âčâËđȘ·.ËâđâË.đȘ·Ëââč 18+ Blog âčâËđȘ·.ËâđâË.đȘ·Ëââč
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âčâËđȘ·.ËâđâË.đȘ·Ëââč 18+ Blog âčâËđȘ·.ËâđâË.đȘ·Ëââč
Welcome to a very fun wing of the Toadstool Mansion, my little corner of the internet for all my silly little musings. I'm Bede, just a 20-something writer, philosopher, artist, and lover of several very self indulgent subgenres of life.
I write both fandom (the majority is for One Piece, anime, and video games I love) and original works (both smutty short stories and novels, featuring monsters). You can get anything posted here early by supporting me on Patreon or Ream!
Thank you so much for reading, and enjoy~
âčâËđȘ·.ËâđâË.đȘ·Ëââč 18+ Blog âčâËđȘ·.ËâđâË.đȘ·Ëââč
My obsessions takes the from of romantic and erotic fiction, the philosophy of sex, and frogs. I imagine if you're here, you also love to imagine yourself--or whoever--whisked away into worlds of magic, drama, and love, both in familiar contexts and our strangest obscure fantasies.
Commanding, intense, loyal. I love the masculine eye, imagining how he thinks and feels, and what it means for him to be in pleasure. All my work is dedicated to him, the lover who never leaves me, and let me introduce him to you through a thousand faces both masculine and feminine.
Whether you are taken away by the hand of an original character, or slipping into the shoes of a reader insert in a fantasy you already love, each story endeavors to stimulate the imagination and eliminate the strict bounds of reality. Every word is mine, I never have and never will use AI.
If you'd like to keep up with this work, please follow me on Ream and get access to access to the entire catalog! Also books, adorable frogs, commissions, and more can be found at the Toadstool Mansion, home of Self Indulgent Fiction, where you are encouraged to have your cake and savor every last morsel.
Please enjoy yourself, you're more than welcome to stay a while.
~With Love, Bede
(( Master Links to All My Books Under The Break ))
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Novel Links (Mostly OC Er0tica)
đŐ. .Ő𩯠The Curse of the Lover's Star ((NEW)) "Porsha Hawkins is just an artist trying to make it by in a world that seems to live for putting her down. After waking up in a villainess's body from her favorite RPG, how will she ever escape the Game? Will she even want to?"
đŐ. .Ő𩯠Eat Me Whole, My Darling (Novelization) "He's God Emperor of the world. He takes what he wants, and maybe he wants more than just a biteâŠ"
đŐ. .ŐđŠŻEmbraced by Pack "A woman falls into the hands of a seemingly loving pack, can she accept them, even if they aren't all they seem?"
đŐ. .Ő𩯠How a Spider Keeps Her Web "Darling Dahlia loves her mate more than the world, does she have the space in her heart to let anyone else in their tight bond?"
đŐ. .Ő𩯠The Second Arrangement "Secretaries have needs too! A soft BDSM office romance novel."
đŐ. .Ő𩯠The Wolf Prince and the Fairy "A Werewolf Prince meets his destined lover in a dream, but will he ever hold her in his arms?"
đŐ. .Ő𩯠The Alien Takes A Breeder "Grace considered making this her last deep space mission. It turns out, she doesn't have a choice. She'll learn what it means to be the Alien's breeder, whether she likes it or not."
...FREE...
đŐ. .Ő𩯠The Hind Explained (Not Explicit Informational) "An Introduction to my version of omegaverse, the rules of which many of my novels and shorts operate under."
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Hope you enjoy your stay, my self indulgent friends!
With Love,
Bede
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Alpha!Zoro x Omega!Reader | Alpha!Luffy x Reader | (EVENTUAL) Iota!Nico Robin x Omega!Reader | Platonic Everyone Else x Reader
[An Omegaverse One Piece Rewrite][Updates Every Wednesday]
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Word Count: 4.7k
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For what should be the hide out of a notorious pirate fleet, Arlong Park is surprisingly ostentatious.
It's a rather fine looking five story pagoda, you think, with a pool which could also take water from the ocean and harbor a small boat, and a deck with lots of sunbathing chairs. It's funny such a place had yet to be targeted by the Marines...
At the head of the pool though, was a throne like driftwood chair where there sat a very large, very dangerous looking shark-man with blue-gray skin and a long saw-like nose.
Though perhaps most astonishing about his appearance was that nose, which looked to be several times longer than Usopp's! You'd seen fish-men before, though admittedly none this large and intimidating, but you'd never seen anyone with a nose quite like that.
You also watched Nami behaving strangely, most obviously so towards this big shark man who seemed to be the one in charge of the gang of fierce faces that surrounded him.
Though she was usually a happy-type, if not a little sly at times, now she put on a coarseness that didn't seem to suit her.
Nami was often callous about money, but she was also thoughtful and observant, and more often than not opportunistically trying to see the best side in any situation. And though she was thief, she never played the part of a blood-cold criminal.
She was just as cunning as she was playfulâlike a misbehaving cat.
And though you tried to listen carefully, the fishmen spoke in low rumbling voices that were difficult to decipher from a distance. But based on what you could understand of the conversation, Ms. Nami did not much like these people, even if she'd worked alongside them for years. And there was some sort of bargain which tied her loyalties to this place more so than companionship.
What caught your attention more was the copious amount of blood dripped off her right hand, more than should have been left behind from such a brief stabbing--and one done to another person at that! And she kept her fist tightly gripped around the red soaked knife when anyone else would have cleaned and sheathed it by now. And, though this was particularly strange, the color of blood on her hand and the red stained her neck and face were not the same brightness of red at all!
It was as obvious a difference to you as if the two had been green-and-purple instead, though you'd always had a keen sense of color so perhaps the fishmen just didn't notice.
All you could conclude, was that this all was very, very unusual.
The answers came however, when on the other side of the wall you heard a spitting and a spluttering and you looked out at sea to see that Usopp hand emerged from the depths and was taking gasping breaths just off shore.
You quickly hopped down and ran to him, though puffing and out of breath by the time you were close enough for him to hear your voice (though it took several shouts of Mr. Usopp! for him to get it, then several more for him to finally see you standing there and waving.) You helped pull him up to shore, though he sputtered and complained greatly, he eventually collapsed and muttered out a thank you.
Though he seemed rather miserable.
"Mr. Usopp, are you hurt?" You ask him, looking all over for injury.
And looking even more upset than if he had been, he simply told the most unbelievable truth. "No! Not even a little!"
Ms. Nami had, in fact, faked the stabbing by shoving the blade into her hand, and to sell the lie Usopp had exploded one of his ketchup stars on himself, which was what made the bright red and not-so blood-colored splotches.
Usopp was beside himself.
Though by his account she'd acted like a mean witch, and stole the Going Merry, she'd still saved his life. That much was undeniable, because surly he would have been killed by Arlong had he lingered around, simply as retaliation for what Zoro had done. He'd gone one a spree which left most of the fishmen fleet incapacitated, which explained the bodies strown all around.
It was then you explained that Johnny had been watching all the while. And that, having seen Usopp get stabbed, he'd run off to tell Zoro the newsâthat by all accounts Usopp was dead and Nami had killed him.
That got Usopp to shoot up from his pitiful splat spread on the dry grass. If that was true, Zoro was probably headed back to Arlong Park and if he fought Arlong that would only cause more trouble for them and by all accounts Luffy had yet to arrive on the island. And with injuries like Zoro had now, the fight would probably kill him...
To prevent that, they needed to catch up with the rest of them and fast.
Thankfully the fishmen were too busy to watch the roads, so you and Usopp headed westward back towards Cocoyashi Village as quickly as they could. But Usopp skid to a stop at the sudden booming of a strange sound hailing over the forest.
A familiar yet unexpected whopping yell echoed over the trees along with a huge crash. You stopped too, your eyebrows drawing up as you expressed with great confusion.
"Was that Captain yelling just now?"
Usopp stuttered, "What did that idiot do, fly here?"
"If anyone could, Captain would figure it out."
"Don't make that sound like a good thing!" Usopp grumbled.Â
You and he shared an exasperated look. The sound of another crash led them to veer off the path they were taking to Cocoyashi Village. Because if Luffy had arrived than the faster the crew got together the better. Zoro would probably do that same, and things just seemed to escalate around Luffy after all, and in the end, it was always for the best.Â
They quickly turned on their heels and headed in the direction of the noise without further discussion.
There was another horrifying crash, like a bomb shaking the island, and Usopp could barely keep running his knees were shaking so badly. But Usopp was an amazingly quick runner when he was motivated, and you had a hard time keeping up with him until you were nearly left in his dust. Running had never been your favorite activity and your lacking stamina showed for it.
"Mister... Usopp!"Â You warned him, too breathless to yell. "Wait for me!"Â
But Usopp was already well ahead, getting further and further away.
You did manage to catch up, though not before you could warn Usopp to slow down again, witnessing as he ran right between Zoro and their newly recruited chef Sanji just about to exchange blows, a sheathed sword and a flying kick colliding with Usopp's face instead of each other.
Looking beat up and particularly sick of life, Usopp wavered there between them for a moment, looking stunned.Â
Zoro froze, and his brows shot up. "I guess he is alive."
"Maybe not anymore though..." Sanji added as Usopp slumped to the ground.
But Usopp grabbed his cheek, tears pricking his eyes, "Why'd you have to go and hit me so hard??"
"Sorry." Zoro and Sanji muttered, albeit not very sincerely.
You followed, slowing down nearby and folding over, huffing and puffing from running for so long. Frankly, you felt like you could barf, despite it all, you couldn't help but feel relieved. Luffy was here, and everyone was togetherâand so, everything was put to right.
Well... everyone was here, besides Nami. And though Usopp didn't look very happy at the moment, he was not the member of the crew looking most worse for wear.
Zoro was at least in a new oversized shirt now, covering up his messy gauze. It was one of those colorful button up linen shirts all the fishmen seemed to all wear, and he must have stolen the clothes off of one of them. He looked good in it, you quickly appreciated, then felt a little embarrassed to have thought that. It made it easier for to overlook the thick dirty bandages underneath them, at least for now.
As if he could just sense your eyes on him, Zoro didn't even spare a glance for the beta he'd nearly killed and was nursing his crooked nose. Instead those dark eyes of his finding your gaze with a snap. And though your hind mind purred at the reunion, you stifled those feelings that wanted to run up to him and grab him like he was yours or something.Â
He didn't greet you, and you stifled a smile or any sort of reaction, instead looking as Luffy wobbly walks off the recked ship that crashed into the trees. Despite crash landing he looks alright, which is also a relief, and then your attention turns towards their new ship mate.
Sanji... if he was here, than he and captain must have come to some kind of agreement. He was a little forward, you could admit, but overall seemed nice enough. A giving sort of alpha, as far as you could tell. If Captain wanted him aboard, you were happy to him see dragged along too.Â
He was a least a very good cook. The rest of him... you could get used to.
Now if they could only get Nami back, everything would be exactly how it needed to be...
Luffy ran forward when he noticed Usopp collapsed on the side of the road.
"Usopp!" Luffy yelled at him, picking up his limp body and shaking him, "Did Nami do this to you? Where's (y/n)? Where's the Merry? Usopp answer me!"
"Well, no, that was actually he and I." Sanji admits.
"You mean just you." Zoro cut back and Sanji rolled his eyes.
"Listen here, if you hadn't started it--"Â
"I don't start anything." Zoro cut in and before they could begin to start arguing again, you ran past them and to Luffy's side.Â
"Captain!" You greeted, Luffy looked up and smiled wide when he heard your hailing. "The Merry is safe don't worry. But Nami..."
Luffy dropped his attention back to Usopp, letting him sit up on his own. "Yes, look! I made it!"
"Y-you did, and... that guy." Usopp peered past Luffy to stare at Sanji, who waved. Usopp grimaced. Obviously, he wasn't as willing to let bygones be bygones as you were.
"What's the problem with Nami?" Luffy prompted.
Usopp dropped his gaze, his long nose almost catching in his shirt, "There is a huge problem. She saved my life!"
You nodded, "She did. She tricked the Arlong Pirates and everything. I watched them for a while Captain. I don't quite know what to make of her when she talks with them. It's like she's not herself!"
Usopp nodded, "It's exactly what I thought, ghost girl. It's weird. Nami's a member of the Arlong Pirates, but I think she hates them."
"She hates her pack?" Luffy tilted his head and looked confused.
"I don't think they're pack." You shared, and Luffy only seemed more befuddled.Â
While you all had been busy making this large reunion, Another person had approached this little stretch of road between a patchwork of square rice fields. She dressed in a familiar style, girlish and poppy and kept a familiar bob haircut, but her hair was blue rather than red.Â
She had a serious look about her, though she was a beautiful woman who Sanji instantly swooned over.
Usopp got to his feet as Luffy pointed at her. "You!"
"Yes, me. And I'm here to tell you it's useless." She said to them, "No matter what you do, you won't be able to stop Arlong. His rule around here is iron clad and we've all accepted it."
Luffy didn't sound like he was listening. He turns to Usopp, with a thumb pointed the woman's way. "Who is that?"
Usopp looked, and said, "Oh, that's Nami's sister."
Sanji looked ready to propose. "N-N- Nami-swan's sister? No wonder she's a stunner."
It was Zoro that asked the pertinent question, "What do you mean by useless?"
"I mean what I said." She replied coolly, and crossed her arms. "I'm going to ask you all politely to not involve yourselves with this village any further. Since you've come this far, I'll tell you why things are the way they are here, and in return I want you to agree to leave."
The woman's serious voiced meant to leave no room for argument. These were her terms, whether they liked it or not.
But Luffy deadpanned, "I'm good, I don't really need to know."
Her face said it all. What? Luffy didn't even look her wave, waving them off and walking down the road, "I'm taking a walk, (y/n) make sure Zoro's not going to die."
"Aye aye, Captain." You agreed, and didn't need any more prompting.
"Take a walk??" Usopp was aghast, "You won't listen?"
"Nah, I said I'm good." Luffy repeated.
Nami's sister wasn't sure what to say, "What's with him?"
"Don't mind it, he'd the kind of alpha that doesn't make promises he can't keep. But we'll all listen to what you have to say. Though I doubt hearing about it will change any of our minds." Zoro muttered, already one eye closed as he made himself comfortable leaning against a tall palm tree. It didn't appear like he would actually be listening, which would be typical of him.Â
"Mr. Roronoaâ" You mean to step in and help him.
He sighed, cutting you off before you could finish asking her question. "I don't need you to check on me either, I'm fine."
You were not convinced. "You are not fine."
"Check up on, Usopp." He crosses his arm, as dismissively as he can.
"Let me at least change your bandage."
"I said no."
You don't even respond, but his frown ticks a little lower, like he can hear in the air how much you disapprove. You would think that, but you doubt he was that attuned to you.
"My face does hurt..." Usopp interjects, having inferred first aid was a possibility through Zoro's side of the conversation alone.Â
"My sweetest (y/n), you can check on me~" Sanji curls out, suddenly remembering you were there at all, "I can show you a few places on me that hurt so terribly from our crash into the island!"
You sigh now, and a smirk twitches Zoro's lips. "You're fine, Mr. Sanji."
"Oh..." the chef deflates, "your cold shoulder sparks my heart like flint."
Zoro scoffs and closes his eyes, which does not go unnoticed. Sanji turns back towards the swordsman and crosses his arms, acting disgusted by his behavior.
"You say all that in just fall asleep in front of two beautiful woman? I just can't understand that moss headed idiot." Sanji mutters to himself. "I can't understand half of this, honestly."
"Anyway Nojiko," Usopp talks over Sanji while he mumbles about the weirdness of this crew he's decided to join, "we'll listen to you."
Sighing, Nami's sister can't help but smile a little. "What a strange bunch you are, I see... it's no wonder you're the kind to give Nami so much trouble. I'll tell you anyway, and afterwards you will understand why I say you should leave this place..."
And Ms. Nami's sister Nojiko told a sad tale of their shared childhood. They both began as orphans in a war on the other side of the East Blue, and were taken in by their adoptive mother. She sounded like a strong woman, an alpha and veteran who ended her service by taking in the runts she'd found in the aftermath of a terrible battle. Having never before been interested in motherhood, the woman took in those two girls as her own, like they were always meant to be.
They lived together for nearly a decade as family, until the Arlong pirates arrived on their island. The fish folk enslaved the locals, demanding tithes for living on islands they now declared their own. But her small family was terribly poor, living mostly off of the food and proceeds from their tangerine farm and the new tax would have been impossible for the mother to pay with their monthly earnings, and could not be covered by even their savings.
For her poverty, and for the love of her children, their mother gave up her life. Using her savings to pay for the lives of the two girls she'd claimed as her own, though to the world there was no documentation which declared them officially family. No blood. No ties as any fishmen could recognize, cold to the intangible bonds of pack as they were.
Through fights and hardship, that woman loved her pups to the end of her life. A proud figure that was taken from them by execution. The Arlong Pirates shot her dead right before their eyes, leaving the two girls alone in a miserable world.
They tried to live without her, but on an island this small with their opportunities so limited, they seemed to be doomed. In the end, Nojiko quietly planned to offer herself to the pirates as everything she was worth, being an omega. It was the only thing she could think to do to ease the strife of their town as a powerless fourteen-year-old.
But before she could, Nami prevented her by exposing her skill as a map makerâa skill which was infinitely more valuable to the fish folk than the coin they might have made for selling an omega to the highest bidder.
And so, this was how Nami had taken up the responsibility of her sister and her village's safety. In exchange for her skills, she'd gained the hope from Arlong that she'd be able to buy all of their freedom. One day, if she just saved a hundred million beri's, they would be free of him. Nami made it sound like it was so simple, but it was easy to tell in Nojiko's voice that she doubted it would be that cut and dry.
You listened thoughtfully with a deep sympathy for Nami, better understanding her misery on the boat. She must have felt unbelievably torn between what new bonds she was forming, and the responsibility she had to these people she dearly loved...
"Ever since that day eight years ago, that girl decided to not show her tears to anyone, or to ask for help!" She finished the heart wrenching tale with those words." All because she doesn't want anyone to be killed by Arlong, like our mother was... Do you know how painful it must have been for her to make that decision when she was barely twelve years old?"
"How could someone do that?? How cruel are these fishmen?" Usopp demanded.
"I'll kill them for making Nami-swan's heart ache!" Sanji sounded incredibly fired up as well but Nokijo looked increasingly frustrated with them.
"Can't you understand?" She demanded to the boys. "Don't undermine her determination by getting in her wayâit will only cause her more heart break!"
A 'when you fail'Â laid in the air, unsaid.Â
Sanji crossed his arms and looked thoughtful and shook his head. Even Zoro stood up from his nap. Hearing what they heard, there was only one answer to the pain Nami suffered under all alone.
It seemed that her sister sensed this determination and hung her head, having clearly lost in her bid to save her sister in the way she'd been most comfortable doing all this time. But you watched the slight with the kinship of understandingâthe end of one way of life was the beginning of another and sometimes it was well worth the risk of heart break to find true freedom.
"I suppose I can't stop you...well, I'll take you back to town, we'll see if Nami is there. She often returns when there's been trouble at the Park."
To this they agreed quickly, and headed back towards Cocoyashi Village.
When they got to town, you soon realized the spirit of liberation was infectious. It wasn't just Nami's sister that felt the shift in the airâthe will to stand up against the injustice they'd all just lived with was pushing the townsfolk to action as well. Whatever had spurred them to action, they were determined to face of the Arlong Pirates now, laying their lives on the line for the right to live free without fear. Even if actually beating the fishmen seemed impossible.
What made humans human was the will to conquer impossible challenges. This fire you saw in every human in that village. It was no wonder Miss Nami was so courageous.
The Strawhat crew stepped into town just as Nami faced off against her fellow villagers. She was desperate to get them to stay here, where it was safe. She attempted to console themâshe'd buy their freedom; she just needed a little more time. No one needed to get hurt this way. She even threatened them with a knife, ordering them to stay back. But a man with a scarred body tugged Nami's armârendering her threat nullâand pulled her into a hug.
There was no need for Nami to fight all alone anymore.
Feeling that from the whole village, Nami sunk deeper, trying desperately to hold back her tears.
It's no use! The town's folk echoed, Our hearts are set! Freedom or death!Â
The scarred man, who seemed to be very important to both the town and Nami, though you did not know who he was or that he was something like a father to the twice orphaned girls, said very forcefully, "Now move out of our way, Nami!"
And Nami could not hold the flood of them back any longer. The villagers yelled about their spirit, and their desire to be free of the fishmen and stormed off into the forest towards Arlong Park.Â
As the crew walked closer, you noticed Luffy standing by not far away from the bustle, watching Nami carefully as she fell to her knees. The other men in the crew, respectful of her pain, looked away from her crumbled form, sitting around the now empty street and awaiting Luffy's next action, seemingly by instinct alone.
Nami let out a horrible cry. It was a retching broken scream.
"ARLONG!" She cursed his name, she grabbed her knife again and screaming his name over and over stabbed at the tattoo on her shoulder repeatedly, trying to gash out the Pirate mark he'd forced on her as a child. The light peppermint of her scent was strong and bitter on the air, and mushed with the scent of fury and broken flesh.
She must stab herself at least five times before Luffy's suddenly behind her, snatching her wrist and stopping her from doing any more damage to herself.
You watch carefully, so very carefully. A deep sadness stirs in you for her, but your face remains passive, making yourself as much as an observer as you can be. Taking in, seeing, remembering. You feel Zoro's eyes on you, just for a moment before he sits back and waits for ordersâhe knows that if your watching there he doesn't need to see anymore, taking every second to heal before the trouble really hits.
Like they hadn't already found plenty of trouble.
So, he sits at the side of the road under a straw umbrella, a sword keeping his head propped up. Usopp and Sanji both turn their back to the scene, having seen enough of Nami's pain and tears to seal their resolve.
Nami throws sand at Luffy, along with a myriad of insults. But none of that matters when her voice breaks so painfully and she sobs when she finally runs out of off-handed angry remarks to hurl.
You see her though.
You sees how your friend is sucking in a lip and on the brink of her sanity. Sometimes the hardest, bravest thing to do wasn't to carry the burden of your troubles all by yourself, but to finally ask for help. Nami hung her head low. Low, low, low. So low, almost bowing in the dirt to hid the tears streaming down her face.
And when she asked it was in a quiet, plead, "Luffy...please help me..."
There is just a beat of silence before Luffy steps up and places his prized Straw Hat on Nami's head, and shouts.
"Of course I will!!"
And though it's a terribly sad sight, you smile. This is why you loved this crew, why you would follow Luffy to the ends of the seas and back. Luffy stepped past Nami then, and the rest of the Strawhat's were in position awaiting him.
"Let's go." He says, in a serious direct tone almost alien on Luffy. He sounds like a captain. Like a real alpha she sometimes forgets he is.
"Roger." The men all say at once.
Nami cover's her mouth, watching them get ready to risk their lives for her, totally unable to hold back her crying now the gates of eight years of repression had opened. Luffy looked at you and pointed his thumb back towards Nami, and you nodded. You didn't need to say a thing and nor did he.
You'd bring Nami back.
For a long while, you just sat beside your friend and watched her cry.
She refused to have her shoulder bandaged up, refused to do any more than sit in the street and sob, so you allowed it for a long while. The sounds of people had long since faded, and so the only noises to be heard in town were the coconut tree leaves rustling, the ocean's constant crashing up into shore, and the slowing sobs emanating from the broken looking red-haired navigator.
"Miss Nami, lift your head." You eventually command her.
Nami shakes her head instead, refusing to look up from her hands and at the ground now made wet and muddy by her weeping eyes and wound. Though you had your hand offered out, a splay of soft tissues ready to be used offered freely, Nami did not uncurl herself. But with her heart open and honest now, at least Nami can hear and see you, which is enough a hold for you to know she was not totally lost.
You do not sigh or chastise her, and in an even steady voice just ask:
"Are you going to let them fight for you with no witnesses?"
Nami suck in her lower lip, still shaking her head, "I don't want to watch them die."
"And what would you do if they do die, Ms. Nami?" You prompt. "If Arlong really is so unstoppable that Captain Luffy and Mr. Roronoa cannot defeat him. What will you do?"
Wide eyed, Nami raises her gaze from her palms to the ground. Blinking away the gathered wetness in her eyes, she still looks miserable. But in a tight voice she answers, "I'd kill that bastard myself. I don't care if it takes me years, I'd find a way."
"Then, is there any world that you can imagine where Arlong is not one day defeated? If our crew mates are all killedâif our packâ" You emphasize instead and Nami's eyes get wide and water, "were to die here today, of course I'd try to get revenge too. And if they can't do it, and you can't do it, and I can't do it, one day, Arlong will cross the wrong person and he'll be stopped. It's simply inevitable."
Nami took a piece of soft tissue paper you offered finally, and rubbed her face into it, unable to meet you unwavering stare or answer.
"So why stay here, crying about a future that's impossible, when..." And you couldn't help but smile to yourself instead of finish.
Nami looked up, her green eyes wide with so many emotions, prompting quickly, "When what?"
"When we could be watching them win!"
Looking still to wrestle with something inside herself, the Nami you knew eventually won out, and the young woman smiled. "You're right... I've already cried and complained as much as I can. And everyone's already fighting! We can't let them have all the fun! Or get into too much trouble." She added, her smile falling just a little at the thought.
"Let's go then." You reached over and hugged her, slowly removing your hands with a grimace as you realized they were covered in blood. "But let's get you bandaged up first..."Â
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A/N:Â Next week is a very exciting chapter~~~ We'll be back in Zoro's POV and here's your hint on what's to come, it's called "Zoro Get's Kissed (Finally!)"Â
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IN THE AFTERMATH OF that fateful conversation with his father, Ronan Maraci, who was rather fond of his position as Heir to the territory, had no choice but to return to his pack and tell them news he knew they would not like.
That left a bitter taste in Ronanâs mouth. He was certain that by the end of the night, all of his pack would have walked away from him, leaving him alone in this burden. None would approve.
These heavy thoughts took him all through the night, until his eyes landed on one of his most beloved.
It was always refreshing to see Galen; he had a certain lightness about him that was always welcome. His hair looked windblown and there was a charming smile already spreading those flush plush lips that gets wider when their gazes meet. Literally, those sparling golden eyes crinkle up and it soothes all troubles for just a moment.Â
These complaints, which Ronan laid bare, would not stand in the face of his one true bond.
Galen shook his head, and grasped Roman's hands. âI never feel incomplete with you. Never have, not in a thousand worlds. But thereâs no need to incarnate again just so we can all find each other again and do it over and over and over. Again. Endlessly. Well, that does sound a little romantic.â Galen shrugged, âBut I have a feeling thatâs itâs the other threeâor I guess fourâthat keep this ship going, not you or me. Because I already know youâre mine, eternally.â
The unsaid truth weighed Ronanâs heart as much as this confession endeared him. They all desired that, so did everyone in the world. To be in a state of complete spiritual union was the most pure purpose of pack, after all. As they were, they were so close to that unity that it was distinctly uncomfortable, as was the idea of threatening the balance already at hand.
But could it ever, really, truly be theirs? Sweet as it would be, this he thought surely impossible...
Want more? This excerpt is from an ongoing story published on Patreon and Ream, follow to find full chapters of the rest there (and the first three for free)!
Is there a link to your masterlist with your other stories? I can't seem to find it in the pinned post.
I'm sorry, there isn't one!
If you're looking for fanfic, you can find all of it on Ao3. If you're looking for all my monster stuff, just looking up monsters in the search bar will probably find all those. You can find most everything on Patreon pretty well organized, get titles and search it on here as well. Everything short story over there is either free, or if it's smut it's on the lowest tier.
Can I please have part two of horseman with reader's head, when horseman got head back and reader seeing what he looks like she just like "hey, remember that thing we did can we do it again so can hear you." (smut)
This was another fun one (which also got long), it was interesting imagining how a Rider would come back to their head, and what that would mean to them. Too much lore lol. Also, I have a huge oral fixation myself, but I tend not to write a lot of oral stuff, so thatâs always a joy.
The Headless Horseman's Bride | Here | The Headless Horseman's Savior
CH. 1 | CH. 2
X...X...X
There was just one way that a man became a headless rider.
A person, well renowned for their skills as a horseman, had to have their head chopped off. It didnât really matter why, as long as those two conditions were met at time of death. When one was both a rider and beheaded, the way towards the eternal ride were open for any spirit called away from the salvation of a finished life and instead towards the Endless Road.
A much more convoluted process led one to becoming a phantom head. Just an ordinary beheaded individual could cling to the essence of their head instead of the rest of their body. A person who perhaps thought too much in life instead of doing may end up more a head in the after, instead of their whole person.
And, in the most rare occasions, a personâs head and body could start two separateâthough distinctly incompleteâghostly existences.
Thus, it was sometimes apt for a headless spirit to seek a replacement, and for the bodiless spirits to desire the same.
You are a Head to a Headless Rider, who youâve traveled with for some time.
Though he cannot speak, you often find him pigheadish and stubborn, yet roguishly charming, and youâd do just about anything for him. You spend time on his shoulders on nights the roads are clogged so he need not hide or fear discovery. You tell him of things he cannot see coming down the road, and when to avoid sight.
To him you may sometimes be chatty, slightly self-absorbed, and cheeky, but life would be so dull without you heâd rather not be on the Ride. He keeps you in his protection, so that you donât end up some rolling lost soul on the side of the road.
With him, you are never lost. You worry for nothing really, and he likes you that way, so you may complain as much as you like about your petty grievances without much bothering him. Complaints are the outcome of keeping a spoiled head.
Not to mention, he enjoyed the special kind of pleasure you brought into his life which none other had.
Alone on the Ride you made kind of an odd pair but a functional one, overall. It is not obvious how odd you are as his head, until you are around others of his kind at All Hallowsâ Eve.
Once a year, the Riders feel a pull to the Road and join one another in a parade of spirits deemed by all as the Hunt. For this, they are joined by their heads or their partners, if a Rider chooses to have such a sentimental companion. You are only one of few female heads with male counterparts, at least one with just a head, and it makes you something of a social outcast (though you loath to admit it.)
Youâd been oddly quiet the day you and he arrive at the gathering, more so than usual. He thinks the others might just be being mean to you, but he witnesses no such bullying. There is, however, a rush of gossip amongst the heads and ride-a-longs. Rumor is, that one of the oldest ghosts in the hunt has not arrived this year. They say he found his head and left the Ride, leaving behind his ephemeral life.
He, in his own way, prompts you about your time in the Hunt. It is an unwavering kind of silence, and a sense that he wants your attention. After some time of this gentle prompting, thatâs when you reveal what it is youâve been thinking. You surprise him when you kind of lean up to look at him, looking more kind than you aught.
âWe could find your head, I bet itâs still around.â You say, then seem bashful, âI mean, youâve a stubborn kind of spirit I doubt it stayed a corpse.â
The Rider finds this a curious idea, one that lingers on his un-contained thoughts as he rides the Hunt and eventually all the Riders go their own ways, and wander the weary roads of the world. Though he canât voice his lingering thoughts, eventually you and he end up riding towards a place he often avoidsâthe location of his death.
âSometimes I wonder how you diedâŠâ You say as he slows his approach to a long-begotten graveyard.
He has no away to answer you, but the wind blows a low whistle. He doesnât much like to think about that time, nor would he burden you with such knowledge, even if he could speak and tell it to you.
Looking around, he finds himself a stranger in this place, though in his soul he knows this must be the place he found his first end. It is a quiet place now, not much different from any old graveyard, but it was once a place of execution, and before that a terrible battlefield.
They come upon it late at night, when the moon is just a sliver in the sky, so they pass through the big stone walls which keep most folks away from this scarred land.
You roll off the saddle where you normally sit, and hit the ground with a no sound. Off into the slight grass and stone you move yourself. And this begins the search.
His own part in looking for his head is halfhearted at best. He canât really see per say, but he could be trying to sense harder than he currently is. You both wander around for a while, weaving respectfully between the tombstones and searching for the place where once he might have laid to be decapitated.
You find it. A flicker of a spirit that draws you in, familiar and unresolved. You nudge it up from the dirt, then it reveals itself as one of your own kind. A spirit head. The Rider comes quick to your side when you shout with excitement, and when his head comes to him all sense of unease leaves him.
At first you seem rather pleased with yourself. When his head reaffixes to his ghostly body, and before you is a full man, you canât help but feel a little pride.
Then, when you see his handsomeness and wholeness, you shrink. Ah, he is too good, and too perfect. All at once too much, when you are so obviously too little. And this is even before you see hear his voice!
âMy.â He speaks with a somewhat uncertain tone. âThat feels strange after all this time.â
He blinks oddly, and looks around at the world with new eyes.
Itâs as if a veil has lifted up, and what was a blurred glow of the world to his undead senses has sharpened. His vision before was not solid or real, but readable in the way snakes may see thermally in vague forms and gauges. Perception snapped into focus and all the world was his to behold once more.
Even here, in a grim place like a graveyard, he sees only beauty.
What a perfect glow a light mist stirring the overgrown grass and worn mausoleums has. What color the faded grave stones have, with the inscribed names mostly forgotten. Trees of yew scrape at the sky with limbs that are half-dead, only the barest of leaves still clinging to them before the coming winter robs the branches of their summer crowns.
He looks so elated with it all. But you?
Your heart, which is literally so very far from your person, aches. Indeed, he looks so delighted with his new vision you cannot help but feel pale in comparison to a newly returned world. You will be nothing to him now. He has no need of you.
Perhaps this was a bad idea.
Youâve returned his head, and now heâll disappear, just like that old ghost. Or heâll find you useless, and discard you. When one needs one head, having one thatâs not the original seems fine.
But certainly, certainly, a person doesnât need two heads. Not in any way. That seems so obvious now.
Your revelation leaves a haunting lull in the mood. You canât even hide your upset, though you mean to.
âI suppose this is goodbye.â You say, almost teary.
At the warbly sound of your voice, he turns to you pointedly. âWhat are you talking about?â
âWell, you certainly donât need a head around anymore, do you? Are you going to fade into the air and go to, well, well, wherever it is we go.â You sniffle. âIt was very good traveling with you and all, donât feel too bad leaving me behind.â
âLeave you behind?â Shaking his head, he can hardly say the words, âI canât leave you behind.â He says like itâs just the most simple kind of fact.
âI-I-I can make it on my own.â You try to bluster, bouncing your head to turn away from him. âYou donât have to stay just because you think I canât.â
For the first time, you can hear is light exhale, which sounds extraordinarily like the wind that always seems to blow around him, and it is a sound of fondness and exasperation.
âYou silly ladyâŠâ He leans down, and picks you up. âLike I would leave you all alone on the road, just who do you think youâve been riding with?â
He gives you no chance to answer. But he steps towards you, and with a precision that he did not before have, swoops up your head into his hands, and brings it up to eye level. Now that he truly sees you, you are a remarkably fine-looking woman. Heâs sure the rest of you much match, and now that heâs been made whole once again, their next task seems all too clear.
âI never thought I might find my headâIâm so lucky I picked you off the side of the road, for where would I be without you! No, no, weâll find your body, and when we both stand together whole, weâll walk into the after together. That sounds like a suitable end to me.â
âYouâŠâ You blink up at him, bashful for once in your unlife. ââŠpromise?â
âI promise.â
And then, much to your esteemed and his pleasure, he brings your lips to his newly reattached ones. Itâs a ghostly kiss, yet it holds all the heat of passion one might expect two living lovers to share after being at long distance.
Of course, his lips would be as skilled as his riding, you think with some glee, having never thought such a kiss like this would be possible.
His fingers dig into your hair, and you feel a sense of appreciation and love which was impossible for him to show when heâd been headless. It kind of radiated from him, in these pleasant moments after becoming whole and it makes all your worries melt away.
When he releases you, he sighs, âThatâs nice to finally be able to do.â
âAnd⊠ah⊠what else is it youâve wanted to do?â
He laughs, a deeply amused chuckle. Such a sound makes that butterfly feeling that shouldnât exist yet by some magic still does flitter across you in a bashful way.
âAre you eager to please me?â He laughs again.
You nod, best you can. You are very eager indeed. The desire to please him is what sent you both journeying to this place.
He coos at you, âI suppose youâve earned a reward. I would have never looked for my head on my own, nor found it here even if I bothered to return. But what would you have that reward be? Iâve already promised to go look for your lost body. If Iâm stubborn, you are triply so, and so Iâm sure your person must have persisted elsewhere.â
Not so sure if that was true, you were more interested in his first question than thinking about your body out there somewhere without the guidance of your head.
âI know what you want. Minxy woman. I canât imagine what youâll do when you can hold yourself up, hm.â He teased. âYou might just toss me down whenever the need strikes you.â
âAs if I could!â
He chuckles. âI imagine you might try one day.â
And the Rider (not so headless anymore) sits himself at the base of a nearby tree and sets you to the side to undo his pants a bit. When his cock is free, he grabs you once more and brings you level with his half hard cock.
Becoming whole has been an unexpectedly exciting experience.
Even before he could even see what exactly this looks like, heâd been a mite obsessed with using your head like some kind of sex-sleeve. Now, looking on you like this with his own eyes, he finds all the other times were half wasted. The look of his cock against your cheek is one he never wants to be without again.
Already hardening more, he slips his length between your eager lips, and with a controlling the pace, and your practiced lips, he finds himself soon in high pleasure.
âYouâre too good at this.â He hisses through his teeth, though is barely coherent.
That was the last sentence he could squeak out, as he was much to overwhelmed by the sensation of your lips, and the vacuum like suction in which you in took his length.
What a pleasure it is, to hear all the parts of his enjoyment which before were before just a stretch of silence and your imagination. To know for certain that he likes it when you rub your tongue this way, or that way, was a gift indeed. Or when you suck particularly hard, and at which depth made his brow knot and a hiss of a sigh to escape his lips.
Seeing how his ghostly face contorts with pleasure under the sliver of moon light has been your dream for some time.
Itâs with two huffs of breaths, a grunt, and a sharp intake of air (which surely he didnât need, but that didnât much matter), he finished. When he was more ghost than man, his release was more unreal and there was an obtuse amount of it. If youâd been a real full person who could fear such things, you might have drowned in it.
But instead, it spills through the hole in your neck and onto the muddy ground beneath you, fading quickly into the aether of the air.
You, feeling a bit fuzzy headed, are pulled away from his member and left in a daze. Even with his head, it seemed like he just couldnât get enough of yours. Passionately, he lifts you again, and finds that he rather likes the press of your lips against his after youâve made him both an entire person again and one that feels this good.
When he kisses you again, all feels right in the world. Youâll journey off, and well, if he like you like this, heâd surely like you when you become whole too!
âŠ
Right?
X...X...X
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Alpha!Zoro x Omega!Reader | Alpha!Luffy x Reader | (EVENTUAL) Iota!Nico Robin x Omega!Reader | Platonic Everyone Else x Reader
[An Omegaverse One Piece Rewrite][Updates Every Wednesday]
X...X...X
Word Count: 3.6k
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X...X...X
Now, that splash was quickly followed by another, as Nami could not bear to watch Zoro drown. He'd have been laughing all the way to the jail he was dragged into if he could spare the strength for it. But after he was dragged back onto the deck, he was thrown into a cell where he sat in a self-satisfied manner.
Though it appeared that there was no way out from the situation he'd been thrown in, he sat patiently and unconcerned. Perhaps the delirium was more intense than he realized, for he was just certain that not long from now, he would be let out.
This he told the guard who lingered at his door to ensure it was locked, but the fishman just called him a stupid human, and walked away.
To this Zoro chuckled darkly, already envisioning how he would carve through this place with a righteous and vengeful fury. Like some kind of demon of the sword, awakened by the stench of death. And if the fishmen were really that strong they could try and stop himâbut Zoro strongly doubted they could.
Though he couldn't hear much, he knew there was a commotion in the Park before everything went quiet. Most of the voices gone, like they'd cleared out to go elsewhere.
Too bad, less bodies he could decorate the halls with.
In fact, it wasn't long after Nami appeared again.
She cut his ropes and threw him his sword and two others, demanding he leave before running off herself, not bothering to explain herself one way or another. He takes his time getting up and testing the weight of a new blade in his hands.
She doesn't stick around to make sure he follows orders. Not like she could make him do anything, now that he was free, so he considers what he should do.
Sure, he'd leave. But he wouldn't do so without leaving his mark on these overly confident fish people. And so, he reigns his own chaos on Arlong Park while its master is away. When he left, taking a ride from an oblivious octopus man, it was with a courtyard full of easily defeated men behind him, making Zoro wonder why their leader seemed to think them all inherently superior...
No one is stronger than an alpha on a rage to reclaim what's theirs. If the fishman wouldn't learn that now, when Luffy arrived, they would never forget it.
Zoro had never been more sure of anything in his life.
...
On the other side of the island, while Zoro was straining his body too much and slicing the Arlong crew to incapacitation, and Usopp was facing off Arlong as the great pirate went to bully the residents of Cocoyashi Village, where were you?
It was perhaps embarrassing to admit, that when Nami stole the ship, you hadn't even realized it at first. Having descended from the crow's nest around the time the supplies began to exit the Baratie to feed the starving crew of the Don Kreig battalion, you made a completely incorrect assumption that the trouble had passed. And were a little too sure that the rest of the crew would be soon returning.
So instead of manning the watch as you were like to do, you descended, heading below deck where the boys slept and their general supplies were keptâthough with Luffy around, calling any food down there "safely kept" wasn't exactly true.
And even though you were sure everything must be fine nowâyou'd seen the trouble pass with your own eyes, there was a tense feeling in your chest that wouldn't go away.
This was why looking out at a still sea for too long was bad for the heart! If the mess was over, and that war ship was simply in an unfortunate accident with a sea monster and in need of supplies, what good would it do to anxiously stare at it? None.
Maybe you'd been a little to anxious when you Mr. Roronoa that warning, with how the air seemed unnaturally still in the moment it seemed rational.
But now?
Best to keep your hands busy, so you don't go around assuming there's more trouble than there is. It was much better to be in the dim of the cabin, with a clipboard in hand counting how many barrels of rum and rice they had left. It was yourâself-imposedâresponsibility to ensure they had everything they needed to sail safely and happily.
And for now, that meant keeping up with their food and drink supplies (mostly trying to keep Luffy from eating it all) and the other miscellaneous things a ship needed to be in tip top shape. You were a touch worried about the level of their supplies, see, and curious about trading with the chefs for a few things the crew'd been using faster since they'd taken Johnny and Yosaku on board.
Namely their liquor stash, which was beginning to run dry with four heavy drinkers aboard instead of just two. Nami and Zoro did not have much in common, save for their love for rum, and so you thought it best the ship didn't run dry.
You were so lost in thought, wondering what it was they could trade out of their supplies a boat like the Baratie might need, that you didn't notice the first odd movements on the ship. It didn't seem like the Merry would be carrying anything they'd want. Not as you flicked through extra sail fabric and wood supplies for keeping the ship in sailing shapeâdoubting the restaurant would need either of those. It was around than the boat lurched, you stumbled, and then wondered if a storm was coming in, and move on, continuing to look at your clipboard, totally unbothered.
Undenounced to you, at this point Nami had commandeered the Going Merry and was headed swiftly towards Arlong Park with the help of a strong headwind. The ship was practically skipping across the water, so fast and smooth, in the darkness of under the deck, it felt like you were completely still! So when you did stick your head up, you froze, shocked to see the boat surrounded by open ocean.
Running to the railing didn't help, though you couldn't stop yourself from staring open mouth at the sudden change in view. Baratie and the battalion were nowhere in sight, nor was the rest of the crew.
Luffy was too loud to hide, Mr. Roronoa wasn't sleeping against the mast, Usopp wasn't tinkering (and complaining).
Their guests Yosaku and Johnny were never very quiet either, and impossible to miss. You didn't even see Nami at first, afraid the ship had just drifted off, so a moment later you're running to the helm, to see if theirs anyway you could try and sail the ship back yourself.
(Though which way would be the right way back... you'd have to figure that out later!)
This was pandemonium, you were in utter panic as you burst into the part kitchen, part helm-roomâuntil you saw Nami crying at the table. Her hand was wrapped around a bottle and she sobbed into the crook of her arm.
You entered the room quickly, and what you thought was loudly. The door burst open behind you, and slammed shut. You ran to her, shook her arm, called her name, anything to get her attention and ask her what was going on. Butâand perhaps it's because she was so upsetâno matter what you did to get her attention Nami wouldn't even look your way let alone explain herself.
You felt like a mime, pulling on an invisible and immovable object. But it was all useless effort.
Captain Monkey D Luffy and Mr. Zoro Roronoa were not the only people you'd met that were able to see and sense you, but with them around, it seemed you'd forgotten the sting of a life that was spent by a mostly invisible person.
It was lonely, so very lonely...
You sighed.
Giving up, you end up sitting across the table from Nami and only able to watch as she drowned another glug of her beer bottle than got up to steer the boat, feeling incredibly pensive. Whatever was bothering her, it obviously took up her entire mind, and you couldn't feel anything but sorry for her.
At the same time, you had a terrible feeling that Nami was finally making good on her promise to leave them behind, just like she'd said she'd do the moment they'd met, so it shouldn't have been so surprising.
Don't trust me. She said.
Not to mention, I'm not a pirate, I hate pirates!
I'm not joining your crew, she always insisted, before adding, but I guess we can work together for now...
And though Nami said all those things, only Mr. Roronoa ever seemed suspicious of this spunky red-headed beta. Captain didn't even blink at those remarks, laughing them off like he did most things. Betas were the most loyal, and Ms. Nami seemed so alone when they met. She didn't smell of a pack, or like anywhere really. It was kind of sad.
You remembered how she actually lived with them, despite all she said. The genuine laughs and smiles, the concern she had for them all, howâeven when she complainedâshe always ended up helping the rest of them. She put herself into real danger when they fought, and directed them through the waves with a dedicated firmness...
Based on that alone you were sure that Nami didn't want to hate Luffy, or Usopp, or you, or even Zoro, though they didn't always get along.
Nami was your good friend now, you'd survived together. It was because of Nami they even had the Going Merry to call their own. You remembered the look in her eye as she heard of Kaya's illness. Not even for a moment did Nami want to take advantage of some sickly woman she didn't know, even if she was rich. Her mouth might have been sharp sometimes, but her heart was pure and good. So even though she said she would leave, you, like Luffy, hadn't really believed her.
But now she clearly made good on her word. Nami was leaving the crew, and taking everything of value they had with her. It was a troubling betrayal indeed.
Nami got up half way through your distant thoughts and manned the ship exceptionally well by herself, you got up and watched her, wondering what it was you could do now to turn this situation around. All you could think to do was watch, and look out for Ms. Nami even if Nami couldn't see you to save her own life.
So, you headed up to the crow's nest to look out for signs of the rest of the crew or land where you'd be out of the way (but hopefully seeing signs of the rest of the crew following, though you never did).
The ship was moving incredibly fast, the fastest you'd ever seen. And before the sun was even indicating it was mid-afternoon you spotted an island. Nami did too, and the boat skirted that way with a precision of a woman who'd done something like this before.
You put your telescope down and chewed your lip. This place, wherever it was, wasn't very far from Baratie at least. But you wondered if the rest of the crew had any idea that they were here of all the places in the ocean...
Two months ago, the idea of being stranded on some unknown island wouldn't have bothered you too much.
You were used to making it on your own, in unfamiliar places, being over looked and living under others without them even knowing. But there was a deep pain in your heart imagining a world where you wouldn't hear Captain yelling every other second, and rushing to see what excited him, or helping Usopp with his tinkering, or planning routes with Nami.
The phantom of heartbreak made your eyes prick with tears, for you didn't want to lose a single one of those people you'd gained over the last few weeks, let alone all of them. Not even Nami.
But what if they never came, what if... and it hurt her deeply to consider this... what if you never got to see him again.
The one. Tall, green hair and a little brooding, with a chip on his shoulder that seemed to keep him at a distance from everyone. And yet you could still scent him on your skin, on your cheek when you'd been unable to control yourself and marked him.
How embarrassing. You were lucky he didn't push you off.
Mr. Roronoa was something you hadn't expected to meet. He lit a fire in you. Not like how Luffy did, though you loved Luffy like a kindred spirit. Luffy felt like a home you'd never known, and he was so playful.
But Zoro made you feel off guard, almost uncomfortable in a way you didn't know what to do with. It made you feel on edge and soft, like you could just fold over for him. Better yet, unfold for him.
Two months keeping him at a careful distance, that was what you kept him at while you unraveled these feelings. And he was always respectfully doing the same. You weren't even sure if he liked you in any intent way. He kept you at arm's length, treating you like a sister, doing what good alphas did for pupsâmaking sure they eat, gentle scenting so they feel secure, rubbing elbows, and always keeping an eye out for you.
You figured Zoro thought you were so weak you needed to be handled like you were made of glass instead of paper. You figured he was watching to make sure you didn't hurt yourself, or rip in half. Or run off like it was now clear Ms. Nami was doing.
Yet, he only did it when he thought you weren't paying attention.
However, you had lived a life unseen for so long, you were always keenly aware of when you were being observed. But when it was Zoro doing the looking, you actually kind of liked being seen. And now there was a chance he would never look your way again!
It was a miserable reality, the hind of you howled for him desperately, an omega keening unlike any you'd felt beforeâand maybe it would have just been better to say it than hide in shyness, yet you couldn't bring yourself to be forthright.
But now! What if you never saw you again? What if you never got to rub elbows or write down his stories? Never got to see him win? Get to see him become great?
They cyclical thoughts were driving you crazy.
What if you didn't get to see Usopp get brave? What if you never saw Luffy again? Never got to see him be as great as he dreamed of being? Never heard him snicker or get into trouble? Or get pulled along into his adventures?
As you watched the island come closer, you go totally still. Nami was readying sail and slowing the boat down and you took a deep breath and thought hard.
Did you really trust Luffy completely? Had you put all your faith in him as Captain?
Of course!
If you were still with them at the Baratie when the crew found out the ship missing, what would you witness them do? Well, the answer seemed obviousâthey would do anything to get it back, probably putting themselves in serious harm to do so. And that was just if the ship was missing.
They were coming, and they would find a way to find you too.
After that, you didn't have to overthink it. Luffy would be coming after them sooner rather than later. That much was a certainty. And if you were wrong and Luffy never came, than you would just have to navigate reality as you had before him. Before... all of them.
It was as simple as that.
Not so long later Nami drove the ship passed a tall pagoda building, the words Arlong Park painted on the white stucco in the same shinning red color as the tiles.
It was an imposing looking place, towering over the rural island, mostly peppered with jungle and rice fields. Nami waved at a fishman standing guard along a dock, and they waved back and sailed past the main building, taking the boat to a smaller dock that extended out from an open field which separated the ocean from a quaint town.
Nami tied up the Merry and then left, leaving you alone. It wouldn't be good to leave the boat unattended, so you stayed and decided to keep yourself busy. The first task was to make a cup of tea, and when that was poured, you sat at the dining table with the Log and got to writing.
A pair of fishmen came to look around the helm's room eventually, going through the cupboards and utterly ignoring her. They both soon were leaving to the cargo hold where the more valuable of their things were. You continued writing and then as an aside wrote a note to re-evaluate the supplies,= happy you'd just done a look through so the tally of the losses would be accurate. Though, you added, hopefully the rest of the crew would arrive soon and they'd recoup whatever was stolen and then some.
You'd just placed a period on that sentence when the sound of Johnny's voice cut through the air with a sharp kind of hollering baritone only men like him were capable ofâbut your concern spiked the moment that voice cut off before it could finish forming your name. You quickly got up and ran to the port window.
Usopp and Johnny were on the boat, trying their damndest to look as disinterested as possible in the Merry and everything else. But your heart skipped a beat when you looked past them and saw Zoro there. And you hadn't even had to wait that long! But just as quickly, your heart sank.
He looked terrible.
There was messily wrapped gauze across his chest, and it was already stained dark, needing changing. He was pallid too, and obviously sweatingâhe probably had a fever. And you couldn't help but wonder what on this blue earth could have happened to him in the few short hours they'd all been separated.
Usopp and Johnny's act was only more suspicious to the lazy fishman who'd just finished casing the ship. So, they hopped into the water, and the two fools standing at the railing jumped in, and swam away from the boat. There was no way for you to hop from the Merry to Johnny and Yosaku's boat lest you fall in the water where you'd surely sink and die a horrible death.
And after a short fashion the fishmen took Zoro away in the direction of Arlong Park.
You were frozen there for a second, but you shook off these feelingsâthe mix of apprehension and happiness of seeing them again wouldn't help you right now. You had to be focused on getting everyone back together. Feeling better about leaving the Merry behind, you disembark and head to shore; your direction was certainâyou needed to get to Arlong Park and fast.
Getting to Arlong Park by land ended up being more complicated than you had anticipated, and for a rare occurrence in your life you were very, very lost. The signage in the whole area seemed to be upside and backwards, leading you back to the small Cocoyashi village several times, and finally you huffed, giving up on taking the roads and walking along the coast line.
No longer than a half hour after that, you saw Arlong Park rise up over the trees and knew you were headed in the right direction as the tall stucco walls towered into view, but little did you know that Zoro had long since left the courtyard and Arlong returned from his belligerent rampage on the other side of the island.
Usopp was in the courtyard now and Johnny, who'd climbed half way up the wall to look through a small window, was watching the scene. You decided to climb to the top too, perching on the edge of the fence like a bird, your knees tucked under your cape and your eyes opened wide. Usopp, trying his best to hide his shaking knees, was facing off against Arlong and Nami.
You had unfortunately missed most of the context of the disagreement, but you noticed right away that Usopp looked terribly upset as did Ms. Nami.
A fight broke out between Usopp and Nami, and Usopp threw one of his smoke bombs, making Johnny gasp. But when the smoke cleared, Nami was next to Usopp, a knife hilt in her hand and... this time it was you that gasped.
It appeared as if Ms. Nami had just stabbed Mr. Usopp right in the stomach! Usopp's eyes were wide with pain and he looked near in tears. A bright red stain colored his shirt and then Usopp fell backwards into the water with a heavy splash of a limp body.
Johnny was shocked to silence. He reeled away from the wall, walking right past you like you didn't exist. Real true tears poured down his face as he wept for Usopp in a genuine display of grief that stirred your heart. But before you could get down from the top of the fence touch his shoulder or try and console him, he ran off westward, telling himself a little too loudly that he needed to find Zoro and tell him the news.
Zoro and west log in your mind before you turn back to the aftermath of the scene at hand. The Arlong pirates are gathered around Nami. They look upset about somethingâmaybe the unconscious members of their crew still scattered around.
You can't help but think Zoro had something to do with that.Â
X...X...X
a/n: The first chapter in poor Owleye's POV! Also!! All the way up to the first chapter of the next book is up on my Patreon (and this story is completely free over there BTW).
I find her absolute bone-headedness hilarious. There are more of these to come, though only every so often. I'm absolutely addicted to Zoro's brooding, much too much to let the narrative shift from his eyes too often. There just needs to be some break, one for contrast, and two so that I can actually include other parts of the plot that Zoro is not in (or exclude ones that he is in that I don't like) especially later on.
Anyway enough rambling, I hope you enjoyed, my self indulgent friend. Until next week!
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This wasnât a normal dating sim game, no of course not. There wasnât just a cast of available men, where the player picked just one and found a path to true love. This was a game about winning the affection of all five of the men in the cast.
Five men. Five! And what strange, intense men they were and she especially because she dreaded her fate, if she actually crossed paths with the main suitors living in the body of Anemone.
Then again, how many times had Porsha imagined that she might be the main character? Held down by the tonnage of an impossible monsters, one who took all his rage on her own body. Who threatened lowly in a gravelly voice that heâd make sure you never forget the shape of him inside you. That only he was allowed to punish your skin.
That only his claws could take your life.
Will you break us all? He demanded as he took her, and Porsha always thought he said that, as if finally, finally, he cared enough to be pained by the thought of Roseâs death. A confession of love in his own, harsh way.
It was haunting. It was horrifying.
It was so...
hot!
Suddenly there was only one thing that seemed to matter in the world, as she looked into the mirror and came to grips with the facts. She needed to get back home. And this was a goal that was more powerful and straightforward than any other sheâs had in her whole life.
How would she do it? Well, that was a totally different issue.
Solas is many things. An elf, a spirit, a liar, a god, and a slave. But what is he behind the masks? Could he be more the summation of his lies⊠or will he forever languish and sufferâaloneâfulfilling the orders of others and destroying himself, and the world along with him?
[Part write-a-long, part re-write. A Solas x Lavellan Inquisitor story from Solasâs POV.]
AO3
Tags: Spoilers for DA:I and VG, soft smut, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending, ending fix
WC: 15k
âŠ
Guilt
âŠ
Slave marks, all over her beautiful face.
Thatâs what Solas thought when he saw his Lady Lavellan the first time. He didnât even know her name in that moment, but he knew she was Dalish.
He couldnât help but sneer to himself, and think what a despicable thing to do to a young woman. They marred this fresh soul by putting these brands on her precious skin. Like she was chattel. Those stupid children were lining up to make themselves enslaved, and were lucky that those who would take advantage of that were long asleep.
Heâd never imagined there would be a time when elves would uptake their own oppression with such eagerness. He hated this world and what it had become on nearly every conceivable level.
While the elvish woman who would soon be known by many names struggled to hold onto life in that time between the Conclave exploding and the first attempt to heal the Breach, he nursed her, prayed for her life, and cursed the Dalish more than any other people.
It was easier to rest his upset on their shoulders than direct his ire towards what truly troubled him, since there was nothing his anger could do to fix this blasted situation.
That said, he had a real reason to be irate.
The plan had backfired.
Solas was aware that in order to activate the orb heâd given the ancient Magister, it would need a worthy blood sacrifice. The act of killing would both empower the device and cause the necessary path to open between it and the fade so the power it held within could be unleased. Now, such an ancient and powerful magical item was fickle and it desired the highest kind of human offering.
It needed a person of virgin attitude, chaste and who took the same pride in their body as one does a temple. They would need to be of nobleness, in both character and blood, and well regarded by most persons they knew. Someone who carried significant communal authority. Such an orb craved goodness, and to feast on the grief of those who would pour their thoughts into the void where once a beloved person once stood.
This was a wretched toll, but one Solas would pay in order to receive the blessings it promised. He found a suitable target, and a weapon to set against her, and put the events that led up to the explosion of the Conclave into motion.
His plan in the aftermath? To do what his mistress desired all those eons ago, and reset this begotten world by cutting the curtain of the Veil down once and for all. This would end things, in a sense, and begin a new era where spirits and mortals would walk together. In such a world, magic would flow through minds as it did in the ancient days and order between man, spirit, and nature would once again be rebalanced.
This fate he dreamed of, it had been the mission given to him by his master eons ago. Finally, he found himself in the position to make strides towards their desired destiny.
What he did not know, was that the binding of the Anchor would cause this much collateral damage.
If heâd known⊠well, it was too late now to tweak his plan. Something must have gone very, very wrong indeed, because all things were not as they should have been. He was not the one to receive the gift of its power as he was supposed to. Nor had Corypheus, whoâd been tasked with completing the opening ritual.
This woman he now tended to must have interrupted the proceedings, which also irritated Solas to some degree. Didnât that mad man know how important this operation was? How could someone be allowed so close to the ritual, at such a delicate time?
Perhaps, Solas should have considered that a man who attempted to storm the Golden City would not be reasonable once he was risen up into a blighted second life and been given the means to once again attempt to claim the creatorâs throne.
Summoning Corypheus was the closest Solas had ever come to doing blood magic and heâd given the Magister specific orders before setting him out into the world. It was all for naught. The binding spells he used were not tight enough. It seemed like whatever he demanded became half-forgotten urges, and now the ultimate darkspawn was running free and there was so much more mess to clean up in his wake.
Ultimately, his plan had not just back fired. It had failed.
The mark that was supposed to be his seemed to taunt him as it flickered and glowed as it finished imprinting itself on this elfâs flesh instead of his. She had to live or they were all damned. This much he was sure of, even as her brow sweat and she did not seem like she would make it through the evening.
Then the Breach began to get worse. In his weakened state, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop the Fade from ripping open right then and there should it become any more unstable.
One would think this would suit his purposes fine, but it did not. Should the fade attempt to overrun this world with the veil still risen, it would cause the demonification of all beings. This was not his desired outcome. He wanted spirits to be free, and by birthing themselves through the Veil they would only be held captive to their vices instead of liberated.
It was a waste of an opportunity though, he thought. The veil pierced, and he could in no way take advantage. Only one person had the skill to stabilize the fissure now, and she lay mostly dead and sleeping restlessly.
Eventually the dark haired and stern Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast became so desperate to save her men, and this town, that he and the other prisoner (a red-headed dwarf rogue by the name of Varric) were sent out to fight in the madness. He went without argument, curious to see if he even needed the anchor now that the fade and already began splitting. Quite confident he wouldnât, he set out with Varric and faced the demons spilling forth from the sky.
They ascended high into the Frostback mountains.
When they did, he faced the rip and used all his focus to attempt to close it. Nothing worked. It did not matter what he chanted, or how he approached the green tear in the air, it would not bend to his will. The only thing it did was weep more furious spirits into this world. After he realized this, avoiding his own premature demise had to be his tantamount priority.
They wouldnât have lasted forever. The demons could spawn endlessly, as the hungrier spirits were attracted to these breaks, that on the other side of the veil must have appeared like wells, spilling the water of creation into their dead realm. Certain spirits, most of them really, were starving for energy. So hungry they were, it drove them to madness and turned them into these violent things.
Again, he thought as he slayed them, more wasted life.
Hours were spent on that mountain pass, defending themselves from the horde before there was a break in the fighting. Then he saw her, the marked one, in the waking living world.
It was as if a tool had finally been properly delivered to him. He stepped up to her without much pomp, then thrust her hand into the rip and made the mark do as it was made to. It didnât matter who was attached to the Anchor, after all. If one bore the mark, they could contort the Fade. All she needed was the proper prompting to utilize that skill.
Legends that led him to seek this power said the feeling of the Veil was one no one wouldâor couldâforget. After this first fissure, she would be able to use the mark on her own with little issue. This would soon be proven true.
After the demons were felled and the rift closed, she turned her eyes to him. They were searching for answers to questions she didnât even know to ask. Like a doeish spirit of curiosity, she looked to him for help.
Solas was many things to this world. He was once just a spirit, then made a tool, then turned into himself, then turned into a parody. He was remembered still as the Dread Wolf, god of liars and betrayal.
This was a role he had grasped to make Solas the elvish mage, and he wore the face well of a wise even-tempered man of her race. There was probably no one better suited to stand before her right in this moment, as a figure of leadership or companionship. Whichever she preferred. If she wanted answers, he would be there to give them in due time, and they would all lead her down the due path.
If she bore the mark, he would need to be close to her. He would find that her openness and trustworthiness would be very⊠useful⊠aspects of her personality.
He told her a truth and a lie in those first moments of meeting, while they were still standing in the dissipating green haze. At the very least, he was not as forthright as he could have been in that moment. He didnât say one way or another, but he knew exactly what it was on her hand. He even knew how it must have been bestowed, though the exact particulars of the leading events were not in his awareness.
He didnât need to know to know. And he also didnât need to know to know that it certainly wasnât Andraste walking her through the Fade and giving her power over the Veil. He had, in some roundabout way, done it. Though human religion taking credit for some part of this disaster would make a very good cover. Indeed, he couldnât have asked for better.
He could have sighed to himself. All of this was getting complicated.
What a troublesome turn of events, though it was no matter, his goals remained unchanged. He would be the one to merge this world and the Fade, one way or another. It just seemed as if fate had picked him the vessel to purse that goal from, rather than the viceroy he decided with his own hand. She would do. She would have to.
As she thanked him for both tending to her and helping her understand her new power, he felt no guilt for lying. He was deceiving all of them, and his heart was not to be swayed by these mortals at this stage.
No, the shame of guilt did not come until much later.
âŠ
Interest
âŠ
There was an unexpected kind of magic in being a small piece of an organization that grew as honorable and large as the Inquisition quickly did. Despite himself, he found himself drawn quickly into the romance of being a dashing hero on the frontlines of many grand battles. To be like one of the many heâd witnessed in the fade memories of past, the thrill of actually making that history in a mortal material way was very enticing, he had to admit.
He decided to stay with them at first for a pragmatic reason. The mark that was supposed to be on his chosen hero was now attached to another body, and where the Anchor was, he would stay. At least, he would do so for the time being.
The Breach in the sky was also worrisome, and certainly not a part of his grander plans. That would need to be dealt with before anything else.
He and the newly formed Inquisition could agree on that.
All to be said, being in the Inquisition was a completely rational decision based on both his ability to use this camp as a place to gather intel and as a shield of sorts. Staying became less a chore as his eyes set on the holder of the Anchor, however.
That is, the dalish Lady Lavellan, who became something of a fixation. She was pretty and dangerous, and moralistic in a way that always caught him off guard. Who else had he ever met who was so intent on helping everyone? There was no one else alive who was so faithful to always seeking the best path, with the most benefit to all.
Even if it was to fit her own definition of âbetterâ her vision for it was stronger than any other in the encampment. He found it an admirable trait.
And she was so, so curious. That was one feature of hers he noticed right away, and it was a part of her personality which only grew more appealing to him each time they spoke. She was so open about everything he spoke of, even if she didnât always agree with him (like their small dispute on blood magic), that it made speaking with her worthwhile.
Initially, he kept all his talk of the fade and the spirits heâd known, and the things he seen, to a more academic level. He explained the howâs and the whatâs but not really the whyâs and whatever feelings heâd had spawned from witnessing all that he had. Dry as he tried to be, this never lessoned her interest, and he found himself saying more and more, instead of less.
She had a focus in conversation that matched her attitude in battle. Heâd never met someone as indomitable as she was. Heâd almost call it prideful, should she appear to covet power and fame, but she did not. She was simply one person who never stopped putting one foot after another, never lost sight of the unseen goal over the horizon, and never took for granted a moment of life.
Such eyes set on his person made him feel oddly revealed. Thankfully she was so trusting, for she saw though him constantly, but never thought to lift the curtain of his lies and reveal his true personage. It was a dangerous game he played being near her, yet he found it very exciting.
Then, especially after the collapse of Haven, he found himself telling her more stories. Stories that sparked a bright shine of amazement in her eyes, and made her eager to hear more adventures. Those sorts about the long distant past, the fables of recent memories, and tales of him and his friends in the Fade who he still considered with affection.
Anything he said seemed to spawn a thousand questions and she listened always to the answers with such an earnesty, that his heart couldnât help but be swayed to like her. She did nothing to flatter him in a way that made her interest seem forced or like what tied them together was the shape of their ears and a fragmented way of life he didnât believe in.
It was a sweet, innocent relationship and a fair bit intoxicating.
Yet, he troubled himself, because he had a feeling he would not be so keen on her person if she was not lethallan. This bothered him. Not that he would have refrained from growing to respect the spirit she had if it had this same personality but a different body. It would be impossible not to grow an admiration for such person.
That did not change the fact that she was not Qunari or Human or one of the stone children. Nor did it change the fact that she did not know who he really was, or what he wanted, and if she did, she would likely mark him a villain.
Of course, this was not the case. In reality, she was an elf and she knew only his goodness, which left her vulnerable to being very soft to him. Yes, if she looked different he would not want her in this same way, and yet she was what she was, and he did (which all the time caught him off guard.)
They were talking now. It was a nice distraction; her conversation always was. Though he often did most of the speaking, she was here now instead discussing freely with him.
She was talking about the Inquisition and its problems. He found out that he was a person she could come to about things, as he would listen without expectation. He would not offer endless solutions or cower at the thought that the Herald and her leadership were not completely infallible or unwavering.
Since heâd help lead the Inquisitionâs way to Skyhold, she often came to him after trapsing off to some war-torn place, wishing to relax in his company while she drank tea that he (politely) always refused his own serving of. It was an amusing habit, that heâs grown to appreciate as it gives him an interior look into her mind, and the direction of the Inquisition without himself needing to pry much.
Is he taking advantage of her comfort with him? Perhaps. But in the end they both benefit, so he sees little wrong with the arrangement.
He was in the middle of listening just then, staring at her talk. They were out in a quiet part of the garden, where she had to speak low, but was more free to be open with her language than they could be should they be in his study in the tower, with the mages and spies always leering from above.
Sheâs upset that they have to attend this event for the Empress more than anything, it sounds like. As much as she wants to prevent the future she supposedly saw in Redcliffe, the pageantry of Orlais goes against her principles and manner in a way makes doing the duty of going undesirable.
The Inquisitor is a pretty woman, but she is not posh in any sense of the word, like Vivenne or Josephine. She is from the country, hailing from a tribe of herding wanderers. The idea of all this formality makes her uncomfortable, and he understands why.
For all he looked down the Dalish and their failures, she was proudly a representative of her people and he had to respect her for it. Her people, however, were outdoorsy and insular. Their problems derived mostly from survival, and political issues were often also family issues. When they wore fancy clothes, it was furs and garments passed down through generations and imbued with ancestral magic. These were outfits of war, often repurposed, and not made of silk or velveteen.
The dramas she faced mostly dealt with seasonal changes and the squabbling of tribeâs people that never truly threatened the status quo. Such conflict was of a different character than the kind that could be found at a court in Orlais, with its extreme diversity and wide scope. Not to mention the far reaching, and often deadly, consequences of their politicking.
He and she did not often argue. However, their biggest disagreements come from the fact that her mind sees problems in a very straight forward manner because of this upbringing.
Where he sees a situation and becomes aware of all things in it as separate facts and logics that may be in disagreement with each other and himself, she only sees enemies or allies. Alliances or conflicts. She was so intelligent and thoughtful, despite the way she was raised, he had to believe this stilted way of thinking came from her upbringing and he hoped she would grow past it.
Even if she did not, such a rigid mindset was not well suited for court, where enemies and allies often quickly shifted form and position.
This he thought about while sheâs ranting about her distaste for politics, looking all too simple and adorable, like a freshly bloomed flower bouncing in the wind. Even irate, she is pleasant, and he wants nothing more than to touch her in that moment.
Heâs reaching out before he can rationalize that urge.
His thumb traces down the swell of her cheek, then he pinches her chin in a playful fond way. How wrong it is, in a sense, to want her. She does not know what he is really, or how his spirit towers over hers, or even something as petty (in his eyes) of the many centuries of conscious life he as over her own scarce few decades.
The only thing that ruins the moment are those damn marks on her face⊠He canât believe them still, even if they are now a familiar smear on her otherwise pleasing person.
âWhat are you doing that for?â She asks, open, curious, and pliant as he turns her head his way.
At one point, before Haven fell, heâd called her indominable. He really did believe it, still did. And yet, as heâd said that, heâd wondered what it would be like to see her submit. This was just a wick of that power, he realized, and it was all too sweet to have just a taste. It made the tips of his fingers almost burn with a sense of unfamiliar power threaded with desire.
For this mage, who could make her icy fury known at any unwanted touch, did nothing as he grasped her in a random and intimate manner and turned her to face him.
âSolas?â She prompts, when he doesnât immediately explain.
âYou seemed anxious, I just wanted your focus.â He lies through a non-apology, though he doesnât let go. âIf you like, Iâll join you at the Winter Palace.â
âWith how they treat us?â She rolled her eyes, and launches back into her complaints despite the fact heâs still holding her. âTheyâll probably say horrible things about âour kindâ all night.â She scoffed, âItâll be bad enough that I have to go, let alone if we bring along you or Sera or Bull. These people know nothing of real strength and they donât care to. Itâs foul.â
âI know. And I do not care.â He tells her, and she softens a little.
He doesnât even disagree with her here, not really. They will be an unfortunate group of people to be around, but he has a soft spot for politics and legends of intrigue. There is a particular kind of energy to these things that is always at least intriguing. Sheâs never even really been to anything like the Winter Palace before, not when it was full of people and lively with intrigue instead of an empty ruin.
Who knows? She might end up liking it. If she does, heâd love to see such a transformation take place before his eyes. Not to mention, the night is sure to be memorable either way.
âWould you come?â She bids, âIf you are there, I feel as if I might be able to walk with more confidence, as I will know there is at least one soul in attendance who would be completely on my side.â
âYou donât think your advisors are on your side?â
She shook her head, âI do. But I also believe that they are on the Inquisitionâs side.â And those words insinuate something that is more precious to his ears than it should be. Petty as it is, he does have a desire to be favored, especially by her.
And so in return, he says something he probably shouldnât, even if he means it. Something unfortunately honest. âMy lady, even if you think I am gone far from you one day, I will always be at your side in fellowship.â
âIâŠâ she looked surprised but very grateful, âI appreciate that. Iâm aware that I donât always make decisions you like.â
âWho does?â He joked, âIn fact, I donât even make decisions I always like.â
This earned her giggle, a pleasant, uncommon sound on the air, though what he said was true and he meant it seriously. In the aftermath, he let her go, admiring her bashful glance his way as he does.
He canât help but wonder what that that look means. It leaves a heat on the air, as if she wouldnât mind if heâd done moreâŠ
âŠ
Desire
âŠ
She kissed him. It might have been done in the Fade but with the solidity of her inner world it might as well have been done in reality. He was left in a jittery state of excitement, even as his mind returned to his body. His fingers traced over his lips and he stayed laying down longer than heâd intended to.
Sheâd kissed him.
Heâd only took her to the fade to talk, to perhaps probe her mind and mystify her a bit more. In her mind, he could impress on her exactly the kind of appearance he wanted her to have of him. Firstly, a consoler. Secondarily, someone who had been by her when she was weak and still a non-entity to the world. There would be no doubt that she should trust him in the aftermath of this vision.
That was his plan, anyway.
It started off well enough. But he did not expect her gratitude or her playfulness or how real everything would feel in the beyond. Heâd thought it would feel less intense being in her orbit if he walked beside her in her mind where heâd always felt more at home, not more. How wrong he had been.
He remembered the feel of her hand in his that first time heâd reached to her, and used the Anchor to pinch the Fade back together through her body. That memory flicked across both of their minds. And that seemed to spur in his mind all the other times theyâd touched, and heâd had to refocus before the vision would wander.
Still, when he recalled this, then turned back to face her, there was a warm kind of bashfulness coloring her expression. She looked up at him like he was a dream, it brought a warmth to him as well.
âThen you closed the Rift.â He said to her, finishing his should-have-been perfect, convincing monologue. âAnd I felt the whole world change.â
âYou did?â She asked, just on the air, like she didnât want the phantom voices of Haven to hear. It was almost a confession. âI felt the very same.â And he had a feeling she wasnât talking about the feeling of the Rifts.
âItâs a figure of speech, of course.â He clarified, âAt that moment, I thought, maybe the world wouldnât be lost.â
She stepped closer to him. âIâm aware of the metaphor.â
âI didnât mean anymore by it than that.â He almost stuttered but he did not shrink away. Not when she was so close to him, and the space that remained between buzzed with the charge of something not-so-just-friendly.
âAre you certain?â She didnât step away, but she paused before coming that little bit closer, and spoke her heart better than he would have dared to. âBecause I did.â
âI must admitâŠâ He looked away than back to her, âYou change⊠everything.â
âIs this an attempt to sweet talk me?â
And despite himself, he was honest. âYes.â He admitted, and he meant it for far more than just this very moment.
He doesnât have to curse himself long for such a slip of the tongue, because his confirmation is all she needs to bridge the slight gap between them. He doesnât push her away when her hands come up, one laying on the back of neck and the other light on his check to guide their bodies to meet.
Her lips on his were surprising, foremost, which caused him to totally freeze. In the fade, he feels not just her body on hisâthough that is its own kind of stimulationâhe feels all her desire. All of it.
Just like her attention in the waking world, her emotion is a mass of directed focus that seared him. He saw all she wanted, probably more of it than she was aware of. He wanted nothing more than to fill that phantom version sheâd made of him, and all the imaginings sheâd considered which she unknowingly shared in that touch of skin.
He, however, was completely stunned as all that information came so openly in a vision of devotion and physicality. It was not a desire that reeked of lust and so repulsed him, it was something much harder to obtain than that.
She saw in him a lover, and a partner. Someone irreplaceable and special, with whom she also wished to share her body and hoped he wished to do the same. Something about the unrealness of the Fade world they were it brought all this to the surface, as well as a rush of gratitude.
This was too much forthrightness for him to bear. He moved not an inch, other than to be pliant to her guiding hands. This she notices once she starts moving her lips against his and he remains motionless.
Before sheâs barely let her lips raise from his, sheâs already apologizing.
âIâm sorry, I must have mistookââ
But this is much too soon a parting for something that should have never happened to begin with. He will not be denied the forbidden, now that sheâs offered it to him so willingly. He grabs her waist, pulling them hip to hip. The friction was compelling and her arms braced around his neck when they again kissed.
This time, mouths pressed close and his own desires overwhelming, the warmth of her lips was followed by the fleeting softness of her tongue which made him wish to chase pleasure into the recesses of their bodies. He could not have enough of her.
He let her go, horrified with himself for thinking such a thing or letting this happen, then was made so distraught by such a sudden parting he grabbed her again. By the waist he held her, half bent over and as close as his arms could make them, feeling her fingers curl into the flesh of his arm and shoulder as he showed her how he felt in all the ways a mouth could without speaking.
They stayed like that for some time, until she was dazed and panting. He can feel she wants more, and he too can feel that desire bud within him. When it becomes so intense that she struggles to rub herself against the front of him, heating their spirits until he begins to covet more than just her lips and her love, he must put a stop to this before it goes too far.
The third time he pulls away, he gathers himself, though this does not mean he lets her go. He holds her, and denies her, much to her confusion.
âWe shouldnât, itâs not right.â He says to her, abhorring that the flush needy look in her eyes is interrupted by having to try and understand his words. âNo.â He mostly says to refuse himself from taking any more advantage. âNot even here. We must stop.â
She blinked, still dazed and slightly confounded. âHere? What do you mean here?â
âHere.â He repeats, looking at the memory of Haven, so real in her mind. âJust where did you think we were?â
And then as the realization that they were in the Fade dawns on her, the dream dissipates.
Awake and alone, he is left with all the rationality that comes flooding in when she is not there to sway him. It was one thing to teaseâthat is all he had done. Teased, and perhaps allowed too much familiarity to breed between he and the Inquisitor. This was not just teasing!
He may have called her, my lady, and thought of her as my little Levallan a few times, mostly for the joy of the alliteration, but this was a step passed light excusable touching. This was not just an exchange of warm looks shared over mostly trite or academic conversation. Passing, daily topics, notâ
Nothing that wouldâ Nothing that he meant toâ
Nothing that could possibly be construed asâŠ
Taking a deep breath, he tried to let the passion of the moment slip by so he could rather focus on the future. He could not convince himself that such ramblings were true. They were false, and he had sworn to himself that he was not be led astray by his own falsehoods as he stood in the center of a storm of lies.
One could not lie both to the world and themselves, or they would be forever lost.
In truth, of course, heâd been very interested in her and displayed it. He shouldnât be so surprised when she returns his favor in kind. Heâd danced with her at a royal ball in the aftermath of an intense political victory! Heâd read enough, and walked the fade enough, to know what a grand romantic gesture that was.
But heâd never thoughtâŠ
It didnât much matter now what he thought, because the reality was before him. He had clearly inspired some kind of lust in her. And now he had to do something about it.
This had already gone too far. He could not let it escalate.
She returned to him not so long after the dream ended, but long enough that he knew she must have gone to clear her head as well before coming to talk. She was embarrassed, as was he.
âDid you sleep well?â He asks her.
She half laughs, âAt the time I did. Though Iâm unsure if it was so nice, now that Iâm awake and looking back on it. Iâm sorry for putting you in that situation, I feel as if Iâve misread you.â
âNo, please donât. I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I encouraged it when I should not have. Itâs justâŠâ He looked around, and prayed that the damn spymaster didnât have any ears in the room as he admitted, âItâs just been a long time since Iâve considered anything like this. Iâm not certain anything intent between us is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.â
âYou say that as if Iâm not already often in trouble. I donât shy from hard things, Solas.â
No, you certainly donât.
âI just find such things easier in the Fade. Iâm notâŠâ He then reconsidered, and said, âyou did nothing wrong. It is true, yes, I would like to be with you.â He admits, and she looks just a mite relieved. âBut I must think on things a while, there are, considerations⊠things I must be sure of.â
I already have a mistress and she is jealous and covetous, even in death. Is what he knows to be true. And I do not know where you would fit in the world weâve envisioned for the future.
He will have to decide who he stands for, and it will be a harder choice than he would like it to be.
âTake all the time you need. I mean not to rush you.â She says, always so gracious.
Left to my own devices, it would be me rushing you. This he thinks, but he does not say.
âIt is just not often that I am thrown off by things that happen in dreams,â He instead injects with as much playfulness as he can muster, âbut Iâm reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy if we continued talking.â
âTruly?â At that she seemed completely at ease. It seemed sheâd thought sheâd just about lost a good friend. That was interesting to note as she did branch the conversation into more usual paths.
Perhaps, even if things hadnât gone as heâd expected them too, things were even better off than heâd meant them to be. She had no suspicion of him at all, and this was what the dream was meant to verify anyway. What could it matter too much to his ultimate plans, if she also found him as something more than just trustworthy? Could his mistress really be so upset by that?
âŠ
Devotion
âŠ
Heâd asked her for help, so of course she was eager. There was nothing his little Levallan liked better than to be of service, though he wished he asked her to preform a more pleasant task than the one he had given.
Indeed, he was not used to unexpected things happening in his dreams, and now twice in a short time he had been completely caught off guard. It shamed him slightly, and yet he could turn to no one else when he needed assistance with this sudden matter. No one would take him as seriously as she, and he didnât have the power to go on his own. He was not yet too prideful to ask for help.
There was no way he could let his friend suffer in her fate. He knew what if felt like to be summoned and twisted, made into a tool that was not suitably compatible with its original purpose. He might have wanted to end the world as everybody knew itâbut he meant to do so in a way that mitigated harm to those who were unworthy of being mutilated.
This was proving to be a difficult desire to make happen, or so would become obvious looking at the state of the Inquisition and all the affairs it had involved itself in because of Corypheusâs failure to take the Anchor.
Failure bit at his ankles often, as of late.
Perhaps this was why he was so angry when he received that dream, the last hailing call for mercy from a being that had no way of protecting itself from such a selfish and unjust fate, like he had endured. He was murderously furious at the state of his friend and how she had been pushed to an ultimately useless death. All herself, her knowledge, her experiences, her life, snapped out like a flame without even a burnt wick left to remember her by.
This fury he knew exactly where to place, and it was on the heads of those humans who had summoned her, and ruined her. This was a fury beyond the moment. A fury from beyond time. An anger that he could never turn on his mistress, even if she tormented him in much the same way.
âSolas.â That voice, the voice of the one who brought justice to this world, called to him. âThey are beneath you.â She told him.
This almost enraged him further, but for her, he stayed his righteous words and attempted to listen. Still, through gritted teeth, he asked, âDoes that mean I should not kill them for what they did?â
âNo. Iâm not here to stop you if you desire vengeance.â
His first curled. âGood.â
âBut,â She cautioned, âdonât let it stain you. Nothing is heavier than the cost of that, and nothing more worthless.â
Those words made him pause in his rage. He was glad not to hear her tell him not to. His stomach would have curled had he heard her beg for their lives because they were human, and so somehow above the life of a spirit. They had killed so many, it would feel almost unjust if she denied him here. And if the Inquisitor was to ever be a spirit, or ever had been one, she was surely an agent of Justice, even more so than curiosity.
Yet he did not like how revealing those words sounded. They hit just shy of his true heart and it was startling. How could she go from seemingly so unworldly and naive, to so⊠brutally perceptive. He had to be more cautious around her. But this worry could wait until after the mages were dealt with.
In the aftermath, he was troubled. Not over killing the humansâhe didnât spare them a second thought. But over what sheâd said and the plight of his friend in wisdom, and the humanization of Cole, and, of course, over the Inquisitor as an entity he cared for.
Was he, maybe, wrong about his ideas for the future? Was it better to be mortal and doomed, than spirit and endless? Was it best if one could step from one world to the next, rather than all being as one? Coexistence had for so long seemed impossible, yet it was happening before his eyes, and he wasnât sure how to reconcile this with these events as he lingered in the upset cause by his friendâs dissolution.
He left Skyhold, for a while, then returned, still feeling heavy.
As if she could hear his thoughts, she appeared to him just as he arrived, with a soft voice and offers of condolences. He took them, though he did not need them, and he then took her hand. She followed him to some forgotten part of the fortress, where he sometimes came. There were some pillows around, a blanket to soften the floor, and a few books to keep his mind busy when he became to lost in his own thoughts.
She found it a quaint place, and soon made herself comfortable, allowing the silence between them to be unbroken as he lit a few candles so they wouldnât be in the complete pitch once the sun finally set all the way. There was something about the physicality of fire that he was drawn to in that moment, over the simplicity of casting some kind of light spell.
âI wishâŠâ
He almost voiced after a long time of no one speaking, a wish for a different life than the one he had. He almost wished it had been he in his friendâs position, for at least she could find peace from this world in the nothing. He wished he was free. He wished heâd never learned of the mortal world. He wished heâd never been bound and that heâd never stepped into the body of the lethallan. He felt cursed.
In the end, he silenced himself. It was best not to speak aloud some things or he would soon find himself becoming more honest than he means to be.
âTell me about her.â She asks, âOf your friend I mean. She seemed a lovely spirit, once she was calmed.â
He hardened himself, of fear of hearing something like jealousy in her voice. But he heard nothing. Just patience, and calm, and a genuine desire to bring him peace. He took a deep breath.
âShe was.â
âYou do not have to morn alone. You did all you could for her, but I understand that the loss is still difficult. Iâm here for you.â
And truly, she was. In the light of such grace, the guilt for deceiving her so often clawed at his throat.
âItâs been a long time since I could trust anyone.â He admitted. âIâll work on being... present.â
âThat we can practice now. Talk, and I will listen.â
And so prompted, he talked at length about his friend, and those he knew that were like her. He mourned the fact that she would not go on to what lay beyond the Fade, but was also comforted to know that what was of her would be planted back into the space beyond so that a new innocent consciousness could grow where she once stood.
The spirits in the fade that were at once so inhuman, and so alive, he thought they deserved more than their half-formed existences. He talked far more than just about his friend, as his train of thought slipped to this core idea which had motivated him far beyond the Inquisitorâs knowing.
He spoke of the Fade and his philosophy and how it had become so challenged, and the frustrations of his inner heart that were best left unspoken. If she thought to shame him and his ideals, no such judgement was obvious on her face. He spoke, she listened, and he was grateful.
He talked until the weight of the world didnât feel so heavy on his shoulders and it was well past any reasonable hour to still be up waking. He said too muchâhe always did around herâand yet she did not look at him as if he had.
By the time he was done, the candles had burned low the light was dim, and instead was very fetching on her cheeks. She was staring in his direction with none of her usual focusedness. It was all soft and rounded, this attention, as she just laid back and listened to him go on and on for hours.
He sort of froze, realizing how totally taken off guard heâd become, and how comfortable.
His gaze cast to her, and he knew in that moment that she would lay with him if he asked her to. If he put his hands on the right place, pulled her in, she would follow. The immensity of his desire for that hit him with a suddenness that made it impossible to act. He was already so outside of himself in this situationâhe couldnât add to his long list of sins an indulgence in lust.
Or so, if that had been his mission, he would soon be (once again) a failure.
In the moment though, he asks something seemingly at random to distract him from his impulses, âWhat is like, having the Anchor tied to you?â
âHmm.â She hummed, still so open and unconcerned. Heâd never seen her this relaxed. âWhat do you mean by that? In what way?â
âI mean, has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your⊠spirit? It must be a heavy burden; it has brought a whole institution on your shoulders.â
She is quiet for a moment, thinking. She raises her hand and looks to it. For a moment he curses himself for ruining their moment of peace and her serenity, but he is too curious. He must know, and there is no other time he might ask.
âNo, I donât feel much changed by it. I feel as if the whole world changes around me because of it, though. That is at times troubling, and at other times very useful.â
âAh.â He almost laughed.
He should have known she would think that. He wonders if he saw her, before the explosion of the conclave, and if he would see a difference had he known her. Heâd noticed a few Dalish while he watched the proceedings, perhaps heâd cursed her in passing as he does most her kind. Perhaps he would have never looked twice at her, had things been different. What a shame that would have been.
âWhy do you ask?â She prompts.
âYou just show a wisdom I have not seen sinceâŠâ He struggles on the words, for who he reminds her of would scare her, with the kind of sensibilities she had grown up with. âA wisdom that is unlike any Iâve seen outside the deep recesses of the Fade. You are not what I expected.â
She has the freedom to laugh at him, eyes crinkling as she smiles, âWhat did you expect?â
âYou have shown subtly in your actions. Thoughtfulness in the way you pick our next direction. Yet, you lack no decisiveness and have a dedication like no other. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?â
She sat up a bit, and considered him. âYou have not misjudged us. We are stubborn, and divisive, and mean just to live in the spirit of meanness while calling ourselves righteous, and we will not let go of our idea of the past.â
âDo not say we, like you believe as they do.â
She sighed, some of her contentment slipping out with it. âYou are right, I donât believe as they do. But I still love them.â
âThat there. That is what makes you so unusual to me. Even in our enemies you seek understanding, though you do not hesitate to cut them down. You donât act as if all the world is made of opposites, as if we are on the board and sitting on black or white squares. So many act without even attempting to understand the world, but you do not behave as they do.â
She laughed again, though it was a light, fluttering sound. âWe still see things very differently, I think. The world is black and white in my estimation.â She said steadily, more evenly than he had explained his view in the hours pervious, when he had practically ranted at her. So though he recoiled at the idea, he remained patient and listened.
âIt is steady.â She continued. âThere is this solid world, and there is the ephemeral. There is day, and there is night. Just because there is a dawn and dusk, or the veil, between these things, that does not make them grey by nature. They blend for just a moment, but the blending only highlights their separation. The same can be said of all things.â
She reached out to him and brushed just the tip of his ear, then put her hand down, and he was certain he flushed.
âIt is us people, the living and the half living, that change our colors.â She said, âWe try to appear like several things at once, when we are all just one thing.â
âWhat are we?â
âAlive.â She said simply, âBeautifully alive, and struggling to remain so.â
This conclusion had his voice stick in this throat before he could give an answer.
âSo yes,â she continued, âI have much empathy for our enemies, and spirits, and all the things we meet. But I do not believe that life ends when the body stops drawing breath, and so it does not trouble me to continue forward, even when the path is bloody and the way hard. This is my duty; I will do it until I am victorious, or I too am released from the glorious struggle like the others. In that way, I stay the honorable path.â
He was left to consider that, and utterly speechless. She really was a spirit of Justice. There was no other aspect that suited her more, and she was brilliant in its light. He was almost totally convinced by her.
âI admire you.â He admitted in the silence that followed her small speech.
She sounded so wistful, âYou know I think the same of you.â
âNo, I very much admire you.â He said more sincerely.
Amused, and happy to see him in better spirit, she turned her head and asked him, âSo what does that mean, if you do not think we mean it the same way?â
âIt means I havenât forgotten the moment we shared in the Fade.â
She knew the one, she must have been thinking about it to, for she didnât even hesitate a moment to say, âNeither have I.â
âMaybe we do mean it same then.â He confirmed.
âDoes that trouble you?â
âYes. Especially in the face of loss. It is already so hard to lose someone dear.â He admitted, and was at once stunned by the realization that today, and all the while sheâd been helping him, he was the most honest heâd ever been with her. The most honest heâd been with anyone, really, in he couldnât even count how many years. She was dear to him indeed.
âBut losing you wouldâŠâ He cannot bear to finish the sentence.
âDo not lament what is not lost. I still lay here in front of you.â
Compelled by the heat in her eyes, and her welcoming posture, he turned over and crawled a few paces closer, feeling like a half-tamed dog.
âThat you do.â He agreed, voice lower than usual and bidding.
They hesitated for a moment. She was only uncertain of approaching first this time, for he hadnât been the most receptive before. This time, he held onto no hesitation. What he wanted was very obvious and he was not going to deny himself this time.
He, very slowly, put the back of his hand to her face and stroked her cheek slowly. Again, the only thing that soured this moment were the damn marks upon her skin which almost ruined her perfect picture. Instead of lingering on such thoughts, he instead cusped her head and drew her closer, so that their mouths might meet and his eyes could close and the vision that caused him upset would be gone.
It was a slower kiss, one he wanted to enjoy. He wanted to know which way she liked or did not like his teeth pulling at her bottom lip, or his tongue in her mouth. He wanted to taste her breath on his tongue and make her sigh sweetly. She did, and became all the more open to him, and he intended on taking advantage.
He moved with her, as she fell back into the cushions and he hovered over her. With one hand, he braced himself up, and the other traced down the front of her body, the curve of a breast, the way of her stomach, then between her legs went his long thin fingers.
âAre you sure you want to do this?â She asked him before he could touch her at all properly.
âAr lath ma, Vhenan.â He whispered against her ear, a deeply felt admittance of love.
âAr lath ma.â She repeated to him, and with those words he felt all at once pulled up to the highest of divine spheres and the lowest of hells.
âI want you.â He continued in elvish.
âThen take me.â She answered.
And so he did.
His hands moved to remove her clothes, then his own, and that night he is taken in by the passion of the flesh.
He would forever remember the tremble of her thighs against his, and the feeling of her nails digging into his neck. Hot breath flashing against his ear, as her inner most person squeezed and took him. And that was just the physical things. He felt the heat of them coming together, a sense of rising both in emotion and in aura, charging up as friction intensified.
It rose up in his mind like literal magic rising, a flurry of colors and feelings. Maybe sex was different for mages, and mage spirits like himself. It was a rush of sensory overlord which could not be compared to any other. He could feel her womb, and the place where a new spirit was ready and willing to enter her if he should open the gateway with his key.
The idea of that was excitingâcould a spirit bring forth new life through a mortal? Had such a thing ever happened before?
He could see her then, with his children, who would be raised like no other elves before. He could see the glory of the old ones in them, and a future spent weaving the mysterious back together. It was a beautiful future, distracting from the moment and he pulled out immediately. When he did the imagining faded, avoided for now.
Huffing and puffing and frankly overwhelmed, he finished on her person and instead of in, denying the call of the void which beckoned to be filled.
In that moment, he touched something spirits should not, and it almost got him. He brimmed with conflict. Was there no part of him the material would not try to take into its grasp? Was there no way to escape this influence or reverse it? Were all things to be taken in, as the elves were, and magic was, and the gods, and Titians, and even the one who stood before them all?
Even as he finished and basked in the physical rush of sex, he tried so hard to steady himself.
No. He was loyal to his mistress. He determined in that moment, as he brushed the wetness from her sweaty forehead fondly and she smiled blithely up at him. He would not be swayed from his goals. This world was a dead one, he would not add another living soul to it to be damned even if⊠even if it were for her.
Maybe, in the new world, there would be space for this love he now cherished.
MaybeâŠ
âŠ
Betrayal
âŠ
Slave marks, all over her beautiful face.
It was the first thing he thought, when he first saw her. When she was just a stranger, and a conundrum, and an added twist in the path he would take to reach his ultimate desire. It also became the very last thing he thought, when he walked away from her victory against Corypheus. Much as it broke his heart to do so.
Not because she was marked anymore, sheâd allowed him to free her skin of the burden those marks pressed on her spirit. It was the only act of devotion he could offer her, that didnât involve making promises for the future that he could not keep. And he was grateful she allowed it. But even so long after he had relieved her, he could never forget that they had been there and they had been for most of her life.
Her own father put them on her skin, as if it was an act of blessing. As if one was not complete without one.
Solas knew what it meant to be a slave. Heâd lived the torment of being declared âownedâ and twisted past his born purpose, turned into a perverted shade of himself. What a fate to submit a spirit to, be it with a body or not. What even more evil to commit, by making such a contract without that sympathy even understanding what it was consenting itself to.
She was the most divine, pure soul. So true, so unwaveringly good, the world bent to see her vision of peace come to life. It must have been that way since she was a child, he couldnât imagine her different.
And they marked her. Proudly, even. It sickened him.
He felt the desire to bend to her will too. Perhaps it would have been better if he did, yet⊠Yet, the wrath within him would not rest, not even when she was in his arms.
He couldnât be with her when things were still the way they were. He would rebuild the world into one worthy of her vision, and their love. And when he was done with this task, he would return to her side as victorious and righteous as she was in this moment.
That was, if she could ever forgive him for leaving.
His resolve wavered in just that last moment, as he wonders if he would excuse another for this kind of betrayal. He probably would not. He was lucky that his Vhenan did not share his nature then, for he was sure she would have it in her heart to offer him the kind of forgiveness he did not deserve. Or so, he would hope until he next saw her again.
âŠ
Acceptance
âŠ
His plan was a failure, and his vision wholly unacceptable.
The Veil simply would not fall. Heâd risen up the might of the hands that first laid the soil of this material world, twisted souls which were never meant to wake. He had split holes in it. Thinned it. He killed endlessly, trying to find some way to end the separation between spirit and material, so that the world could return to what it was before the humans were created and life quickened.
Doing this had been the fixation of his life for so long. And now it seemed as if there was no way to make his plan successfully unfold before him. Everything was screaming in pain, and eeking on the edge of total destruction.
The blight had nearly taken the world, the darkness of the black city nearly consumed all the spirits heâd said so many times were what he was trying to preserve. It was over, what he wanted could not be done.
He wasnât unaware of himself. This was a hopeless pursuit, yes. But there was no space in this world for him to turn back, heâd gone too far. He was utterly totally and completely wrong. Yet, heâd committed so deeply to his revenge and his ideas that it had stained him, just as sheâd warned, and he was afraid heâd never turn back to the right color. He was already a different shade than he used to be, and sinking deeper into darkness.
Is this what if felt like for a spirit to become a demon? It wasnât an altogether pleasant kind of transformation, not that he ever thought it would be, but it was more miserable than he expected. Heâd thought there would be some kind of power gained, a sense of new empowerment. Not this. He held a certain sorrow for all the demons forced to turn into a caricature of themselves.
Then again, he also had a more hands on experience with it now. There was some part of it that was a willing fall, at least for those that werenât bound to mages than forced to take actions outside their nature. He had chosen this, and he had damned himself.
How sick could he have gotten without even realizing it? Was this what it felt like to be blighted?
Everything he ever cared about was dead or gone. Either because it was the way of this world to take and kill and waste. Or because he had done the same, and pushed away anything that could have saved him from this pit.
Heâd lied. Heâd lied and lied and lied and liedâalmost every word he said to anyone besides the one who now had his heart had been a fabrication or a manipulation, at most a half truth. Even what he told her at times was more his love stirring than an act of true honesty.
This left him with only one future, and one way forward. He had to make one last attempt at destroying the Veil, if only so at least his dream of a world that would one day recover could take root, and from some miracle of magic erupt into true reality. Even if it killed him, he would have to try.
He was interrupted many times trying to invoke this reality by another person, who had been trying to stop him since. Rook, who heâd been tied to since the interruption of the first attempt at this ritual, never let him get far, and every attempt after the first had also failed. Rook grew more desperate with each time they spoke in their shared fade-space, looking for a way out of hell that did not exist.
There was no exit. He had doomed them all.
Such were the voices in his head when he put himself up on the altar of his mind and endeavored to try his magic one last time. Either he would finally succeed, or he would give his life up to the Veil in hopes of making it once again stable. That was all he could offer the world.
He rose his hands up, and began, but once again his work was interrupted.
It was not rook that arrived at the door this time, at least not Rook alone.
When he heard her voice, all the façade fell. He was crushed, feeling not so different from a caught child, and yet all the more vulnerable because worse than failing as an innocent child, he knew better than to do what he did and here he still stood. He turned to face her, feeling unworthy.
âVhenanâŠâ The word sounds broken on his lips. It means more than he says.
âThank you for taking me here, Rook, I will finish this. One way or another, and if I failâyou know what to do.â
It sounded like how one might talk about a wounded feral animal. The truth of that comparison was all too apt. There were two paths ahead obviously visible to him. Either she would talk him down or the whole world would come to put him down. This was the end.
Without another word, Rook bowed and left. They had shared enough speech and neither had been moved by it. Though Rook glanced at either figure, they then closed the way, so that he and his love could be alone.
âLay down your pride.â She bid to him, once they were only in each otherâs company. âI see you, Solas. I know your dream. I see what you saw. But please, step away and forsake what you plan to do.â
With how the world around them looked, it seemed a strange thing to say. It was like the fabric which was used to make this world was now moth ridden and weak, the cloth to tear at any moment. When it did, it would send everyone whoâd survived the onslaught of destruction further asunder and there would not even be the fade to pass through into the after.
They would be lost souls, trapped eternally in this chaos that he had made. They would damn him forever, and rightfully. If they did not remember his name before, now he will be as known as the gods of old, and as reviled as the memory of the Golden City is admired. That is how they will think of the world before, and in the after, the blight would look like a common plague.
He can see it in his mindâs eye so very clearly. It is decimation.
His voice is low when he answers her. âI cannot. Canât you see that too much has been done. There is no going back anymore.â
âI see what your desired outcome was, my love.â
She calling him that strained at his heart, and his will. He had destroyed everything sheâd worked for and known; how could she still call him that? He had enough audacity to think of her in such a light of fondness, but she? Such feelings must have been self-harm.
âI know what destruction came before, that you wished so much to undo. I know what terror you wished the future not to endure in turn.â She said to him, so steady, as she always was in the center of conflict.
She could not know truly what he saw or she would hate him. Heâd been so certain of that. Why was she being so calm?
âYou are not so far gone that I canât open my arms to you anymore. I just wish you would have told me that this plagued you so. I would have helped you before this.â
âI know.â He lamented, so far already in regret. âBut I could not accept. I never could.â
âSolas. Itâs not too late.â Her voice, low and lulling, called to him so sweetly. âCome back to me. All your enemies are dead and all your friends are crying, seeing you like this. Itâs over.â
She put out her hands in offering to him. She had no weapon, not even a knife. There was no sign of a staff and her clothes were plain clothes, not even armor. In this moment he had all the power, though it did not feel so. He tilted his head, and looked at her somewhat below him and was set oh so heavy.
Her hand⊠he was so disarmed by just an upstretched hand. With weak, defeated steps he descended from his place of power and dared to grasp her hands, to feel her skin again. He deserved the pity in her eyes when he did so and brought her fingers to his forehead.
He pleaded to her with all his might, âThere is no return. The Veil is too weak now, after all that has been done to it. If I donât tear it down, it will fall anyway, then who knows what will happen. At least if it goes at once, the devastation will come swiftly.â
âAnd if it does not work once again, as you know will happen, what will you do?â
She asked, and he twisted up inside, âThen I will throw my life to it, and fix the fabric best I can. I never meant for the Breach, or for this to drag on for so long. I know my life has stretched longer than this tragedy, and I have the means and the power to stitch myself across what I have sought to destroy. I will not be capable of healing it, butâŠâ
âReplacing it?â
He nodded.
âSo you already know that is what you must do now, donât you? There is no undoing the Veil, as youâve long dreamed.â
He nodded again, and braced himself for her chastisement. He would try his spell again and fail, he already knew it, and it seemed like so did everyone else. He wanted the taste of her betrayal and anger to break him before his eventual sacrifice. It seemed only right.
âYes. Iâve done so much wrong, let me make it right with this sacrifice.â
âNo.â And she denied him everything with that word, as her grace continued. âThere will be no more sacrifices, this is what the Maker has told me.â
âThe Maker?â Solas was altogether startled.
He looked up to her, searching all the more for answers.
âYou have not been the only one learning, Solas.â She told him, and leveled her steadiness his way. âAs you ruined the world, which I thought was rescued from the jaws of destruction, I had to watch all I had worked to save, rot. Orlais, taken by the Blight. Ferelden soon followed. Red lyrium erupting from the ground, death breathing down the backs of every person whose life Iâd touched. Every place I saved was in vainâŠâ
He had curated all of it, he knew, and he could never make up such losses.
âI was furious, I was in denial, I was tempted, I thought about ending my lifeâme the Herald of Andraste, and Iâd fallen in love with the one who would end the world? Even if it wasnât true in a literal sense, I felt the burden of it as if it was. The guilt made me waver in my virtue.â
Her true pure virtue⊠he was truly a cruel man. âI am so sorry.â
She hushed him. âI decided one day I would end myself. I planned to go off and fight the dark spawn. Like the Gray Wardens, at least I could finish my time in this life with a fight. I found myself at home, in what remained of the woods I favored most in the East Marches and I went to die. But in those woods, I found the voice of the Maker. Truly, I heard him speak through me.â
Wide eyed, he could not believe her words. But he could see her honesty, and feel it tremoring the air of this in-between place.
âJust likeâŠâ Andraste.
The time of the Maker, if there ever was such a being, was before Solaâs time. he knew little of the world before it was made, only the shape of the hands that were set to make it. The titans spoke rarely of one who made them, and through them eventually all the material and immaterial came to be. In fact, he thought the humanâs silly for looking back on the past and seeing some ultimate divinity responsible for all things, when heâd been most powerful in the age of the many-gods.
He knew of the Golden City, a place in the fade that even before it turned black no one but the most high were allowed to enter. He remembered when it cast off its light and set the spirit realm to its morose dimness.
But when the Inquisitor said she heard the voice of the Maker, he couldnât help but believe her. And even if it wasnât truly a great He that she spoke to, nonetheless the encounter had been divine.
She nodded again, âYes. I was equally startled. Truly, even when I was named the Herald of the Chantry folk, I never thought there could not be an ultimate god who cared at all about us, but I think that was foolish now. There is always the one who made all. The first. And there are no Gods, no Titans, no Person, no Spirits,â she said the word pointedly, âthat rise higher than the Maker. There is no vow He cannot break, there is no fate He cannot rewrite, there is no world He cannot saveâeven the one we thought He left begotten and damned.â
It was almost like she started to shine then, so bright compared to his darkness. He could not recoil, it was like she had a hand around his throat with these words, and he could not tear himself away.
âUnder His light you are unbound, in His creation you are free. He told me of this and set me on the path that led me to you now.â She told him this and he could not believe her.
She must have seen this in his eyes, because she drew closer and implored him to believe. âYou, are free, Solas. No one owns you any longer. You grand spirit of Wisdom are not a slave to Mythal any more, I through Him have made it so. You must let her orders and her faith go. She is dead besides, a shade of the one who first bound you, and you owe her nothing.â
He fell to his knees then, unable to stand. He knew of this, that his tether to his old bounds had been weakened. Yet he had not abandoned the mission. To many years of his life had been dedicated to it, to walk away simply because he was no longer indentured seemed impossible.
Weakly, he canât help but ask, âHow... how did you know that?â
âI just know.â At this she sounded very tried. âBut I do not know what you want to do with your freedom.â
âI have none.â He bit back. âI have no freedom. I never have.â
âNo!â She then did reprimand. She grabbed his forearm, harder than he expected and shook him. She felt like a Saint above him, begging him to see the light when he was teetering at the abyss. âYou are free. Choose your fate, Solas. Now, with the world ruined at our feet I want to know what do you want?â
He remained silent. He couldnât speak, for shame.
âWhat do you want?â She demanded.
âI want to go on.â He admitted. âI want this cursed life of mine to be finishedâin the way humans and elves now can have. I was jealous of Cole when you made him more human, when you lead him down that path that I wanted to go down. I wanted to be one of you, and I looked down on you for it I⊠I want⊠I want to dream again, and not in this nightmare Iâve made.â
The confession spilled from him; a dam broken.
âThen come home.â
He hung his head. âWould you still have me? Even after all this time?â
âOf course.â She said, like it was the easiest thing to offer.
And no, he did not deserve forgiveness. He did not deserve her love, nor did he deserve to love her in turn. But he possessed both things, and more than he ever knew.
âBut how can I ever accept that? The world is ruined. There is nothing left for us to return to, Iâve ensured that Iâve destroyed it well.â
Then she pulled out something he did not expect. An amulet with a blue glow dangled between them, an artifact of high magic, this he could at once recognize. But this object was totally unfamiliar to him.
âWhat is that?â He asked, very tired now.
âDo you remember Magister Alexius? He used the magic stored in this amulet to banish me into a dark, forsaken world. A world I told you was just one year in the future at the time.â
His mind reeled. âIt wasnât?â
âIt was 10.â She admitted.
It seemed like he wasnât the only one withholding information. Perhaps he had looked down on his heart all this time, seeing her as more innocent than she was. How foolish of him to underestimate her, he should have known better.
âI lied for I didnât want to scare you all, and Dorian agreed to keep the secret. I wanted the Inquisition to think it could act swiftly and decisively, and win over our enemyâand we did that well. What I figured out at another time, much later, was that the future I saw was not the one brought on by Corypheus and his red infection. He was just a hand, one of many.â
This was when his heart twisted. The truth was heavy on him. He did not need to hear it.
She would tell him anyway.
âThe Elder One was never Corypheus, it was you. They all served you. The Venatori, the Red Templars, the Blight, even Corypheus himself, whether he knew it or not.â
He hung his head. She was rightâhe had been the one who set Corypheus on his mission. He was the one gave him an archdemon.
He could imagine a world where he âwonâ and became a terror on the mortal and immortal planes, he could feel the sprit in him already. A wolfish, devilish beast with a howl to shatter mountains. He hadnât known what all the consequences of his meddling would be, but he was the one that set this future into motion.
âI remembered that future so clearly, I thought over what I learned there for years, and one thing always bothered me. When we left it, there was a howling sound before we slipped through the timelines that was not like the dragon. I dismissed this for so long, and we were all so fixed on the enemy at hand⊠I should have known the moment you named yourself the Dread Wolf and forsake me that the true identity of the demon we would have met that day was you.â
âI can never say words that will make up for what I have done, nor what I have become.â
âNo, Iâm sorry I couldnât save you before you walked down this path. But it is only fair that I got to suffer for my hubris, as they had to suffer in my absence, and you suffer in your self-made misery. Are you happy with this future, Solas? Have you seen enough?â
His voice broke. âYes. I would do anything to reverse what has been done.â
âYou are free, I meant it when I said that, I set to free you myself when I first met the one they call Rook. Together we made it so you are no longer bound. You can do what you like with your life.â She was so sure to say it. âBut if you want to come with me, I need to hear you swear to me that even if you do not agree to what I am about to offer, you will let me act as I see best.â
In elvish, he said while looking into her eyes, âMy heart, you could draw a blade and slay me now and I would not raise a hand to stop you. Whatever you want I will do. Whatever you say, I will obey.â
âI do not want a slave.â She countered in high tongue, and he hung his head.
âI want to walk with you hand-in-hand, anywhere you go.â Then he took a deep breath, and says in a way that doesnât so destroy his own agency, âTell me of your plan, then I will make a choice to follow.â
âThank you.â She then continued explaining. âDorian gave me this amulet in the aftermath of Redcliffe as a show of faith. I insisted he keep it, but he refused, and Iâve had it all this while. Iâd read all of Alexiusâ notes in the future, I knew how to use it, and how we may use it for one last jump, should it have the proper power.â
The possibilities suddenly swarmed before his eyes. âOne jump to where?â
âTo when.â She corrected. âWe learned in the future that Alexius could turn back time only to the point the Breach was made, not a moment before. Even as the years passed on, he could go no further back, and never forward.â
âAll the way back then?â
âAll the way. But I must know, you had to understand what it would meanâwhat it would cost to give Corypheus the power he would have had, had his ritual been successful?â
âI did.â He confirmed. âI did not know it would cause the Breach, however. I never meant the tearing of this placeââ He cut himself off. âI meant it to be a quick transition. It has not been.â
âYou knew, yet you stayed with the Inquisition?â
âI thought at first to use you where I could no longer use the Magister, and thenâŠâ He shook his head. âThen I fell in love.â
She smiled weakly, âI knew that was the answer.â She looked up to the amulet. âThe amulet still works.â She then admitted fully. âIt needs no more power, it contains within it an unbreakable link with that moment.â
This again shocks him, âAfter all this time?â
âYes. Iâve been waiting for the perfect chance to turn back the clock to that day when the Conclave exploded and you gave Corypheus that orb. I couldnât bring myself to do it, knowing that nothing would change if I went back how I was. So I gave up on the idea, until now, as I stand here. Now I know what must be done.â
It seemed too good to be true. âIs it really true. Weâcould, we could undo all of this?â
âAs if it never happened.â She confirmed. âIâve done everything to make it so if we use this cursed wretched thing, we will step back into the places we were then, as we were then, but knowing what we know now. I love you so much, that I will walk through that fire again. But if I see you stray back to this path, I will strike you down, my heart, though it would kill me to do so.â
âI wonât raise my hand against you again.â He swears. âBut what will we do to make things different? I canât go back to that world and drive myself crazy all over again?â
She shook her head, âTrust in me. Have I ever led you astray?â
No, he was the one that led everyone else down the winding dark path.
âI would rather see your future, even if it fails as well, than allow this one to subsist a moment longer.â
âWe wonât fail.â
He almost scoffed. âHow can you be so confident?â
âBecause this time, we will be together. No more deceit.â
âNo more.â He agreed.
She pulled him in then, and put her lips upon his, and it felt like the first time in ages like he could breathe. The amulet grew a brighter color until a blue glow enveloped them in a swirling, vortex, and they were pulled through it, back in to a better time, which was once the worst of times.
âŠ
Repentance
âŠ
The spell was fragile, and yet they were still returned, the amulet disappearing from reality once they were delivered to themselves in those moments just after the Conclave. As one mind, and one force, with all the knowledge of what was to come, Solas and the would-be Herald came together with the Inquisition, and they fought even harder to ensure that Corypheus was defeated than they did the first time.
Neither would not rest on laurels. Triply more focused than he ever realized she could be, they ensured a hundred more lives could be saved than before. And as the Inquisition grew to power, and another amulet came back into their hands, she crushed in the privacy of their shared company, shocking him.
âWhat if we fail?â He asked, aghast as she cast aside what magic they had already used to rewind time and undo a terrible future.
She just turned to him, and told him seriously. âWe will not treat this world like a dice in a game, where we may roll and re-roll for an outcome we like. If we cannot save it now, we do not deserve to.â
This perspective he took with due gravity. There would be no more second chances. Even with himself, he dedicated every word he said to their cause, be they more necessary lies or complete forthrightness. He used all his resources to help the Inquisition this time, and with more intel and a keen perception of what was to come, they fought through the conquered all conflicts faced by southern Thedes.
So soon, they face down the old Magister one last time. And in that battle Corypheus falls, and the world rings out in celebration. With the death of the first blighted one, and no spirit to step up and replace his monstrous desire for destruction as Solas once had, the thorn which held the withering curse to the mortal plan was removed.
The world will begin to heal from the darkening of the Golden City. The darkspawn will roam without purpose and dwindle in number over the years, and the red lyriumâs glow will fade and become deadened.
When the work was all done, this time, Solas did not walk away from his love, and head into the night to his doom. He returned to Skyhold a hero, and weaved between happy faces who cheered him. To the satisfaction of the one he called love, they had avoided much trouble, saved many people, and set to create a new, more satisfying future.
When the party was loud, she stood up and made her most grand announcement.
âThe Inquisition is over.â She announced, proudly and happily. The party sank at first at those words, before she continued to speak. âBut that does not mean our work is done.â
At that, drinks raised again and they cheered. The Inquisition was done, but peace was not yet settled.
All of them were happy to follow a good leader down a just cause, as they listened to their Herald, and willfully up took a new task. They would reform under a different banner, and they would stand where the Chantry and the Templars had failed. They would not be a force for or against any one nation, nor try to unite them.
The Veil was still torn across the realm, and demons would always be an issue. This imposition on reality they would seek to manage, as the new peacekeepers of magic and wisdom. They would go to all the kingdoms and request Skyhold and their new order be declared an independent vassal, with the freedom to travel cross borders.
With this independence, they would be a political power which sought out disruptions in the Fade and moved always to solve them. They would do all the operations necessary to secure the sanctity of the Veil, magic, and mages since the Templar Order had been utterly destroyed. They would teach of the fade, and spirits, until the world no longer feared the beyond.
Then one day, when the eyes mortal hearts changed, perhaps this world would no longer twist visiting souls into sin and demons would no longer commonly roam and kill.
They would not be Seekers, Cassandra would see to that order being revitalized. No, they would be Sages, and they would help the world establish a new relationship with magic.
As the hall shook with the cheers of victorious men, basking in the idea of this idealized future place they may or may not live to see, and Solas was so very proud of them in that moment. They had brought peace, and they would make the world the way he wished it to be all this while. Albeit, slowly.
Perhaps, his idea of quickness had also been an unaddressed weakness. For when was there ever a better way to lead people, than by example? He could be that example, this time, and he swore to himself that he would be just thatâa true embodiment of Wisdom, instead of Pride.
Some years later, equal to those heâd lived in his nightmare, with his daughter in his arms and a son at his feet, a woman he devoted his life to at his side, and a host of people who took his ideas seriously and learned to walk with the Fade rather than against it, he thinks, why didnât I just do this the first time?
X...X...X
A/N: Finishing this, I came to one conclusion: My Grey Warden and Solas would not get along.
Solas is not my favorite of the love interests, but something about him is very interesting with his dynamic as a twist villain. I started a third playthrough of Inquisition right after my last one (which Iâm not sure Iâll finish, I think my Inquisition fever is waning) and thinking about him as a love interest and as the ultimate evil from the jump made me wonder more and more about his perspectiveâŠ
Obviously, I found it compelling enough to write all this lol. I also felt like he was completely robbed, even though the best of Veilguard is his ending, but with how that game totally destroys most of Thedes we know (literally, itâs all destroyed) I thought the happier ending would be if they could just reverse it all and go back to Inquisition and finish the mess before the world has to become so broken. The very last section is a little rushed feeling, but I didnât much want to linger in this any longer.
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Alpha!Zoro x Omega!Reader | Alpha!Luffy x Reader | (EVENTUAL) Iota!Nico Robin x Omega!Reader | Platonic Everyone Else x Reader
[An Omegaverse One Piece Rewrite][Updates Every Wednesday]
X...X...X
Word Count: 4.3k
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X...X...X
He lands in the water with a great big splash, which echoes more loudly for the fact that it's the only sound to be had on the ocean in that moment. Everyone'd been watching, holding in their shock as the great swordsman cut down the young and ambitions Roronoa Zoro.
Admittedly, he does lose consciousness for a few moments. He didn't feel his body hit the water, or anything but the initial shock of being cleaved by the black blade. And he is probably better for it, for the salt does sting as it purifies his new, grievous wound.
But once his head is above water, and he's yanked up onto a small sail boat, he comes back to. With a heaved, pained breath, he's hacking out the water he'd managed to swallow with a painful series of coughs.
The world is shaky and unformed, and his world has been submerged in the headrush of blood loss. He's not sure whether he should be scrambling to his feet or throwing himself back in the ocean.
Existence, all at once, is nothing but pain.
That man's voice brings all his consciousness forward, even though he can't respond. As it is, he barely feels aware of his body, like he's floating just above his person instead of in his flesh like he should be.
"I am Juraquille Mihawk! And it is much too early for you to die, young Roronoa Zoro!" The great and renowned Juraquille "Hawkeyed" Mihawk yells across the water with an uncharacteristic yet compelling determination which lights what remains of Zoro's blood on fire, "Know thy self! Know thy world! And become strong! No matter how many months or years pass by I will stand here at the top of the world and wait for you! So, forge ahead with that fierce conviction and surpass me, Roronoa!"
Usopp is standing over him, trying to tend to his wounds while Johnny and Yosaku watch on in horror at the state of the strongest person they know reduced to this grievous condition. It takes everything in him, and yet Zoro manages, to sink back into his torn apart flesh. His sword is near at hand, and with a flick of his thumb he frees the blade from its home and rises it up towards the sky like a flag.
"L.... Luffy!" He half yells half coughs, "Can you hear me?!"
Luffy's emphatic "Yeah, Zoro!" makes Zoro cover his eyes with his other hand, unable to stop the tears form running down. It's hard to tell which stings worseâthe salt of the sea in his wounds or the wrenched feeling of losing in such a way.
"I'm sorry for worrying you, I know... I know that if I don't become the world's strongest swordsman it will only embarrass you...!"
It takes so much effort to talk yet alone yell across the ocean that the force cause him to wretch, the taste of iron filling his mouth and his chest goes totally numb from the overwhelming assault of pain it brings forth. Johnny and Yosaku beg him to be quiet and rest, but the words he has to say would burn a hole through his soul if he didn't voice them.
"I swear!!" He hollers, "That I am never going to lose again! Not until the day I fight him again and win! I swear to NEVER lose again! Do you have any problems with that, Pirate King?"
Luffy's signature snicker almost makes Zoro laugh. "Nope!" Luffy yells back.
"Good!" Zoro shouts, then lets the sword fall.
As he melts into the boards of this little boat, Johnny rapidly and messily wraps gauze around his wounds, desperate to try and hold his body together by whatever means they can. A horrible salve has been mushed into the cuts already and the last person he wanted to treat him is doing it. It's a messy job, nothing like Owleyes would do.
But then, of course, he remembers why they were going to set sail to begin with. (y/n), the Going Merry, and Nami were gone, and it was their job to bring them back. He has to get himself together and quick. There's no time to lose.
Usopp leaves the pouring of that foul liquid they keep smearing on his wounds to Yosaku and runs to the edge of the boat. Usopp has Luffy's hat in hand, with a flick of his wrist he Frisbee's the straw hat back to Luffy, who catches it with a loud thanks.
"Zoro and I will definitely bring back Nami and (y/n)!" Usopp shouts, "So make sure you nab us a cook, alright! And once we have six crew members let's head to the Grand Line!"
"Yeah!" Luffy yells back, "Let's!"
...
All paths decided, Usopp begins to pull down the sail, Yosaku says good bye and dives into the water. He'll still follow up later, but once Luffy's finished up at the restaurant so that he'll for sure be headed the right way. Though Usopp kept hoping they aren't too late to catch Nami before she got anywhere near the island of Arlong Park.
Johnny thinks they could have if they'd left right away. But if the wind is good, Zoro picks up from the conversation, they might still make it.
Whether they'd left right away or not Zoro had a feelingâwell besides the delirious amount of pain he was fighting to stay conscious throughâthat they would have never caught Nami on the open sea. Knowing that witch, she planned her exit on the day it would be hardest to follow her, and used the distraction of Don Fleet's arrival to her best advantage.
She was a cunning cat, no one would deny that. That damn beta was good at reading situations and knowing the best way to act to get her way.
She was so smart this betray seemed inconceivable. If she'd been thinking straight, she would have known better than to run in the first place. Afterall, she must have realized that they wouldn't just let her go without a fight, even if she'd only taken the Merry.
But with the ship and Owleyes hostage, she was guaranteed to be followed. Luffy was a territorial stubborn bastard, and he wanted Nami, so he'd hunt her down until she made her no so clear he was forced to accept it. Only then would they hit the sea without a navigator. Which meant for them sailing around in circles until they ran out of supplies and starved. So, they all had a vested interest in getting Nami to stay.
Plus, Usopp was probably never going to let that ship out of his sight again. Or that's what he's muttering to himself while he and Johnny sailed westward.
Honestly, all Zoro can do is lay flat out on the deck and demand that his flesh knit together faster, spending the time napping to quicken the process. Whatever's waiting form them on Arlong Park, he needs to be ready. And that "whatever" likely included a brawl or two, at least.
Zoro didn't concern himself with wondering over what ifs. If the boat was safe. If Nami was really a traitor. If (y/n) was alright. He just knew that when they arrived, he'd have to be ready.
By the time they see the island, Zoro feels well enough to sit up, at least while leaning against the wall of the boat's cabin. Usopp and Johnny sit there too, surveying the island at hand.
It's like Chef Zeff said in the end. The island is only a day's ride away, and with the fairly favorable wind they make it to the island while it was still mid-to-late afternoon. It only could have worked out better if they had managed to catch Nami on the water. But as fast as they went it's obvious, they can't be too far behind her.
If she's here, that is. They haven't spied the boat yet, though everyone's on look out.
Johnny sounds tense, but relieved. "We made it."
Usopp nods, "But the real problems start here, so don't go acting relaxed. First, let's try to find where Nami docked the ship..."
Zoro, even with just one blade, is ready, "And then we cut our way in?"
"Are you kidding, bro!" Johnny shouts.
"Did you get your brains cut out too!" Usopp adds, "We don't have any idea what's going on in there, we aren't just going to start fighting everything that moves!"
"It seems like the easiest wayâ" Zoro shrugs but is interrupted.
"Easy??" Usopp says it like a swear, "Easy??"
"Brother Zoro, let's try to do this without drawing any attention to ourselves. Real lay-low kind of plan, you know?"
"Exactly!" Usopp agrees.
"No, let's just bust in there and then leave!" Zoro argues, this time not spitting up blood when he talks a little more forcefully. "The faster we deal with this the better."
"And beating everything up is the fastest way?" Usopp says it like the answer is obvious, and to Zoro it obviously is.
"Yes."
And Zoro should have been more suspicious when Johnny and Usopp shared a look, but before he can react they're throwing a rope around him and tying him to the ship so that he can't get up, let alone grab his sword.
"I said untie me!" Zoro demanded.
"As if! You are too reckless!" Usopp shouted at him, wagging one of his long fingers, "Look at yourself, you're about to faint just from yelling, you were an inch from death an hour ago, remember."
"He's right, brother." Johnny nodded along.
They were being unreasonable. He was still conscious, which meant he could walk, which meant that if he needed to, he could wield a sword. Tying him up meant he couldn't defend himself from a sea beast, let alone a fishman.
At any other time, this lazy tie wouldn't have held him back for a moment. He could rip these ropes right off the wood with a good tug. But he can't. It hurts too much to sit up. Hurts to blink really, but that's not stopping him from forcing himself to stay awake and it won't stop him from fighting either. However crazy that made him look or sound.
Zoro yells more. Argues louder. But the other two aren't paying any attention to him anymore. Usopp's having his turn with the spyglass while Johnny observes their map and determined their position based on the coast line.
Usopp gasps. "I see Merry!" He announces and points.
Johnny looks up and down, attempting to locate that place on the faded map. "Weird, I don't think that's Arlong Park. It's another little town, Cocoyashi Village...? Looks small."
Before he can even finish, Usopp looks triply more confident.
"Aye, maybe Nami didn't sell us out to fishmen after all!"
"Do you see Sister Nami?"
There's a beat pause as Usopp looks around. " ...No."
"What about Sister (y/n)?"
"Well, I couldn't see her anyway." Usopp tips the spy glass down.
"True."
"Stop ignoring me!" Zoro demanded. But Johnny and Usopp do not stop ignoring him.
"How about this," Usopp said after thinking, "We'll head that way and yell for her. And if she show's up, we'll know she's there. If not, we commandeer the boat and we'll spit up to search around the island for signs of that witch and ghost girl."
"Sound as stone, Brother Usopp."
"Heh-heh," Usopp looks smug, "That's why I'm acting Captain, you know." He put a foot up on the trail and pointed onward. "Starboard to the Going Merry, we'll bring this boat up right next to her. Ah, I can smell an adventure beginning as I bravely step out onto virgin lands. What a sight it is Johnny-boy!"
Zoro's eyes about rolled out of his head.
"Aye-aye." Johnny agreed, though under his breath added, "But you seem a lot more confident now you know we're not headed to Arlong Park, brother..."
They sailed undisturbed around the back of a slightly forested island towards a quaint dockâonly big enough for a boat or two if they were very small. And the Going Merry bobbed in the water beside it.
Johnny and Usopp headed to the front of the ship as they approached. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Johnny sucked in a deep breath.
"Sister (yâ!"Â He began to shout when he froze.
Both he and Usopp when totally pale, a silent Oh SHIT! Shared between them.
"What? What?" Zoro demanded to know, unable to see the top of the dock from his position.
But no one answered him.
"Full speed ahead!" Usopp commanded in a sudden about face.
"Aye aye." Johnny agreedâthis time with no sarcasm.
"What in the hell are we just sailing past for!" Zoro yelled.
This time the pair of them rounded on their heels and shushed him, Zoro shut his mouth, but not without a severe scowl.
"Don't look at me like that! Didn't you seem them, there were a bunch of Fishmen on this dock! Arlong Pirates for crying out loud! I'm scared out of my wits. You got a problem with that!" Usopp looked like he was freaking out.
"I'm the one that should be mad! Just hurry up and untie me!"
But Usopp turned away from him completely to convene with Johnny.
"Looks like the whole region in under Arlong's control. What should be we, Brother Usopp?"
"Well, now we know we can't bring Nami back, (y/n) might be lost too..." Usopp said grimly. "But we might get the Merry back at least if we wait for night fall."
"I see, I see." Johnny nodded along.
"Well I don't see! Untie me, idiots!" Zoro demanded.
But they didn't untie him. Instead, there was a splash from the direction of the dock and based on Usopp's face that meant the fishmen weren't just letting them pass by unbothered.
"Abandon ship!" Usopp commanded.
"Aye aye!" Johnny agreed, and they both leapt off the side of the small boat without even a sorry, Zoro.
"At least free me before you run away!" Zoro said one last time before cursing.
A moment later two monstrous figures shlopped up onto the deck. They looked sort of like people, but taller and bulkier than most men and with skin the color of a deep-sea fish. That seaweed green all the middle class of fish were across the world. They had webbed fingers, but also full heads of hairâwhich surprised Zoroâand one of them had a ginormous underbite with teeth that would make a lion jealous. The other was a little shorter and leaner, but nonetheless strong looking.
"Caught ya." The big mouth one said with a laugh. "Woah, just one of you? Were you exiled or sumthin'?"
Zoro grits his teeth.
"You could say that..." He answers, but they weren't really talking to him. It was more like the fishmen were talking around or over him.
"And those are some nasty looking wounds this one's got there. Must have been torture."
"Must hurt."
"Must have done something' real bad to get all abandoned like this." The taller added.
"Must've. Can't say this is normal. Not normal aet'all."
The taller one nodded. "Boss likes to make sure he's well informed of anything "not normal" within a click of this island."
"Yesser. Want me to bring the boat around?"
"Yeah, Rec, you do that."
Into the belly of the beast, Zoro thinks.
Still, better to be in the middle of the mess than trapped out here. The big mouthed fishman jumped back into the water and a moment later the boat started moving. Turning around in place on the top of the ocean like someone was underneath it, turning it like a batonâand when Zoro thought about it, that probably was what that big mouthed giant was doing under there.
In front of him, the taller fishman with a sunken nose looked down his pointy chin at Zoro and for the first time actually addressed him. "You know, you'd die if you were left out here. If Arlong likes you, he might just let you live human, so be grateful."
Gee, thanks.
"I'll warn you just once." Zoro bites out. "I am not harmless."
The fishman just laughed and the boat picked up speed and headed back towards Arlong Park.
Zoro hadn't managed to get a glimpse of it before Usopp steered the ship towards the village where the Merry'd been docked. But as it came up into view from around the hills and trees of the island, Zoro could appreciate why the place was held in renowned. It was a white and red pagoda, five stories tall, with gleaming roof tiles that shown in the sunlight. Stunning as a sunset yet intense on eyes. It was hard to look at.
The entire base was built in that style, a tall stucco wall surrounded the courtyard and the building, and in the direction of the ocean a neat rectangular pool was cut, and a massive wooden gate was all the separated it from the ocean. As the boat approached, the tall fishman called out for the gate to be raised, and with a sound of wrenching chains it lifted up, barely stirring the water.
The gate was only meant to keep ships outânot to separate the pool from the ocean, or so that's what Zoro figured. Probably so the fishmen could swim in and out.
With a rough yank, the fishman pulled Zoro's ropes off and he lurched forward. But before he could make a move for his sword, not too far away, the fishman shoved him face first onto the deck. The pain of colliding to the floor almost made him pass out, but with a tenor of his will he managed to keep his consciousness.
Though he wasn't able to stop the fishman from tying up his hands and his feet. Or when he was lifted up over his shoulder. Once it was ensured that Zoro couldn't be getting away, he hopped off the rail and landed on the courtyard with a loud stomp which set an immeasurable jolt of miserable pain through his wound.
But hey, what was adrenaline for if not to keep his senses sharp. It might have only been his ire that kept him awake.
I swear, I'm going to kill them for leaving me here like this! Fury, also might have been keeping him awake...
And fury he used like a weapon, insulting every fish-faced ass that passed by. The tall, big-mouthed guy who'd tied him up put him down in front of a large, thrown sized chair that overlooked the center-line of the pool yard but Zoro's jabs didn't stop. If he was going to humiliated, he would humiliate them and loudly.
Arlong, it turned out, was the biggest fishman of all of them. He was monstrously largeâeight or nine feet tall at least. He was the color of a hammerhead and the feature on his ugly mug that defined him was a long saw nose, with a pointy arrow head shape at the end. His teeth were shaper looking than big-mouths and his mouth was full of three rows of them, making his callous smile as he stared down at Zoro tied up on the ground all the more intimidating.
Being face-to-face with Arlong of the Arlong pirates didn't scare Zoro. And being face-to-face with the Pirate Hunter of some reputation didn't affect Arlong as much as Zoro thought it should have. Though the crew didn't recognize him on sight, their Captain did, and Arlong did not hold back his amusement at his pitiful sight.
Arlong found his presence here strange, however, and he threw out a few questions for Zoro that Zoro didn't care enough about to answer. He'd been given one order and that was to Find Nami so he doubled down on his goal.
"And what foolishness brought you here at the brink of death?"
Zoro cut him off. "I told you already, I'm looking for a woman! A human woman! Beta, short, with red hair! Do you have ears you half-fish mutant!"
"Oh, this inferior human dares slight me..." Arlong chuckled darkly, "I heard you were an arrogant alpha. For being the highest ranking of your kind, I'll forgive you just this once. But don't you ever call us half-fish again or I'll make you regret the day you were born, human."
"Do you know of a woman that I'd describing?" Zoro doubled down.
Alrong cackled again. "I don't bother keeping track of humans, human. We fishmen are an evolved race who have the ability to breathe on land and in the sea. We're beings of a higher order than your puny kind. We need no designations to declare which one of our ranks are stronger, we are all born the best. Look at our height, or stature, our strength! It is apparent, unless you're too dense to observe obvious facts of reality. Fishmen are 'Lords of the Creation!' And so, any human who defies a fishman is essentially defying the 'divine providence of nature". Do you see why your insults are so troublesome now?"
"God, I'm already sick of hearing you blab on and on about that stupid pet theory of yours, Arlong." A familiar annoyed voice cut in. "And don't go ordering things you don't understand. Betas are better than alphas or omegas, I think you'd understand that with me around."
"...Nami?!" Zoro couldn't hide his disbelief.
And though he'd expected the Arlong Pirates to know of a red-headed young woman who would have arrived on the island earlier today based on how they kept perimeter control, what he had not expected was for Nami to emerge from the Arlong estate looking as comfortable as a princess in her palace.
Not a lick of tentative ally or almost enemies about them. She knew these fish people, and they knew her well. Arlong might have even been fond of her, by the way he spoke.
Then it all clicked into place. Her attitude. The strange tattoo on her shoulder, which matched with the mark on Arlong's flag. She was one of them.
"Aw, Nami, there is no need to make such a scary face. You're different of course, you're our prized cartographer. Where would I be without your nautical charts? You make the most accurate maps in the world!"
"Of course I do." Nami tossed her hair over her shoulder. "My brains of a much higher order than yours, or anybody else's."
Arlong smiled, waving her onward. "Exactly right, exactly right. Come closer, it's been too long since I've seen you home. Our precious little beta runs off too often."
"Cartographer?" Zoro turns to her. "Nami, why do you know these guys?"
Arlong leveled a look at Zoro, a smug amusement twitching his smile, "I see you two have been introduced."
"Yeah, I got a lot of beri's off this crew I just left." Nami said off-handily, "Seems like they just can't admit when they've been jipped."
Zoro didn't pay any attention to Arlong, instead he looked Nami dead in the eyes.
"Luffy trusts you." He said and he watched her flinch.
Nami doesn't get a chance to respond because Arlong bursts out laughing.
"Trust her? Ha ha ha ha ha!" His heartful laughter stopped with a snap of his teeth, "This girl is the best swindler I've ever seen! She'd do anything for money, even forget the death of her own family! Trust her!" He laughed again, "Our Nami is a real cold-blooded kind of human. A real witch woman, and that's why I like her!"
But at the mention of her family, Nami's glare grew intense. A burning seething agony just barely held down under the surface of her apparent aloofness. Zoro's shock ticked down into something more suspicious. He squinted at her, and whatever she'd been thinking about she quickly suppressed, making Zoro now all the more unconvinced by her hard woman facade.
"With a character like that, she's terribly lucky she has us to back her up." Arlong continues. "Only the strongest can keep a wild thing like her under control. So I let her do as she pleases. If she gets in too much trouble everyone knows that the Arlong Pirates are the fiercest threat in the East Blue. I welcome all the idiot humans who think they can take anything from me to bring their challenge. Especially if they want my most prized girl. I'll just kill them all."
Luffy was one such idiot. Zoro looked down at the tile and laughed.
"What's so funny?" Nami snapped at him.
"Heh, of course this is how it is..." he nodded to himself. "I see it now, but it's not like I ever trusted you." He said them to be cruel and at those words Nami frowned deeper, "Right from the beginning I had a feeling you were really just a good-for-nothing woman causing trouble."
"That makes this easier than. If you realize that our deal was a fraud from the start, you all can finally give on the treasure and my navigation skills." She crosses her arm and looks down on him with a cunning stare, "You're an eyesore anyway, so just disappear already."
"Well..." Zoro said lowly, "it could have been the easy. It's really too bad you took Merry and Owleyes with you when you ran off, or we might not have come after you. But you didn't do that, huh? What a genius move, beta."
Nami's eyes got a little wider. She turns suddenly so her back is facing Arlong, her lips barely mouthing the words, "She... she wasn't with you at the restaurant?"
Zoro shakes his head back and forth in an exaggerated way. "I guess this is where your lucky streak stealing from saps runs dry, because this is over. One way or another."
And he laughed again, taking in the situation as an extreme absurdity. The fishmen around all look confused as he bursts out into louder laugher.
He sees Nami's faceâjust a confused with a hit of horrified breaking her placid mask. And before he can talk himself out of doing something crazy, he just does it. If she wants me to disappear, then fine, he thinks with great mirth.
And then he kicks himself off the courtyard and throws himself into the ocean.Â
X...X...X
I absolutely failed at my self imposed little challenge! I need a few more weeks to still work out some stuff in the next book! It will begin to be posted next week on Patreon, because I've promised it will, but I'd like it to feel more complete before I start rolling out this too fast. Not just for the next book! But the one after that too...
Anyway, sorry! I got caught up working on a lot of other stuff, and made good progress on the Trials of Alabasta, but not as much as I had initially planned. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Like my work and want more? If you like this, I promise you'll like my books.
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Tags: body dysmorphia, fantasy war and the human consequences, omegaverse dynamics
WC: 4.5k
X...X...X
Chapter 3: The New World
A foolish wish has been granted.
X...X...X
WHAT A MESS. WHAT A terrible, terrible mess.
Porsha had perhaps gotten in a little over her head. There was a mess at hand and she had no idea how to fix it. It wasnât a computer exploding or some other kind of contemporary catastrophe. The little world back in that apartment was far, far from her mind.
No, this was a different sort of disaster entirely.
Right now, the last thing she needed was to draw any more attention to herself. And yet, here she was, in the middle of trouble, with eyes all over. Watching.
Whispers spurred by surprise and suspicion muddy the air, as others ring out in shock or concern. Men in trim uniforms bow to either side of her, begging for forgiveness, while a commanding woman berates them, and demands they return to their duties.
They do, but the chaos doesnât stop just when the soldiers leave. The lanky, pale woman is huffing and puffing about interruptions to her preparations and needing reparations for the damages done to the estate. The stink of upset in the air makes it hard to think, as does the chatter coming from every angle.
And yet, this isnât what troubles her most.
Shattered bits of crystal, both from the crushed bouquets on the table and from the broken stained-glass windows, laid all around Porsha and another weeping figure who is laying in her lap. This girl, with rosy hair and a normally sunny attitude, crying like this, is the most troublesome sight of all.
This womanâs weeping sobs are loud, and tears stained the front of the strange, other worldly dresses they both wear, so thin it would soon become unseemingly see-through if she was allowed to just lie there and sob. So, Porsha rubs the young womanâs back in a slightly awkward but well-meant attempt to get her to quiet down.
Everyone else in the room has backed away from the mess but these pair of girls. In fairness, Porsha was slightly trapped there, having bulldozed her way into the middle of something she probably should have just let happen. And now all the others who had scattered, were looking her direction like she might as well have grown literal hornsâor worse yet, a halo!
This was not the plan!!
The girl in question, the immeasurably sweet Rose Pearl, was sobbing quite uncontrollably. Her head of thick pinkish blonde hair was silky and soft, finer than any of the other omegaâs trained here. But that thick beautiful hair which had once hung long down her back, was now shorn, cut all the way up to her ears.
The rest was splayed all across the floor, strands of it already blowing away and out the shattered window.Â
She was concealing her face now, her beautiful shining blue eyes hidden behind her golden sun kissed fingers. Rose was what everyone would call perfect. Her hair was the perfect gemmy hue of rose quartz and softer than downy, her eyes the color of the cloudless sky. Her skin was smooth and always held the perfect warmness of the sun even in the depths of winter.
She was honey embodied as flesh, her entire persona was the perfect amounts sweet and mild. She seemed impossible to dislike.
In fact, that was exactly what she was designed to be.
âPlease donât cry, itâs not so terrible.â Anemone Thornâas no one here would ever be calling her Porsha Hawkins, which was still the most unbelievable part of this situationâsays, trying to sooth the woman in her lap.
âIt is! Iâm a terrible, terrible klutz. And look at where it got me.â She sobbed, grabbing the ends of her hacked hair. âAfter everything everyone has done to help me, Iâve ruined it all!â
Even in sadness, the sweet lull of honey in Roseâs scent didnât fade. Her aura was infatuatingly sweet. Porsha must measure her breaths, breathing as brisk and lightly as possible. These smells are not of her world, and they should unsettle her, but Roseâs is as darling as the rest of her.
Other omegaâs scents would sour when they were upset, twisting goodness into something rotten or foul. But Rose was utterly flawless, even on the brink of despair and breathing in too much of her clouded the mind terribly.
Anemoneâs hand rubbed poor Roseâs back in small soothing circles.
âYou are still so beautiful, Rose. Donât cry.â
In answer the girl could only manage a few more hiccupped sobs.
Though Ms. Pearl was a young thing, presumably only past the age of adulthood, she was also new to this life. Most of the denizens of the castle had been here since they were children, and theyâd seen new faces come and go many times, she had not. And she was trying so hard to fit in with them, when she hadnât been raised to do so.
It was a lot of pressure for a young woman.
Anemone, however, should have been facing no such pressure. In fact, sheâd been kept in this castle for longer than most. Though many would call her lucky to live in this place, Anemone didnât begin life lucky.
In a land wrecked by wars and famine, strife made living more difficult than it ought to be. In such a place, a woman with too many mouths to feed did things to put food on the table that in better times would be looked down on, but at the worst times are only to be expected.
That was Anemoneâs mother, an overburdened omega left widowed in the shadow of the clan wars that sparked after the rising of the land.
It wasnât that she didnât try to keep her fractured pack together, but there was little a woman like her could do alone in their world. No betas. No alphas. Just a lone omega and half a dozen pups that relied on her solely for support.
Already heavy with child, and grieving the loss of her mates, she did more than some dared try to save her family. First, she sold her body to serve as a wet nurse for better off packs, scraping together a few crys to help her older children find work themselves.
Then found other ways of selling herself to make ends meet, even though she was heavy with child. And then when she bore her brood more heartache awaited her. Sheâd hoped sheâd been carrying a strong alpha heir, someone strong like their fathers to embolden her, but her to-be-brood was actually just one runt omega.
What was left of hope in that young woman died that day, wept out onto Anemone as a newborn. And when the new clan authority came around offering to take the burden of young children off the hands of struggling families, the proposal was swiftly accepted in exchange for a small package of currency. Her new pup wasnât the only child surrendered, but would be the only one remembered.
From there Anemone, though she was a nameless charge at the time, was sorted with the rest of the toddling children handed over by the throngs of needy. A very choice few of them were taken in by families. The ruling clan, the Maraci, suffered great losses during the last territory battle, and the subsequent wars caused by the shifts in power, and needed new blood to fill their courts and eventually run their newly expanded lands.
Those picked where the lucky chosen ones. Most either born with strong monster blood, or as one of the rare powerful designations that were prized for their potential, or even if they just had the right look about them. Adopted, they lived as the clansfolk lived, as if they were one of them.
Each were raised to be rich, educated, and powerful.
Mostly though, the alphas were sent off to the garrison where they would be raised and serve as soldiers who would view clan Maraci as both father and mother. A distant cruel parental entity, and yet all theyâd ever know. If they found pack, they kept to small tight knit groups or assigned mates who would always put the clan above themselves.
The betas were sent many places. Theyâd serve with monks and scholars to later become them, but most commonly betas were raised to be servants.
Few betas desired freedom, they found purpose in service, but it wasnât often a kind fate. Serving the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars were lifelong obligations, and the punishment for abandoning their duties was death. Clans didnât like deserters either, and there was a certain animosity saved for disloyal betas unlike any other.
The omegas of weak spirit were sent to many of the same places as the betas, though they would not serve a lifetime in those institutions like their beta counterparts. Those omegas would be unprotected. Their fate was to be lusted over, stolen, and claimed by whoever was strong, fast, or clever enough to get them first. After their first heat, the future was uncertain for those unlucky many who were seen more as wombs than persons.
Some of the omegas left unadopted, those that seemed of good quality and strong spirit, were taken to a special place. It was an old castle on the edge of the land, which looked out over the edge of the floating islands.
Built halfway up the face of a mountain, it was once an extremely fortified position. For a short time, it had served as a military fort, though it had been nearly destroyed when the land rose.
The mountains split at the time of the great rising of the land, but the castle remained. So, after being claimed by clan Maraci many generations ago, and an intense renovation, it now served as a home and training ground for these âapexâ men and women.
This was Castle Kunda.
Here, these submissives are raised as priests and priestess to the heavenly stellar deity who caused the lands to split, and learn to become suitable, pure mates for the rich and powerful. No expense was spared on those who were deemed worthy to be taken to Kunda. From the moment they were selected, they would be carefully sculpted into the finest offerings to life itself.
They were to be more well-read than a scholar, rigorously trained in many artistic pursuits, each at least a passable singer and a fine dancer. All had pleasant scents and grew to have fine features. They were holy, each blessed by the stars, and they were trained to tend crystal gardens and confer blessings onto the world.
To the omegas deemed unworthy, and the many mate seeking alphas, such a place sounded like paradise. It was safe, a haven of all comforts. Not to mention it was an entire estate filled with the sweet scent of ripe mates. An alpha couldnât help but dream of a sight so pleasant, or so was said.
But just as no expense was spared to raise them, no expense could be spared by those who wished to have one of Maraciâs most precious assets.
In other words, they were all for sale.
Not always for money, though at the exorbitant cost of running Kunda it was no small feat to even raise the petition fee, which allowed suitors to be considered for entry into the Castle. Sometimes the omegas were shifted off for political power, or given as a favor to some antsy headship of an aggressive clan, or gifted to a favored ally.
A perfect omega gifted to the right clan in the right territory could influence nations, and this was a power flexed sparingly.
Anemone was one of these omegas sent to Castle Kunda, but she did not take the opportunity lightly. Maybe it was because she carried with her the grief and disappointment of her mother, but Anemone lived life in the castle like she had something to prove.
She was the best dancer, the best singer, the best painter, the best at embroidery and all other handicrafts she tried, as well as the most well read and the cleverest. Sheâd a special hand for bouquets which were always glorious, and her blessings were renowned.
She had a viperâs mind, and understood most any concept that was presented to her.
She was also the meanest, cruelest, most vicious woman anyone who met her had ever crossed paths with. Her name was literally âAn-enemyâ, and she was designed to be evil wrapped in pastel ribbons.
Then why was this wicked soul, who had never done an unselfish deed in her entire life, consoling another person? Let alone someone who was at all other times deemed unworthy of attention or grace?
That is because such a history belonged to the omega woman known as Anemone Thorn. A headstrong bratty character who served as a minor villain in a raunchy dating sim game, Crystal Eclipse.
The same game which Porsha basically dedicated her life too. The game which nearly broke that brand-new computer, like software possessed.
Despite all her meanness, Porsha even had a small soft spot for Anemone. Though she would say on forum threads it was because of her terribly sad backstoryâand even worse fate on most of the game routesâtruthfully, she could only appreciate such a villain because she thought she looked a good deal like her.
In another life, when she was safe in her bed, looking at the finely drawn renditions of these characters in the artbooks, that had been kind of a cute thought. The fact someone made a character who looked anything like her into one of those dramatic love simulators made her bashfulâŠ
Even if she was a total bitch.
Itâs not that Porshaâd never been called pretty. Sometimes people commented on the uniqueness of her freckly face or said they liked the color of her hair. The simple fact was, she never believed them. Her skin looked molted it was so many shades because of the density of marks across her body, and her hair only looked half decent once in a blue moon. Â
With a great deal of longing, Porsha admired Anemone. With her image, came a soft, sighed day dream.
Gosh, what if I really was her?
Not that she had ever really wanted to live in Crystal Eclipse. It was a fun game, yes, but a scary place. It was full of monsters and horrible cruel people.
Sadness and death stained most pages of the story, which made the highs of victory in-game feel all the more intense. But as a real living world? There was a lot of things about the land ruled by the Maraciâand frankly all of the âhindâ nations that populated this far off alternate worldâwhich would terrify anyone if they had to actually live by and obey them.Â
Maybe she was guilty of daydreaming too much, imagining another world as her own. Maybe some deity out there had heard her desperation for adventure and love, and thought to themselves what fun it would be to grant such a foolish ill-considered wish.
Maybe that deity was laughing now, as Porsha came to terms with her new world.
She woke up with heavy eyes and a heavier feeling on her shoulders, the kind of body strain that came from playing games and slouching in a chair all night. Except sheâs already on her feet, trying to force her sticky, resistant eyes open.
The room is cold and a light is blindingly near her face. Itâs not impossible that sheâs somehow managed to get up and zombie walk her way into the bathroom before even fully rising to consciousness. She was fairly certain she wasnât a sleep walker⊠but stranger things could happen.
The light is on, the sun must be up, and if the sun is up, itâs morning already. And morning meant work. Really, she should have felt more exhausted, since sheâd worked so late just yesterday, but the panic outweighed all sense of reason. Even the obvious fact that sheâd finished her work week with that shift last night and had the next two days off was totally and completely forgotten.
She sort of blindly grabs at the sink, and turns on the water. A good splashing and a quick rub of the face, and sheâs finally peeling them open, though they protest with the pain of sticky dry eyes. And when she finally does manage to look around, they snap closed again, fast, blocking out the sight of the world around her. She makes one startling realization.
This was not the bathroom in her apartment. But that canât be right.
Open, closed. Open, closed. Open, closed.
She checks three more times, but the world never changes. Porsha doesnât even glance at the mirror, her eyes scan right by it as she takes in the room. That alone is overwhelming enough. The polished shine of the marble floor beneath her feet, the strangeness of the amenities.
Her apartment was covered in a cheap, scratchy, acrylic carpet that did the bare minimum of keeping the cold drafts of winter at bay.
Even in the bathroom, they laid down that stupid carpet. She was certain it homed at least a thousand kinds of mold spores, and hardly ever got dry.
This was not carpet. It was smooth marble, shining with a glossy finish. There was a pleasant warmth radiating off the tile, instead of coldness. Her eyes ticked up, across the walls and up to the ceiling, all covered in fine sparkling tile.
It looked like the room in a castle. The walls that had all sorts of pillars cut into them, yet the surfaces were smooth. So close in proportion to the silly stereotypes of palaces and castles sheâd seen in cheap visual novels.
Yet, the façade is wrong though, in a Iâve never seen anything like this odd. Alien in the way it seemed to almost look like a bathroom. As if sheâd entered another countryâs bathroom without taking a step away from home.
Behind her was a line of pink pedestals about knee height with strange flower-like bowls and little holes on top. Toilets? Â And off to the right seems to be a small hall, with steam flowing out into the rest of the restroom. A lacy curtain blows, keeping some of the moistness at bay.
A sauna area? A bath? She couldnât command herself to go check, completely frozen in place by shock.
Of course, with every observation another thought comes with it.
Where in the fuck was this? And how in the fuck did she get here?Â
To the left and right of Porshaâs periphery, she sees what look to be like more recognizable sinks, each with a mirror above the basin. To the far left, though, was a window. And what laid outside that window made her stomach fall through the perfect tiled floor.
This couldnât be right.
Even as the evidence piles, itâs so unbelievable the words wonât form in her mind.
This canât be happening.
With shaky, automatic steps, she hesitantly walks towards the window and draws the curtains all the way back, realizing the windows are actually a pair of French doors that lead out to a small but equally ornately decorated sitting area outside, with cushioned seats laide out, covered in lacy flower motifs and pillows with silky sunny fabrics.
Her attention isnât on the furniture though, instead itâs glued to the vista. It was absolutely unbelievable. There was no land beneath to be seen, just an endless blanket of billowing white stretching out as far as she cared to look out over the balcony. Clouds and blue sky, the sun shining overhead.
Was this place on a mountain top somewhere? Wherever this room was, it was so high up that she couldnât even see ground when she leaned over the edge of the railing. And the glare was so bright she couldnât even look up towards the sun, between the clouds and the shining white marble that made up the castleâs exterior, she was totally blinded.
Wind ripped through her hair, strong and unyielding, sharp and cold. It was absolutely freezing outside, though in her shock she hadnât notice until that moment. The wind was so fierce it seemed to be pushing her insistently back inside. Slowly, hesitantly, she walks backwards.
Backing away until she reenters the bathroom and closes the doors.
It looked like a shared bathroom meant for royalty. Otherworldly royaltyâbut surely someone very rich.
Sheâs never even seen a place this nice.
Taking a slow deep breath, she tries to keep her head on straight. She wasnât importantâwell at least not in a âgrander scheme of thingsâ important, Porsha Hawkins was no more important than anyone elseâso there was no reason someone would have kidnapped her just to bring her to this crazy room in the sky.
This had to be a prank.
The thought almost makes her laugh out loud. Of course this had to be a prank. Sheâd seen how intricate theme park rides and stuff have gotten; watched Scare Tactics when she was a kid, and all sorts of TV shows about tricking people. This could be some kind of elaborate sound stage.
Who would do this to her? Who knows! But when she found them, they were getting an earful! Could it have been her mother? She worked in theater; she could have some friends that could pull this off. Was this some sick kind of meet-up attempt? Though if she did all this⊠well, how?
As she mulled over the logistics and searched high and low for any sign that this wasnât real, the more her stomach sank. The walls were all cool to the touch and impossible to move, real solid stone if sheâd ever felt it before.
There was nothing under the rugs, no nooks in the walls, no holes in the paintings, no sign of holographics or LED screens anywhere. No electric cords to be found either. She couldnât even find an outlet.Â
Picking up the pace, she reels back to where she began and finally noticed a door. She heads to it quickly, hardly even thinking about the consequences, and peeks her head out just long enough to note a hallway outside. That scares her enough to shut it quick. If someone was keeping her here, she didnât want them to know that she was aware that something was wrong, if they didnât already.
There is something about this place that feels familiar. The color palette. The way the titles are laid like crown molding on the floors and ceilings. The shapes of the archways and stone work. The view of an endless skyâŠ
This is a style sheâd only every really seen in one place. But that couldnât be real.
This had to be some kind of strange dream. A dream set in a very mundane, oddly realistic fantasy world that reminded her distantly of her favorite game. A world that her brain was going into overdrive to convince her was real. Her childhood had been full of such dreams, it wouldnât be so strange to think this just another one.
It couldnât be actually, really, real. It just couldnât be.
Heading towards the sinks again, she tries to let the wave of nausea pass, staring into the basin and taking deep, even breaths. Then she paws at the sink. The water was already on when she âwoke upâ and automatically turned off when she walked away. It takes a moment to figure out how to get the water cold, and when it came out it was icy, sheâd never felt tap water so cold before.
But the cold didnât help like the first time, as she splashes her face with it and rubs at her eyes until they begin to burn. No matter how much she demanded her brain end this and wake up, despair starts to drown that sullen prayer.
She is awake. But that just canât be right!
Finally, her chin tips up and she catches the look of her reflection. There was a girl in the mirror. And that girl wasnât Porsha.
She was about her height though, as far as she could tell. And that pale splattered complexionâsheâs got that too. The same waist, the same bust. The same strange eyes staring back that always do. And yet⊠she looked like a more perfect version of herself.
Everything sheâd ever been self-conscious aboutâeven things that didnât matterâhad been fine tuned to something closer to what most people would call flawless.
The slight crookedness of her teeth? Gone. The bags brought on from so many sleepless stressful nights, evaporated. The random splotches of freckles across her face, from her scalp, down her neck, to the rest of her body, seemed more artful than random. Her hair was soft, with a gentle wave, the untamable mess made into something gorgeous. The color more honey red than dirty.
Thatâs not even to mention the clothes. She canât even look down yet, to enchanted by the figure in the mirror. Everything accepts those eyes of hers, still yellow-ringed and sick, are perfect. Itâs unreal.
It grew more difficult to believe this person in the mirror wasnât herself when they blinked together. When they moved together. When she set looks of horror and confusion that looked so familiar. She held herself the same way. Honestly, even Porsha might have mistaken her for herself if it wasnât her own face she was looking at.
But it wasnât Porsha. It couldnât be her as much as this room shouldnât belong to the world that she was growing more certain it came from. There was no reconciling it.
âWhat in the worldâŠ!â She whispered, watching familiar-but-not-quite-right lips form those words back. She scoffs, âNo, impossible. Totally impossible.â
Quick, with a viperâs grip, she pinched her cheek hard. Then again harder. Then harder.
It doesnât work. The dream doesnât even waver, even when she pinches so hard it hurts. All it does is leave an indent in her skin that fades quickly.
âOh god, this canât be right. Right? Right?â She peers closer at the mirror, but it shows no signs of being doubled sided. Nonetheless, her voice is a tense whisper against the glass. âIâm serious now, if this is a joke cut it out. Iâm really freaked out.â
The following silence is so hollow she nearly cries. Eyes watering, sheâs tempted to try and scrape herself out of this flawless skin.
Litte Miss Hawkinsânormal, geeky, kind of lonely, nobodyâher, was now living in a video game. Not just any video game, but Crystal Eclipse, a game set in a magical hyper-sexual hyper-violent world, that was going to face an all-out ruin in the not-so-distant future, depending on when sheâd been plopped down in the story.
And all that could be years from now. It could be tomorrow!
The very thought of it made her heart beat faster.
She grips the sink to steady herself as the wave of anxiety and sickness hits with a woozy feint spell. There was a scent in the air, something kind of sticky and sharp like pine resin or amber, but she couldnât decern where it was coming from.
It was hard to focus on anything at all as the final nail of realization hit with a soul rattling finalityâŠ
How? How was she to accept the fact that she was no longer Porsha Hawkins. She was Omega Anemone Thorn.
And she was going to die.
X...X...X
[New chapters every Monday]
Hope you enjoyed the newest chapter! From here on, there will only be teasers~ Thank you for reading my self indulgent friends!
When Cullen Rutherford first laid eyes on the woman who would become the Inquisitor, it was in his least favorite kind of battle. For he was not fighting men, but⊠things.
Things that were monstrous and evil, and hardly deserved names. Even after all the years that have passed since the Hero of Ferelden rescued him from the towerâs annulment, the sight of abominations and demons still had a way of getting under his skin.
Especially when he knew the person this now demon had once been. He knew demons and abominations were different. Demons were just twisted up creatures when they were âproperlyâ summoned. They had nonsensical bodies that could never survive had they been a natural animal, even if sometimes like looked like beasts or people.
Abominations, on the other hand, were like demons, but the demon took pieces of the person they possessed. The good ones could look basically the same, but the weak willed and more chaotic of these creatures looked not so different from the more raw, monstrous form of the summoned ones.
Except for the fact they had arms, legs, just fingers, sticking out in odd places. Or bits of a familiar face stretched wide and molted. All these⊠parts⊠twisted up like cream in tea, not all the way stirred in.
Every time he had to watch a demon enter the world, or an abomination erupt forth from a comrade, he hoped it was the last time. It never was.
This particular turn of events was even more disruptive and painful than it had any right to be, as heâd thought that this was to be a peaceful, momentous occasion. After all, who would dare attack the resting place of Andrasteâs Sacred ashes, and the Divine attempting to make peace between Templars and Mages? All the words leaders, their strongest men, and likely an armyâs worth of soldierâs would be there at, around, and attending such a conclave. It would be suicide to attack, even if it was for a political stunt.
All his preconceptions of reasonable never seemed to actually fit what happened in his life. Because now they were living in a waking nightmare.
The Conclave had been attacked. It was totally unexplainable. All he knew, is that Divine Justinia V, her grand holiness, had been late to the proceedings. No one could find her, and then the entire mountain exploded, killing most everyone in attendance.
Another chaos made of the world. Based on the greenish glow on the mountainside and swirling ominously in the sky above, this had something to do with the fade. If it was the fade, that mean this had to with mages. And by the looks of the demons, it had something even more to do with blood magic. In the heat of battle, it made his blood boil.
How much was this world to suffer for the existence of mages?
For just a moment, he thought he saw the world snapping into order instead of chaos. After the Circle falling, and the Blight, and the almost Civil War, and the Kirkwall Rebellion, and all the other tragedies heâd witness across his years of life, the rise of the Divine seemed a fitting answer by the Maker. Any path to peace had to be the right path, this world could not take anymore fighting.
No⊠the world seemed to revel in all this war. He was the one who couldnât take the injustice anymore.
Now the Divine was dead, and not only were creatures from the fade forcing themselves into the dead and the weak willed, they were spilling out into the air from nothing. It was against even any unnatural order heâd ever witnessed as a Templar, and Maker help him, the realization that demons could come without a channel into this world was a terrifying one.
Whatever twisted logic of magic made such a thing possible, it needed to be stoppedâand whoever practiced it; killed. That was the only solution for a lost mage.
It seemed a fruitless fight, even as he led his small squadron in battle and defended their position best he could. He was weighed by the death of the Divine, as they all were, though he would not show it to the others. One heavy thought weight his sword and shield equally, and his men ten times more if it were shared.
Though he did think it: She was too good for this world, and so the Maker took her. And He was to take everything. Had they failed as creations? Were they no longer worthy of His blessings?
Of course they werenât. They were cursed because mages entered the Golden City that was His home, and defiled it. Now the rest of creation was left to rot because of it.
When he wasnât trying to stay himself for cursing the Maker for allowing the world to fall to his heinousness, he waited for word. Looking out for messengers, those quick folk who might fall in the face of these enemies that they would need to intercept, or any sign of the fight breaking elsewhere and reinforcements arriving.
Little had been heard from the Conclave since the explosion. Last news was delivered by a small, tried looking elf messenger, who was sent to tell them all that the main suspect in the bombing was captured. They were a Dalish mage, by all accounts, who had appeared from nowhere bearing a green mark on her hand that matched the one tearing open the sky.
Poor boy who delivered that news was probably dead now, Cullen thought sullenly, like they were all soon to be. He had little pity, or upset, or anything to spare for this person, likely dead. All of his energy was fixated on his fury for the unknown assailant who caused this.
But when the hordes of the afterlife come bearing upon you, one can only focus on slashing and hacking, and making sure that everyone else is holding the line. In a sense, it is a kind of peace, the kind that can only be found when one is totally in the moment.
Yes, this short, frankly delivered news he had received was done by a small man several times more petrified than Cullen (who was more resigned and angry than set to suicidal ideations) and it did nothing to prepare any of them for who would arrive, when the suspect finally made her way up the mountain. What seemed most important when his eyes landed on her, was that he had not been told what she looked like.
Momentarily he was stunned. The words of who and what rang about his mind, but he couldnât pull the thoughts together to answer those questions. Not when a demon tried to bare upon him he was so thrown off kilter. The threat of death was enough to rerun him to his senses, but that did not make the strike of her person on his eyes fade.
It was like a spell had been cast on him in that moment, or perhaps a spell undone. It felt more like when a ward dispelled off his skin, than it did a charm imposing on his will strength or fear. Nevertheless, he felt strangely rung. Like a Chantry bell.
Cullen found himself cursing that messenger for not preparing him. That elf should have gotten to his knees and praised her as much as curse her for being the one they all supposed started this. He should have said that that she was the most beautiful woman youâve ever imagined, appearing from nowhere in the aftermath of chaos, sprouting up from death like flowers on graves come spring.
Whatever he could have said, Cullen just thought there should have been some kind of warning. What was he thinkingâthat poor boy probably never even laid eyes on her.
She arrived with Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, and they helped finish off the rest of this wave of abominations. With weapons down, he finally saw could use all his attention to look upon the face of the dreaded one who had ruined his life, and perhaps doomed the world.
Seeker Pentaghast was an Navarrean woman with a handsome jaw and even more stubborn disposition, and a warrior of great renowned. Cullen had known her some years now, and thought she was perhaps the most devout person heâd ever met. More so than most any Revered Mothers, perhaps only second in her faith in Andraste to the Divine herself. She had dark hair, cut in a short crop around her head which sheâd never kept very long, calling the habit of hair keeping trivial.
Cassandra, above all else, was also pragmatic and decisive. Devastatingly so, at times. If she brought this suspect up the mountain, it had to be for good cause. And the suspect?
Glorious, was the first word he thought when he looked on the panes of her features. He noticed first her hair. It was golden, golden like the sun rays on a pleasant sunset and it was surely very long, but tied up in a way that kept it out of battle. Golden like the Flame Throne, golden like the hands of Andraste herself.
Besides that, she looked a bit a mess, both from fighting and from what was likely a bit of rough treatment from the followers of the Divine Mother. Treatment probably laid by the hands of Cassandra, which would explain the Seekerâs weary appearance. Yet she had a full, ripe sort of face.
This suspect was very pale, and most certainly Dalish, for a decorative tattoo traced up her nose and across her forehead. He knew little of the Dalish, but everyone knew only they marked themselves in that manner. The orange swirls and embellishments stained onto her skin gave her features a particular grace that othered her in a way.
It never failed to surprise how these people of the forest were not tanned darker by their days in the sun, with most of their time passed by walking, herding, and hunting. The more an elf stayed beneath the trees, the greener they seemed to be, and the brighter. Those from deep in the woods could almost appear to glow.
She must have been from very deep in the woods, for she appeared to have a green hue to her complexion, but it was only slightly visible in the harshness of this moment. She hadnât looked his way up yet, it mattered little. He was transfixed.
After the fighting stopped, she went and kneeled over the fading corpses in the aftermath of the fight, both human and ephemeral, and completed a prayer.
âSheâs been doing this all the time weâve been fighting.â The Seeker said lowly, as so that he and she could be the only oneâs to hear her speak. âAnd I do not know what to make of it.â
âIs she the one thatâŠ?â
âSo we must assume.â She confirmed, though it was with a furrowed expression that betrayed her true faith. She was not sure she believed that this woman would kill Justinia, even if she had the power to. Then she stood and walked towards her capture willingly, even bowing her head the Seekerâs way.
âI hope that all the souls that have departed us today, find peace.â This elven woman said in a severe manner, âIâve never been witness to so much death in my life.â
âThen letâs make way, and prevent as much as possible. And let us put that mark of yours to good use.â Cassandra ordered.
âI will follow.â The woman agrees with another bow.
Her voice was somber yet serene. And then⊠her eyes flicker over his way. Just for a moment, his looming stare meets hers.
He knew at once she was a mage. All mages had eyes that appeared to be slightly unnatural, whatever their race was. It could strike the fear of the Maker in hearts of men, which was only half the reason mages were so mistrusted as they were on instinct. They just werenât right. Eyes werenât supposed to look like that. And as they trained, such inhuman glow became sharper, and more obvious.
But hers? Hers were golden and warm, just as was her hair.
He could tell her heart from the way she fought. Some mages were so reckless with themselves and othersâwhich was why such disasters like this one happened in his opinion, she was not. It was as if she was incapable of friendly fire.
But she did set fire.
The world burned at her hands, and it was glorious. The billows of red and orange danced around her, as if she was the sun come to life. Gold made flesh. An undefinable woman of perfect grace. His breath left with her when she and Cassandra hurried up the mountain towards the top.
That day the first of the Rifts in the fade was closed. And with it, the demons were sent back to where they belong. Well, at least for now.
As just Cullen Rutherford, he and the men returned to the town of Haven, a mostly empty plot which sat in the shadow of giant breach in the sky, that welcomed them to stay and protect the citizenry. It had walls, and a Chantry, and some decent flat land outside its boarders, which made it nicer than some of the places heâd been stationed, though hardly as accommodating as any functioning Circle of Magi.
There, the news of this elven fire mage spread across camp, and two things returned to his ears quickly. The rumor that she had been pulled out of the fade by Andraste herself to help save them spread quickly, and loudly. While there was some unrest and suspicion, they were already taking to calling her âThe Heraldâ a fabled person, blessed by the Maker to guide them out of the darkness.
It was hard for him no fault them for such conclusions, if any had seen her, they saw what he saw. If they didnât, they were blind and daft or fooling themselves. But⊠was she really the chosen of Andraste? It did not seem to be his place to decide such a thing.
In this town of Haven, it was in that Chantry that Cassandra drew all her allies together. Himself, Liliannaâanother fair Orlesian woman who had served as the Divineâs spymaster and was of mysterious characterâand Ambassador Josephine Montilyetâan elegant Antivian who was well regarded, well connected, and quick to offer her assistance.
Lilianna was a tall blonde woman, who never let her face be entirely shown, and wore gray clothes that mostly obscured her, and in a way that was meant to make her appear unassuming and unimportant. This was much in contrast to the Ambassador, who was by all definitions a fancy woman, who dressed in gold blouses and always kept her thick dark hair adjusted into some attractive feminine style.
Under Cassandra, he, she, and the former she, all they came together and declared this situation an utter disaster. With the Chantry in ruins and leadership both sparse and scattered, they were at a loss of how to proceed, though one thing was clearâthey needed a way forward. There were people who needed help, and the only ones left who could offer that we're the currently gathered party.
âThere is only one thing to do then. We must take order into our own hands.â Cassandra determined.
âI can have the remaining Chantry found and gathered. No one should leave this place until a new Divine has been picked from among them.â Lilianna offered. She had a lyrical way of speaking that was more friendly than she really should sound, and on the other side decidedly more deadly. âWe will reign this madness in.â
âNo.â Cassandra put a hand on the big wooden table at the center of the room theyâd turned into war counsel. âThey will not act swiftly enough. I will take the authority granted to me, and I will declare this outlet independent of the Chantry until this threat is resolved.â She says, completely severe.
In utter shock, he says, âThat would mean declaring a new Inquisition.â
âThat it would.â Cassandra said. âDo you stand with me?â
The four stood together, and at once knew they were all in agreement at this. And so, Cassandra declared it, and it felt like a literal weight had been put into the air when she did. A Seekerâs word was to be kept, in some ways their voice law. As she said, so it would be.
They were now an Inquisition.
That night, he returned to his bed, not as just another soldier, but as Commander Rutherford, leader of a new budding army. And he went to sleep knowing theyâd just made history, no matter what it was their freshly smithed Inquisition brought to the world. That, and a new promise to be kept between he and the Seeker would keep him grounded.
This was a new world he wanted to enter, when everything he knew seemed to turn on its head. In it, he would stand as a new man. There was something of hope given with this power, and this freedom of action that they would not have had if they waited for the Templars, or the Chantry, or the king of whatever nation to take this problem into their own hands. He would not let this opportunity go to waste.
While he stepped boldly forward in his waking world, behind his eyes were nightmares. Always nightmares. These more cruel than usual, of his times in the mageâs circle, when heâd served as a young man in Fereldan. Memories heâd rather forget, and in part had, came eking back into his mind so quickly. Such dreams were not uncommon, yet when he awoke from them the next morning, the dark fog was quickly banished by a golden ray of dawn light that hit his face miraculously.
The first thing he thought of when his eyes opened was not his new duties. No. As that halo of light blinded him for the moments after his waking, \he first thing he thought of, was her. She was golden and fine, warm like the sun on his face.
It was in that moment that Cullen knew he was royally fucked.
Maker help him, was he in love?
...
This suspect turned ally, turned budding religious icon, was more even-tempered about all this then he would be, given the situation. In fact, he was at least triply more furious than he should be and that still didnât feel mad enough.
An Inquisition? Rising up against the Chantry? Abandoning the Way? Rising a flag which would be taken as a cry of war? What was Cassandra thinking?
What was he thinking agreeing to join it?
These regrets only linger on his mind because heâs been dealing with High Chancellor Roderick and his squabbling. That and the pounding headache thatâs been haunting him for days now. Elsewise the Inquisition has given him purpose and motivation he hadnât felt in years.
But this was an increasingly incredulous situation. This old man was supposed to have returned to the Chantry in Orlais to discuss who would replace Divine Justinia V. It appears he did that, and then turned around to return to this backwater mud-town just to add more chaos to the fray of injured and unprepared which populated it.
For what? Fun?
They had no time to deal with him and his attempts at riling up everyone in camp. And this attempt was more successful than most. Now at least fifty people stood around him, and yelled at the high walls of Chantry looking for justice and answers. Lillianna had practically pushed him out the front door to deal with this so she and Josephine could plot in relative peace inside.
Above them, over the Frostback Mountains, and so close it felt as if the green haze could ooze on them down here, was the Breach. The sky was literally torn open, and a storm brewed endlessly around it. There, it should have been a dark sky, the clouds should have obscured the tip of the mountain and the unnatural sight there.
Instead, the glow of the fade flickered with jolts of imperial lightening, as if the crack in the world was the bluff of a volcano readying itself for explosion.
It was a sight that would make the most stalwart uneasy. The people were anxious, and this made Cullen all the more frustrated with the Chancellor, for he too knew the troubled hearts of these people, and was weaponizing their unease.
They were all scared, above all else, and unsure of what to do. All of this Cullen could empathize with to a point. But that point did not allow for the common folk and sisters of the cloth to destroy this lone standing temple, which was the last bastion of hope and decent construction in at least a hundred paces. It wouldnât do to let former templars and apostates fight each other to the death in camp over the honor of the Divine.
People couldnât storm and pillage to their liking, just because they were upset. What where they trying to act like? Mages? Rogue Templars? Bandits?
He knew why these people were riled up. With how much they were shouting it was impossible not to know. They wanted answers to big questions. Some called to see the Herald, others saw the same woman as a terrorist; they wanted peace; they wanted no more fighting; some of them wanted more fighting; they wanted the sky fixed; they wanted things to go back to normal. All demands that were impossible to answer.
Well, all but one or two. She was approaching now. The one who was the was the cause of this dissention in the ranks. Some looked on her with fear, others with reverence, but they all muttered the same title.
Itâs the Herald, the Herald of Andraste is here!
He wasnât sure what to make of that title, or her character, just yet. But it was what the people were now calling her.
He broke up a fight between a mage and one of his men, and while they parted, it was clear the tension had not fully dissolved on either side. But at his words, calling them to set aside their petty squabbles and stand together if they wish to live through this troubled time, and her approach, the group dispelled.
They were too in awe and too sacred to stand long in her presence, like she was ordained, or something of the like. It was remarkable to watch. The old man held his ground, however, and demand she be detained and taken with him back to Orlais. He ordered it, but no soldier moved to obey that command.
It was almost a miracle, how patient she was with this conniving man who wanted nothing more than to kick his feet and turn back the table of time a few weeks when all this wasnât even a nightmare in their minds. Such a thing was impossible however, as it was impossible for Roderick on his own to compel the Inquisition to dispel, simply because he asked them to.
In the face of this, her calmness made him seem even more unreasonable. She was a walking breathing saint, and it was this perception that had all the people whispering in her presence and half in fear. They watched her put the air back together, it left them in a state of amazement. Even if there was more to do, her first feat alone made her stand above.
When the trouble has been settled by her presence, and the short exchange of words shared between parties, and the old Chancellor leaves in a huff. Though Cullen is sure that is not the last of him that will be seen, today, at least, he is easily dealt with. That is when they turn to one another. And for the first time ever, the Herald speaks to him directly.
âIâm Aurora Lavellan.â She offers her name to him with a bow of her head. Her voice was so somber and calm. âI meant to thank you earlier for your part in saving people from the disaster of the Conclave. I did not wish your service to go unappreciated.â
âCullen, or Commander Rutherford if you intend on becoming a member of this...â he couldnât in good conscious call it an army, so he decided on, âoutfit.â
âI donât know what else I would be called to do, truthfully Commander. I will do anything I can to assist you.â She bowed to him, not in the way of the Templars or the army, but nonetheless, he took her respect and returned it. Then she stood straight and began to ring her hands together, in a way he would call nervous if she were not so stunning, but instead looked to be a gentle damn-near calming gesture. Her body language was very strange.
âI again thank you for your service to these people, and your trust in me. I know that I did not come to you on best terms.â She says.
His first impression of her was hardly poor. It was the suspicions that came after meeting her which were more difficult to swallow. That was the only thing that made him waver.
âIn a world that seems to be falling apart before our eyes, we should not take anything that happens at face value.â He says, sounding stiff. âI do what I can for the Inquisition, and I will continue to do my duty for it, as long as there is use for me here.â
He blows off such a compliment with talk of Duty, though what the Inquisition is doing is well beyond that of normal duty and veers very nicely into the territory or Heresy. Especially with how the Herald runs around the Hinterlands, collecting allies and saving the common peoples from problems that their own governments are too occupied to assist with.
âThat is very admirable of you. People are in need of a steady hand. And guidance.â
âThey are in need of training.â He only half-agreed. âAnd more patience.â
âThat is hard after tragedy, seemingly one after another.â She shook her head, and looked downcast. âDonât be too harsh on the Chancellor. He is one of many, and they are all crying out for order and justice. I only hope I can play some small part in delivering it to them.â
He said nothing a moment, taken aback by this answer more so than anything. And after a stilted, slightly awkward moment passed, he responded simply with, âI know. That is what we rally for.â
She saluted him again then, corrected herself. Instead bowing to him in the way the others normally did. He would have to remember that she was an outsider to them, she did not know their ways, and she meant no disrespect.
âThank you for your time, Commander.â
He returned the gesture, and his eyes followed as she turned to enter the Chantry, for whatever purpose. Perhaps to talk to Mother Giselle who only just arrived from the Hinterlands, or maybe to speak to fair Josephine. It was impossible to say.
Cullen, however, was left in the wake of both surprise and compulsion.
He wasnât quite as faithful as Cassandra, few were. The Maker put many troubles in his path, but faith in Him and Andraste had probably saved his life, and his soul. But in that moment, in the presence of her somber serenity, he really wonders if she could actually really truly be the Herald of Andraste, chosen by the Maker to save them.
Then again, heâd thought that of Justinia, and there was now not even enough of her body left to properly venerate. At heart, he was still a Templar, and she a mage. There were now two dalish apostates in their midst, and both were strange. It made him wary, especially in his current state. Even his âsteady handsâ as she called them, now often tremble.
In truth, he couldnât even keep a sword tip pointed true at the moment. If he had to face the kind of mighty abomination either one of these wild mages could turn into, should they be possessed⊠it was a grim thought. He was sure it would be the ruin of all of them.
Itâs not that mages as a whole that were not to be trusted, or so he would say logically, but heâd seen the kind of ruin they could cause. Worry was only natural when it came to Apostates, when even trained mages of the circle could be vulnerable to possession. Really, his thoughts were harsher than that.
Beautiful as she was, she was dangerous. Heâd seen it with his own eyes. Heard every day how she, and that other one, grew stronger. It could be said that the other elf, Solas, was much the same, even if their elemental focuses found different cruxes.
For a moment, he considers fetching a potion from the storeroom to relieve the distraction of his many needless aches and anxieties, and to just be more sure he could do what was necessary. This wasnât the time for him to get hung up on honor and pride when the what felt like the whole world needed him to be as strong as he could be.
What harm would it do to just take a little more?
Another vial or two of lyrium wouldnât kill him. Heâd been taking the stuff half his life. Quitting could happen after all this mess was cleaned up; it was selfish to consider doing this nowâŠ
He gripped his hand tight, so tight it hurt, and refused the urge.
In the last few days, it felt like any excuse would be enough to turn back to the vials for strength. A headache, a stubbed toe, a petty annoyance, a solider getting injured, a pretty face. Literally all his thoughts eventually trailed back to the tinge of blue on his tongue and the rush of it in his veins.
If heâd known that taking lyrium would cause all this suffering, would he have ever agreed to the vows it in the first place? He was young when he was initiated into the Templar Order, he probably would have dismissed any warnings had he been given them. Actually, he probably was given a few and obviously hadnât cared.
Thankfully, he had trustworthy sergeants who were doing most of the hands-on training. He was more of an advisor now anyway, a general in a truer sense of the word, and because of that it was best he didnât know his men too personally. They would know each other just enough to brew the respect needed for him to care about their lives and understand their strengths, and for them to trust in his orders.
Thoughts ticked back towards this Herald Aurora, just then. Was she a soldier in the making? He thought not. She seemed more like a toy for Lillianna and a vassal for Cassandra than a footman. Yet, her place was still uncertain.
For now, he would return to his men, and focus on uniting them. That was all he could do.
...
There was trouble coming from Orlais. Of course there was. Where the Chantry was, there was trouble for the Inquisition, it would always be so. When did they not put up a fuss about something or another? This time, though, Commander Rutherford didnât see why it had to be their problem as well.
âAre you serious? She should not go there.â On this Cullen would put his foot down. âFor what need of us do they have in Val Royeaux? Are we to just walk her into the arms of the Chantry for detainment?â He scoffed. âWe may as well cut off our hands and feed them to bears.â
âThey are at war with each other not us.â Josephine, ever the even tempered and politically-inclined one, reminded him. âWe need allies. If we call together the Clerics, we can get them to see reason and perhaps pick a new Divine. Hopefully it will be someone who favors us.â
As if he needed a reminder. It seemed she needed to be reminded of what it was they thought about this budding Inquisition in her homeland. By the rumors, the thoughts were not kind.
She continued. âWe need the support of the Chantry, ultimately, so the peoples of Thedes know we do not stand against them. I believe we should parlay with them quickly and resolve this disorder. Unlike the mages rebels or the Templars, we may likely sway them with words and promises of peace instead of more violence. This would help our reputation immensely.â
âThe easiest problems are solved with coin and violence. Those are the problems the common people understand. What is happening with the Chantry is too confusing to intervene with.â Cullen rebutted. âWhen they pick a leader, let us speak then. If we call it to vote, there will only be more suspicious of us, and our intent.â
âI believe that the Herald has a right to choose where it is she goes, for how, and why. Especially on this matter.â Lilianna turned to face the both of them, who had been squabbling over this for ten minutes or so now. âBe it cutting off her hands to make peace with the people who may one day worship her,â Then her cunning kind of look turned towards the Commander, âor her wings by staying forever cocooned by the Inquisition.â
At that Cullen furrowed, and not a moment later the doors to the war room opened. And as if sheâd been summoned by the Maker to end this, it was she who arrived instead of another blasted useless attendant.
She was as beautiful as the first time he saw her, more so, probably. But it was difficult to imagine that sheâd ever be dull in his eyes. Fresh from the Fallow Mire, Aurora must have been happy to see the sun shining warm and a few faces that werenât undead, for she looked in a pleasant humor as she entered. She was radiant, and golden, and pleasing to look at in fire light, he thought most distractedly.
âHerald.â Josephine greeted her. âIâm happy to see you received our message.â
âIâm sorry I was busy in the field, or I would have arrived sooner. Iâve good news though, our lost men in the Mire have been secured and should be on convoy to arrive back to Haven within the week. Solas predicts well for them, and says their bravery would be commended had we seen it.â
âThat is good news, at least.â Cullen stood, and welcomed her to the table.
She was spending an awful lot of time with this dalish Solas, he thought. Elves, and mages for that matter, tended to prefer their own company over outsiders. It made some of the men weary.
From what he knew of this Aurora Lavellan, she was to be an ambassador, or sorts, for her people. She was sent to the Conclave as a witness to the crowing of the new Divine in their name, and sanctioned for it by Justiniaâs own hand. Not a spy, or an enemy, or anyone who would have looked at all out of place there. She was not, by any accounts that Lilianna could find on her past, a warrior.
Andrasteâs chosen or not, being tied to the Rifts and sent to battle must have as much a shock to her as the explosion had been to all of them.
Perhaps Solas was a reminder of home to her, in a place that was nothing like the Free Marshes, or anything she had seen before. Solas may have had a different accent than her tribe, but at least he looked like and understood the world through similar eyes. Or at least, he had to assume. Solas was a mage unlike many others Cullen had met before, and heâd known more than his fair share of them.
When heâd been stationed as a Templar in Kirkwall, heâd also felt homesick, though heâd never been sure if heâd ever actually return home. It was more difficult to adjust to life in Kirkwall than it was to the Circle when he was just a boy. That was in part due to the leadership making it feel as unbearable to live there as possible, and the fear of stepping out of line that came with such an environment.
âAnd you have arrived exactly on time. We do have need of you.â Lilianna bridged, and then explained to her the situation in a few precise words, and she was listened to with poise and patience, a worthy rival of every woman in this room.
As they spoke, Cullenâs mind sharpened on the pair of them. Of them all, who did the Herald serve so far? Perhaps this woman was more an agent of the Spymaster than a solider or a politician. Though she fought daily, and made allies constantly. There was no one who seemed to rule her as Lillianna did. He thought that before, and it only seemed to be more true every day. It certainly wasnât he she reported to at the end of her missions, or heâd see more of it.
The Herald was debriefed. She quickly knew of the meeting to happen with the remaining Chantry high Council that they were calling with the names that Mother Ghiselle offered, and that hopefully through it they would elect a new Divine. It would be an insult for them to refuse gathering, of course, but it was also likely a trap. Either the literal violent kind, or a political one.
âOf course, we will go to see them.â The Herald said, bowing her head. âThey are afraid, and I do not wish them to be so. If we speak, they will see reason. I believe in the Chantryâs rationality.â
âThat is, if they wish to speak.â Cullen nearly grumbled, though collected his decorum.
The seemed to dim her golden beauty, she looked at him, as if sad to hear him share such a perspective, âI see your Chantry and it is united under one light, one song. I donât want for us to stand against them.â Then she took an intake of breath and bowed her head to them all. âNot that I wish to speak for all of us either, only that I only mean to share what I think would be best.â
âOrlais is not a stage in which it benefits one to behave brashly.â The Ambassador agreed. âWe will not stand aside and let them spin stories amongst themselves until we have been turned into a worse demon than the ones we should out be fighting.â
âI agree.â Lillianna.
âThis is why I must go.â The Herald insisted. âAnd hopefully we will find them amiable to us and our cause. Itâs not so much different than their own.â
âThey may be too optimistic, my lady.â Lillianna advised, âBut I hope that you are correct.â
âI will go with her. If they will not bear the banner of this Inquisition, they will hear me.â Seeker Cassandra said this, than stood and took her place beside the small elf woman.
Cassandra was tall for a woman anyway, and the look of her standing beside the Herald reminded him distinctly of how they appeared together when she stood beside the Divine One. While she had at first been more than suspicious of this elf, it seemed as if the Seeker had developed a liking to herâor at the very least a respect. She must have been a very good mage to have earned that so quickly.
Then Cassandra said firmly, âThey must see us. There will be no other option.â
...
When the news came back that the meeting did not go well, and that in fact there was no such meeting with the remaining Chantry to even be attended, Cullen couldnât say he was surprised. He was surprised to hear what the Lord Seeker Lucius had done, and what the Templars had stood by and watched.
Striking a chanting Revered One in front of her Flock? There must have been something sickly within the Order. The Templars could be violent, or hard handed at times, but to strike a Revered Mother was practically blasphemy. They were to respect the Chant, the Chanters, and the Chantry. Even mages in prayer were to be respected.
The Seekers did not necessary abide by the same rules, but nonetheless there was a certain kind of decorum that was respected by all, and expected of men with a certain prestige and title. Especially in Orlais. Even if they meant to sperate from the Chantry and reframe the Order, their were better ways to go about it.
Hearing that, he was more than relieved to know that besides the sudden and violent entrance and exit of the Templars, nothing too disastrous had occurred on the other side of the Orlesian border. He shouldnât have been half as concerned as he was. Heâd seen the Herald in battle himself, and the word sheâd only become a more competent mage in her time with the inquisition. Still, being stuck in Haven instead of on the road made him feel like a mother hen, fretting over a child at war.
The choice lies before them when they return, as there will be no Chantry to defer to. They must decide: To side with the Templars, or the Mages. As this point in the rebellion, there seemed to be no room for middle ground.
The rebelling Mages would see an alliance with the Templars as an attempt to chain them into the Ciricle once more. After taking that side, there would be gaining them as allies. On the other hand, the Templars were obviously become more violent, more overbearing. If they were to return to order, restore the circles and subjugate the mages by some miracle, it would likely be more a dictatorship than ever. Having them as allies would be disconcerting at this point, politically and ethically.
At one point in his life the idea of siding with the mages might have caused him to choke and die, rather than pledge his blade that way. But now, he saw the Order so much differently⊠If they would come here as equals, they would probably ask him to return to his duty and he would have to refuse, no matter the shame they tried to bring on him.
With the Seekers acting oddly, it only spells trouble. The Templars are not so above magic as they seem and darkness brews deeply in their world. Heâs seen it himself, and it was troubling.
But they at least were bickering with themselves in their stronghold! The mages were in absolute chaos. They needed no more of that in this camp.
The Herald stands between them all, strong in the belief that some kind of compromise can be made. Yet, there is a meeting around the war table and the facts are clear: there are only enough resources to spare for courting one faction. The Herald cannot be at two places at once.
âThe Chantry might have been inert, but this is much different situation. You plan on going to Redcliffe so some Magistar can swarm the estate with men and imprison you or likely worse?â Cullen shook his head and put a finger to the war map, and laid down his opinion bare to all of them. âUnless it is truly what you think is best for the Inquisition, leave the Mages to the master they chose. The Templars, while not amiable, are not setting up this terrible, dangerous, trap.â
âYou forgot to add in obvious.â Lilianna added. For once he and the spymaster were mostly in agreement. Helping the mages looked like suicide with the information they had.
The Herald stands and turns her back to them all. She walks to the end of the table, then back to the chair in a quick pace. Her hair is in such a way that the golden curtain casts a dark shadow onto her face, and makes her expression seem all the more severe. There is a great conflict in her, he can see that, and they all wait for her to make her point.
âYou did not witness what I witnessed.â When she speaks, her voice just slightly wavers. âIt is like her mind has been twisted backwards, it sickened me.â And with her tone, he was surprised to hear such harsh words. âI cannot watch these people, be they mages, or rebels, or worse, be manipulated by this most unwell magistar.â
âIt is not our duty to care about that.â Cullen tried to offer some reason. âWe need allies. Strong allies. Or we will not survive.â
âWe know they are strong, or they would not have gained independence, nor have fought for it so hardâŠâ She turned back to face him, and he tried not to let his resolve waver under that golden damn-near holy gaze which carried such a passion it was impossible not to find it moving. âWould they not make the most favored, loyal allies, should we save them?â
âIt is true that the mages have few who support them. There is no home to call their own, and a lack of support across the country. If we were to offer our help to them, they would be fools to refuse. And that is if they still had control of Redcliffe, which we now know, they do not.â Josephine argued. âIf we were to freely offer assistance to them now, they would be deeply indebted to us.â
âAt least we know that the Templars are still under the leadership of their own kind.â Lilianna offered as well. âIt is more precious that we know why the Imperium has laid eyes on this land again, and claimed the mages as slaves. How the Templars behaved is abominable, and against what I know of them, but still within reason. This involvement, however?â She shook her head, âWith all my resources, I can hardly explain it. Why would the Tevinter be here? Are they planning to reclaim the Imperium?â
âAs if we need another war to worry about.â Cullen crossed his arms and looked sternly towards the fire, deep in thought.
The Herald seemed all the more conflicted though. âI do not wish to abandon the Templars, is there truly no way to address them both?â
âUnless you know of a way to double yourself, or turn back to hands of time.â Josephine shook her head. âIt is just not possible.â
And the first time he sees the defeat in her eyes, it breaks his heart. And when he realizes what he wants to do to soothe the wounds of her soul, he must caution himself against the passions of his heart. This is no time for distraction, and he is in no place to split his focus or his dedication. Always the health of the Inquisition and his army must come first.
Nevertheless, the Herald is a part of keeping this institution strong, she is the crux point in which they can all see a common goal, and he will treat her as such. This is why he still thinks itâs too dangerous to go, alone, up to that castle where it seems disaster so often stikes. He says as much, many times, in hopes of swaying her. None of his words do.
âDo not think me weak, Knight Commander.â She turned to him and said before she left. âI will stand before him and, no matter the means, I will still stand when this business with him is done.â
And as the Herald decreed, so it would be. She left later that day, and he was left to hen about.
...
His angel, the Herald of Andraste, returned from gaining the alliance of the rebel mages, but something in her had changed. She once again brought a strange creature into their fold. To be fair this new member of her party was just one of many in her growing collection, and only part of what troubled him at her return.
Sheâd brought many troubled characters to them, yet each was oddly strong. The first one, the one sheâd found after the meeting with the Chantry had fallen through was a strange Elf-woman who spent most of her time in the tavern named Sera.
Sera was strange for an elf, in the exact opposite way of Solas, who had joined the cause just after the fall of the Conclave. Sera, unlike Solas, didnât like anything that she called âtoo elf-yâ had a terrible fear of magic and great faith in the Maker. She kept her hair short, like she cut it off herself with a knife every so often, and she had a brash city accent.
Now Solas was a bald older elf, or so Cullen assumed, and was a spirit and a storm mage with a mysterious kind of temperament. He wasnât as green as some elves were, but he was very very pale. The Herald didnât exactly pick him from the masses as sheâd done Sera, but Cullen hadnât expected the apostate to stay in their ranks after the initial trouble of the Breach was sealed up. Yet he had stayed, and everyone had to assume it was because of her (like most of the gathered number.)
She brought warriors as well. Blackwall was someone to appreciate the company of, a man who held himself with a certain honor which was admirable for a Gray Warden, and he kept mostly to himself. Then the bawdy Iron Bull who was tall and massive Qunari, and sending the chantry girls into a titter.
Now she brought with her an expat Tevinter. Dorian was some flamboyant mage who brought with him a wave of distrust from the people who eyed him and his strange manner with much suspicion. He seemed ready to stand against his own people, however, and he offered to them two important pieces of information.
One, that the Tevinterâs were not attempting to launch a full-scale assault on Thedes, that much was a relief to know. But secondarily, was that his people were now housing a set of extremists who were plotting with a great entity they called the Old One to use the breach for their own purposes. It was a vague, but great threat, and kept as a secondary concern for now.
In the wake of her victory and new supporter, however, the Herald did not seem happy or satisfied with her good work. She had few words to say about her experience in Redcliffe. The report she offered them was both strange, and nondescript in a way he found difficult to describe. Though what she did say outright was highly troubling.
She spoke briefly of a doomed future, and the steps that needed taking in order to avoid it. She spoke of magic that was thought to be impossible, and of the help she received from Dorian in returning to the proper time. There was a demon army, and Orlais fell after the Empress was assassinated. Those two things were for certain, and now roused both fear and curiosity in the cabinet of the Inquisition.
These things sounded troubling to Cullen, but they did not strike in him the ultimate fear, as it seemed to have her. There was something about her that seemed⊠off to him. Cullen attempted to track her down and speak of what happened, but she was not very open to it.
âI did what was necessary. They could not be left to suffer.â She said, somewhat vaguely, then excused herself from his conversation. Likely to go talk to Solas, as she was often found doing between missions now.
Normally, she would not be so closed lipped.
When the first reports that the Heraldâs magic had sharpened to lightening, he grew more worried. For some reason that made him unreasonably upset. He did not imagine her on the battle field in a haze whip of sharp lightning. In his mind she was the sun and she was warm and all consumingâ
Not that it mattered what he thought. Or so he tried to say to himself.
He intends to ask Dorian what it is they saw at Redcliffe in their trip to the future, but the man is hard to pin down, and harder to get a straight answer from. Even more so than she is, at the moment.
When Cullen did manage to talk to the Tevinter face-to-face, it was a brief interaction.
âNothing you need to worry yourself over. Weâve discussed enough of the details.â Then he shrugged. âDonât sweat the little things in life, Commander. What you donât know, wonât hurt you. At least, not in this case.â
It seemed like no little thing, this peer into the future they received. He would go without his answers, however. At least for a bit of a longer time.
In the meanwhile, he was left to deal with the aftermath of the Herald and her choices in a different way. That is, taking care of the mages. While Cassandra seems to have at least come to terms with the decisions made with the mages, he is still at ill ease.
The mages are used to be coddled, he knows this from his time in the Ciricle, and so he is not surprised when they begin to file in their complaints. Though why the walk up to the Seeker instead of him, makes little sense. Though Cassandra seems to be handling them fine.
Really, he knows why they approach her instead of him, though it doesnât make the choice feel any more sane. Itâs because she argues with them. If you argue with someone as educated as they are, they often return in hopes of changing your mind. Fat chance they had with that, when dealing with Cassandra however. She was more stubborn than a Qunari.
Maybe he was just thinking like that because there was now a Qunari around, in the captain of a new mercenary gang the Herald had hired on. Iron Bull was loud and out going, more so than most people, but especially so for non-defected Qunari. He was also monstrously big. Wide chested and enormous, almost like an ogre. The men werenât sure weather to be happy he was around, or terrified of him.
Between him, and the mages, it would take some getting adjusted to their new alliesâfor everyone. The mages would learn their place in the army eventually, though. They would have to.
If they truly wish to be equal and free, they will need to get used to being treated as such. There is no finery or comfort of the Circle to be found here. Haven is a sparse, there is no room for anyone to have more than anyone else. And if they are as smart as they claim, they will consent to basic training, and unionize with the Army.
The men drill and Cullen offers corrections for the sergeant on duty to implement until he is approached by the Herald.
âCommander.â She bows to him. âIf you donât mind taking a walk with me.â
âNo, I donât mind.â He dismisses himself and joins her.
âSo what do you think of the mages? Iâve gotten most everyone elseâs opinions.â She smiles wearily. âNot everyone is happy with me bringing them here.â
âWe are all happy to have bodies. Strong bodies. Templar aid could have offered us stronger soldiers, but the mages have always been valuable in war. Like Cassandra Iâm satisfied that youâve managed to recruit them to our side.â
But there is a bitterness in his voice that he canât hide. She hears it, of course she does.
âYet, perhaps the way I will allow them to be here is not to your preference.â
âIt is not that I donât understand the plight the mages face. They are a confined people, I know this well. And they discriminated against over powers that they cannot refuse at birth. Yet, this does not mean that they are not dangerous. In times like these menâs minds fall to stress, and when mages are stressed, they are more open to possession than anyone. Having them here indentured to us⊠I fear they may decide to rebel.â
âThen they must be made stronger.â She said, so gently. âAnd hiding them in towers will not make them stronger, nor will it lead the peoples of this world to come together in peace. Everyone fears what they do not know. If they live tent-to-tent, fight together, and live together, they will see we are all not much different from one another. I do not think they will find us totally against them.â
It was a nice sentimentality, he could acknowledge, but he found it difficult to totally agree with. âBut what if in the process that allows for unspeakable horrors to happen? A mage turning into an abomination in the middle of camp and rampaging on the innocent is not an outcome that is unlikely nor would its consequences be light.â
She gave him a steady look. âIs this what you fear?â
âYes. It should be what you fear, what they fear, what everyone born with magic should fear. In you the veil is thin, and what lives on the other side of it wants nothing more than to replace us, down to the last man, woman, and child, then ruin our world. Perhaps that would be the will of the Maker, since that was once his home, and humanity attempted to deface itâŠâ
He struggles on the words and decides to reframe what he means.
âWhat I want is only to protect as many people as possible. And mages are impossible to protect from themselves, no matter how much one might try. But they find their confinement stifling.â
She seemed upset by this. âIt may seem strange to see me be a mage free, and have mages serving beneath me, but I see the wisdom in what you say. These people,â She sighed and shook her head, âthey cannot be trusted to choose their master. We are all but children of this world, and the mages here are still in need of father and mother. Perhaps in the aftermath of the war, they may find a peaceful way to reintegrate, butâŠâ
And at that he pales. He didnât mean to offend her.
âIâm sorry, you did not come here to be given a speech or a lecture on Templar ways. Things are already much different from when all these rules used to matter, though it doesnât feel that long ago. I do respect your decision, and hope to see it spell good for the future of everyone.â Sooner than later.
âYou can lecture me whenever you please, Cullen. I find your voice very soothing.â
And she said such things so easily, he nearly had to excuse himself. But he was saved the embarrassment for she left not long after that.
What was that supposed to mean?
...
The first time he sees her with her hair down, itâs an accident. Normally the Herald keep herself very proper. She never lets her hair down, though it must be rather long to keep in that complex layering of ties and things she keeps it up in.
That day, he learns it is rather long, and the sight of it transfixes him on his morning walk around town. Sheâs not unlike any other person. When she sets up to wash herself there is a stool and bucket of water, and she uses as pitcher to pour water on her head to wash out the lye. And yet, itâs almost a scandalous sight to him. Like he, nor anyone, should be allowed to see her in so little dress and so informally.
He's stopped mid-step to watch, and much to his mortification, she notices when she puts her hands up and ring out her sun-colored hair. It almost feels like heâs been wounded when she spies him, and smiles.
âGood waking, Commander.â She greets.
âPleasant day to you.â He replies, feeling stiff.
She doesnât laugh, but he can see the amusement flicker behind her eyes as she watches him quickly make way. The sight sticks with him all day. To think something so slight as the image of a girlâs down hair could make him feel so bashful! He was embarrassed by himself.
It haunted him all day, even when he returned to the Chantry. There he found Lilianna, looking all to smug with herself. She strode up to him, and began a conversation that at first seemed casual but soon moved on to the topic she obviously wanted to address
âYou know, when the Herald first awoke, she remained utterly silent, and cried just one heavy tear for all those who died. Only after we told her a way forward did she stand and fight.â She reviewed the memory with a blitheness.
âI believe her to be a dead woman walking. I knew another like her once, it is the same aura. She is surrounded by death, and a strange sense of mournful serenity. She wishes for nothing but peace, and will burn the world for it, for her life is no longer her own. Yet it will be the softest fire.â Lilianna sighed, âIt is too bad I do not think she favors women. If it were by her hands, Iâm sure I wouldnât mind being burned a little while.â
And not so long later, the spymaster left, leaving Cullen with another, somewhat jealous thought, all together. Of course, he couldnât be the only one that admired her, but⊠ah, it was better not to dwell in such thoughts.
He finishes his business inside with Joesphine and heads off to be with the men, where he may think of matters that clear his mind, and where all his attention is needed.
Itâs not until much later in the day the Herald passes across his interest. That is when she comes to him, appearing to seek a lecture. The training is done for at the moment, and he has not excuse to turn her away, and so he doesnât.
âWhat was your life like before all this, Commander?â She asks.
âYou donât need to call me commander, my lady. You are not one of my garrison.â
She bowed her head, âAs you like, Cullen. Still, my question stands.â
âWell, you must know I was a templar.â
âI do. But I donât know much what that means, I was not raised in a circle.â Then she smiled, âIn a different lifetime, maybe not so many years ago, you would have hunted me down for being in your country, rather than stand here at my side.â
âIt would have been my duty.â Cullen replied. âWhat would you like to know of templar life?â
âAnd do you have to take any vows? Swear yourself to the Maker and pledge your life to service? What was your training like? A normal day? It is difficult for me to picture.â
âYes, we did. We were given rigorous training, that of both a priest and a warrior. We are expected to be strong, steady with a shield and quick with a blade, to be decisive. Cool tempered stewards, delivering the makers judgment and keeping his peace.â He lists.
She nods along, still listening, so he continues.
âWe were tasked with watching over the mages in their daily work, and guarding them through their Harrowings, which they took to prove themselves stable and trustworthy. We served many circles, or at times were sent out to deal with those persons who betrayed the values of the circle, and all apostates, along with apprehending what you would consider free-mages.â
âI see.â
âAn average day was fairly uneventful. Stand, watch, get ignored by the mages, go elsewhere, watch. Have superiorsâ breath down our necks about how we werenât standing straight enough and not watching attentively or being ignored the right way. Things like that are common in all service.â Then he thought a while longer, âWe have vows we must take, certainly, and they keep us bound together.â
âWas it a rigorous vow?â
âIf you take such things seriously, yes.â He considered, âBut compared to others? I think you would say not.â
âHow so?â
There were lots of questions for him today.
He cleared his throat and continued explaining, âWell, we of course did several purifications to prepare ourselves for the Maker. After that, we take our first draft of lyrium, and we are sworn to service as stalwart guardians of order and peace. Part of which is swearing never to cross the boundary of guard and charge. Sometimes though,â and he said this more candidly than he meant, âI think if the leadership could have made most of us Tranquil, they would do it. Too bad that they lose all will to fight in the changing.â
âOr perhaps good. I canât imagine being so confined all my life.â
He sighed. âI assure you, that the mages wereâŠâ
âNo, no. I mean you.â She clarified, âthe Templars. The mages at some point get to come and go as they please. It sounds as if you had to stand around all day and watch them.â
âWe still moved about.â He offered. âThe circles we traveled in were just much shorter than yours tribesmen though, Iâm sure.â
She laughs lightly. Then asks, âBut did you take any⊠more vows? I mean to ask⊠do you have to give up all the pleasures of life to become a guardsman for mages, if you were not allowed to⊠how should I say⊠cross lines with your charges?â
âAnd what is that referring toââ Then he stumbled on his words as her meaning dawned on him, âOh, you mean vows of celibacy?â
She nodded.
âNo, we are not required. Many of my superiors had wives, and even children.â He explains in an embarrassed manner as she smiles to him in that way of hers. âSome choose to take one to show a certain kind of extra devotion to service, and to even get married there are extra steps one must take to get it approved by the Temple. But no, we are not forbidden from having families.â Then he stopped himself, âI should say they, apologies. I am no longer one of them.â
âAnd you? Did you declare yourself in this way?â
âWhy would youâŠâ care? He finishes the sentence in his mind, but is too embarrassed by the possible answer to them. Then he just blushed scarlet. âNo. I did not.â
âThat is very interesting.â
âWhat of your life before this, my lady? Iâll admit, I know little of the Dalish way.â
âWell, we do not often take vows of chastity, as your people seem to so often do!â She laughed. Perhaps sheâd been talking to someone else recently. Who had taken such a vow though? He had no idea.
âMy tribespeople are wanderers, which makes me one as well.â She said. âIâve seen may places, done little in most of them besides look at the views and stand on the land for a few weeks or so. In my tribe, I was tasked with tending the herds and the fires. My role was simple, much more simple than it is now, and yetâŠâ She smiled to herself, âSometimes being around you all reminds me of the flock. You can be as stubborn as halla, but your conversation is always smore enriching.â
âYou sound almost like a lady of the Chantry when you talk like that.â
âDo I?â
He nods. âIt is strange to hear an elf speak as you do.â
âIt canât be so strange, there are many city elves who believe the Chant with all their hearts.â
âBut I donât believe you are one of them.â
âCan one not believe in both their traditional gods and the Maker? I have seen evidence of both with my own eyes and felt it with my own hands, and so I worship both. Now more than ever really. Then again, my own kind often did not agree with this stance, especially not my Keeper.â
âHe must have been fond of you.â
âHe is.â She says this, then lays her eyes on him again, with a teasing heat heâs unaccustomed to. âYou must have been very good amongst your order. You have much compassion in you.â
He blushes at the compliment. âI did my best in my studies, even if I wasnât always the model student. I did my best with a blade, and in keeping the words of Maker in my mind. If these things make me remarkable, then most of the templars in service are remarkable. But I donât think I am particularly compassionate.â
She just let out a light, joyful little laugh. âDo your vows also tell you not to take compliments?â But he didnât get the chance to answer that with a no. She continued, âMy Keeper told me to be wary of your kind when I arrived in this land.â
âHe was right to say that.â He said, âIf the Chantry were in right order, in this land you would be hunted down and trialed. You may be killed, or offered a place in the Circle should it be deemed you not a blood mage. You would never have been allowed back to your people.â
âI understand this.â But she just smiled. âI just would have found it difficult to be wary of you, Cullen.â
Are you flirting with me? He didnât know what to say.
âIâve taken enough of your time today.â She says than leaves. âThank you for speaking with me at such length.â
âAnytime, my lady.â
...
She was out to battle again, to rescue some taken patrol from a group of sub-bandits that wanted her head. He worried for her less now on these trips, as sheâd proven herself a fine mage and a good warrior in her own right.
âHow does it feel to close a rift?â He asked her one day around the war table when they were deciding their next move.
âYes, I was curious about this myself.â Josephine mused as well. âIâve been meaning to have more stories sent out to be made of you, so that the common folk may hear good things of this mark and what we are putting it to use to do.â
The Herald did not seem in good humor at this question. She thought, then responded gravely. âHave you ever seen something terrible happening above you, and you reach out your arms, although you know it will do nothing to prevent tragedy? Do you know this tension?â
âOh yes! That is a terrible feeling!â Liliana said, âI have terrible dreams like that.â
âThat is what it feels like to reach out to a rip in the air. While the ground crawls with demons, they spill from this cut in the sky which in my ears sounds like the cries of a frightened, hungry babe, searching for a mother that it has never known. And when I destroy it, it is like I stifle that child, holding it down until it can no longer draw breath.â She explains. âIt is not pleasant.â
The group is left in momentary silence.
âWell, I canât really write to people and tell them that.â Joesphine muttered. âWorry not, Iâll come up with something to say insteadâŠâ
âI am sorry, that was rather grim, wasnât it?â The Herald smiles in apology, âItâs easier to understand if I say it another way, perhaps. I relieve the suffering of the sky, plucking splinters from its skin and healing the wound. Those who have never been under the hand of a healer will think that a nice sentiment, though that have will know the discomfort on instinct.â
âAgreed.â Lilianna said. âIt is better than a lie.â
âAnd better than the truth.â Josephine mused.
âToday is to be a glorious day.â Cullen tried to prompt them back into good humor. âThis is the day before we are to storm the Breach once more and close it for good. Let us not weigh ourselves with dark talk. There is enough of that to be done in planning the assault.â
âYes, itâll be good.â And in this Lilianna seemed surprisingly content.
...
He had little to say about the fight to the Breach. It was oddly familiar in not in a way he much liked. But Aurora? She looked like a golden savior in the midst of the green, something out of one of the tales in the Chantâyet he had seen it with his own eyes.
In the aftermath of it, after the sky healed and she feel back from the exhausting efforts, and they thought themselves finally heroes⊠that is where his mind lingers when the memory of that day comes to mind.
That was when Corypheus first attacked. It made no sense. There was no banner thrown, no warning. They just appeared from over the range of mountains and spilled out like a locust horde of darkspawn around the town. There was no way to properly react to such a sudden invasion.
Especially not when he saw who their ranks were made of.
Red Templars. The sight of them made his blood ran cold, especially at the number they boasted in their ranks. All of them were deformed and twisted, and stronger than they should be. With crystals of red jutting out of their skin as if it was growing on their bones from the inside out. The look of them nearly made him wretch, as did the realization of how close heâd come to being one of them, had he stayed in the order.
He knew as soon as red lyrium was discovered, that someone would be fool enough to think they could handle consuming it. The Templars already did it with the blue veins, what was so different about changing the color of the intoxicant?
What exactly such obvious evil would do to a person, well, he had no way to imagine that before the monsters appeared before his eyes. The worst of them were basically abominations. It was if demons and darkspawn were fighting across the features of once-men to claim dominance.
It was in that moment that he had some idea of what the Herald might have seen in the doomed future that she swore not to let pass.
When the foes were soon to be upon them, she turned to him, looking for his leadership. At a time like this, who else was to be looked to but the one in the fore of the army? Yet he finds he has little hope to offer. The force approaching is vast, and their numbers and mobility here limited. They have little armament, and their walls are wood. A few mages could have the entire hold burning in minutes.
These were his inner thoughts. But outwardly he stood strong, and rallied the troops. If they wanted any time to figure out what to do, they would need to hold off the main forces for as long as possible. That he could at least offer she and the others.
So he rose up, and gathered his men. âIn the name of the Herald! In the Name of Andraste!â He bid them to fight, âFor your lives! For All of us! Attack!â
And so, with those words as their banner, they rushed into the fray, with little hope of survival.
They lasted longer than he thought they would, and battled harder. The ranks were motivated, and well trained, and eager to serve in the face of hell. He couldnât be prouder of them. Though the trebuchets did much of the work of keeping the invading groups numbers to an endurable level, thank the Maker for them.
That is, thank the Maker for the trebuchets and the Herald, of course, who always found herself in the midst of the most dangerous situations.
He stood there by the gate until she returned. Then ordered that they needed to go back to the Chantry to save everyone, or at least make a worthwhile last stand. The Chantry was the only stone building in town, the only thing really built to last. But it would not outlive a proper siege, as it was about to endure. This he knew, everyone had to know it, but they had little choice but to retreat.
Aurora seemed oddly scattered, and yet deadly focused. She was intent on preserving as many of their people as possible, and had put herself on the line too many times to save their many lives while risking her own. Didnât she know that the future was damned without her? Why couldnât she be shaken into valuing her own life?
With firm words and the buzz of battle shaken from her, he does convince her that it is best to retreat, though she does more of her good work before she entirely falls back. It is there where the people overtake the war room, and the council that moves this inquisition must make their choice.
It is there, in the front hall where all is at most risk, that they talk. And it is there that Cullen and the Herald meet a strange tall young man, blonde, in a hat that appears too big for his head. He appeared from nowhere, like a spirit or a demon, and crouches over the fallen, injured form of Chancellor Rodrerick.
âHe will kill everyone if he does not have the one with the mark.â This young blonde man describes ominously.
To such a bit, Aurora stands up and too quickly offers. âOf course Iâd give myself to save the people of the haven.â
âNo. No. No.â Said this boy still in his odd way. He knew too much; it made Cullen suspicious. âEven if he wants you, to kill you and maim you, all he wants is to kill and kill. He will kill everyone. I donât like him.â
âDonât like him? Of course, notââ Cullen huffs and dismisses the odd youth, and turns to the Herald. He feels the end, the tinge of death in the air. Something must be done to stop this mad person and his army of human monsters.
He decides they should kill themselves with the avalanche. âOne hit of a catapult to the mountain and the snow will follow. No one will be rising from their graves in the aftermath. We may go down, but he will follow us to the Maker swiftly after.â
âThat would kill⊠us all.â The Chancellor chokes on his own pain. Cullen feels just the slightest guilt for being so dismissive of this man in previous days. âNo, we cannot fall here. These people⊠this place⊠I was wrong about you all. And I am sorry.â
âYou are hurt.â The young man says over him, and the Chancellor coughs.
âWhen I was a youth, I trained in this Chantry⊠there is⊠Maker I remember, there is a tunnel beneath the Chant that leads out into a place deep into the mountains that we used for ritual. You may take the people of Haven, and save them⊠This is what the maker sent me here for, to tell you of this at this time⊠thank you⊠fatherâŠâ And with that word as his final breath, he expires.
âI will take them.â Cullen declares, inspired by this last offering of information. âBut some force must stay to force the avalanche still, or there will be little point in fleeing as we will be just as quickly found.
âI will stay and fire the device.â She too quickly reasoned. âI will distract this demon, if it will help you save these people. Weâve worked too hard to bring them peace.â
âAnd when the mountain falls, what will you do?â
âI will do what I must.â She says.
It hurts him, he stays the way, as he always does, but it does not mean his heart is not troubled by the choice. He orders her to go, and to be the nosiest best distraction possible. She should do all she can to make this worth it. These orders she takes solemnly, and he canât stand the feeling of finality that rings in the hall with a choking stiffness. He walks away just to stomp back, and grabs her arm before she can leave the Chantry and face the madness alone.
He has the urge to kiss her, but resists. He just takes her arm filmy and feels his touch burning.
âFind a way back to us.â He demands.
âIf it is what the gods desire.â She surrenders. And as much as he wishes for certainly, he has none. Once again, the thin thread of hope must do.
He leaves her behind, though truly he must rip himself.
If she has faith, he will have faith. He must, or he will faulter, and he will not fall where she stands strongâthis he swears to himself as he leads the huddled masses through the tunnels and into the frozen wretched mountains.
X...X...X
Thank you for reading! More to come, though I can't promise when! I'm working on a variety of things at the moment, though everything is outlined and this should be three rather hefty chapters when it's all done for, so I hope you look forward to it.
I have another much shorter one-shot I've been working on that features Solas, and another even briefer x Cullen which would be about he and the Warden from my Warden x Sten work, if she hadn't fallen in love with the Qunari and instead still held a flame for our dearest Commander. Both are in about the same state of doneness, and I'm not sure which one I'll finish first...
If you'd like to demand one or the other from me, you're welcome to. Elsewise, until then, be well my self indulgent friends.
Like my work and want more? If you like this, I promise you'll like my books.
You can also find all my available stories by supporting me on Patreon or Ream get early access to new stuff and enjoy my entire catalog! Or if you'd rather leave a tip I'd be so grateful if you bought me a coffee. Hey, even reach out to order commissions! My asks are also open, so don't by shy!
(smut please) Reader saving the headless horseman from sinking down in the river and what the best way thank someone for saving you if got no head, YOU MATE WITH THEM
a/n: Sorry this one took a while to get out!Thank you for requesting~
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Taken For the Ride
Tags: nearly drowning, very light dub-con, PinV, reader insert
Word Count: 2k
The Headless Horseman's Bride | The Horsman's Head | Here
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It was just the turn of sunset. The last light of day was just the faint glow that lingers only as a pale blue glow on the horizon, with deep dark shadows that cast the world beyond the farm in a mysterious dim. You stand towards the edge of the fields on your family farm.
Then there was a splash. Followed by a horse braying anxiously.
Itâs a horrifying sound this late at night, for it means to just about anyone out here in the country that someone has likely fallen in the river. Itâs a tricky river, the one that wanders not far from your home.
For it looks much less dangerous than it is. It appears to be a normal bit of rapids, but where the wade pools sit on the banks near your farm, the soil falls quickly away and the water is more than deep enough to drown in.
You run towards the sound, for you are a good-natured sort of person. Itâs a full moon tonight and the water level is higher than normal due to recent rain. Both make for a dangerous evening. When you arrive at the waterâs edge, itâs as you fear. There, tied to a tree near the river bed, is a saddled horse. Another look around reveals there to be no rider.
You see, just as you run up, the wisp of a gloved hand reaching up out of the surface, the last of the struggle before this unfortunate man (you assume, based on the size and shape of the hand) has accidently waded too far into the river and lost his footing. You strip off the outer most woolen layers of your dressing clothes and hope to see the man remerge, but when he does not, you dive in yourself.
Itâs a foolish, not to mention unladylike, thing of you to do. But youâve never been one to care about social niceties when itâs time for work to get done. And saving someoneâs life was valiant work indeed!
Taking a throw of rope that you see amongst the manâs things, you tie yourself very quickly to the same tree his horse titters by, and then throw yourself into the water, with one end of it in hand.
Diving in, the darkness of the water utterly confounds your vision. The flow is angry today, and harder than you expect. But you hold strong to the rope, and keep your feet grounded on the flat wall of the bank which lives right under the drop. You may have done this once or twice before. You were known in your family for being a strong swimmer, and your cousins sometimes needed help in this very part of the crick when their limbs werenât strong enough to fight the rapids.
Taking a chance, you reach out into the darkness, trying to find a figure under the water. One swipe. Nothing. Two, again, no body. You move to the right and reach out further, and the person whom youâre trying to save must see your outstretched hand, for a strong person grabs at your arm when you search a third time.
When you feel this, you sort of swing him and yourself as hard as you can with the flow of water, so that the river lets you up from under. With a gasp your head pops above the surface, and you drag a slightly limp man out to the waterâs edge.
Spitting out some water, you laugh a bit, not noticing at first anything wrong with this stranger that youâve just rescued from doom.
âThat was a bit intense, wasnât it?â You say and rubbed at your eyes, feeling them sting as you sat yourself down in the sandy pitch and knew that your rescue was successful. You heard him stand up soon after you pulled him out, so you knew he had to be alright. âWhat were you doing, wading the pools while in all those clothes?â You ask.
But you donât get an answer to your question. In fact, you donât even remember you asked it once your vision is clear and you finally get a look at him.
You shriek.
Itâs a headless man! A headless man in some long-forgotten uniform, now totally filthy if it wasnât already, is looming over you.
He gets to one knee before you, and takes your surprised upraised hand into his grasp. Then he pantomimes all the motions as if he was to kiss it. Then he pulls back a little, his shoulders turning as if he was considering this predicament, then they sulk. The wind whistles a lovely little sound.
âAre you not going to hurt me?â You ask him.
His shoulders move, as if to say no.
âAre you⊠alive?â
He moved his shoulders as if to shrug.
You, a bit put off and now a bit amazed, hum to yourself and think those two answers over. âWould you have died, had I notââ
He does his shoulder movement nod swiftly, then he stood and he throws his arms open in a joyous gesture. You, again very much taken off guard, arenât sure if itâs a good thing you did saving him. But a life is a life, right? He seems happy at least, in the ways that he can express that.
Little do you know, that the Horseman is feeling very lucky indeed. Especially as his attention traces across your form. The water had stuck all the fabric of your underclothes to your figure, and you look mighty nice in his estimation.
Heâs been looking for a riding partner for a while now, heâs been alone and headless for a long long time. And you? Youâre just his type, and youâre obviously skilled to living out in nature. What a better pick for himself to take then this thing who has just saved his half-life.
Under the pull of the full moon he is (almost) alive, and it is the day each month he is most vulnerable. He really could have drowned, or at least been trapped in the water for a while to rot, and he wasnât looking to end his life-after in an even more miserable way than his first. He had you to thank for his continued existence, and thank you he intended to do.
The wind blows when he determines this and you shiver. When he opened his arms, you thought he meant to motion that you were free to go. And as you were now sopping wet you did wish to be on your way, but when you step forward, he springs, wrapping his arms around you to prevent you from going.
And as scary as that was, to have a should be dead man hold you so suddenly, you stood there in part terrified in part stuck. There was an urge, sudden and sharp, to run. It would have been smart to run, but as brave as you can be youâre often not very careful with yourself. This will be the consequence of that.
His hands move, from just your shoulders to down your arms, and you donât fight him. Not when some hot feeling had your heart pattering and you werenât quite sure what was happening to you. He had an oddly chivalrous air, and you didnât think he meant you harm.
âWait, what are you doing?â You ask him, and he pauses.
Leery, just for a moment, his grip on you relaxes. He doesnât want to force anything, youâre his savior after all, so he slows down. Even when given the freedom (or at least an opening) to bolt, you donât, and so he takes this as a good sign.
He turns you around, so that youâre no longer facing him, and you shuffle and follow his lead. A secondary positive. It seems, as long as he doesnât move too fast, you will consent to his touch and his leadership. This satisfies him, as even once his hands begin wandering and you donât even try to fight or shrug it off. In fact, you kind of like the way he touches you.
He touches over your shoulders, then down the front of your body, while your heart thunders beneath your dress. When they reach your hips, his fingers bunch of the fabric of the dress skirt. Upwards it goes, dragging against your skin, and since the fabric is sopping the drag feels like he might as well have put a hand between your thighs. The wind whispers again, and you shiver against him, while he holds you still.
Then you do feel the gloves move away from over the wet fabric, and to the crux of your thighs. His fingers glide against the place thatâs wet there, and not because of the river. When you shiver next, itâs not because of the cold, but how he stokes an internal heat that catches you off guard. You are pudy in his hands, and he appreciates the trickling sounds of your surprised desire.
Then heâs in you, and his fingers are a thick intrusion. One first, then two, and their curling in such a way that has you almost bending over it feels so good. This seems fine by him, as he uses his hands to push your over the edge of pleasure, he allows you both to fall to the ground so that youâre on your knees, and heâs behind you.
âAlright⊠alrightâŠâ you whisper to yourself, completely unable to believe that this is really happening to you. Itâs an utterly fantastical situation. And yet, it feels so good you find yourself swept away in the moment.
When you are there, he urges you lower by putting his hand between your shoulders and pushing you down so that youâre face down in the soft soil. It is then your back is arched and youâre presented for him. He quickly undoes the clasps that keep your clothes on your person, and you breathe a sigh of relief when the fabric slackens. Over your head the dress goes, and itâs tossed away into the bushes with the rest of your garments, to be forgotten.
Itâs better to be cold and naked, than cold and wet, and you wonât be concerned about the temperature of the air very soon. His hands trace over your ass and he gives it a nice squeeze, before one undoes his pants to let out his length from its constraint, and he rubs his shaft against you.
Dragging his length down, feeling how your wetness has already gathered to welcome him. You keen a bit as he just slides between your folds for a few stokes of his hips. You want more of him. You might have saved his undeath, but if he doesnât fuck you soon, you think you might die.
Little do you know, that fucking him will surely kill youâor at least end life as youâve lived itâbut thatâs a worry for the you of later. For now, you just groan, happy when he finally uses his length to enter you. Heâs slow, just to tease you, letting you feel the stretch of him until heâs sunk all the way in. Itâs then the pace is brutal.
You claw at the ground, moan, and pant, as the headless man behind you humps you with vigor. Your thighs are shaking by the time he relents, and are still tremoring when the pace slows. He stays in you, letting himself feel the aftershocks and savoring this first time simply because he can.
The horseman, now hovering over this huffing woman basking in her own pleasure, observes you in the way that his kind are able. Youâre a blur of color to him, no longer human now that heâs released his seed inside you. You wonât be like this forever, youâll reach your shape again soon, but for the moment youâre just an aura in the shape of a fine figure, in a color he likes, with a good headâone that heâll be sure to keep on your shoulders.
Yes, heâll take you on the ride, he thinks. Youâll suit him just fine.
Like my work and want more? If you like this, I promise you'll like my books.
You can also find all my available stories by supporting me on Patreon or Ream get early access to new stuff and enjoy my entire catalog! Or if you'd rather leave a tip I'd be so grateful if you bought me a coffee. Hey, even reach out to order commissions! My asks are also open, so don't by shy!
Alpha!Zoro x Omega!Reader | Alpha!Luffy x Reader | (EVENTUAL) Iota!Nico Robin x Omega!Reader | Platonic Everyone Else x Reader
[An Omegaverse One Piece Rewrite][Updates Every Wednesday]
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Word Count: 7k
| AO3 | Patreon | Wattpad | Chapters Masterlist |
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Luffy came back after a while, probably after he begged and begged, promising the crew that he'd only have to work a week at the restaurant and he'd figure out a way to make his debts. They sighed, debated leaving anyway, but he got all huffy and demanded that he was still captain, so the crew decided to hang around the Baratie for a little while longer.
Over the next three days they spent much of the time on their own ship. Occasionally though, which Zoro found funny, they could hear faint yelling inside. Then a distant scream, and a series of loud booming crashes.
Then a loud, low, yell of LUFFY!!! from the hobbling one-legged head chef. It was enough to make them all laugh.
It was jokingly determined one night over dinner that soon enough they'd decide he was too much trouble to keep around and kick him out. It would probably cost more to keep Luffy around than it would to just release him back on the sea, like a fish that gave too much trouble on the line.
"Captain's a complete bull." (y/n) giggled. "If there's something inside he's not supposed to break or knock over or mess withâŠ"
"That's the first place he's headed!" Nami laughed and cheered with the omega.
Yeah, they were all agreement. The Baratie would last another day or two before they chased the strawhat boy off. That seemed to be most likely.
Two more days passed, just around when Zoro was starting to feel a little rusty, when their fate was decided.
It'd been a shockingly peaceful morning. A sunrise with a shitty cup of instant coffee and weight training--the normal. And the day was only just starting to turn in the warmth of near afternoon when the excitement finally hit. And it hit with a slinking, spooky sort of limp.
They were all on deck, and the sound of Creaking is what drove Zoro's interest. Such an unnatural sound on the ocean came from a huge galleon floating from the Calm Belt, but moving more like a raft than a war ship. It was a blot on the horizon at first, as it inched across the water.
What remained of it was a towering ship, dwarfing even the Baratie and making the Going Merry appear as a minnow to a hawk.
Though it was a massive ornate ship, it was only a pale image of the might it must have had. It was nearly torn in half, collapsed and hardly any shape to be called a boat at all. The reliefs on the exterior all around were massacred. Images busted into splinters that barely clung to the reliefs, or were baring scars of battle.
It barely seemed able to float. The shreds of its sails caught only the barest wind making it ekk forward with an eerie slowness. Eventually it came to stop, casting a heavy shadow over the ocean.
Usopp ran up to him, alerting everyone else on the boat (who were all already aware) of the trouble.
"This is real bad! Shouldn't we be running away!?!"
"Brooooo!" Johnny and Yosaku, still sleeping on deck while they healed from their incurred injuries that the marine lieutenant had inflicted, "Let's set sail, we don't want to die!"
"They could just be here to get some help. Send a letter or something." Nami shrugged. "I'm not really worried about it."
The boys stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Not worried about it!!"
"Look at it!" Usopp insisted. "That thing is floating trouble! And I want nothing to do with it."
"Then don't bother it." Nami put her nose up and shruged.
"Brother, Zoro. Brother." Johnny implored with a heave grimace. "Come on."
Zoro didn't answer. He just stared up the wrecked boat.
There wasn't much sign of life at first. Until a tiny life boat emerged, manned by two figures who landed on Baratie's main deck and headed inside. Patrons began to flee from the barge and the passenger boats began to set sail. This was the first sign of trouble. A little while later the sound of gun fire has them all in another stir, though the quiet after is almost more suspicious.
Usopp, Johnny, and Yosaku all paled. Trouble was had, and it seemed like they weren't going to get away from it this time.
"Mr. RoronoaâŠ" Owleyes eventually said, "I'm worried about the captain."
Of course she was.
Zoro sighed, "I'm sure Luffy's fine."
"I'm certain he thinks that too."
It was true that he did tend to get in trouble. And if this ship was so beat up, it probably meant a few people on board knew how to fight⊠and if there was a fight to be had Luffy would find it.
"I could be missing a good time." He relented quicker than he expected.
"You could. I must admit I feel antsy though," she added, while scanning the horizon. "My papers are fluttering."
Zoro shoot her a side-long stare.
"Are you turning into Nami or something? The weather looks fine."
"No, Mr. Roronoa, it's not the wind. But it is dangerous." She said low and put her hand over her heart, her eyes still set on the open ocean.
He's transfixed by her profile a moment, unable to rip his gaze away. But was it really so bad to admire the pout of her lips as she anxiously monitored the water? Maybe a little. It made him feel a bit like that pervert chefâthe thought alone made him feel disgusted with himself.
He closed his eyes and refocused.
"Well, stay here if you're that worried." He decided. "If something attacks, you can take the ship out and circle around for us. Wouldn't want to end up like them, after all." Zoro tilts his head towards the ruined galleon.
"ButâŠ" she glanced down at the deck, flustered, "but I'm supposed toâŠ"
"I'll fill you in later." He promises. She was supposed to watch the fights after all.
Then those damn eyes turn up to him, rounded out and relieved. "Would you?"
He just nods, the words no problem, owleyes feel stuck in his throat.
"I'm going to head up to the crow's nest to keep watch then." She says, brushing her cheek against his shoulder.
He freezes. That's it. The smallest motion of scent marking. It's the first time she's ever done that. He startles a little, shocked, face warm and trying to hide it. But she's already stepped away before he can savor the moment.
"If there is trouble, fight well Mr. Roronoa."
He puts on a stern facade, though he's still blushing. "I don't fight any other way."
She giggles softly, saying a quiet, "of course"Â but nods.
Quicker than he'd like, she walks away. And no he doesn't want to admit how he watches her leave, eyes staying on her body as she moves to ascend the main mast with a strange kind of fluidity only a paper-paper person could processes. But he does watch until she disappears behind the sail, pulling his gaze away before she can reappear above it.
Not mine. He chastises himself. Not mine.
It's all friendly. Just what a close crew does, that's all. He's been doing it to her, and she's returning the favor. It's just instincts, he justifies to himself, she doesn't know how he feels he shouldn't take it as more than it is. Like how some cultures kiss each other as helloâit's just friendly.
Just friendly.
Then why does he feel so ignited? Damn, he hopes there is a fight going on in the ship so he can work some of this tension out.
"Hey Zoro!" Usopp yelled as he noticed it looked like Zoro was about to disembark, "You headed in?"
"Of course." He smirks, "We have to make sure Luffy isn't hogging all the glory."
"Count me in! As acting captain, I should check on my co-lead to you know."
Zoro near rolled his eyes. "Alright, we're off!" Zoro announced.
Johnny and Yosaku waved said their unison goodbye's as he and Usopp went to board the restaurant to see what's up.
It was good they walked in, just at the point someone strong was addressing the crowd, and the resulting unhappy rabble began. The restaurant was a little more beat up than Zoro remembered, they slipped through some thrown over tables, watching the chefs who were wielding pitchfork sized forks and sword sized kitchen knives as weapons towards a rough, gruff man in golden armor.
"That must be the captain of that ship." Usopp muttered, "What was his name, Dom Keg? No, no, Don Kreig I think is what is was. What a scary guyâŠ"
Zoro just shrugged and they circled the back of the room, eventually finding a table to sit at so they could watch the show.
"Now hold it right there!" Luffy had already stepped up. The conversation between the chefs and this golden pirate stopped. "The one who'll become Pirate King, is me."
As usual, when he said those frightening words a wave of whispers, shock, disbelief, and warning came after. He was stubborn about most things, and his dream of becoming pirate king was not one he bent on. Not in the face of shame or scorn.
The seriousness in his eyes betrayed he wasn't joking and Zoro believed in him.
"This ain't a game, Kid." The golden dude glared across the room at Luffy.
"Of course it isn't."
Usopp sounded scared of course, listening to the rush of rumor and fear about the grand line, "Did you just hear that? Even that guy with a huge fleet couldn't make it there. I won't say anything bad about us, so let's just give up on going to a place like that!"
"Just keep your mouth shut." Zoro snapped back.
He, like Luffy, was only more excited by the prospect of danger. Their chatter caught Luffy's attention though and he turned his head.
"Oh! Zoro and Usopp!"
"Hey Luffy, planning to rumble?" Zoro smirked, "Need a hand?"
"No, it's fine you can just stay sitting down. Where's our watcher?"
"Watching the boat." He quips back.
Luffy nods. "Ah, good thinking."
Golden man begins to laugh. "Those are you're crew mates? A rather small bunch aren't you. I guess they suit their captain! And let me guess, are they you're only crew?"
"No, I have three others." Luffy dead panned.
Pervert chef stomped his foot again and huffed, "Hey you just counted me in that, didn't you?"
Luffy shrugged and snickered, "Maybe!"
But the Don Kreig was not amused. His voice bombed across the dining room, making the chandelier's shake. "Don't joke with me punk, even my fleet of 50 ships and 5000 men were utterly decimated by that devilish sea in just 7 days! And the only thing--in all the seas!--we lacked was information!"
A whisper shakes the chefs in the room. "Did you hear that just now! All gone! In just a single week!"
"Heh," Zoro and Luffy shared the same sentiment, "sounds interesting."
Kreig interrupted their gossipy hush when he pointed at Captain Chef Zeff. "That's why I'll search this whole ship over until I find that log, Zeff! I'm going back to the Grand Line and I won't fail next time!"
"Wow." Luffy mused, "I guess a Log is valuable."
Usopp let out an exasperated sigh, "That's what you care about in all that?"
"What!" Luffy shrugged, "It sounds like the Grand Line is an amazing place!"
These words catch the attention of the large man in gold armor and he crosses his arms, "Even if you are bluffing, your comments betray your ignorance. You are just a child with childish dreams. And if you keep on about this, I kill you right on this spot once I get back from unloading the food to my crew!"
And Luffy, without missing a beat, nodded. "Alright, let's fight."
The Don didn't even pause, barely look Luffy's way again as he addressed the chefs, "To the rest of you, I suggest you leave this place before I return. The only things I need here are this ship and Zeff's log of his journey on the Grand Line, everything and everyone else might as well be trash. Do what you will with that information."
And then he left, leaving behind the scrawny man serving as his right hand who apologized several times to the chefs, who Zoro had spied in the raft.
An argument instantly breaks out. Some argue it's best for the all to leave with their livesâthey can always get another boat after all. The rest want to stay and fight. Zeff, surprisingly to Zoro with his sea-warn appearance, suggests that they leave with their lives, with the other side is spear headed by the gruff waiter and the pervert cook. Their passion is rallying, convincing enough of the other side to sway the stonewall Zeff. If his crew, his pack, wants to protect their sea bound territory, then who was he to stop them.
Though, it's not overlooked that apparently, it's Pervert Sanji's fault that the Don Kreig pirates know about this place at all. But knowing Sanji wouldn't let a starving man die in front of him, even if they were enemies, paints a strange picture of the pervert. He's moralâin his own wayâand strong too, that much is obvious.
Luffy, leans back and chirps to Zoro, "Hey, what do you think about him? Pretty good right?"
Zoro doesn't answer. The facts were, the pervert chef might not be as bad as Zoro instinctually thought. But that does not mean he liked him. But if Luffy wanted him on the crew, well, it was like he wouldn't have much choice in dealing with him.
That was if Luffy could get him to agree.
Usopp, on the other hand, is shaking in his seat. "Wh-ho cares about that, if we don't get out of here soon, they'll kill usâŠ"
Luffy just laughs at Usopp's jittering.
"Calm down." Zoro says "Our enemies are wounded pirates. Fed or not."
"Yeah, yeah," Luffy leaned forward, adding, "And besides if that guy is as strong as he said than we were always going to butt heads eventually. Might as well settle things now, aye."
"Aye, aye." Zoro agreed, though Usopp went even paler.
That scrawny rough-looking middle-aged man who'd been by Don Kreig's side looked horrified at Luffy's words. But maybe more so by his blithe attitude. He stumbled up to them, with a pleading sort of look that fit wrong on his sea-worn face and deep-set eyes.
"Mister, I appreciate your kindness too much not to say anything to you or the chefsâbut you should not fight Don Kreig!" He declared, causing Luffy to sit up.
But he didn't much acknowledge what the half-staved man said.
Instead Luffy smiled at him, causing the fellow to appear even sicker, and said, "Gin! That's right, you're still here!" Then he frowned, "Hey didn't your captain just say that you went to the Grand Line? How come you told me you didn't know anythin' about it."
This "Gin" guy looked down at the marble floor and sighed.
"When I said I knew nothing, that was the truth."
Luffy shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense, you've been there!"
Gin slammed his hands down on a nearby table and shouted, "Just because I've been there doesn't mean I know anything! I know less about everything since I survived that hell. That place is beyond anything normalâanything you can think about or know might as well be thrown out to the tides!"
Usopp leaned in, his long nose almost hitting the table as he asked the question everyone on the ship wanted to know the answer too but hadn't the balls to ask. His voice still tremored. "What happened to your fleet out there?"
Gin cursed and hung his head limply. After a moment's silence he nodded. "I'll tell you, though I can't make any sense out of it myself, if it means I might save you all."
Pervert chef Sanji rolled his eyes, "It couldn't have been that crazy."
Gin shot a penetrating stare towards Sanji, "One man." Is all he said at first.
The whole barge was confused by that.
"Our fleet of five thousand, fifty ships strong, was picked apart like a heard of dear in open prairie. Every single unit defeatedâŠ" he struggled to say the last line, "by just one man!!"
Luffy lean's back, his eyes blown wide with amazement. "One guy?!"
Gin nods, a severe grimness beggars no doubts despite his claim.
He continues his story through the clamoring of the chefs. "If a storm hadn't blown us out onto the Calm Belt, even our main ship would have sunk. It was a week of terror, watching the fleet reduce one by oneâseven days so haunting I can't bear to think about what happened for more than a moment let alone what I saw of the man who tormented us. I glimpsed him for a momentâhe was a hawkeyed man, with a glare sharp enough to kill a man, wielding a massive black bladeâŠ"
Gin shivered, but Zoro sat to attention.
"His power is beyond words. Beyond humans. Beyond reason." Gin's shoulders sunk. "That's why when I say I don't know anything about the Grand Line, it's the truth. The Grand Line showed me that I know nothing at all."
While everyone else looked horrified, Luffy grinned and let out a signature snicker.
"Woo~ooow!" He cooed, "That sounds so cool, I hope we meet him too! Right, Zoro?"
Zoro, taken aback by this news, nods slowly. He can't say itâmaybe won't say itâbut his head is swimming. He feels drunk, delirious with the idea that the man he's been searching for now in his three years wandering had just passed this way. It was almost impossible, too good to believe, but there was only one man in the world that beggared the description Gin gave.
"If he shows up, " Zoro declared with a grin, "I'm fighting him."
Luffy doesn't even bat an eye, "That's a fight I want to see! We'll have to find (Y/n)âshe wouldn't want to miss that!"
And before he can respond, the pervert chef scoffs at them.
"What do you guys want to die or something? This place has nothing to do with you, you should just take your ship and leave."
"And skip all this excitement!" Luffy's amusement only made the chef madder.
"You'd fight a guy like Don Kreig, or kill yourself fighting the guy that beat him? That's not brave, you all just have a death wishâand you want me to join your crew?"
Zoro leveled a look his way, and explained to him very clearly. "Ever since I decided to be the world's greatest swordsman, I threw away my fear of death. I don't care what you, or anyone else thinks about it."
Luffy nodded along, while Usopp could barely make himself agree. But nonetheless the sentiment was shared. The chef looked at them all like they were insane. And so did most of the rest of them. But there was no ridicule that could sway himâor any of themâfrom their goals. It was that kind of thinking that turned Don Kreig into their enemy, some of the chef's argued, and now they still hadn't decided if they were going to abandon ship or fight to save it.
Then Luffy, standing up on his bouncy lanky legs, swaggered up to Chef Zeff.
"Hey old man!" He offered, "I'll beat up this shiny don guy, and we'll call our debt settled, deal?"
Sanji protested instantly, as did Gin. There was no way the three of them could win. But Chef Zeff raised up a hand and laughed. "Alright punk, we have a deal."
Luffy shook Zeff's hand and snickered, "You got it."
Sanji blinked hard several times, like he couldn't believe his eyes. But before he could raise more than a word of protest against this idea Johnny and Yosaku burst into the room. There both soaking wet and obviously anxious.
"Brother Zoro! Brother Luffy!" Johnny bursts out.
"Trouble!" Yosaku declares, "Big trouble! Like a whole feast of trouble!"
"We sawâwe were just with Sister Nami on the boat and she was starein' at some of our wanted posters!" Johnny explains. " 'specially at this crazy fishman pirate Arlong. I told her that guy was bad news but she got this real funny look on her face, and passed the posters back. So, I thought I'd talked some sense into her, butâ"
"But then she tricked us!" Yosaku accuses, "Kicked us into the ocean stole the boat! Your boat, our boat! They're both gone!"
Zoro couldn't quite imagine how they'd both been tricked. On the other hand, it would probably be too easy to guess. Zoro almost face palmed⊠how easily some men folded to a flash of cleavage!
"I'm sorry brothers, we tried to stop her, we did!"
"She took the Merry?" Usopp shot up from his seat, and his hand slammed into the table, "That traitor! That witch!"
"It's true, bro." Yosaku crossed his heart and shook his head. "She told us not to go after her and to thank you for the treasure, but she's already sailed near out of sight. Sorry it took us so long to swim backâŠ"
"I think I know where she's going to though bro." Johnny tagged on, while wringing some water out of his signature black and white jacket. "And it's not a place anybody in their right mind should be going."
"Where?" Luffy and Usopp demanded.
"To the most dangerous island in the East Blue. Arlong Park!" Johnny grimly explained. "Ruled by a ruthless gang of human hating fishmen. No one comes back from there alive!"
And though that news was troublesome, Zoro looked between them and then around them. But a third figure, a shorter than the pair of men, dressed up in her caplet and probably peering quietly from around the pair of bounty hunters, does not appear. He looks a little further away, but no one. A frown ticks his lips a little further down.
Coming to the conclusion at around the same time, Luffy frowns. "Where's (y/n)?" He asks the pair of them.
Johnny and Yosaku look between each other and around, then back at the crew. In answer they just shrug. Not like they could see her, even if she was standing beside them.
Yosaku rubs the back of his hair scruff and reluctantly says, "Well, Nami asked where Brother Zoro went and I said he went off with everyone to check on Brother Luffy. I figured she would haev been with you, brother. But, I guess that means, if she's not here with youâŠ"
âŠÂ she must still be on the boat.
"She took Merry and ghost girl!" Usopp sounded all the more irritated. "How could she!?"
"We have to go after her!" Luffy determined. "And the ship!"
But their quickly reminded of where they are when Chef Zeff's booming voice interjects their conversation. "You still have business to take care of here, or have you already forgotten your promise, punk?"
Luffy wavers, taking off his hat and shaking out his hair. "No." He whines. "But I want her to be our navigator no matter what! It's not like we can let her get away." Luffy insists.
Zoro looks down at the table, feeling the exhilaration of excitement from hearing about the Hawkeyed man turning slightly sour. His goal drifted so close by he could almost taste the fight brewing in the air. But if Nami left with Owleyes and the ship, then there was something more important on the line this his pride.
As much as that sentiment made his hand itch more to fight.
He was a hair's breadth from being able to prove himself. He was the best, there was no doubt in his mind that he was the world's greatest swordsman.
The other part of him is upset with himself. (y/n) didn't have to be on the boatâshe could have been with them if he'd said a word or two more. There wasn't any place safer for her than next to him, not on the whole ocean so he'd like to think, and he'd told her to stay away. Being unafraid of death meant being unafraid of failure. It meant being unafraid of rejection.
Had he really overcome all feelings of hesitance in his life? With Nami run off, and with her their crew and ship, now didn't feel like the right time to be second guessing himself one way or another. No, he knew exactly what he needed to do.
"If we want to catch up with her, we have to go quick, Brother Luffy." Johnny adds.
Luffy shifts, uncomfortably caught between paths, but to Zoro the solution is obvious.
"Why'd I have to follow such a troublesome, CaptainâŠ" Zoro sighs, but shrugs. "If we're going to catch her, then we need to split up."
Usopp immediately agreed, "Yes, you stay here with Yosaku while Johnny, Zoro, and I go after Nami. You guys can just catch up with us later."
"Yeah, I'm not as good as Sister Nami, but I know where Arlong Park is. We'll be right behind them." Yosaku offers. "I promise."
He doesn't look happy about it, but Luffy agrees.
"Alright, but we're all getting back together." He pointed at each of them.
Zoro about rolled his eyes, "Of course."
"Let's get going than!" Usopp jumped up and started dragging Zoro and Johnny out.
"We're not getting out of this one, give these kids a boat." Zeff ordered a handful of grumbling chefs, but they weren't disobedient grumbling chefs, so they managed to bring around a sailed life boat that they could use to sail to Arlong Park, which was less than a day away based on Zeff's gruff comments.
Urgently, Usopp ushered them all onto the boat, ready to get going as quickly as possible. Though whether that was because he wanted to be gone before Don Kreig showed his shiny golden helmet this way again or for real worry about the Merry, it was hard to tell.
However quick Usopp wanted to be, fate had other plans. They were slowed at first by the oncoming of a strange fog than a sudden rip in the ocean. The waves split before he even heard the cracking of the wreckage. The ruins of the galleon splintered apart in the wake of a giant powerful slash.
Across the ocean where the half sunken galleon wavered, a hush of screams and yells echoed across the water. Something was coming closer, a green light flickering through the fog and glowing against the ocean. Whatever is coming, the whole world seems to have grown darker to announce its entrance. The scent, one he associates only when volcanos and ash, overpowers even the ocean. There is an alpha arriving, one who does not care to mask his presence or hide his dominating power.
But it's not just any cock-sure alpha out there.
"He followed us!" They scream. "HE'S COME TO KILL US ALL!"
Zoro freezes. Usopp drags at his arm, but he can't move. It can't be. He thinks. The sense of tension is thrilling. He's right here. This is the Hawkeyed man. Zoro knows before he even sees him.
The gothic raft is just a shadow at first before it comes closer. Zoro knows exactly who approaches them the moment he sees the silhouette of the tall cross shaped sword. A man sits under the cross, with yellow eyes that pierce through the soul. Though his posture is of a man totally at ease, his aura is alert and deadly.
"We're done forâŠ!" the crew wails.
One brave soul stands up on his knees and shouts at the man sitting on his raft which was as fancy as a thrown, "You! What did we ever do to you?! Why the hell have you followed us all the way out here?"
The man, whose voice was perfectly calm and yet completely understandable from all distances, responds with only half his attention.
"Hmm⊠just to kill some time."
Momentary silence is broken by the same man's outraged cry and a heralding of gun fire. But the Hawkeyed man didn't even flinch. In a move almost too fast to see, he up took the huge swordânearly the height of his bodyâand with the grace of a fencer simply tipped the bullet and it flew into the ocean. The random pirates could barely understand what they knew they'd seen, but Zoro was awed.
Ignoring the gruff yelling of the Don Kreig crew Zoro couldn't help but compliment, "Incredible. I've never seen such a graceful stance."
That sharp attention fixates on him and it's stranger than his dreams. Wild yet totally controlled ferocity pointed directly at his soul. The swordsman, who stares at the whole world down his nose, simply responds, "A sword without grace is weak and brittle."
"And you cut this whole ship with that sword?" Zoro gestured to the wreck
As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, he replied, "Yes, indeed."
Sweat dripped down Zoro's forehead. "What a worthwhile sight, it must be true you are the strongest." The decimated crew around them took more interest in Zoro, seeing his swords and suddenly realizing who he was, but Zoro paid no attention to the rabble. Instead, he tells the Hawkeyed man boldly, "I set sail to meet you!"
Disinterested, the man at least responded, "âŠand what do you aim for in meeting me?"
That made Zoro smirk, he tied his bandana around his head.
"To take your title." He admitted and the other swordsman kept a pensive glare. Despite everything that should have made him walk away at right this moment, he couldn't hold back his greatest desire. "You said you're free, right? Why don't we have a duel." Zoro prompted.
Usopp's yelling that they need to leave. They'll lose sight of Merry and be too far behind Nami to catch up before she hits land. But he's locked in a contest with that yellow stare and he refuses to walk away or back down. His pride didn't let him waver.
"Pitiful." The hawkeyed one drawls, and pinches the end of his finely combed mustache. But he does get up from out of his raft and face against Zoro on the splintered deck with a smooth hop. "If you are even half competent as a swordsman, then you know well I can demonstrate the clear difference in strength between you and I without even drawing my blade."
Zoro nods.
"And still, you dare challenge me. So does your bravery come from arrogance, or ignorance?"
"Neither. It comes from my ambition. And my vows." Zoro readies his blades as the dangerous Hawkeyed swordsman approaches. "I'll admit though, I never thought I'd meet you so early."
"A waste, if you ask me."
And as if that was not an insult enough, the man reached into his coat and pulled out not the giant black blade on his back, nor a rapier or a saber, but the smallest of knives. Smaller than even a paring knife. It's an insey blade, no larger than a thumb and he points it at Zoro now wielding his three swords, holding it with only three fingers.
"I'm different from those stupid brutes who use cannons to hunt rabbits. This is the weakest of the four oceans, and though you may be a swordsman of some renown, in comparison to the vastness of the sea that means little to me. Unfortunately for you, I do not have a blade smaller than this on me at the moment or I would draw it."
Zoro clenched his teeth; he'd never felt quite so underestimated in his entire life.
"Well then." The man bid, "Begin."
With no more hesitance, Zoro burst forward. He wasted no time on basic slashes or hacks as he had with Buggy, or the acrobat, or the Black Cat brothers. He pushed forward like a whirlwind in a demon-inspired slash that had felled every other foe he'd stood against. He felt confidentâhe always felt confident in a battle where he had all his swords and an even playing field. In fact, the stage for this fight couldn't be more perfect to him.
But instead of cutting, he is jolted to a sudden stop.
His arms shook in place, his mind went blank and as much force as he'd thrown into his attack he was utterly immobilized. That small fleck of a blade caught the cross point of his three blades, locking him momentarily in place.
The shock is just a beat of time that feels like an infinity. He hops back before immediately attempting an all-out assault on the world's best swordsman. But every parry is perfectly timed. Every attempt to break guard, refused. In the face of feints, he is equally unmoved, and Zoro can feel his frustration rising. Each blow is brushed off with no more effort than the wind blows dry leaves, like his attacks have no weight behind them at all. And in return, the Hawkeyed man makes no attempt to return. He doesn't seem concerned, or even like he's concentrated.
It simply wasn't possible.
He'd trained his whole life for this moment. He'd trained to win! Not to fight against the strongest while he was only using a toy blade.
Zoro Roronoa had sworn to a thousand soulsâon the blade he kept in his right hand, on the life of Kunia in heaven, to her father and his childhood master, to the fools he'd beaten as a bounty hunter, to the friends he'd made along the way who all had pure faith in him.
Every one of those promises flashed through his mind as he battered himself in this one-sided fight. He always fought man-to-man, with honor. Like a real alpha.
Not in all his imaginings had this fight played out in this way.
In his mind, even after all these years, he could see Kunia crying the night before her tragic accident. See her hate her new awkwardness, the resentment that as she grew, she would only change more, and the furiousness of her desire to be the best even if she was a girl, a beta at that. How she bemoaned that Zoro could be everything she wanted.
He could still remember the tenor of his promise to herâthat one of them would become the greatest in the world. She died undefeated, but with a fire to conquer the world. And now that he was the only of them left, it was his solemn duty to fulfil that dream. But she wasn't the only one he now owed earning this title to.
Barely even exerted, Hawkeye peered into Zoro's soul with those sharp yellow eyes. Though his interest in this fight was half-hearted to be blunt, he seemed to be analyzing something. Maybe the determined undeterred grit of his clenched jaw. Whatever it was, the greater swordsman was intrigued.
"What burden's you so?" Hawkeye's question startles him, but the flow of the fight doesn't pause.
Zoro doesn't answer.
"What do you still desire at the extent of your strength⊠weakling?"
The word weakling. It's almost pitiful how much it annoys him.
Johnny and Yosaku hearing it yell out in protest. Their yells are only subdued by Luffy, who's watching the fight with wide, intent stare. There's that feeling againâthe weight of expectation.
So many people he'd met, probably right at that moment, were spouting absurd promises and declarations they never meant to keep. But he meant every word he said. Even when he was denied by life what he wanted or refused by way of his own stupidity, he still meant it. If someone did some underhanded shit that threw him off his game, he never backed down. Never rescinded.
When he'd told Luffy who he wanted to be, he didn't just accept. He wasn't just impressed that someone even dared to dream it was possible. Luffy took his words in complete stride. He had a dream too, one at least five times more absurd than Zoro's because he'd said, If you're gonna be the Pirate King's shipmate, you should be able to accomplish at least that much, otherwise it'll be embarrassing for me!
For the first time, it felt like a challenge. And Luffy had proven since the moment they disembarked that he was true to every bit of gall it took to say something like that to a starving half-dead man.
He said it to himself every day, I am the world's greatest!
Zeal, unextinguished, fired through every muscle he had. What would he do if⊠if she was here watching? The she who wasn't so distant a ghost. He'd promised her today that if he had to fight, he'd fight well, fight to impress her, fight to earn a block in the history of their crewâthat was his destiny. And so, to the last strike he could give his all.
But fighting Hawkeye was like nothing Zoro had done before. Even with a dinky blade the man's skill was phenomenal. His speed and precision were both inhumanly smooth. He saw every attack before it landed, and when he was finished with sparring, and to him that's all this fight was, that fleck of a blade darted past Zoro's next attack and sunk true into the flesh of his peck. Small as it was, it certainly was sharp. It hardly even hurt as it split his flesh, until his mind registered the injury.
Blood gushed forth from the wound, plunking to the broken deck with a distinct sound. It hurts, horribly. Yet Zoro doesn't flinch. He doesn't step back or even grunt out in pain. The Hawkeyed man's eyebrow quirks up.
"Do you wish me to pierce your heart? Why do you refuse to step back?"
Zoro cleared his throat, a gross bloody feeling in chest making it difficult to talk.
"I can't say." He admits, "I just have this feeling, that if I were to take even one step back, I'd lose something very important to meâa promise or an oathâŠ" He'd made so many it was hard to focus on any one⊠"Or whatever I have made will be irreversibly broken and I might never stand where I am right now again."
"Yes," the flowery swordsman lip twitched, "That is defeat."
Defeat, huh?
A laugh bubbled up out of him, along with a growing trench of blood, "Ha, that sounds about right. No, if that's how it is, I can't step back."
"Even if it means your death?"
"Yes. I'd much rather die."
There's a moment more of contemplation, instead of killing him Hawkeye withdraws the blade. "Tell me your name, young swordsman."
Space given, he finds the strength to display his blades and declare his name with a full force of strength. For any other man it would be impressive to still be on his feet, let alone lift his weapon, let alone take a stance in guard. In Zoro's mind, it is the only thing to do.
"Roronoa Zoro." He declares himself. "That is my name."
The Hawkeyed man nods, and sheaths the tiny knife he'd been using. "I will remember it. A spirit like yours is not oft seen in this world. I will pay my respect to you as a fellow swordsman, and end this duel with my Black Sword, the world's strongest blade. You have earned that."
He reaches across his back and draws the giant ornate sword. It's nearly as tall as he is, with a hilt made of gold and encrusted in rubies and emeralds, the blade as dark as a moonless sky. It emanates power without even being in the hands of a mighty, unparalleled warrior. This is the blade used to split fifty ships in two, and likely felled countless enemies.
Against it, Zoro prepares himself for one last strike, his ultimate attack which embodied the power of the three thousand worldsâa sort of move only one who dares to wield three swords can use. But as their blades cross, he feels the two weaker weapons of his arsenal literally shatter to pieces.
He can hear the wood behind him creak as the Hawkeyed Man turns back to face Zoro and deliver the final blow. He sheaths his most precious blade, Kunia's old sword which he'd taken up only when he seriously knew he would pursue this path until the end of his life. A bitter thought clouds his mind, not for the first time in his life, though it's never a welcome feeling.
I lost. It's as simple as that.
Truthfully, he'd thought the fight would be hard, but never onceânot even when stepping up against even the best in the worldâdid Zoro think in the end he'd lose. And yet, a part of him was satiated for having tasted what true strength really existed out on the endless sea. It was immense.
If he'd died here, at least he'd be remembered as dauntless.
With his oldest friend in hand, he quickly gets to his feet and faces off against the flourishing swordsman. He opens his guard totally, baring his chest wide open for the final blow. To take it, not to flinch or flee, was the only way to return the respect of the warrior who'd chosen to use such a sword against him as a worthy opponent.
"Excuse me?" He says, pulling back his sword to a readied position.
"A wound on one's back is the shame of a swordsman." Zoro explained.
For the first time a mirth entered like a twinkle into those harrowing eyes. "Splendid." He remarked, and then his sword moved, delivering a devastating slash across the Zoro's entire chest.
He couldn't help it, a guttural horrifying sound hacked out of him along with a pool of bloodâthe least of which oozed from his mouth as a flying gush of red flung from his person and splattered the deck and the water, staining the area a fresh red. His fingers slowly release from around the white sheath of his oldest, most trusted sword.
Then, with a mind blinding pain and his vision fading, the young man just beginning to rise to his greatness as a three-sword wielding warrior, Roronoa Zoro falls backwards into the sea with a splashâŠ
X...X...X
The first fight between Zoro and Hawkeye is honestly one of my favorite scenes in the whole of One Piece, but maybe that's just because I love Hawkeye.
I know I'm writing this whole big thing with Zoro and the Strawhats, but my personal favorite husband of all (in one piece at least) is is the only and only Mr. Mihawk, and if you've read my other story Stronger Than a Strom, then it might be fun for you to know that this story and that exist in the same continuum. I loooove Hawkeye. AnywayâŠ
Hope you enjoyed my self indulgent friends! See you next week!
Like my work and want more? If you like this, I promise you'll like my books.
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Tags: Arranged/forced marriage (kinda), omegaverse dynamics
WC: 2.1k
X...X...X
Chapter 2: You Have to Choose, Ronan
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SOMEWHERE, FAR, FAR away from a normal woman sleeping soundly in her mundane bed having anything but mundane dreams, there was a small but elegant council room which two figures were just now entering. This is a place nestled in the back of a splendid castle. It stands in the center of the lush oasis of Junie, where itâs master may share a peaceful moment in the hub of his territory.
One of several, the castle was chosen by the leader of this land in his youth for its immaculate monochrome scheme. The exterior and interior were both covered in tiles which were all shades of warm cream, a pearlescent reference to the sands his clan originated from. It features no complex images, ornate, or bold patterns along its walls.
Nothing which could distract from the simplicity of the arching architecture or the reaching sight of low wetlands on the horizon, filled with ponds and lakes bustling with life.
Such titles cover the entirety of the doomed ceiling in this quaint section of the palace, and during the long, lazy hours of twilight, each shimmer with an unreal golden glow.
The intimacy of the chamber betrayed its usefulness, for it was nothing more than a small seating area where the ruler of these lands could indulge in delicate conversations with members of his clan. A short white shelf lays behind two chairs, decorated solely with a small glass vase and a bouquet of bulbous yellow flowers.
The chairs are plush, more relaxed than one would expect a ruler to lounge in, barely more than flouncy pillows trimmed with gold thread, raised off the ground by fine teak wood stands.
Headship Maraci appears to be a strong man, much younger than his 76 years, though his hair is long and gray now. Sun blessed, his complexion bears only the most refined of age marks, and all his life he has enjoyed splendid health. Adorned in shining silks, dyed the very same cream shades of his palace, heâs in stark contrast to his son lounging opposite to him.
While Rodah Maraci is seen as a holy, kind headship, the same could not be said of his only heir. Dressed always in dark blue, Ronan Maraciâs every movement holds a keen sharpness to it which give the impression that he was extremely controlled and precise. Not at all like the natural warmth his father exuded, he cut an extremely cool figure which was powerful in its own right.
Every move he makes is measured, as are his words.
Though he is keen and often clever, it is difficult to love Ronan as a ruler in the same way the people have loved his father. And this is what troubles Rodah most as he looks towards the approaching end of his reign and the beginnings of the next.
Long has father attempted to gently guide his son down a path that would better suit his own vision of the world, but from alpha to alpha such a thing was impossible. Stubbornness and vision were two key traits needed for any leader. Ronan was nothing if not his own man, and this was to be respected. But on one issue there could be no more delays or disagreements. This is what Rodah intended on confronting his son about tonight.
A long day of meeting with the clan alphas from across the territory ended in a long walk down back halls, a quiet conversation shared between just family. It was distant talk, characteristically impersonal. Ronan had never been very emotional, not even as a pup.
The headshipâs offer to sit for a while lingers in the air for a moment before Ronan agrees. Theyâve only privately spoken about one topic in the last year, and both grow tired of it. A reserved turn in Ronanâs gaze immediately shifts the tone of the conversation as they settle in to talk, and the headship represses a sigh.
This was not going to go well.
His one heir, the only alpha born of all five broods sired by him in his life time, had a choice to make. An implied ultimatum finally needed to be made concrete. Father and son sit, locked in a tense stare. Truly, they share the same, intense brown eyesâthough they look out into the world very differently with them.
Especially as it pertains to one very sensitive subject.
âNot one of them?â The headship shakes his head, already disappointed. âRonan, that is unacceptable.â
âYou canât force the sun to rise, father.â
âWe are not trying to find you Laâhelia incarnate, thatâs impossible. But many a suitable omega has been presented to you and yours.â These words are neither chiding, or severely said, but none the less Ronan repels at hearing them. âAt your age there can be no more delays. You must choose.â
The other man stays silent, his curtain of dark hair obscuring his face momentarily. His father simply watches, a feeling bordering on pity simmers behind his eyes.
Itâs not an easy thing to ask of a pack, but if their clan is to continue ruling this territory, then a fertile mate must be found and quickly. Although their own have ruled for nearly ten generations, Rodah knew well it only took one weak sovereign to topple a territory.
In a time of recovery, the nationâs people needed to be assured that their territory is strong, stable, and abundant. To do that, an omega must be presented by the heir, and pups to follow. It was as simple as that.
Ronan chews on his words before he finally answers, âAnd what if we canât?â
âThen one in your sisterâs brood will be chosen as heir.â His father answers. âIt is not tradition, but her eldest son is nearly of age. He may grow to have the proper temperament.â
If heâs surprised, Ronan doesnât let any indication change his posture or his tone. He just calmly asks, âAre you saying I must take a mate, or give up my position?â
While as much has been threatened over the course of the last decade, as this search for a suitable pup-barer has gone on and on, this time the line must be officially drawn. Rodah simply nods.
âYes.â
âThe pack might not have formed as you excepted, father, but my pack mates are all extremely capable. When itâs time for me to step into your place they will serve the territory well.â Ronan sat back, explaining with a roll of his hand. âIf we donât have another to join the pack who can bare us pups by the time Iâm coronated headship, I wouldnât be concerned.â
âThen thankfully Iâm not considering your concern, son.â Headship Maraci speaks not a word unkindly, even if they are words that are not liked. âAnd Iâm not insinuating they would not.â
He lets a baited silence filter into the air. Ronan simply gazes at his father, somewhat wary of this conversation, which has been had both directly and indirectly many times over the last few years.
âIndeed, I would say you all serve the land well now. But none of them can continue the line, Ronan, and my ears are not immune to the talk of court. Mates you may be, butâŠâ he shook his head and reconsiders his words. âIâve long given up the hope of your pack being close to ordinary, but at this point your fraternity will end our line. I cannot stand by and allow that to occur.â
The slightest frown flickers across both of their faces, though they are upset for very different reasons. Before Ronan can compile a response an elderly female beta, one of Rodahâs oldest companions and mate, enters the room.
Sheâs a wizened woman by now, but she still proudly cares for her long black hair, which is as thick and pretty as it was in her youth. Her eyes, always shining with mirth, show no dimness. Sheâs a sharp thing, but a gossip, and while Rodah smiles up one of his beloved mates, Ronan only appears reserved.
She holds in her hand a fine silver tray, with a steaming kettle and two small cups, which she places on the table with shaking hands but a warm smile for the pair of them.
âPassed by an attendant with a few rounds of hot yuuka juice on hand for your meeting and thought Iâd deliver it myself.â She says in a smooth, lovely voice. Her smile brings a content look to the headshipâs face. Then she asks, âParched, love?â
Rodah reaches out for her hand and graces the back of her fingers with his lips. âYou know me so well, sweet flower. Thank you for going through the trouble, I hope you donât ache so badly in the cold.â
âFlatter-er. And Iâm just fine. I was a lass in the mountains, this season you call a chill may as well be summer to me.â Though she lets his touch linger a moment before withdrawing to pour the drinks. âWould you like me to tell Aja sheâll be in the nest soon?â She adds.
âYes, Yuyu, I will be along soon. Our conversation is about over.â
âOn that, agreed.â Ronan mumbles, though he sounds anything but settled.
She nods, then turns a fond smile towards Ronan. âWeâre always happy to have you by little Noonah. I donât mean to rush you, of course youâre invited in as well. Aja and Pepper would love to see you, and how long as it been since youâve seen your dam, huh?â
For the first time all day, Ronan shifts around with obvious embarrassment, a light warmth to his cheeks. âBeta Yunala, Iâm no longer a pup, you should not call me that. I saw Dam Aja just this morning, please stop gossiping about me.â
âYouâll always be our pup, even when you let your brood bounce around the halls, causing more mischief than your little brethren ever did.â She laughs heartily. âAnd I hope that will be happening soon! Can you imagine the brood your misfits will have? Weâre all taking bets, Iâve a thousand cyrs on all of them having four arms, just so you know!â
âBeta Yunala.â Ronan chastises.
âWhat? I am not the one bonding monster kin!â She reaches out and ruffles the top of his head, Ronanâs ears turning a shade darker as the room begins to reek of embarrassment. âWhy havenât you picked a proper mate, pup? The territory is pleading for the life of love to bring pulse back to the land. You must know this.â
âItâs not always easy to balance the needs of the many to the needs of the few.â Ronan sighs, âWe need more timeââ
âNo.â His father interrupts. âYou have been given enough time. Pressure now will bring your pack to a resolution, if nothing else will. There is one last chance for you and yours to pick an omega. Castle Kunda, to the East, has offeredââ
Snapping his head back towards his father, Ronan voice threads with distain. âA crystal maiden?â
âAnd youâll be happy to pick from such a fine selection of priests and priestesses. They are raised to either serve the gods, or serve an alpha. Even if you do not like them, it is guaranteed that they will at least be suitable for this position.â
âThat does not mean they will be able to serve us.â Ronan tries to argue.
Though his father will have none of it. âYou will pick an omega being trained there,â He reaffirms, âor when you return, we will discuss the transference of the Will. Do you understand?â
Drawn lips curl into a frown, and Ronanâs gaze drags across the floor. âAnd how long do we have until this⊠fateful⊠meeting?â
âI will give you a season and a half. Let the winter ruler guide your reason, and I promise you the prospect will not seem so bad come spring, hmm. Closer to the turn of the season, we will inquire the castle and arrange a selection ceremony. And that is that.â
âAnd that is that.â Ronan echoed.
Though they might have spoken a little longer, followed by prolonged goodbyes, that moment was the end of the conversation. There would be no more stalling. The heir to the Maraci Territory would be gaining another mate, whether he liked it or notâŠ.
And the worst part was yet to come. As his father rose, Ronan got to his feet as well, and shared a final farewell. All the while his mind was with his pack.
How were they ever to agree on a mate?
X...X...X
[New chapters every Monday]
[Sorry for posting this late here. Chapter 3 will be the last full post next week, so I hope you enjoy it!]
Blackwall had never wanted something so much in his life. Or, better said, heâd never wanted something so deeply while knowing he was equally undeserving of it.
The Herald was not his to have, in fact she wasnât anyoneâs to have. So many things kept her figure in a saintly light. A public relationship would stir the people, effect reputations and rise questions about her morality that were better left unasked and unanswered.
Say if sheâd been caught entrapped with that qunari Iron Bull she would have been painted as a lustful woman willing to give herself to a race which many humans regarded with distant fear.
With Commander Rutherford, had she fallen for him, her rise to power within the inquisition might have been under question. Perhaps her image would turn from hallowed savior, to one of a woman who would spread her legs for the commanders and took advantage of him to gain power.
Had Solas or Sera been chosen to be by her side, many might have said she only worked to aid the elves and not all of the Makers cursed children. It all could easily breed discontent amongst the soldiers if not handled wellâŠ
A horrible rash of jealousy turned his stomach as he mulled over her other romantic prospects.
Heâd only began thinking this way because heâd already committed to meeting with her later tonight and discuss whyâd heâd been so distant lately.
She was always so coy with him. And by that he meant that she flirted with him endlessly. Heâd damn near call it a ruthless assault, had the advances been unwelcome.
They werenât, though he hadnât taken her very seriously to begin with. Theyâd even been amusing at first. Heâd spent so much time alone in the wilderness not speaking to anyone, that being around as many people gathered in Haven (and now in Skyhold) was at first difficult to become accustomed to.
And then this enigma of an elf granted him this unusual affection to usher his arrival⊠it was the kind of attention he hadnât been seriously on the receiving end of since his years training as a knight.
He would be lying if he said he didnât like it. But heâd also be lying if he said he knew what he was going to tell the girl when she eventually cornered him about his feelings.
Feelings? Ha! How long had it been since he genuinely considered his feelings? Too long, probably, and still the coming confrontation felt like it would be happening far too soon.
Tonight, actually. It would be happening tonight!
Makerâs breath, what was he going to do?
âŠ
His face was too close to hers, too close for him to think clearly. Their breath mingled between them and he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and take her lips in his once moreâonly his pride stopped him.
He meant what he said, and the words still lingered on the air. He had nothing to offer her.
Heâd been pretending to be Grey Warden for too long. The stain of his true name could give her nothing but more troubles, and his very presence here was like a curse. Should she know his true identity, she would rebuke him.
If he were really a good man, he would have left ages ago. It would be easy enough to conjure up an excuse to leave the army all togetherâblame the blight he should have felt calling him.
But he did not, because he was not a good, decent man. He was a scoundrel, and she deserved betterâŠ
Despite those thoughts, she was now warm in his arms. Her smell was sweet, the wind was warm, and the moon behind him reflected a crystalline, sparkling, light into her gaze as she regarded him with affection. His heart ached and he could not step away.
Was it really so bad to crave this comfort?
âYou have to push me away. You have to end this.â He finds himself pleading with her, âI cannot find the strength to do it myself.â
There was a desperation in his eyes, desperate for some sense to come between them and end this before the wounds of parting would cut too deep. The other part was desperate for the tension to be cut by a decision being madeâbe it for love or not.
Truthfully, heâd never been great at finding his own path in this world, which was why he was âBlackwallâ now. He should have found some excuse not to meet her tonight, for it would have been easier to avoid this discussion altogether. There was a war inside him.
Part of him wanted her to push him away, and stomp out of here furious and sick of him. The other needed her to tell him it was fine for him to be selfish. More selfish than heâd ever been. That she felt the same as he did, and they could both suffer for it, hand-in-hand.
She did not answer him at first.
No, her lips did not speak, but they did not need to. They fall into him, her weight on his chest and her mouth on his with a force that had them both panting for breath as she searched for his affection.
Her fingers wound themselves into his hair and he groaned when she pulled, dragging him closer. As her head drifted back and their pleasure became intertwined, he almost shuddered when he felt her lips wrap around his tongue and she sucked it. He was caught a bit off guard, but more turned on than he felt comfortable admitting.
He wondered if it was common for Dalish to kiss like this, it was more intense than those heâd shared with the royal girls heâd taken secretly behind the stables so many years ago. Or his now dead wife, long cold in her ancestral mausoleum.
Her sucking had broken something in him, the littlest bit of what might have been called pride or honor that kept him from enjoying her fully snapped. When their lips met again, he was more aggressive, biting her lipânot caring if it was bruised. He wasnât shy when he felt her tongue against his again and he finally coaxed a soft moan from her lips as invaded her mouth and wondered if else where she would taste as sweet.
When she finally pulled away, her lips shined with their shared saliva and slightly swollen. The view made him want to lean over and kiss her again.
âI will not push you away, I canât⊠please stay with me.â Her voice was soft, but her decision made, and her plea clear.
The Maker may damn him for this, but he could not say no to her.
His lips were soon on hers again and he led them backwards so that her back was pressed against the stable wall. Their kiss was less mindful, his only goal was to consume as much of her mouth as he could, and to feel all the ways she should rub her body against his as he used his hands to feel the sides of her body.
His leg slipped between hers so that she could grind against his knee and thigh. The feeling of her hips grinding into his leg made his cock throb and soon he was leading them both away from the wall and to the bed.
They shared this frenzied heat as they both started to strip their clothes off. Amour layers and the soft cotton of their under clothes eventually all fell away and they collapsed into the soft comforter of the bed spread. She was needy, and he knew without her saying a word. Her legs spread easily under him and her heels wrapped around his legs, bringing his body closer to hers.
âHeraldâŠâ His whisper was gruff in her ear, laden with arousal. This was her last chance to push him away, even though he was at the bottom of his self-control.
âPlease, donât tease me.â She pleaded, âI need to feel close to you, I need to feel you in me. Please Blackwall, please.â
Her body was hot and her feet tried to trap him to her. It was weak bondage, but he did not fight it. âMaker yes, my lady.â
He positioned himself at her entrance, savoring the feeling of her heat and wetness teasing the tip of his cock. A whispered moan urged him to just enter her, and he did so but slowly. Each inch he sunk in had her squirming under him, but there was some part of his heart that imagined this would be the only time she would submit to this for him, so he was going to enjoy himself.
He traced his hand up her body once he was fully sheathed inside her. First, he rubbed her stomach, feeling how it was slightly raised where his dick was buried inside her. Heâd never fucked an elf before, but it made him feel huge. And then his touch flittered across her chest where he felt up her breast and pulled at her nipples. She was almost keening for him, her back arching up into his touch as he grabbed her waist.
âYou want me to fuck you?â
âGods above, yes.â She signed, rolling her hips slightly to push him a little deeper.
âHow long have you wanted my cock in you, Herald? So tight and ready for me⊠you should have told me to leave, I donât think Iâll ever want off of you.â
âThen donât leaveâŠâ Her voice was little more than a coo.
For that she earned a kiss. One that started at her tits, then moved up her chest and across her neck. She gasped into his touch as he left red marks across her skin. His mouth only stopped when he reached the corner of hers.
He left a chaste kiss there and with their breath mingling and their heads intimately close, he slowly began rocking his hips. He felt her gasping breath fall against his cheek and her fingers dug into the muscle of his scarred arms. Her moans were coming quicker, though her voice was never more than breathy as he rocked, in and out. He watched her struggle to stifler her pleasure, lest they attract unwanted attention.
Feelings were bubbling in him, dirty things heâd wanted to say but had been too concerned about his pride to actually voice. As he felt her get wetter around him and felt her moans shake tremor the air, the restraint heâd maintained began to fade.
âWas it recently this developed or have you been needing me to satisfy you since you first saw me in the forest?â He didnât let her answer, âIâm going to use you as my cock warmer for just a little longer my lady, I want you to remember how I feel in you.â
âOh yes, Ser!â She gasped when he hooked up and hit the particularly sensitive parts of her walls.
âSer?â He chuckled curiously, âSo⊠the great leader wants me to be in charge, wants me to take control of her, does she?â
âYes,â she was already breathless, âI do.â
âI want you to enjoy how full I make you feel, can you do that?â
She sucked in her lip and nodded. And, despite all his reservations, he grinned.
Such a revelation was almost better than climax. Later he certainly would spill his seed on her stomach, and she would clench around him and groan his stolen name in his ear (several times, if he was feeling boastful). Her pleasure would hypnotize him the rest of the evening, and he was content to play at being her masterâeven though he was really a slave to her whims, and happy to be one.
This moment he would enjoy fully, so it would become a night he could never forget. Even if it were just a passing rendezvous, or she never accepted him for who he really is, he would have this memory for himself.
Something else stolen, yes, but certainly treasured.
XâŠXâŠX
a/n: Iâm replaying Inquisition right now, and I forgot how fun this game is, even though itâs stuffed full of problems (my game keeps crashing lol).
I wrote this a few years ago, the first time I played it. I ended up romancing Blackwall at the time because I didnât know you could romance Cullen until I looked it up online and I was too late!! My first playthrough was weird in a few ways but I still like Blackwall, though I donât like stolen valor. Which is probably why this never got a proper happy ending.
Anyway, obviously Iâm playing it again, and so Iâve started writing for it (againâŠ) The new work is a Cullen x Elf!Mage!Inquisitor (I refuse to play DA2 because they wonât let us play as an elf). I donât know when it will come out, or if it will be in parts/or just one big chapter, but I am working on it when I should be working on other things.
Thank you for reading my self indulgent friend! With love,
Like my work and want more? If you like this, I promise you'll like my books.
You can also find all my available stories by supporting me on Patreon or Ream get early access to new stuff and enjoy my entire catalog! Or if you'd rather leave a tip I'd be so grateful if you bought me a coffee. Hey, even reach out to order commissions! My asks are also open, so don't by shy!
Alpha!Zoro x Omega!Reader | Alpha!Luffy x Reader | (EVENTUAL) Iota!Nico Robin x Omega!Reader | Platonic Everyone Else x Reader
[An Omegaverse One Piece Rewrite][Updates Every Wednesday]
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Word Count: 5.5k
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They arrive at a rather boring spot of sea during a sleepy period in the mid-afternoon. This was a few days after setting off in the direction of this restaurant-boat which Johnny swore up and down just had to be in this patch of water. Though if it was both a boat, and a restaurant, why would they park it in the middle of no where?
This Zoro began arguing as they soon realized that Johnny, despite how confident he tried to appear, was a terrible navigator. He was half the reason he and Yosaku had been a drift at sea for so long in the first place. They were lucky they hadn't had worse happen to them honestly.
It was annoying for everyone as Johnny sat around trying to puzzle out which way to go, though the boys didn't goad him about it too much. Since Yosaku had nearly died, Johnny felt guilty enough. Nami, however, made a snide remark or two under her breath.
Thankfully, Johnny's memory wasn't actually half bad, and with gusto of four boisterous idiots, they set sail.
With Nami's skills they actually managed to get somewhere, and now Johnny was pointing at a blip on the water which was quickly coming into focus, with the kind of pride someone does when they pull in a big fish.
"We're here!" He whooped. "We made it! Come look!"
"Brother Zoro! Brother Luffy! Brother Usopp! Brother Nami! Sister (y/n)Â if you're there! We're at the restaurant! We found it!" Yosaku shouted to get the crew's attention.
"Why am I brother?!" Nami shouted back.
(Y/n) lets out a soft sigh, "I'm right beside you, Mr. Johnny, no need to yell."
"AH!" Johnny and Yosaku shrilly scream before trying (and failing) to play off like they hadn't. It'd been five days, and while even tail-between-his-legs Usopp seemed to have gotten over his fright of her, Johnny and Yosaku never seemed to get used to their disappearing book keeper.
From around the deck, Nami continues to grumble to herself about being called brother, despite having told the pair of them several times not to call her sister. But the irritation quickly wears off when she catches sight of the "Restaurant on the Sea, Baratie" anchored nearby in the middle of the open ocean, and she is soon joined by everybody.
Zoro rubs his eyes to shake off the last of his nap as the other's gape at the giant carp shaped vessel towering before them. It's many times over bigger than the Going Merry. The paneling was blue and white, a classic sea color scheme with green trims. Its bough was sculpted to look like a huge wide-mouth bass, it's signature gapping maw held so wide open it could probably fit their whole ship within it alone, and the rutter sticks out of the water like a tail.
There's an orange dock laid out on the water where several small passenger ships with similar styles to the main boat are docked and they must be ferries that bring customers from land and other boats in to eat.
Usopp looks just about as enchanted, "How funky is that! I guess these chefs have style!"
However, their excitement is interrupted by the low whhooosh of the ocean wake creating a false wind and the creaking weight of a ship nearing theirs. It's only confusing at first, as the nearby boat breezes by them. Until they read the lettering cleanly painted on the side, and see the proud seagull crescent displayed on the main sail.
"It's... it's the Marines!" Nami gasps first.
"When... when did they get here?" Luffy gapes, "And why?"
Usopp tries not to sound nervous when he mutters, "They're not going to attack us now are they?"
The backset cannons, seeming to hear him, rotate slightly with a whining grinding sound to aim in their direction and Usopp lets out a little squeak. And honestly Johnny and Yosaku aren't looking any more confident.
A man in a pinstriped suit comes out, carrying himself like someone important though he's not wearing the marine sailor uniforms. He seems miffed to look over the rail of his ship to see a pirate flag boldly unfurled in his face, and a crew full of them openly staring at him. A few steps bring him closer, and even from a distance Zoro notices the shining metal on his hands where his knuckles should be.
"Hey!" He bellows from a place low in his chest, "I'm a Lieutenant of the Marine Headquarters know as 'Ironfist Fullybody.' I've never seen that flag before. Who's your captain? Name yourself!"
Luffy steps up, not even flinching. "I'm Luffy! I just finished making my pirate flag!"
"And I'm Usopp!" Usopp tries to declare, but his voice is so quiet it barely leaves his mouth, let alone carries across the water. Zoro almost snorts at the attempt.
"Heâhe said he just finished it!" Johnny laughs and Yosaku joins him.
But their laughter attracts the attention of the lieutenant who looks them over, albeit while peering down his nose. "Wait, I've seen the two of you before. If I remember correctly, you two are local small time bounty hunters. So, finally been caught by pirates, have you?"
The moment those words came out of the marine's mouth Zoro knew it would be trouble. Trouble for Johnny and Yosaku, that is. They seem offended by being called small time, and threaten Fullybody until they launch themselves at the ship. But their attempt at attacking the lieutenant is quickly foiled when Fullbody punches them each squarely in the face.
"The hell are you two doing?" Zoro griped as they were thrown back to deck and slid across it until they were laid at his feet.
All he could do was sigh.
"Are you guys sure you're not super weak?" Luffy outright asked.
Though reality was clear as day.
"N-no of course not, we're super strong." Johnny insisted, though his swelling up cheek made his voice garbled, "that guy is just not too shabby himself..."
"Yeah... it... it was a close one." Yosaku insists around his fat lip.
Was it?
Barely bothered, it looked like those iron knuckles weren't for show at least. And he seemed more eager to leave than fuck around with a bunch of no-names any longer, which was better for them anyway. Thrown back on deck a swirl of papers (posters of all the most recent warrants) flew out of Johnny's jacket, and Nami and Owleyes bent down to help collect them.
Zoro noticed Nami freeze for a moment as she gathered them up, her eyes staring hard at a face he couldn't see on the wanted poster. It wouldn't surprise him if she held a grudge against several pirates in the area based on how she seemed to hate them so much, so he didn't make much of it.
Her mood swings were beyond difficult to keep up with and so he hardly bothered. And just as quickly as she scowled, her expression shifted to a neutral distance and she quietly handed her stack over to (y/n), who tucked them back into Johnny's jacket without him even noticing.
She was healed now, she insisted that hypnotist asshole mostly just hurt her paper and not for the first time he wondered how exactly her body worked. Which parts of her were paper? Which parts flesh? If he touched her skin would be able to tell the difference? But that was a thought he could chase off in the day time by quickly looking away from her, and her hands, and her stupid pretty smile...
"Hey guys, we're in trouble!" Usopp yelled, "That asshole is aiming at us!"
Zoro's eyebrow twitched, of course they were...it was the marines after all.
It would have been too easy to just let them go, bounty or not. He looked around, to see if they were supposed to be preparing to move out of the way, but he didn't go immediately to action once he noticed Luffy was already standing at the ready, facing off against the aimed cannon.
"AH!" Usopp shouted, "He fired!" Then stuttered, "L-luffy what are you doing!"
"Leave it to me!" Luffy said with his brisk style of confidence.
And then he took in a deep breath which swelled out his belly into the shape of the rubber balloon. And his strange rubbery flesh absorbed the impact, the cannon ball sinking harmlessly into his expanded belly like a sling.
Then when it could fly no more, Luffy shouted, "You can have your cannon ball back!"
And it shot off him.
And while Dumb (Usopp), Dumb (Yosaku), and Dumber (Johnny) looked shocked by the rubber man and his impossible rubber body, Zoro was looking at where the ricochet was actually headed.
"Just who are you giving it back to, dumbass!" He shouted as the cannon ball veered far to the right and collided right into the roof of the Baratie instead of the marine ship.
Luffy fell back, looking guilty and shocked as the rest of the crew whose expressions turned from disbelief to horror as the confirming sound of a collision rushes over the water and a blast of smoke comes from the fish-ship.
"I'm..." Luffy gets up from his stupor and looks determined, "I'm going to apologize right now!"
And before anyone can argue one way or another, he's flung himself off the boat and is flying towards the restaurant using his long arms like a sling shot. Having not quite realized still what it meant to be a rubberman, Johnny and Yosaku seem taken aback by Luffy's sudden display of his power. Zoro had to really wonder if they even knew that (y/n) had also eaten a devil fruitâand he doubted it.
They all watch, slightly speechless but each for different reasons, as Luffy disappears. The marines, thankfully, seem utterly disinterested in them now and inlou of captain, Nami quickly decided that they should head around towards the dock on the other side of the ship and everyone agrees. Quickly getting the boat sails in position, they scramble across the decks so they can drift forward and maneuver around the big restaurant. But by the time their done Luffy isn't back yet, and an hour stretches on of lazing about the upper deck waiting around before Zoro finally speaks up.
"Luffy sure is taking a while."
"Do you think they killed Brother Luffy?" Johnny sat up, looking worried.
(Y/n) shook her head. "Captain would die with a fight."
And her voice is firm enough Yosaku and Johnny actually hear it, and a shiver runs down their spine when they see her suddenly severe expression.
"Fine. Fine." Johnny relented.
Zoro continued to muse. "You don't think they'll force him to work here for like a month or something do you?"
"He should just explain that this is really all that marine's fault," Nami sighed, "but that idiot's too honest for his own good, so probably yeah..."
"Hey, let's go in and see him! We could get some food while we're at it." Usopp offered, looking more excited about the food than anything, "Whaddya say?"
"It's true we haven't eaten lunch yet, and this is a great excuse to save our supplies." Owleyes mused and Usopp nodded encouragingly towards the other two, motioning see, see, it's a good idea!
Nami didn't need much convincing so Zoro sighed, it wasn't like he was going to let them go in alone when trouble seemed to follow over their shoulder like a poltergeist. And when he nodded along, it was decided. Johnny and Yosaku stayed behind, promising to watch over the ship, and the crew disembarked, with Zoro in back, carefully peering around the decks for danger.
But he found nothing.
It was a remarkably well-kept boat. While the outside was relatively kitsch, the inside had an unexpected air of sophistication. It was so well kept that he felt instantly out of place. This was not a bar, or a small island tavern, but a real fine-dining restaurant.
The wood paneling along the walls was a fine off-white, and the paint a pale blue which complimented the ocean view out the windows and gold sconces flickered in the candle lights. The rich velvet chairs and curtains all together made the place reek of high class with a neutralized deodorizer that stopped the concentration of the other customer's scents, by they designation or body odor.
He'd never been anywhere this nice before.
Nami didn't let the atmosphere dissuade her from entering. A sign on the bar at the front tells them just to sit at an empty table if any are available.
"No host?" (y/n) comments.
Nami must not hear, so Zoro shrugsâhe's not even sure what that means.
With no one to stop them, they sit down at a table across the room from the rest of the patrons, who are already shooting this gang of underdressed pirates dirty looks. Soon enough though, a man with huge arms covered in tattoos and clearly wearing a chef's jacket even though he insisted he was supposed to be the waiter came by with their menus. He was extremely gruff, seeming as out of place in this atmosphere as Zoro did, but not quite as much as Usopp.
However, the man doesn't refuse them service eitherâthough Zoro has to order for (y/n) when it's clear he's one that can't hear or see her, even after a few times prompting. He must have been really dense. The guy is gruff and harsh, and tries to say that he can't order two appetizers for one person at a restaurant like this, which for the money they were being charged is ridiculous on principle, even if he wasn't ordering for someone else. But the argument is smoothed out by Nami before things can escalate. Though he doesn't look happy about it, the waiter leaves.
A decidedly sweet, "Thank you, Mr. Roronoa." comes his way as they wait. "I know it's troublesome."
"It's not a problem." Zoro brushes her off by sitting back in his chair, focusing on how stiff and frou-frou this place is and how much he doesn't like it instead of how cute she is.
When the food comes out, he can't stay so uncomfortable, since it's shockingly flavorful and bold. And it really all becomes worth it when Zoro finally spies Luffy. He's looking not-at-all happy with the situation he's in, a finger in his ear and frown fixated on his face as he looks around the dining room seeming a little lost. The pink kitchen apron they've put him in makes Zoro laugh to himself and hearing it causes Luffy to finally notice them.
"Ack!" Luffy looks startled, then heads their way, "It's you guys!"
"Captain!" Owleyes waves making Luffy grin, "I'm glad you're alright!"
But Luffy's scowl returns when Nami calls out, "Oh hey Errand-boy~!"
"Heard you have to work here for a year!" Usopp smiles smugly.
"Hey, since you won't be needing it, would it be alright to redraw the ship's flag?" Zoro snickers and Luffy's scowl quickly turns to a grimace of frustration. " 'Course we'll come back for you after your debt is paid. If you're still alive."
Luffy goes red in the face. "You leave me here to work and go off to eat delicious food all by yourselves and leave me behind? How selfish! I'm in a real pickle here!"
"Hey, it's a free world. If you're stuck here, we can do whatever we want. But I do have to admit the food here is pretty great." He grabs his glass of water, only half noticing Luffy's hand retracting from the table with a suspicious sharpness. "And don't take this the wrong way butâ"
But his voice trails off as he looks down his glass, seeing something small and green floating to the bottom and he frowns, deeply suspicious of how both Nami and Usopp are holding back laughter, and how (y/n) looks at them all like they're being particularly childish. Quick like a viper he grabs Luffy's head and forces him to drink his own booger contaminated water.
"Stupid! I saw that! You're drinking this!"
Pretending to be choking, Luffy grabs his throat than falls back onto his ass on the floor like a kid, "How could you do that to me?" He bemoans.
Zoro rolls his eyes, "I should ask you the same thing!"
Though it is satisfying to watch Luffy squeal and spit. Behind him Usopp and Nami can't stop cackling at the humiliation of it all. And though their omega's not laughing, she's brought a hand over her mouth to hide the smile fighting to part her lips.
The scene of crew revolting against captain in the most childish manner possible is interrupted by the entrance of a blond man in a relaxed black suit, black tie pulled tight up around his red-and-white striped dress shirt collar.
Zoro squints at him, finding his general look off putting. If he worked here, he dressed nicer than the other chefs, and his face had strange features. Blond hair was normal enough. Short in the back, bangs long. It flopped over one of his eyes which was good, because it meant his hair hid the other weird curly eyebrow that was already strange enough when you could only see one.
He seems to be here to quiet them to down--at least at first. Looking annoyed by the ruckus brought on by their laughter and messing around.
But then he freezes.
He floats forwards, towards them like a man seized by a demon, barely in control of his own forward momentum. Once he reaches their table, he drops to one knee in front of Nami. She looks at him with wide eyes at first, before she becomes visibly annoyed at this strange display. Though before the man can open his eyes and see her obvious frown, she sucks it in until her expression becomes one of placid niceness.
And Zoro thought maybe it would be over, but no, it was only beginning. One arm outstretched towards her, pouring from his mouth was the sappiest love-sick poetry Zoro'd ever been unfortunate enough to be an earshot of.
"O' blessed are the oceans for bringing me this treasure of rare fineness. Surely this is fate!" The stranger preened, "Love of the sea, rough as it is tender! Laugh if you will, but be it at my poor self who cannot endure his torturous passions, as long as it means I spend another moment basking in your beauty!"
He took her hand in one of his and slowly brought it towards his chest as if it really were the most precious treasure. Hearts practically replaced his eyes.
"My sweet!" He continued, "As long as I can be with you, I'm prepared to walk across any path, be it the paths of a pirate or a devil! But alas! 'Tis tragic there is such a great obstacle standing between the two of us and destiny!"
He was making a fool out of himself Zoro thought.
But before Nami could respond, as she'd only half paid any attention to him, a huge man wearing a chef's hat almost the same height as his body precariously perched on his head suddenly appeared from around the corner. Almost more astonishing than his quickness, was his stiff blonde mustache which was braided to stick out as wide as his shoulders.
"And by obstacle do you mean me, Sanji?" He prompted.
"Agh!" The appearance of the old man seemed to snap this weird pervert out of his hypnotic fixation on Nami. "The geezer!"
'The Geezer' stood up on his peg leg and looked Sanji up and down as if to dare him. "This is as good a chance as any. Just go and be a pirate. I don't need a punk like you in my restaurant anyway."
The daze fully cleared as the guy snapped. He stomped and turned to face the old man.
"What! I'm your soux chef, what exactly do you mean I'm not needed?" He pointed one finger as the chef who was not in the last bit intimidated.
At first Zoro figured this place would be pretty prissy, but looking around at the crew that ran it, well, nice as it was, it kind of felt like a pirate's ship. Staring down the young man, the old chef put out his hand and began taking and counting on his fingers.
"Firstly, you cause too much trouble with the guests, and if they happen to be female all you do is drool over them. Also, you can't cook a decent meal to save your life. You're just unnecessary baggage holding this restaurant down." Even Zoro felt that was a low blow, "And third, as you probably know, none of the other cooks like you either. So, whether it be as a pirate or something else, it's just better for you to get the hell out of my shop."
And he pointed his thumb behind him to really dig in the point.
Pervert blond didn't back down. He stepped up, putting his hands around the old guy's collar as he said, "So that's what you wanted to say to me all along, you old fart! Ignoring all your other comments, if there's one thing I won't stand for, it's someone insulting my cooking. I'm a damn good chef. And I'm staying here! You got that?!"
"How dar' ya grab the collar of the head chef!" The man bellowed, all of the sudden moving with a quickness that was unexpected for a man so large and slammed Sanji into the table with a crash.
Having seen such a thing coming, Zoro, Usopp, and Nami lifted their plates up just in time to save them the inevitable crushing. But Owleyes, who'd genuinely been enjoying the weird looking broth-soup she'd ordered, found it splash to the ground and the bowl shatter just as she went for another spoon full. She made a little ohh! of disappointment that caught no one's attention but Zoro's.
"You can try and chase me out all you want!" The pervert said as he stood from the wreckage, "But I'll continue to be a cook here until you die, do you hear me! Until the day you die, you're not getting rid of me, gramps!"
"I ain't dyin'." The peg-leg chef says dryly, walking away with a dismissive wave, "I'll live for another 100 years, so get over it. And get out!"
And though it was clear the old man wasn't listening anymore, the pervert still let out a grumbled, "Pretty mouthy for a damn geezer, aren't you!"
But he was snapped right back into pervert mode when Nami whined. "Oh no, look our table is all ruined."
Like a magician, he spun on his feet, pulling a new table from seemingly nowhere, kicking the shards of the old one away, and laying a new table setting on top of it in no less than three seconds. Plate ware was thrown down next, though only enough for three people, and each placement settled into gently into position with hardly a clink or clatter.
Zoro's eyebrows ticked upward. He sat his plate back down.
The pervert Sanji, who Zoro had to admit now was rather dexterous, disappeared, but was back in a flash. In his hand was a big glass bowl with fruit and special looking cookies, a stemmed glass and a bottle of wine. This all he placed in front of Nami, before filling her glass with the distinct red liquid, characteristic of a fine wine.
"My flower, my sweetest pearl, gem of the sea, pray forgive me for the rudeness just now. To offer my sincerest apology please, enjoy this fruit Macedonia and a glass of Grand Marnier, on the house. I insist."
Looking genuinely delighted, Nami clapped her hands. "How kind you are!"
"Me?" The pervert blushed, then tried to suck in his delight, "Oh, this is nothing..."
"Hey, hey! What do we get for all this trouble?" Usopp knocked the table a few times, "This is sex discrimination, I'll sue you know, you love-crazed cook! I'm a beta too, don't I get a taste of the good life?"
Snapping his head in Usopp direction he indicated to the extra cups the chef had placed on the table when it'd been reset.
"I already got you some tea, punk. You could say a word of thanks for that!"
Usopp didn't budge an inch.
"That's not the same! Are you trying to start something with me?"
Zoro rolled his eyes. If he really wanted some of Nami's dessert, he could have just asked her to share.
"Seem's like you are the one 'starting something', dear customer." The cook shot back. And that was the closest Zoro had ever heard the word customer uttered like a swear.
"We'll teach you a lesson. Just because you're a chef doesn't mean we'll go easy on you! Zoro!" Usopp ordered, "Get him!"
"You started it. Get him yourself." He grumbled back. Then, seeing (y/n) dejectedly lay her napkin on the table, added, "Ay waiter, we need another soup at the table."
"Funny that. You didn't order a soup. You trying to free load over there too?"
"It's not for me..." He started to explain again, but (y/n) put a hand up and shook her head. Really that only made Zoro frown deeper, but with his complaint trailed off, Usopp was happy to pick up momentum.
"I see how it is. So, you won't serve us, you won't clear our plates, and you won't reimburse us for the trouble you caused? What kind of restaurant is this?"
The blond loomed over the table and pointed at Usopp's plate.
"One that respects food. And I see there are still mushrooms on this plate, sir. Finish your food and I'll consider your request."
"I don't want to eat them. I hate mushrooms because I was poisoned by one when I was a pup. So, I left them there on purpose."
"Well, this one isn't poisoned, so eat up, long-nose."
"What did you justâ" Usopp stood up, forcing their argument to escalate.
"Oh, boys, please don't fight over me." Nami feigned leaning back as they bickered over her plate in a very literal fashion.
The chef turned about, standing straight as an arrow.
"I can't believe myself. Anything for you, miss!"
"I am not fighting over you!" Usopp huffed.
She bats her eyes a few times, trying to look innocent, which Zoro thought did not suit her in the slightest. But the pervert chef seemed to fall for it, hook line and sinker. He floated to her side of the table, utterly forgetting a still fuming Usopp.
"By the way, Mr. Cook..." She dragged a finger across the table towards him.
"Yes, my dear!"
"It's really so good, but the food here is just a tad too expensive for me." She pouted and looked up at him with big pleading eyes.
"Then it shall be free of charge to you, darling!"
"Well, finally good service!" Usopp cut in.
The chef instantly barked back, "Get it straight, you're paying!"
But his attention was dragged back by Nami's too sweet voice a flash later.
"Aw, thank you so much! I can't tell you how much I appreciate this~!"
"Ms. Nami." (y/n) sighed, "We have plenty to pay for lunch or we wouldn't have ordered."
Surprisingly, without missing a beat Nami sent the omega a chiding look.
"Hush, and let the nice man treat us."
The pervert cook looked up and blinked blankly at the other side of the table. It was like a light went off in his mind when he saw (y/n), who only looked to shrink back in her chair as the pervert's eyes widened. His hand flew to his chest, and he seemed to faint before he wiggled up to her side of the table, as he'd done with Nami.
"Alas, how could my eyes be so blind? It as if all my life I have been in a sunless world until this moment, when the fair faint blush of the moon turns its head to me! Was the bisque for you my sweet? What shame your table seems to have concluded their meal or I would treat you a hundred bowls over!" He put his hand on his heart, declaring these words like a sacred pledge.
Owleyes looks horrified. "It's really just fine, Mr. Cookâ" she tried to rationalize, but it was too late.
Like magic, another cup has appeared in his hand, and that same bottle of Marnier pours with a practiced grace into it before she can cover the lip with her hand. She doesn't day drink, or at least she never has in front of Zoro, and her out reached hand is instead taken as an offer by the chef who practically sashay's and bring the back of her hand to his mouth for a brushing kiss.
An ugly utterly and completely unrecognizable feeling churns in his stomach at the sight. He'd cut that hand off if she asked, he realizes in a flash of anger. But instead of saying anything like that, she flushes and stutters, which makes this gross resentful feeling burn worse. It not because she liked it, no, she's obviously uncomfortable, but maybe that's why he stares down Sanji just a little harder.
Not that the perv notices either way.
It was unspoken possessiveness that came to light in that moment which worried Zoro most. He'd been trying very hard to keep to himself, but since leaving Syrup Island on the Going Merry with Usopp added to their crew of three, he couldn't help but get closer to her, when before he'd kept as much of a distance as he could.
He wouldn't outright say it was because of what happened that early morning fight, even though it was. He wouldn't ask her exactly what happened when Jango ran off to catch them while she helped the Usopp Pirate Crew carry Kaya. But that image of her choking stuck in his head and he couldn't shake off.
Afterwards he found it harder to contain his instincts.
So, what happened after that, some might have even called scent bullying, he just called soothing his nerves.
Now, he was the kind of person who kept to himself. But maybe he made sure to sit next to her when they ate and maybe he always made sure to touch their elbows together to subtly scent mark her. Omegas needed that sort of soothing, he was an alpha enough to know that, and she never complained about it.
So, maybe he started doing a little more than just that as they traveled the last few weeks to get here and the incident was far behind them. Maybe he got in the habit of ruffling her hair when he took over her shift on watch with a hit the sack, Owleyes. And maybe, yes, he liked it when she's yawn and nod and wander off to the women's quarters with a good night, Mr. Roronoa.
And maybe he did something like that at least three times a day, and maybe he purposefully relaxed his scent around her so that he could just sense his presence on her even from across the deck.
This Sanji idiot, should have known to keep his hands off a marked omegaâalbeit only scent marked. Only scent marked, in a room that was neutralized to make such things undetectable. He almost wanted to grumble about that, but restrained himself.
She retracts her hand as quick as she can and slides in onto her lap, like she's afraid of whatever else she could do to accidently earn more of his unwanted attention. But for him, the chef has hit his high. The cook is already sauntering off while whistling, stopping only to meet another female customer with the same enthusiasm. He, none the wiser of her discomfort, or of the murderous thoughts going through Zoro's head because of it.
"Damn, letch." Usopp mutters.
Zoro immediately agrees, and they both cross their arms.
"This milk tea is really good though." Luffy comments, having been uncharacteristically quiet through the whole exchange. Really, Luffy looked thoughtful which was never a good sign. And Zoro had a distant feeling that whatever Luffy was thinking about, he was not going to like it...
When the chef was well and gone, Owleyes pushed her full glass towards Zoro, who takes it without comment and downs it all in one swig. It's good wine, he'll admit it, even if he can't stand that chef guy. And he turns his ire to Nami who looks smugly at their bill and how much it's been cut down.
"You are a real witch woman, aren't you?" He accused her.
Nami just giggled, and sent a smile his way, "You fellas better watch out too. And you!" She directed a pointed look (y/n)'s way, "You need learn how to take advantage of the inborn benefits of being a woman!"
"Do I really?" She mutters back.
"Yes! And you're doubly lucky. If I was an omega, do you know what I would do?" Nami laughed then, a worrying kind of tricky cackle. "Don't worry, I'll teach you a thing or two. Girls have to stick together, right?"
"As you say, Ms. Nami."
Zoro bites his cheek. It wasn't his place to say anything one way or another about how someone else lived their life.Â
X...X...X
A/N: This story will not feature any Sanji x Zoro, I'm sorry, but I think their rivalry dynamic is a lot of fun. Hope you enjoyed!
Progress on finishing the next book is a little slower than I like (I have too many projects and I love them all). But I'm over the hump of 3/4 of the way done, which I feel really good about. It's roughly 45 chapters, with some chunkier chapters towards the end, lol. Mainly I'm about to hit the battle rush, and I really enjoy writing action so I'm excited!!! I still have a few weeks on my self imposed deadline, but just wanted to update anyone curious.
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