damn long to post this. I think I said I would write this in early July but I just got so caught up in the story and turned it into a whole three part fic...oh yeah, and I sort of moved to college so that took away some of my time 😂 but it’s finally here! I sort of struggled with this one because I haven’t creatively written anything in so long but it was really fun to write and I'm looking forward to writing more in the future! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this silly little friends-to-lovers Tim fic! Parts 2 and 3 will be up within the next few days. Again, sorry if this is trashhh

Words: Roughly 3.9k

Warnings: cursing, stress/anxious habits, cringeee writing?, I guess a Jersey Boys reference if for some reason you resent the jukebox musical or Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons

You have always had this infuriating habit of excessively scratching at the back of your hand like a cat attacking a toy laced with catnip whenever you become particularly anxious about the current state of your life.

And working at your newly appointed job as co-director of the art department at the museum has certainly proven to be more than stressful enough over these last eight months.

Whether it has you tumbling out of bed before the sun rises to make sure that that damned office projector is working in time for a 6 o’ clock meeting that your boss decided to throw together at the last minute or facing certain embarrassment upon being woken up by the night-watch guard because of a silly intention to stay after for only a few more minutes to finish editing one of your interns’ research reports, you had completely sacrificed any regard for your own basic health at this point for the sake of your job and its lingering promise of a future promotion.

A promotion that could potentially be awaiting you at the other end of your boss’ door in just under half an hour.

A promotion that could finally lead to the publication of the passion project that you’ve been steadily working on since your early college days.

A promotion that has you relying on old habits again as you scratch at the back of your hand under your cluttered office desk and stare down the hands of the clock on the wall across from you like your life depends on it.

Tick. Tick. Ticking away among the plethora of familiar noises that make up the busy atmosphere of your department. Drowning out the occasional flutter of footsteps stumbling down the hallway or the quiet laughs of your coworkers walking out of yet another dreadful planning session or even the absurdly shrill screeching sound that the copier down the hall likes to make every single time someone dares to use it.

Swiftly swallowing up all signs of life that surround you as your throat starts to feel like it’s closing in on itself and your breathing turns into something that more closely resembles gasping.

You’re just too good to be true...

Can’t take my eyes off of you...

And then so suddenly, a voice breaks through the numbness that has almost paralyzed you and reality starts to bleed back into place—a beacon of hope.

You’d be like heaven to touch...

I wanna hold you so much...

It takes a while for you to place the source of the voice as the all-to-familiar sound of your Jersey Boys ringtone blaring out from your phone across the room, but once you finally bring yourself back into a state of complete clarity, you rush out of your chair and stumble towards the singing object, desperate for a distraction.

Without bothering to glance at the name flashing across the screen, you answer the call and bring the phone up to your ear, eager to listen to whatever will take your mind off of that ticking clock.

“Hello?”

“Uh—Hey (Y/N), it’s Tim…”

A smile instantly rises across your face as you recognize the voice of your cute neighbor, Tim Murphy.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something...I know how busy you’ve been with work lately”

“No—no, it’s fine...you’re fine,” You chime in awkwardly, attempting to reassure him as a familiar fuzzy feeling begins to spread across your entire body.

To say that you had practically fallen hopelessly in love with the paleontologist ever since you accidentally attempted to break into his apartment at 3 a.m. in a half-asleep daze that led you to believe that you weren’t just one door off would be an understatement. That was an embarrassing introduction, to say the least.

“So...what’s up? Is everything alright?” You honestly hadn’t expected Tim to call you at this time of day...or really ever, seeing as how both of your work schedules are so chaotic that you only ever really interact with each other in the dead of the night, so this was a pleasant surprise.

“Yeah, yeah—everything’s great—It’s just...well, I don’t want to startle you or anything but when I got home from work, I found Stevie prancing around outside on my balcony again and—”

Your heart instantly drops into your stomach and you’re suddenly met with the urge to bang your head against a wall from the sudden embarrassment,

“Ah shit! I’m such a clumsy idiot! I probably left my bedroom window open again…”

“No, it’s okay! Don’t worry! Stuff like this happens to everyone. Stevie’s perfectly fine now! I actually just brought her inside my apartment. Poor thing was shivering so I gave her some food and that pretty much cheered her up instantly” Tim chuckles into the phone, causing your cheeks to flush a light shade of pink.

“Oh god, she’s gonna be so mad at me!” You groan as your head begins to feel like it’s spinning from all the guilt and nerves overwhelming you, “I’m so so sorry, Tim. Thanks for rescuing her from my clumsy antics”

“No need to apologize,” Tim laughs again, which doesn’t exactly help with your lightheadedness, “It’s the least I could do. I mean, especially after all those times you’ve looked after my house plants while I was away on a dig”

“You do have a point, Tim Murphy. What would you or your precious house plants ever do without me?” You tease lightly, attempting to calm your nerves, and pulling another angelic laugh from the other end of the phone.

“No, but in all seriousness,” You continue, “I’m going to make it up to you somehow...No ifs, ands, or buts, Murphy!

Tim groans playfully from the other end of the phone and you shake your head with a smirk before a sudden voice cuts through the uneasy silence of your office and the endearing moment abruptly ceases.

“Miss (L/N), Dr. Vaughn has requested that you head down to his office for that meeting now”

You let out another disgruntled sigh before nodding to the kind intern peeking his head through your office doorway,

“Ugh sorry to cut this short, Tim, but I have something kinda important to discuss with my boss right now and I really can’t afford to screw it up...” You trail off with a sigh, not wanting to end the call so soon.

“Oh...alright—yeah...that’s totally fine—I understand...” Tim rambles, sympathy laced within his voice,

“Good luck! I’m sure everything will go smoothly. I believe in you!”

You let out another nervous laugh, your cheeks now entirely red as you take in his words of encouragement, “Thanks for the kind words...and for taking care of Stevie! I’ll stop by to pick her up whenever I get out of this place”

You say your final goodbyes and end the call, shakily placing your phone back down onto your desk before finally making your way towards your boss’ office, scratching at the back of your hand again.

——————————————————————————————————

“I’m sorry...Are you serious?! This has to be some sort of sick joke…right?” You gawk at your boss, your body shaking in aggravation and utter disbelief.

However, he just simply smirks at you and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as his eyes switch between you and your...colleague.

“Dr. Vaughn, don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?!” You groan in exasperation, shifting your eyes to take a look at your fellow co-director: the one coworker that just so happens to also be your ex.

Yes, your ex, Charles.

The one that abandoned you while you were away on a business trip, moving out of your shared apartment overnight all for his new blonde assistant...cliche and all.

The reason that you’ve worked so hard in this job for the past year of your life.

Not to win him back or follow through with some crude form of revenge—you weren’t at all that type of person.

But to gain back the sense of integrity that he had so swiftly stomped on and finally prove him wrong: to prove to yourself that you are, in fact, good enough.

“I don’t see anything inherently wrong with a little healthy competition, Miss (L/N)”

Your boss speaks up, calmly, the smirk across his face only widening as he looks up at you from his enormous office chair.

“I’m just not particularly fond of the idea that one of us ends up completely jobless by the end of this!”

“Oh please, (Y/N), calm down”

Charles finally speaks up from beside you, causing you to roll your eyes and dig your fingernails into your palms from the sheer rage that now seemed to be pulsating throughout your entire being,

“I’m sure whoever gets the short end of the stick in this...arrangement can always turn to the other for a raving recommendation letter after they track down and apply to whatever museum establishment that’s desperate enough to hire them after this”

The shared dark laughter that escapes the both of them at his sad attempt to reassure you only makes your stomach curl in disgust. How can he just be okay with all of this?

“Honestly, all you have to do is write an introductory speech that addresses the latest contemporary art exhibition for the museum’s annual winter gala next Saturday. That gives you both the same amount of time to prepare your material and secure dates for the event, so I think this whole competition sounds pretty fair to me”

“But Dr. Vaughn—“

Your boss abruptly cuts you off, again, “I will allow you both five minutes. Mr. Sterling, you’ll go first before introducing your fellow co-director to the stage, then Miss (L/N) will give her speech before calling me up to the stage. Whoever gives the best speech in reference to the new exhibition will be promoted to head director of this museum’s contemporary art department...and the other will unfortunately be let go from their current position”

You let out an aggravated sigh, which prompts Charles to smirk in your direction,

“And that’s final! Now, get the hell out of my office!”

——————————————————————————————————

The journey home couldn’t have been more painstakingly difficult.

First, you missed your usual train and had to wait a whole 45 minutes for the next one. Then, it began to rain as soon as you started walking down the street towards your apartment and just as your doorman graciously greeted your shaking figure as you scurried into the building, you remembered that the stack of paperwork that you had planned to finish up was locked away...in your desk...back at the museum.

And now, as you trudge down the hallway of your apartment floor, soaked head to toe from the rain, your heart begins to race as you make your way in front of Tim Murphy’s door and muster up the courage to knock.

It only takes a few minutes for the door to open, but once it finally does, you’re met with the sight of an adorable, half-asleep paleontologist that makes you feel like you could melt into the floor at any given moment.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming”

You chuckle halfheartedly at him, a tired smile making its way across your face regardless of the pounding sensation in your head and the ringing sounds in your ears. Tim always seems to have that effect on you.

“Sorry, I had a long day” You mutter, cheekily.

Tim hums amusedly before moving to the side to let you in,

“I was fully prepared to take Stevie in as my own, actually. I have an extra cat bed and everything. I’m sure she’d get along just fine with Lydia”

You enter the apartment and spot your beloved cat sleeping cozily under the breakfast table near the kitchen, curled up right next to Tim’s orange tabby.

You smile at the sight, taking your wet shoes off before plopping down onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, exhausted.

“Honestly, you make a better parent than I could ever be” You chuckle, glancing towards Tim as he sets down a glass of water in front of you. His disheveled hair and slightly pouting mouth causes a blush to grow across your cheeks again as you’re reminded of something,

“Sorry if my late arrival woke you up”

He shakes his head at you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face,

“It’s okay, I wasn’t exactly...asleep. I had to finish up some last minute research in preparation for an excavation in Arizona next week”

Next week. Fuck.

You chug the water in front of you, abruptly, before placing the cup back down onto the counter and burying your face into your hands. Your mind spiraling with thoughts about the impending winter gala and him.

“So...I’m assuming that that conversation with your boss didn’t go over very well”

You groan in acknowledgement, before glancing back up at the attentive paleontologist,

“You could say that,” You laugh, sarcastically, “Hell, I may not even have a job by the time next week rolls around”

This seems to get Tim’s attention, because he leans closer to you from the other side of the kitchen counter and your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the way his biceps flex from underneath his sweatshirt.

“Well now you have to tell me what happened” He exclaims, with a tone of genuine curiosity.

You almost can’t formulate a response when you realize just how close your hands are from each other, so you muster out a weak cough and casually begin to play with the empty glass in front of you.

It’s just a hand, (Y/N). Just a nice, particularly soft-looking hand that just so happens to belong to your incredibly brilliant and handsome neighbor, Tim Murphy. Calm down.

“Well, my boss has always been one to enjoy watching people suffer before rewarding them” You sigh in frustration as you recall the last few hours of your day,

“I thought I was walking into his office to finally receive the promotion that I’ve been working day and night over for the last eight months,” You continue, running a finger across the rim of the glass repeatedly, as anxiety starts to rise within your chest again,

“And I suppose my suspicions were right” You chuckle, sadly, “but he ended up making the so-called promotion a competition between my ex and I”

You bite your lip in frustration, the wounds inflicted from the previous conversation still fresh on your mind.

“Wait—you’re not talking about…” Tim trails off in disbelief and you nod your head in confirmation.

Tim Murphy was well acquainted with the sheer emotional damage that Charles had put you through. In fact, after the break-up, it was Tim that so graciously convinced you to get the hell out of bed and resume the rest of your life after coming over to your apartment due to another mail mix-up. While you took a well-needed shower, Tim prepared a nice spaghetti dinner and put on some comedy show for the both of you to watch aimlessly as you attempted to catch up on what the rest of the world was doing after it had seemingly crashed all around you. That night definitely didn’t do anything to alleviate your growing feelings for him.

“Wow” His head tilts in slight surprise, “That’s so unfair!”

“Right! That’s exactly what I said to my boss but he wasn’t having any of it” You scoff as you recall the aggravating image of your boss’ smirking face.

“And now I have to work my ass off trying to write a decent introduction speech commemorating our latest exhibition for the winter gala. Oh! And I have to find a date to the stupid thing with only a weeks notice! Where in the world am I going to find a date to this event with only a weeks notice in this city!?”

You were starting to freak out now, pulling on some strands of damp hair that you had somehow managed to wrap entirely around your fingers as you tried to make sense of your unfortunate predicament.

“I could be your date.”

The words fall from Tim’s mouth so abruptly and effortlessly that it takes a few seconds for you to register their meaning.

“What?”

“Well...I think I still have a nice suit lying around here somewhere from my last work event. Plus, I’ve been to my fair share of museum galas, so it won’t be much of a hassle. I could be your date.”

“Tim, you really don’t have to do this! I mean—What about the excavation to Arizona? You can’t miss out on that! I would feel so bad if I made you miss out on that trip all because of this stupid arrangement” You’re blushing now at his offer and suddenly the wall next to his head is very captivating.

“When exactly is this winter gala anyways?”

“Saturday at 6 p.m.”

A smug, satisfied grin stretches across Tim’s face as he leans even closer to you and the redness across your cheeks grows when your eyes meet,

“I get back Friday night. It’ll be fine.”

You sigh in guilt, not wanting to overstep, “Are you absolutely certain about this? I guarantee you’ll be exhausted once you get back and I don’t wanna drag you into another tedious social event right after a week of strenuous excavation work”

“I mean if you want me to memorize some cue cards, I’m all for that...but I think I have enough experience under my belt from high school theatre group to properly wing it”

You chuckle at his lame attempt to humor you, but your resolve remains undeterred,

“And you’re 100% positive that you’re okay with staying by my side all night, in formal dress attire, chatting up a storm with just about any and most likely all of my colleagues over strictly art related stuff? It’s an exhausting experience.”

Tim shrugs his shoulders, the amused, stubborn grin never leaving his face,

“Like I said before, I go to museum galas all the time, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

You let out another exasperated sigh in defeat, standing up from your stool at the counter and walking towards the fridge to fill your glass again. A shiver runs down your spine and you want to blame the wet nature of your clothes but you know from the shakiness of your fingers carrying the glass and the heat radiating off your cheeks that it’s because of the close proximity between Tim’s face and yours just moments ago.

“Fine. You can be my date. But I seriously cannot thank you enough for what you’re doing for me, Tim Murphy. I really have done nothing but complain to you all evening and now you’re swooping in and saving my ass again. What—Do I have to sell you my soul this time to properly repay my debt?”

Tim chuckles, turning around to look at you again.

“Luckily for you, I’m feeling generous enough to let you keep your soul for just a little while longer. But seriously, don’t feel pressured to repay me.”

You open your mouth to protest but the words are silenced by the sound of thunder rumbling from just outside the apartment, shaking the floor beneath your feet.

“Shit! I completely forgot that it’s raining,” Tim gestures towards your clothes, his eyes wide with concern, “You must be freezing!”

You blush again as you glance down towards your damp clothes, “Oh no! It’s fine, I sort of forgot about it too...I’m not—”

You trail off when you realize that Tim is no longer standing right in front of you, only to hear the sound of him rummaging through his laundry machine.

You grin widely as you’re reminded of just how insistently kind and compassionate he can be.

He sort of stumbles back into the kitchen from a clumsy attempt at speed-walking, and before you realize it, he’s wrapping a warm bath towel around your shoulders and rubbing the material up and down your arms to help you dry off.

The grin on your face only widens and you lock your eyes onto the floor, hoping to hide the now stark red state of your blushing cheeks.

“Jeez, Tim, you really didn’t have to go through all that trouble, but thanks” You mumble, trying to keep yourself composed.

Tim only laughs in exasperation at your comment, “What kind of host would I be if I let you freeze to death?”

You glance back up at him, attempting to ignore the way that your breath hitches when you notice the close proximity of your faces again,

“Well...technically I forced you to invite me when I stupidly left my bedroom window open this morning…” You trail off when Tim gives you a pointed look, as if to say: You’re always welcome here, regardless of the circumstances.

Your gaze drops to the floor again as another rumble of thunder shakes the whole apartment, and the grin returns to your face when you make out the smallest detail of a mini brachiosaurus on the bath towel,

“Why am I not surprised that you have your own personalized dino bath towels, Tim Murphy”

He laughs bashfully and you glance up to take in the sight. His eyes meet yours and you smile back at each other for what feels like a lifetime, your heart pounding in your chest as the space between the two of you almost seems to get smaller and smaller until...you’re interrupted by the feeling of something fluffy brushing across your feet and the familiar purring sound of your cat, Stevie.

“I should probably go. You need your rest and I need to get started on the first draft of my speech. I gotta get a head start on that asshole, at the very least.”

Tim chuckles understandably and the towel leaves your shoulders, taking the warmth that had so swiftly flooded your body with it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right, I should go to bed and you should start writing a very important introduction speech at one in the morning”

Your eyes widen and Stevie lets out another loud purring noise, as if amused by your blatant clumsiness,

“What the fuck?! I swear it was just 11:30”

Tim only shrugs again in amusement and you promptly lean down to scoop up your cat from the ground in an attempt to hide the blush that seemed to now be permanently etched across your cheeks, desperate for a chance to leave before you could embarrass yourself any further.

“Thanks again, Tim...for everything! I guess I’ll see you next weekend...” You mumble out the words quickly, flashing Tim an awkward smile as you put your slightly damp shoes back onto your feet.

“(Y/N)...”

“Oh right, and good luck with your Arizona excavation...I just know you’ll discover something truly spectacular this time!” You’re shuffling towards the front door now, silently praying that the sound of your heart pounding against your chest isn’t loud enough for Tim to hear.

“Thanks, I’ll see-”

But you don't even let him finish before you promptly shut the door behind you, feeling equally elated as you do terrified about the week ahead of you and the absurdity of this entirely haphazard arrangement.

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theginia · 6 years

Text

Final Iggy Fluffy Prompt

@benelline

Balancing the heavy tray carefully in one hand, Gladio turns the doorknob, opening the door to his and Ignis’s bedroom.

Buttery sunlight filters into the room through the gaps in the curtains, suffusing the sleeping form of his lover in a soft radiance. Gladio smiles at the sight. Today is as much a treat for him as it is for Ignis and he fully intends to enjoy himself.

It’s after seven, and on any other day Ignis would already be up, showered, breakfasted, and halfway through his morning emails. Today, however, is not any other day – it’s the Advisor’s birthday, the one day of the year when Ignis allows himself to lay down the burdens of his duty, lay down his cares and troubles, and allows Gladio to shoulder them instead.

It wasn’t always like this, of course. When they were younger – when the Prince was younger to be precise – Ignis couldn’t afford to take time for himself on his birthday, beyond the exchange of gifts and perhaps dinner out with the royal family. There had always been too much to do, and it would have been Noctis who suffered for Ignis’s lack of diligence. Now, though, the Prince is 19 and has assumed most of his royal obligations. Ignis at 22 has come into his own as the Prince’s Chamberlain, earning the respect and loyalty of the Palace staff, enough that he can trust them to handle affairs in his absence for a day.

The first order of business for Gladio is breakfast. He carries a tray laden with Iggy’s favourites – an extra large cup of home-brewed Ebony, a light vegetarian omelette, and one of those ulwaat berry scones from the bakery around the corner that he loves so much. And of course there’s a small bouquet of red, orange, and purple gladiolus flowers, because what kind of breakfast in bed doesn’t include flowers? A lousy one, according to every romance novel Gladio’s ever read.

The tray is set carefully on the dresser for the moment, and Gladio allows himself a few precious minutes to simply admire Ignis as he sleeps. His angular features are softer when at rest, and without the glare of his spectacles the impossibly long lashes that brush his cheekbones are on glorious display. He looks vulnerable and small, and Gladio aches with every fiber of his being to protect him, protect his exquisite, wonderful, brilliant, and kind man from all of the world’s hurts.

He knows, though, that if he lets Ignis sleep much later it’ll be Gladio who needs protecting. From Iggy’s wrath. The last thing he needs is a repeat of last year, when Ignis spent a solid 20 minutes lecturing him about the importance of maintaining a fairly consistent sleep schedule.

Gladio sinks his knees at his lover’s bedside, like a pilgrim offering an obeisance to his chosen deity. One of Ignis’s hands has escaped the confines of the blanket and dangles precariously over the edge of the mattress. Target locked, he wraps his larger, rougher hands around Ignis’s and brings the other man’s knuckles to his lips for a series of reverent kisses.

“Iggy,” he croons sweetly. “It’s morning.” He peppers Ignis’s fingers and the back of his hand with kisses. It doesn’t take long before, with a murmur and a sigh, the Advisor cracks open sleepy green eyes.

“Hey gorgeous,” Gladio rumbles. “Happy Birthday.”

A sleepy smile spread across Ignis’s features, made all the more radiant by the morning sun playing over the scene. Or is it the other way around, he wonders? Does Iggy’s presence make the sun burn just a bit brighter, radiate just a bit more warmth? He likes to think so.

“Morning, love. Did I oversleep?” Ignis eases himself to a sitting position, allowing the light coverlet to pool around his bare hips.

Gladio shakes his head as he rises. “Nope. Not even eight yet. I was good.”

Ignis smiles appreciatively. “Thank you, love.”

Gladio waves off the thanks, because frankly if he had his way, Ignis would sleep ‘til noon.

The Shield takes a moment to gather some of their scattered pillows, fluffing them and arranging them behind Ignis’s back. The goal for the day is for Ignis to do as little work as humanly possible, and that includes expending the effort to sit up. He absently wonders if Ignis would consent to being carried around for the day. Gladio doubts it, even though it’d be kinda sexy.

Once he has Ignis settled with his breakfast tray, and been reassured that his lover wants for nothing (he asked twice just to make sure), Gladio slips into ensuite to run Ignis a bath, complete with gladiolus petals and lavender oil, because Gladio doesn’t do anything by half-measures, including pampering Ignis.

He leaves the steaming water to cool somewhat, and returns to the bedroom, where Ignis is already nearly finished with his massive cup of coffee. Coyly, the Advisor tears off a chunk of his scone and holds it out upon elegant fingers. Growling appreciatively, Gladio swoops down upon him, lips and tongue laving at the offered treat and the equally delicious fingers.

The sound of Ignis’s laughter as his fingertips are tickled by Gladio’s tongue is the sweetest music to his ears.

When breakfast is finished Gladio whisks the tray away, leaving only the flowers behind to brighten the room. Ignis heads into the bathroom and sighs with pleasure at the fragrant steam curling around him.

“Oh Gladio, thank the Six it’s not my birthday every day. I could get far too used to this.”

Chuckling, Gladio follows him. “I don’t see the issue.”

Ignis rolls his eyes as he steps into the bath. “You’re hopeless,” he groans in mingled exasperation at Gladio and pleasure at the heavenly sensation of the steamy bath water cradling his tired limbs, the sleek oils seeping into his skin.

“Hopelessly in love with you, you mean,” Gladio flashes a toothy smile as he moves to kneel at the side of the tub. It’s not big enough for them to both comfortably bathe together, but that’s fine. He’s happy to linger on the periphery, soaps, shampoos, and soft linens at the ready.

“Oh shut up and pamper me, you romantic idiot.” Ignis flicks a small stream of water at him with pinpoint accuracy, nailing the Shield in the forehead. He smirks and leans back against the edge of the porcelain tub, trying and failing to hide how much he secretly enjoys Gladio’s attention.

“So bossy,” Gladio pouts as he gently guides Ignis with one hand to lean back so he can wet his hair. With the other hand he snags a dollop of the light citrussy shampoo Ignis prefers.

They could both stay here for hours on end, with Ignis languishing in the fragrant bath water, cradled by flower petals, soothed by Gladio’s tender hands lathering, massaging, then lathering again for no reason other than he loves to touch Ignis. When he can’t justify wasting any more soap he simply kneels near Ignis’s head as the brunette reclines in the tub, his large, powerful fingers engaged in giving Ignis the greatest head and neck massage the world’s ever seen.

Ignis only gets out of the bath slowly, reluctantly, once the water has cooled to the point where it’s no longer comfortable.

Keen to take advantage of any opportunity to take care of Iggy’s needs, Gladio is there with a large fluffy towel. He pats his lover dry, chasing the soft cotton with his lips, kissing and nibbling at Ignis’s soft skin.

“Will you at last let me dress myself?” Ignis asks, lips quirked up into a smirk.

“Nope.” Gladio flashes a toothy smile.

An elegant brow arches. “Honestly, Gladio? You intend to dress me as well?”

Gladio’s smile grows, revealing more teeth, feral and intense. “Didn’t say that now, did I?”

Ignis huffs a laugh and swats at Gladio’s shoulder. “We have lunch reservations, and last I checked they’re not at a nudist colony.” The Shield easily grasps him by the arm and pulls him close. Their lips meet in an instant of burning passion, a sudden, spontaneous, perfect expression of love and communion, before just as quickly Gladio’s sweeping Ignis off of his feet, carrying him bridal-style back into the bedroom.

“You bloody beast! Put me down!” Ignis complains, though a burst of laughter quite spoils the effect.

“’Kay!” Gladio chuckles as he drops Ignis onto their bed.

******************

It takes a scandalously long time for either of them to get dressed. Ignis comes hard, twice, both times down Gladio’s willing throat to avoid making a mess of themselves. Eventually, though, they do make themselves presentable, donning casual slacks and soft knit shirts along with matching blissed out expressions.

They spend a pleasant morning at the farmer’s market, with Gladio dutifully carrying Ignis’s basket, his wallet at the ready to procure anything that his boyfriend so much as lets his gaze linger on. Before long they’ve amassed a collection of artisan soaps, several bunches of fresh herbs, a handknit scarf and an assortment of baked goods and fresh produce. Gladio doesn’t mind. He’d buy out the entire place if Iggy asked him to.

Ignis takes his time, chatting with the various vendors, asking questions about their wares and their processes, while Gladio hangs on his every word – not because he’s that interested in the art of soap making or beet farming or whatever else Ignis is discussing – he just loves listening to the man talk, his beautifully accented voice like silk to his ears, so soft and smooth. And it’s such a treat to see him so carefree and unhurried, discussing berries and herbs instead of war and economic reform.

After a few hours they’re forced to head home just long enough to put away their purchases – or rather Gladio puts them away after installing Ignis on the couch, his feet propped up on a pile of cushions, and a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

“No work,” he reminds his lover, shaking a finger at him warningly. Ignis rolls his eyes and sips his coffee in contented silence.

Lunch is a pleasant affair. Everyone gathers at Ignis’s favourite Altissian café for some excellent food and even better wine. They’ve rented the place out for a three hour window, on account of the King and the Crown Prince both being in attendance. Regis likes to joke that it’s not because of him that they’ve shut the place down, but the birthday boy.

“You don’t turn 22 every day, it’s a big deal!” the King insists, even though they all know perfectly well that it was of course, security concerns for the royal family and Crownsguard protocol that forced them to reserve the entire restaurant. Still, it’s a funny joke, one that gets funnier with each glass of wine, so they all let it slide.

*********

“I’ve been pampered, and now thoroughly wined and dined. I don’t know what more I can take.” Ignis says, smiling up to Gladio as they make their way out of the restaurant just as the midwinter sun begins to set. Gladio grunts, adjusting the armful of birthday gifts he’s carrying for Ignis – refusing to accept any help despite the fact that Clarus brought an entire case of Tenebraen white wine for his gift alone.

“Day’s still young, beautiful.”

**********

The day may be young yet, but Ignis still has an early morning – birthdays only last a single day after all, and then it’s back to regular life again the next day. Mindful of this, Gladio has a very sedate evening planned, but one that is still special, still something Iggy isn’t able to indulge in often with his busy schedule.

Ignis is settled on the couch once more, this time with half a chiffon cake on a plate on his lap, made by the Palace’s head baker. His long legs are stretched along the length of the couch, his bare feet propped up on Gladio’s lap. The television is on, turned exclusively to the foodie network until Ignis says otherwise.

Ignis sighs happily as he takes a bite, leaning back into the cushions. The only thing more decadent and luxurious than this cake is the exquisite foot rub Gladio is giving him. It’s incredible, the way such large, powerful fingers can apply pressure with such precision as to hit all of the sweet spots in Ignis’s feet, all of the little pressure points that make a person melt.

“Can tomorrow be my birthday, too?” Ignis groans, eyes lazing shut as his boyfriend works his thumbs into the soles of his feet, where his dress shoes usually pinch him.

Laughing, Gladio lifts one of Ignis’s perfect feet, pressing a reverent kiss to the smooth curve of his instep. “No, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop spoiling you.” He peppers Ignis’s foot with kisses to emphasize his point. He likes, no, loves taking care of Ignis. Loves treating him like the utterly sublime being that he is, loves making him feel as good as he makes Gladio with his mere presence. He’d serve him breakfast in bed every morning and rub his feet every night, if Ignis only let him. He’d wait on him hand and foot until the end of time, if he thought that would make Ignis truly happy.

It wouldn’t though, and he knows it. Ignis is happiest when those around him are comfortable. He thrives on feeling useful, on supporting those around him. A day of pampering here and there is one thing, but it’s not a life Ignis would truly choose to live. He’d had the choice, many times. He could have returned to his family’s estate and lived quietly, let one of his cousins assume his role. He’s happiest as he is.

Ignis sets his empty plate on the coffee table, regarding him with green eyes that are misty and soft, lulled into a state of pure bliss by Gladio’s constant loving attention. A knowing half-smile pulls at his full lips and he says what Gladio knows he will, because Ignis is too clever for his own good.

“Hmm but if I let other people spoil me, then I wouldn’t be me, and you wouldn’t love me the way you do.”

Gladio snorts and goes back to kneading any lingering aches from Ignis’s feet. “Only you would still be this clever and insightful after a full day of relaxation.”

“Also why you love me.”

Truer words were never spoken.

#gladnis #fluff #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia

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forcedapotheosis-blog · 7 years

Text

Gloomy Days II

Alright, the second chapter is here! I mean, it was there before, only in German and it took me the better half of today’s freetime to translate it, but I hope that it’s going to suffice.

I just wanted to say that I’m incredibly thankful to the people who liked the first one and even reblogged it, you don’t know how much that means to me (besides the obvious “Hey, someone seems to like it. I did not totally waste hours on end writing it! It’s something!”).

That said, this one was done relatively quickly because, yeah, I didn’t have to write it from scratch. Chapter III might take a little longer because my time is limited and I don’t have a clue how to even start that one. It’ll feature several - smaller - sub-chapters, showing off the PoVs of all the Straw Hats presently there. Maybe I’m going to release them one by one or in a bundle, can’t say that right now. What’s your opinion on that matter, dear reader?

Whatever! Let’s cut to the chase, stuff is about the same as in Chapter I, Italic are the character’s thoughts and so on. The meaning of the passages of the songs I quoted in the beginning and the end is as deep as you’d like it, personally I think they just influenced my writing of the chapter as a whole a lot. That said, I’d really like to encourage you to listen to the CSN-song, it’s beautiful.

As always, I really hope that you can force yourself to enjoy this one too. Try to have fun and be careful out there, we wouldn’t want to see you go hollow.

Chapter II – Haven't we lost enough?

If our eyes should meet then so be it

No need to trouble the heart

That is hidden where no one can free it

Only to tear it apart

Silje Nergaard – Be Still My Heart

It ought to be the single best day of her life and, considering it from the outside, there was no reason to doubt that. Not only was Cassian, her husband-to-be, born into a wealthy family, but he was without the spoils that one could associate with such an upbringing, not to mention his good looks, his benevolence towards her, his family and even the servants one could find in any corner of his ancestral home. Tall, dark and handsome, keeping himself in good shape without transforming into a brick shithouse, more lean and with carefully defined musculature. Exactly the way she preferred it. Besides those obvious merits he had also enjoyed professional education in the liberal arts – he even supported her every step of her way when it came to the pursuit of her own passion, cartography -, and has thus been forged into a well-rounded person and a worthy heir for his family name. He even showed genuine care towards her tangerine trees and took it upon himself to find a place for them in their expensive garden so that they were never too far away from.

And he did not smoke.

Some might consider that a more trivial matter, but the smell of tobacco always reminded her of Belle-mère .. and of him.

There was nothing but grief to be associated with it.

Back to the good things though! Not only was she about to marry a wonderful person, but she was also about to meet with her old friends, the kind of friendship that could easily identify as blood-relation, mind you. She recalled that Zoro had answered her call, as had their former doctor Chopper and even Luffy came out of the woodwork to be with her. Robin, of course, was quick to accept the invitation and arrived a few days earlier to help wherever she could. That's what friends were for, right?

And .. Sanji.

She was gravely surprised when she heard from him again. Surprised and shaken. Even when she was writing the invitations, she envisaged that he wouldn't even care to answer or come up with some half-baked reason not to attend, and she would've been fine with that. But he answered, said that he'd come and even until this very moment, she did not know how to handle it. Calm down, girl. You're getting married today!, she reminded herself, shaking her head and examining her appearance in the mirror in front of her.

Never had she been more beautiful, more marvellous than today, she thought. The dress she wore was perfection, shimmering in a soft white light as if someone lit a fire in the darkest of nights, it was incredibly well tailored and an enormous amount of money had to change the owner for that to come to pass, but every single belly was worth it. It was off-the-shoulder to show a little more of her flawless skin and the fabric felt like paradise incarnate, fitting like a second skin. And her hair, her hair! Robin surpassed every expection and had turned her hair into a piece of classical art, producing a complicated put-up hairdo that just underlined her magnificient, fiery mane. Contact between both women had been few and far between since the Straw Hats disbanded, maybe a letter or a short call every few months. But when she arrived, everything was as if she'd never left. They shared a long and warm embrace before Robin congratulated her on her wedding and the good catch she'd made with Cassian. But the most important thing was that Robin did everything she could to make her feel like a fairy tale princess. And just to top it all off, she agreed to be her witness!

This is going to be the most wonderful day of my life and nothing could change a damn thing about that!, she reckoned, turning away from the mirror. The ceremony was set to start in about half an hour and she was sure that Luffy would be in the kitchen, begging for food again. Maybe reminding himself of his old, careless persona. A few minutes ago, Robin had left to look for him, because he too had an important role to play: He was to lead her to the altar. When they were still travelling together, she always felt like he was an older brother, at times even a substitute father.

When they were still travelling together.. Just, no! Don't think about that, girl! You'll just ruin your makeup!, she sternly admonished herself. Thinking about the past was normally a very tear-intensive issue that did not have any place within the happiest day of her life. For a moment she remembered how happy she was that he accepted the duty to lead her to the altar and a soft smile formed upon her lips. Luffy.., within a heartbeat, she felt foreign in her own body, rising from her chair, walking numbly towards her wardrobe, opening it.

And there it was, antiquated, dusty, not having been worn in what felt like aeons, but still full of memories, both good and bad.

Everyone of them hit rock bottom when friendship and dreams were just not enough anymore to keep going, nakamaship ended where reality ensued. Defeats strung together and on that single, impossible day they had to bury a beloved member, giving in to his final breath, it just became too much. Disbanding did seem like to only way possible to keep on living.

Some of them cried overtly, herself included, while others went for a bland, emotionless façade.

Behaving like that was one of the things she could never forgive Sanji for.

Don't get that wrong though, she begged and cried and pleaded for everyone to stay, hopelessly. Robin had gently touched her face, breathing a kiss on her forehead, telling her that it was the only way, the only logical conclusion. Franky and Chopper cried without remorse, holding each other as if the world depended on it. Zoro had been hard, as expected, mumbling about becoming the best swordsman in the world anyway, even without them. Usopp had tried that too, but before too long, his veneer crumbled and he too finally cried, besides being the only one of them to have at least some beacon of hope waiting for him at home: Kaya.

And finally, when there were only three of them left, Sanji abandoned them. It took a while for her to admit that him leaving hurt the worst of all, she even fell to her knees, trying to stop him, didn't want to let go of his hand.

And he didn't even look at her.

Sanji, the Black Leg, who's element had always been fire, might as well have been former Admiral Aokiji in that very moment. Just standing there, silently smoking a cigarette, being an unmovable object.

Sanji had also been the only person she did not have any contact with during all those years. No letter, no call and especially no visitation. And it was a good thing. After the end, there wasn't a single day for months that went by without weeping. And eventually, she had to abandon Luffy too. Devastated didn’t even start to describe his condition. His friends, his family, the people he trusted probably the most in the entire world walked out of his life, one by one until no one remained, leaving a wound that would never even start to heal.

And exactly that was the point that he gave his beloved strawhat to her. Disbanding their small family of pirates had also been the funeral of their dreams.

A few years later, she met Cassian, who immediately began to court her like she was a princess or something similar, an otherworldly beauty. After she got herself into the relationship with him, it didn't take long for him to propose marriage, which she accepted without respite. After having lived a restless life for so many years, Cassian was a gift, an anchor in this world and for that, she was unendingly thankful towards him.

Her whole body shaking, she lifted her hand. Fingers long and delicate beginning to touch the strawhat affectionately.. so many memories, so much time spent together, all the fortune, hell, even all the mishap they had to endure, represented in such a simple thing. But it all ended in tears.

I should just burn it! I don't want it here any longer! .. and I'm sure that Luffy doesn't want it back either.., she felt her eyes tear up, breathing became troublesome as she tried to fight them back. Hastily, she shut the closet tight and turned around, never wanting to look back at this relic ever again. Until she would eventually do it, some habits were hard to break away from.

Trying to focus her mind on the wonderful time that was lying before her, she rushed towards her dresser to dry the corners of her eyes. It was going to be a golden time for her, the best time of her life, she would've everything that she ever longed for: Money, security .. and love?

She slowly shook her head.

"That's not exactly the right time to think about that, don't you think, girl?", she told herself, but it sounded more like a question. Cassian had confessed his love for her on more than one occasion, but she only always replied by kissing him, silently hoping that he'd interpret it as her reciprocating. Truth was, she did not know if she loved him. What was so important about that anyway, really? Even if she was unsure about it right now, the wedding would certainly change it for the better, right? Some, probably old, person would proclaim them husband and wife, in front of his family and her old friends, those that once were family. Even more than that.

Moreover, she'd heard more than enough stories about old couples who only gradually, during their married life, started to actually love each other. Why should it be different for her?

Again, she started inspecting her appearance in the mirror, needing to make sure that everything was still perfect, that she was still perfect. Even through the shaking of her head, her hair was still a piece of art. Dilligently, she started examining her eyes, these gentle, big brown eyes, even more emphasized through the subtle use of eyeshadow.. Sanji said that he'd rather drown in them than in the All Blue. The thought came so suddenly that she nearly choked on her saliva, she literally shocked herself and, in consequence, shook her head fiercely to get rid of it. Over all these years they travelled together, Sanji had said an unending amount of things to an equally unending amount of beautiful women, heart-eyed and wobbly-bodied, like an ape drunk on love, but out of all the things, why did she remember that one?

Because he was normal when he told me. Because he openly declared that I was more important than his dream, that once-in-a-lifetime-moment when it seemed that he was serious about it, she answered her own question. Some memories already began to fade, but she'd never forget that single moment until the last of her days.

Because, and that she clearly recalled, she was happy.

Oh, and how deep she fell after he abandoned them – no, her! - anyway, despite the words that left his mouth. No more tender, endearing words. In that very moment it seemed that he hated even the thought of touching her. Every single thing he said was a lie. Only I could've been dumb enough to actually start trusting him, right? That is never – ever – going to happen again. She tried, needing to encourage herself, because the day had come to see him, look into his deep blue eyes again. She promised herself that she wouldn't weep. Never again and especially not because of him. It was ironic in any way imaginable, normally she was tough, strong and didn't weep easily. Maybe I should restrict myself to just noticing him, maybe a nod. And that's all, shouldn't be too much of a hassle. Again, she wished not to have him invited at all, but it was too late for that.

It was then that she noticed a cautious knocking on her door that dragged her out of her own thoughts, forcing reflexes to take over, spinning around and staring at it.

It was also then when she spoke without even thinking clearly, her voice a little too loud, her lips betraying her.

"Sanji-kun?!"

Of course it wasn't Sanji who opened the door. Oh my god, you stupid dumb girl! Why in the world should he be here?! You need a sober mind now and he's the last person in the entire world that you want to see anyway!

Slowly and with a slight smile on her face, Nico Robin entered the room.

"Not exactly, dear navigator-san. He's here though.", her knowing smile even widened a little when she spoke, carefully watching Nami's expression. "Don't worry, my dear. It's perfectly normal for the bride to ask herself if she's doing the right thing. I'm just here to tell you that I found our captain-san and that he's waiting to lead you to the altar. The guests have already taken their seats.", speaking, she gracefully strode towards Nami until she could finally embrace her friend, paying special attention not to ruffle her hair or muss up her dress. "I .. I'm not asking myself if I'm doing the right thing..", the bride-to-be responded, immediately regretting the oh-so-obvious lie. But even if Robin minded, she did not show. Slowly, she loosened the warm embrace to lock eyes with her, gently touching her face with delicate fingers. "Don't worry about a single thing, my dear navigator-san. Every single one of us came here to prove to you that you still hold, that you will always hold, a special place in our hearts. And nothing can change a thing about that. No matter how many years pass."

The bride-to-be was astonished by these words. Sure, Robin was always polite, sometimes even motherly, but even in the best of times you couldn't call her emotional. Tears erupted again, but this time, she did not care, instead trying to focus on the eye contact between them.

"Do you think that I'm doing the right thing?", the last few words were little more than a faraway whisper, her voice wasn't entirely under her control anymore. And neither was her body. The shaking started with her hands and would soon reach the center of her body.

"Are you happy?"

In the night your image arises

Close behind comes the pain

I hope I'm dreaming 'cos it hurts so bad

When I reach out for you, I'm alone in some room

I just never thought that you'd disappear..

Crosby, Stills & Nash – Haven't We Lost Enough?

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