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taizi · 2 months

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all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

wild heart au

read on ao3

Sanji has known Sabo for much less than a month, but he’s already become one of the very last people on earth that Sanji could imagine crying. He’s too big for that, too tough—the kind of boy Sanji’s brothers would admire, probably, one who isn’t afraid to dig in with his heels and fight dirty and use his teeth to win. Nothing like the weak-willed, tender-hearted, soft-skinned failure of the Germas.

But Sabo’s eyes are red and puffy, for the split second Sanji gets a glimpse of them, and it’s shocking. The older boy turns his back on the rest of them, crouching by the fire and prodding it viciously with a stick. Ace, who saw where Sanji’s gaze got stuck, folds his face into an impressive scowl.

“Don’t ask,” he says, in a tone that implies it is not a suggestion.

“I won’t,” Sanji says quickly, hands clutching on the strap of his bag anxiously. Ace clocks it with a flick of his dark eyes and scoffs, but before Sanji can decide how he feels about it one way or another, Luffy’s arm stretches past him to give Ace a solid shove.

“We can only have one sad brother at a time!” Luffy declares. It seems like he can’t decide if he should whisper or shout, but Sanji secretly doesn’t think Luffy would know how to keep his voice down if someone held a gun to his head, so the result is a normal talking voice in a weird pitch. “Don’t make Sanji feel bad, too, or I’ll hit you!”

“You wanna die?” Ace grumps back, bearing his teeth like one of the animals they hunt for dinner, but he capitulates surprisingly easily. Sabo’s mood seems to have knocked him off-kilter. That’s probably why he doesn’t argue the brother comment.

Sanji is pretty sure the older boys don’t like him very much, but Luffy makes up for it. Luffy isn’t quiet or shy about the things he hates or the things he likes, and Sanji would have to be deaf and blind to miss how much Luffy likes him.

It makes him willing to put up with Ace and Sabo’s bad attitudes—willing to spend his free time climbing a mountain, picking his way carefully to the edge of the dense, looming rainforest, and cook meals for a group that is two-thirds suspicious and ungrateful—because then he’ll get to see Luffy’s big, silly smile.

Sanji is quickly learning that he would do almost anything to see that.

“His family is stupid,” Luffy pipes up. “They have all these weird ideas that Sabo should be like them , even though he’s already like somebody—he’s like Sabo. And they do mean things when he doesn’t pretend the way they want him to—today they forgot his birthday on purpose.”

He’s not being quiet enough; Sanji can see Sabo hearing every word. But Ace doesn’t shut him up, and Sanji can guess why. The tension in Sabo’s shoulders is unwinding, until he doesn’t look so much like a creature curled up to defend itself against a kick. Suddenly he’s just Luffy’s smart-aleck big brother again, who’s sitting slouched by the fire because he’s a little tired, or a little sad. And he’s listening to the inane ramblings of a scrawny seven-year-old boy as if they mean something very important to him.

Luffy lifts his hand to cup the side of his mouth, inviting Sanji in on a secret, because he still thinks he’s being sneaky. Sanji feels a burst of fondness in his chest that he can’t help, like his insides are nestled in a warm stove, and leans in agreeably.

“I don’t know why anybody who was lucky enough to have a Sabo would want him to be anything but Sabo. Sabo’s the best! Don’t tell Ace, though.”

Ace’s hackles go up. He doesn’t actually have porcupine quills but he might as well since he bristles just like one and makes it painful for anybody who sticks their hand too close to him. But then Sabo makes a smothered sound, shoulders shaking with laughter that he’s trying to keep behind his hand, and it defangs Ace instantly.

He still calls Luffy a brat and cuffs him on the head as he walks by. It’s gentle by their standards, and Luffy’s skull just bounces with the motion like a volleyball, but Sanji pats him gently in the same spot just to be sure.

Luffy reaches up to cling to his hand and beams up at him, this little pocket-sized star.

“What are you going to cook for us today?” he asks enthusiastically, and the mention of food has his brothers looking over, too. Sabo is still a little pale and quiet, but his icy blue eyes aren’t flinching away from the rest of them anymore.

Sanji can’t help but think about it, though, when he’s lying awake in his bunk on The Orbit later that night. And he thinks about it when he gets up and makes his way down into the kitchen. There is usually still one or two people milling about even at this hour, and the baker gives him permission to use the oven as long as he promises to clean up after himself, and that’s how, at something like two o’clock in the morning, Sanji finds himself looking at a birthday cake that got away from him.

It’s three tiers, the sponge infused with pineapple, with a spread of filling between each layer that’s as thick and tart as a jam, and the whole of it is covered evenly in white buttercream frosting with a fluffy blue border piped around the top and bottom. He doesn’t add any extra embellishments, because he’s certain the boy it’s for won’t appreciate it, but he wants Sabo to know it’s for him and not something extra Sanji just took off a shelf. So he pipes that signature crossed-out S on the top and then boxes the whole thing up and sticks it in the fridge before he can second-guess himself anymore.

The next morning, after a few fitful hours of sleep, he drops the cake off at the Party Bar, red-faced and embarrassed. The owner of the bar is a kind woman Luffy took Sanji to meet once in his chaotic, haphazard way that feels more like he’s just showing off his favorite things than introducing people. Makino seems to be the brothers’ point of contact for things like fresh milk and shoes without holes, and takes their rude comings and goings with the patience of a saint.

She looks a little confused to have a big pastry box shoved into her hands by a relative stranger, but kindly promises to pass it along when Sanji is able to mumble out who it’s for, and at that point Sanji bolts out the door.

He almost gets away with it. Maybe. He probably should have just stayed on the ship all day if he really wanted to hide, but his seniors on the staff are still adamant about keeping him away from the clientele for his own safety.

So he’s crouched by the tidepools, watching colorful, spiny creatures living without a clue or a care how big the world is outside their tiny little place in it, when he’s tackled to the ground.

Sanji gets a mouthful of sand and coughs and hacks and yells without looking, “Luffy!” Because there’s only one insane rubber boy who would rocket himself across the beach in an affectionate full-body slam for no other reason than to get to his hug faster.

“You made Sabo a cake!” he shouts, like he’s trying to let the whole island know about it. “He won’t say it, but thank you, thank you! We ate the whole thing!”

When Sanji is finally able to squint his eyes open, past the grit on his face and the sun pointing down on top of him, he’s able to make out Luffy’s blond brother standing over them. Sabo’s staring down at Sanji like he’s never seen anyone like him before. He doesn’t look unhappy or annoyed, he looks like he hasn’t decided how to look at him at all.

Sanji shoves at Luffy until he gets the hint and lets him up. Only he gets the hint in his overly-enthusiastic Luffy way, and hauls Sanji to his feet with gusto, both his hands wrapped tight around one of Sanji’s arms. He’s very quick to grab onto people. Sanji isn’t sure he knows the first thing about how to let go.

“Why?” Sabo demands.

Because Sanji used to get birthday cake. He remembers being very little, lifted up into mama’s warm arms when she was still strong enough to lift him. He remembers the fragrant smell of her hair as she cuddled him close and carried him over to a beautiful little dessert.

“Make a wish,” she would tell him. “Keep it a secret so it comes true.”

Sanji is grown up now and knows those things are for children. And he knows that Sabo is so much stronger than Sanji is, and braver, and rebels against his family right to their faces in a way that Sanji would never, ever be brave enough to copy even if he lived for a million years. Sabo almost definitely doesn’t miss birthday cakes, of all things.

But Sanji remembers how loved he felt when mama held him up to blow out the candles. The absence of that feeling carved a hole inside him that never went away. He isn’t anyone important to Sabo, but he’s someone who can give him a cake.

He doesn’t know how to say any of that. All he says, more to the scars on his hands than to anyone else, is, “My family was mean, too.”

For a brief moment, neither of the brothers say anything. Then two skinny arms latch themselves around his waist—wrapping twice, then three times more than human arms are capable of. Luffy’s frowning up at him with that petulant expression he wears when he’s been wronged.

But Sabo is the one who says, “Take me to them someday and I’ll beat them up.”

Sanji’s knee-jerk reaction is one of anxiety. “No, um, that’s okay. My brothers are really strong. And my dad is really scary.”

“I’ll be stronger and scarier,” Sabo announces unremarkably, folding his arms. “And I’ll have Ace,” he adds, like that’s his trump card. It’s not a bad trump card. Fighting Ace is like fighting a force of nature, or a rabid coyote. Most sensible people turn and run.

“And me!” Luffy announces.

“You aren’t going anywhere near my dad,” Sanji is quick to shoot him down, heart racing just thinking about Judge putting his hands on sunny, smiling Luffy. He would—he doesn’t know what he would do. But he would do something. He would go crazy.

Luffy swells like an offended little toad, with probably plenty to say at being left out of this make-believe conflict that’s never actually going to happen in real life.

Before he can burst with whatever silliness he’s got to say, Sanji cuts in with, “So you liked the pineapple filling in the cake?”

It cuts the wind right out of Luffy’s sails. Food always distracts him. He blinks a few times, absorbing the question, then says, “Yes! It was the best cake I’ve ever had! Ace said so, too!”

Sabo looks like he’s decided how he wants to look at Sanji now. It’s the way Luffy’s brothers both look at him. It’s the way people watch stupid puppies too clumsy for their big ideas tumble enthusiastically into trouble—funny for a few seconds, and then it’s your responsibility to pick them up and put them back on their feet, and they’re lucky they’re worth all the trouble.

Sabo looks like he’s decided Sanji is worth the trouble.

#one piece #opfic #black leg sanji #revolutionary sabo #monkey d luffy #my writing #op #asl bros #wild heart

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bcbdrums · 29 days

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A Touch of Warmth

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

Sixth in my series of 31 prompt-based one-shots (filling them out of order; this is prompt 5). Prompts from this list.

A/N: More of the academy days for my faves, but super early this time. I wanna say...maybe just a few months of partnership here. And living in cheap academy dorms haha. Imagine a sad college dorm room I guess. Stein is only 10 years old and Spirit is 13. Long, long, rambly stream of consciousness relationship stuff that I wrote like...in the first week of December. And then didn't finish until just now (late March) and there was only a little bit left to go. Oops. Wonder how much that gap impacted the story/writing style... If you like long rambly things that don't really have a point, well, here you go. Enjoy. 5. Puzzling

A Touch of Warmth

An icy chill like breath across his cheeks was what roused Spirit from sleep. He shivered and then blinked twice before tightly closing his eyes again. Even the air was cold, assaulting the tender moisture beneath his lashes like the slap of cold water.

After taking another moment to realize he was awake and not dreaming, he fully processed the freezing sensation as one he should not be feeling on a desert morning. He clutched his blanket close to his chest and sat up in bed, squinting. White was what overwhelmed his blurred vision, and he snaked an arm out of his warm cocoon and felt almost blindly along the windowsill until his fingers met something very cold and wet.

He gasped and drew back, blinking until his sight clarified to reveal what it was he had touched.

Gathered on the sill near the open window were a line of melting snowflakes.

Spirit's jaw fell slack as he reached out to touch a cluster again, watching it turn to water rapidly even as it cooled his fingertips. But when he looked up and out the window his eyes went wide.

Where there should have been dirt, stone, and dried grasses in the backyard of the dormitory there was only white, and the sky was gray as snow fell in lace-like curtains, thick and silent, covering the landscape as far as the eye could see.

It was several moments of staring, captivated by the scene and breathing the icy air, before Spirit reached out to slide the window closed. And then he spun around to face the bed of his roommate.

"Hey Stein, wake—"

Spirit blinked. His very young meister was not in his bed.

The red-haired teen took stock of their tiny dorm room quickly, noting the boy's blankets uncharacteristically tossed back and his pair of shoes sitting neatly next to his desk. It appeared as though Stein had gotten under his bed at some point, because the corner of a box was sticking out near where the blankets were carelessly draped down to the floor. Then Spirit noticed the door to the hallway was ajar.

"Stein?" he said again as he glanced once more around their small room. The boy was definitely not there.

Spirit threw his own blankets aside and hurriedly dressed, selecting warmer clothing than he would ever choose for a day in Death City but something he was more likely to wear on an extracurricular assignment far further north. He gaze was continually drawn to the astonishing view through the window as he fumbled with a pair of boots, still not quite believing that a seeming winter had arrived in the middle of Nevada.

He had experienced snow a couple of times in his life, but never at leisure, and nothing at all like what he was seeing outside as it seemed to be sticking to sand and stone, transforming the barren landscape to one of wonder and quiet mystery.

"Stein?" Spirit asked again, peering down the hallway after pulling the door open. The dormitory was dark and silent.

Spirit's brow furrowed as he turned toward the bathroom that all the students in his wing shared, wondering if that was where the boy had gone. His meister operated like clockwork, and it was the startling deviation from the norm that had Spirit perplexed and was driving him to find his partner almost as much as the desire to share his newfound excitement at the change in the weather.

Most of the students in their building had gone home for the holidays, but both Stein and Spirit had declined that privilege, neither offering any explanation to the other. And Spirit was glad for his decision, knowing the snow wasn't anything he would have seen otherwise.

"Stein?" he whispered, peering into the darkened bathroom but already fairly certain of what he would find. Every stall door was open, the showers and sinks were silent, and the lights were off.

Spirit stuck his lip out in annoyance at the same time his brow furrowed in worry. He'd wanted to enjoy the experience of the fresh falling snow with his meister. But as Spirit turned to walk toward the front door concern began to overtake his initial elation. Just where was the boy?

It wasn't that he didn't think Stein couldn't handle himself; the few combat training classes they'd already had proved that he could. But the meister was just so young, and he looked it. Spirit was barely thirteen and this was the first time he'd been on his own, but in the few months they'd been roommates he could tell that the silver-haired ten-year-old was already accustomed to fending for himself.

Spirit had no background on his meister, and the boy was distant without being blatantly rude. He seemed to genuinely not know how to interact with their peers along with something else Spirit couldn't yet place. But the teen was patient, and Lord Death had specifically chosen Stein to be his meister. That alone was worth everything.

He pushed through the front door of the dormitory and a biting chill rushed in along with a few flurries of snow. Spirit grinned, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he closed his eyes and took in the feel of the ice hitting his face like unforeseen kisses, softly leaving their mark before vanishing and stirring his thoughts toward the ethereal and imaginative. There was a promise of something new in the snowfall, and Spirit wanted to take advantage of every moment of it.

He stepped fully through the door and into the wall of white, his boots almost soundless as they pushed through the drift that had already built up in the uncovered entryway. And that’s when he saw the single point of color: a telltale shock of silver hair.

Next to one of the benches that lined the sidewalk to the dorms knelt Franken Stein. Snow had collected in a thin layer atop his head, shoulders, and the backs of his legs, though one could hardly tell for the plain white pajamas he wore, causing the boy to be almost invisible in the newly whited-out landscape. He was bent over some small mechanical device placed on the bench, his concentration so full that he didn’t notice when Spirit closed the door. Another point of color were the pale soles of his feet; he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Stein?” Spirit asked in surprise, hurrying forward. His delight at the weather had wholly evaporated at the sight of his young meister barely clothed out in the cold. “What are you doing?”

The boy didn’t reply, but scowled at whatever it was he was looking at. He reached for the device and Spirit recognized a microscope as he approached. Stein had picked up a small glass slide, and Spirit watched as he leaned back from the bench to slowly wipe it on the hem of his shirt, and then hold it out to catch a few falling snowflakes. His hands shook as he replaced it under the lens and quickly leaned down again, turning the focus knob to bring his subjects into clarity. As Spirit finally stopped next to the bench he could see it wasn't just Stein's hands, but his entire frame shaking from head to toe, and his usually colorless lips were a frightening shade of blue.

“Stein!” Spirit cried in protest, his voice rising in pitch.

“Don’t breathe.”

Spirit blinked, the harsh but monotone directive confusing his train of thought.

“What?” he asked, but held his breath nonetheless.

“They melt too fast if you breathe.”

Spirit rapidly went through the arguments in his head that he wasn't even near the snowflakes on the slide, and that Stein himself was so cold now that he'd be surprised if he had any warmth left in his lungs. But none of those words came out as somehow, as always, he was drawn like a magnet to his meister's side and knelt down, curiosity rising in him despite the chill beginning to penetrate his coat.

"What are you looking at?"

"The structure of the snowflakes."

Spirit looked at the cluster of white that had in fact already begun to melt on the slide under the lens, and then back to his meister, his face hidden as he stared down through the microscope.

"So far they are perfectly symmetrical and each one has six branches, but no two are alike. The probability of two being the same eventually is strong, but..."

Stein stopped suddenly, and Spirit watched the meister move his hand away from the focusing knob, place it between his thighs where his left hand was already hidden.

Spirit frowned.

"Get up."

"What?"

Stein was still peering into the microscope.

"Get up or I'm picking you up."

That got the meister's attention. His eyes snapped to Spirit's, confusion overlaid by defiance and something else hard and threatening. It had only been three months, but it had taken less than a day of acquaintance for Spirit to learn that the boy would not tolerate being touched without express permission.

"You can't do this like this," Spirit continued. "You're going to freeze to death."

Stein's expression didn't change.

"If you want to be helpful you could get me a notebook to record my findings. You don't have a camera, do you?"

Each word was spoken through trembling blue lips, and Spirit noticed that the rest of the boy's unnaturally pale skin was rapidly changing hue. His heart began racing as he made his decision, not knowing what the ramifications would be but knowing that he had no choice.

Stein didn't speak when Spirit stood, but when the weapon's gloved hands came down under the meister's armpits he jerked away with a strength Spirit wouldn't have thought him capable.

"Don't touch me!" was the protest that sounded before the boy began fighting back, pushing and beating against Spirit's shoulders, but the weapon was determined.

It was a battle of hands and arms and legs and feet as he half-fought, half-dragged Stein back into the dormitory hall, tuning out every word of protest that was laid against him with each step. He only finally paid attention again when Stein managed to free one arm just inside the door and landed a glancing blow against Spirit's cheek.

He shuddered in response, not letting go but halting the movement of his feet. The hit may not have fully connected, but it was still hard and for a moment the world was spinning and Spirit's only point of focus were his hurried breaths and the heavier panting of the younger boy upon whom he still had an iron grip.

When his eyes refocused on Stein's face the meister appeared shocked—quite the change from his typically guarded expression—but his skin was still unnaturally blue, and there was something off about his eyes even past the unusual expression. It sent a wash of fear through Spirit that rapidly overrode the pain of the punch.

He reached past Stein and kicked the door closed hard.

"Stein. I'm not going to let you die out there because you were too stupid to get dressed before running out to play in the snow."

"I... I wasn't..." Stein began, still breathless and something definitely off about his vision.

Spirit ignored the pulsing of pain in his cheek and while Stein was distracted, he scooped the smaller boy up like he would a toddler and stalked hurriedly down the hall.

"Hey! Stop it!" was Stein's weak protest this time, and Spirit noted he was struggling a lot less than when they'd been pushing through the ankle-deep snow outside.

When he reached the bathroom he all but dropped Stein for how much he was twisting to escape. When the meister's feet hit the tile he slipped on his wet, bare soles and would have hit the floor had Spirit not still had his hands on him. Stein clung to Spirit's arms in surprise, not having expected the backward plunge, and when Spirit had righted them both he finally let go.

He reached back to hit the light switch and Stein flinched away, holding a hand up to cover his eyes as his breaths still came far too heavily for the minimal exertion of the struggle to get indoors. When he finally squinted at Spirit his expression fell to shock again. It finally occurred to the red-head that there was something other than the fact that he'd interrupted Stein's ill-conceived experimenting that had shaken the boy, and he turned around to see his face in the mirror.

Spirit nearly gasped for how utterly terrified he looked. Terrified and furious, perhaps in a way that his young partner had never seen another person look before, if the way it froze the boy in place was any indication.

Spirit knew he needed to calm down, calm his expression and be reasonable so he could explain to his meister just how dangerous his actions had been. But as he turned back to face the boy he only felt the anger swell to a greater presence in his soul.

Stein's clothes were nearly soaked through, the white of the pajamas turned gray from moisture and his hair darker for it. The color of his skin was wrong. He was visibly shaking from head to toe, and his vision was hazy and seeming unable to really see Spirit even though his eyes hadn't left the red-head since the moment he'd let him go.

Spirit opened his mouth to speak, but the movement of his jaw caused his cheek to sting where Stein had punched him. He hissed and reached his fingers up to the spot before jabbing his other arm past Stein to point, the motion causing the boy to jump.

"Get in there," he commanded coolly, his voice low and laced with threat. "Get under some hot water and sit down. I'm going to get you some dry clothes."

Stein's expression of shock remained, the boy still frozen by the look on Spirit's face. They remained unmoving for several moments, but when the meister's breaths began to even out he finally turned toward the showers to comply with the weapon's words.

It wasn't until Stein had fully obeyed, letting the shower run until the water was warm and then stepping under the stream and sitting down to lean against the tiled wall, that Spirit finally turned to go.

He let his anger carry his feet briskly back toward their shared bedroom, blindly going through the motions once there of making Stein's bed, dragging the only spare blanket from the closet to place atop it, and then yanking his own bedding free to add on top of that. Horrible scenarios were racing through his head of what he might have found out in the snow instead of his insatiably curious young meister studying the patterns of snowflakes had he slept in a little later, or decided to enjoy the surprise of the weather from the comfort of his bed.

Spirit stopped abruptly from where he'd been casting off his winter outerwear and blinked at nothing as the realization struck.

Stein had been looking at snowflakes.

The fear crashed fully over Spirit's anger, obliterating it as the teen sat down on the floor and began to cry. He could have lost his meister, might still lose him, because the boy had been just as excited about the snow as he was.

If he hadn't immediately gone outside to play...

Spirit didn't know how long he cried, but the sudden realization that he could still lose Stein drove him back to the present. He didn't know anything about frostbite or hypothermia or any other manner of freezing-induced ailments. They were all alone in the dorm and he had no one to call for help since everyone had left for the holidays. And just how long had he left Stein alone in the shower with his vision hazy and his pallor looking near death?

Spirit stood so fast it made him dizzy, made his cheek throb where he'd been hit, and he rummaged through Stein's drawers until he finally found the boy's thicker socks for winter assignments along with underwear and more pajamas. As an afterthought he grabbed his own thick bathrobe and then both of their towels before turning to run back down the hall.

He slowed his step before entering the bathroom, terrified of what he might find. At least he could still hear the shower running, but...was that a good sign? Instead of entering he peered cautiously around the doorjamb.

Stein looked exactly as Spirit had left him, seated against the tile and curled tightly in on himself as the warm water poured over him. His arms were folded atop his raised knees and his hands were tight in fists, and his face was hidden where it lie on his arms. Spirit licked his lips and took a cautious step forward, and then another. There was no reaction from the meister.

Spirit paused, took in a silent breath...and then he flicked his eyes sideways to the mirror. He didn't look angry anymore, although he could still see it rise behind his eyes the moment he thought about it. No, now he looked every bit as scared as he felt, perhaps even more than when he'd drug Stein back indoors, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying.

Any other time Spirit would have been annoyed by his transparency, but since it had seemingly helped to get his meister to comply he decided he didn't care.

He turned back toward the small, gray form in the shower, felt his heart rate quicken as he mustered the courage to speak.

"Stein?"

Stein lifted his head.

The relief Spirit felt was enough to make his knees go weak, and he leaned on the counter to steady himself as he set the clothing down and draped the two towels over his arm. He sucked in a few breaths, looked up to the mirror again and saw a brightness fitting itself behind the fear in his eyes, and he grimaced before turning to approach the meister.

"You, uh... You ready to come out of there?"

Stein didn't respond, only watched Spirit's approach, watched him stop about five feet distant, his expression having returned to its usual dull, esoteric impassivity. And as his eyes locked on Spirit's the red-head thought he looked even more withdrawn than before. But, blessedly, perhaps less hazy.

He didn't know if staying under the warm water longer would be better or worse for Stein's recovery, but his own anxiety couldn't stand the inaction. He pursed his lips and stepped forward, reaching around the stream to turn the water off.

Stein slowly began pushing himself upright, his eyes not having left Spirit's face even to blink.

"Uh...here," Spirit said, holding out the two towels. After a moment, Stein slowly reached across the distance to receive them. "There's clothes on the counter, uh..."

Spirit realized he needed to give the meister some privacy to change, and he thought quickly.

"I'll go get you something warm to drink. I'll uh...I'll be right back."

Spirit turned and hurried out of the bathroom as quickly as he could, making long strides down the hallway.

The tiny kitchen that could hardly be called such was at the other end of the building, and Spirit didn't want the meister out of his sight for any longer than was necessary just in case there was some delayed danger to whatever cold-induced condition he'd brought upon himself.

As Spirit passed the main entry he took careful steps to avoid the melted snow that had found its way inside from the struggle through the doorway, and then something occurred to him that halted his rush.

He turned and dashed back out into the icy air, his breath catching instantly as cold assaulted his body. He grimaced at the irony that it was now he who was under-dressed and risking himself in the elements, but he picked his way through the piling snow to the bench where the microscope was gathering a larger collection of specimens than it was designed for. Spirit tucked the freezing object safely against his chest and hurried back inside to be free of the snow falling into his face and the chill already seeming to seep into his bones.

He didn't hesitate but to close the door behind him, and then took the microscope the rest of the way down the hall and into the small kitchen.

Inside the narrow room he quickly opened the freezer and considered a moment before pulling out a few boxes of frozen meals left by other students to make space, and then he carefully placed the heavy instrument inside. He turned the freezer's temperature lower and then quickly closed it, blowing into his hands to warm them as he tried to remember his original purpose, his mind still awash with fear.

The microwave dinners on the counter was what returned his focus, and he quickly filled two mugs with water and set them to heat as he considered the beverage options. It took less than ten seconds to decide on tea, considering he didn't even know if there was hot cocoa mix around and he still really didn't want Stein out of his sight any longer than necessary.

Another thought occurred to him as he watched the microwave's timer tick down, and he turned and ran silently on his toes back to the bedroom. Once inside he didn't even look before diving for the box sticking out from beneath Stein's bed, and sure enough it was the box the microscope had been housed in. He carefully removed every delicate glass slide that remained tucked in the Styrofoam, and then cradling them gently, he ran back to the kitchen.

Once there he opened the freezer and carefully brushed a few snow clusters from the microscope onto each slide, including the one still beneath the lens which he removed. He brushed the remaining snow off the instrument into the freezer, and then carefully lifted the heavy device out.

He was methodically drying it with a dish towel as the microwave sounded completion, which he ignored in favor of caring for the delicate equipment. He didn't know for sure that moisture would damage it, but it seemed a fair guess, and he went at its crevices carefully with paper towels until the microwave beeped a second time.

He realized with a jolt that he had left Stein alone for well over five minutes now between all he'd been occupied with, and he hurriedly grabbed the mugs from the microwave and then pocketed a small handful of tea bags and sugar packets from the basket on the counter next to the stove.

He forced himself to keep his pace to a brisk walk this time, mindful of the steaming mugs in his hands. He was so lost in the anxiety of too many what-ifs and the need to hurry, hurry, hurry that he almost bumped into his meister as the younger boy was standing waiting outside their bedroom door, chin dipped low to his chest. Spirit gasped and startled back a step, then hissed as a splash of hot water hit his hand.

The meister had no reaction to Spirit's pain, looking downright sullen in the oversized bathrobe. But Spirit noticed his hands were tucked deeply into the pockets, and his hair was still wet although it showed signs of having been towel-dried.

"Stein..." Spirit breathed, continuing his visual assessment; was he imagining it, or was Stein's skin less blue?

The boy met his eyes through a curtain of damp hair, and Spirit sighed. As ever, his young meister was unreadable, except Spirit knew that somehow, in some measure...Stein was very displeased with him.

"Come on. You're getting into bed."

Spirit carefully gestured with one mug, and he expected to have to put forth an argument, but atypically Stein simply obeyed. Spirit watched for a moment, and then followed the boy a few steps inside the door and pulled it closed with his heel. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his chest began to burn, and he let the air out slowly in hopes of not drawing Stein's attention.

The meister had paused in the center of the room, clearly making note of all the changes and liberties Spirit had taken before he seemed to resign himself to his fate and climb into his bed. But instead of lying down, Stein shifted his pillows up against the wall to sit and face Spirit's bed and the window on the wall between them. Once he was settled with too many blankets piled atop his lap and tucked up to his chest, hands buried deep inside the cocoon he'd made, he drew his knees up and shifted his eyes to settle on the window. Spirit didn't need to look to know it was still heavily snowing, and his breath hitched again when Stein slowly dragged his dull gaze back to him.

Spirit covered the gesture with a slight cough and then stepped forward to set the mugs on Stein's desk.

"Do you like sugar in your tea? And uh..." He pulled his small hoard from his pocket, some of the packets falling to the floor in the process. "I grabbed... Earl Grey, chamomile, mint, peach oolong... What's oolong..."

"Mint," Stein replied quietly, and Spirit realized it was the first word his partner had spoken since he'd deposited him unhappily in the dorm's bathroom.

"Sugar?" Spirit asked, after putting the tea bag into one mug.

"No, thank you."

The meister's voice was somehow more void of inflection than usual, and Spirit felt his stomach twist in unease as he ripped into one of the packets of sugar for his own mug and poured it in. He realized he'd forgotten to grab any stirring sticks and stepped back to his own desk to procure a pen to use as a substitute. He had decided on the peach oolong, the only other flavor appealing to him being the mint, but apparently he'd given the sole bag to Stein.

When he stepped nearer the meister's bed to hand him the tea, it was a moment before Stein moved to extricate his hands from the blanket-nest he seemed to be burrowing deeper within. His fingers brushed against Spirit's when he wrapped them around the mug's handle and the distinct chill the weapon felt at the contact set his heart racing in fear again. Stein had been under a hot stream of water for at least fifteen minutes if not longer, but he was still cold. Should Spirit have let him stay there longer? Was that even the right thing to do?

Spirit felt his head begin to ache and he rubbed his brow, feeling the pinch of his skin where it twisted in worry. He absently stirred the sugar into his mug with the back of the pen and tried to push his feet out of his boots. The laces were too tight however, and the result was him stumbling against his mostly-stripped bed and barely preventing the tea from spilling as he lost his balance entirely, his knees hitting the floor hard.

He cursed under his breath and then bit his lip in regret. His young meister had likely never heard such foul language, and he shouldn't be the one to introduce him to it.

He set his tea on the windowsill and then reached down to loosen his bootlaces just enough to tug them off, and then pushed himself back on his bed against the wall in a mirror of Stein's pose. The room was still chilled from the window having been open all night, and he shivered despite himself as he drew his knees up high to his chest, tucking his hands under his rear for warmth.

It was only after another shiver that he let his gaze travel across the room to meet his meister's eyes. The boy looked slightly more curious than he had before, but overall he still appeared more detached than the weapon was used to seeing. What Spirit didn't know and wished he did was whether it was just from the upset at his pulling him away from his fun, or if it meant the fun had already had a dire consequence.

"Uh..." Spirit said, feeling suddenly very awkward. Stein lifted his head slightly, sipped from the tea, but his expression didn't change. "Are you, uh... How are you feeling?"

Stein stared at him blankly, and while Spirit thought three months had gotten him used to how unfeeling the meister seemed from his countenance, he realized that it only counted in a predictable context. In class or on a mission, Spirit was learning what to expect. But Stein was about as antisocial as anyone he'd ever met, and it suddenly pressed against his mind just how little he really knew about the boy he lived and partnered with.

"Cold," Stein finally said, so quiet Spirit almost didn't hear.

He looked at just how very small Stein looked wearing the large bathrobe, bundled as deeply into the blankets as he could get while still upright. His hair was looking less wet but still a darker shade of gray than its usual mystifying silver. When he lifted the mug to take another sip of tea, Spirit noted how small the meister's hands were as they clutched tightly to the cup for the extra heat.

He tried not to think of Stein as a child. He hardly thought of himself as more than that, when he was honest with himself. But between the two he was the far elder and more experienced, and as the weapon it was his responsibility to protect his meister. Even from himself.

Spirit glanced away and out at the snow falling less in thick curtains now and more just in scattered flakes, still dense but allowing a view toward the other dormitory buildings before the scene faded into a white haze beyond which he knew the rest of Death City rose up above the sand. But for the moment it was as if the tiny bedroom existed separate from the rest of the world, and Spirit and Stein the only two people in it.

"Have you, ah...ever seen snow before?" Spirit continued, fishing for conversation.

Stein looked up past the rim of the mug again, seeming to analyze Spirit with every question, and then shook his head no.

Spirit swallowed under the scrutiny, and continued. "I've seen it a couple of other times, but...nothing like this."

The red-head shivered again and watched the way the flakes fell, most tiny and notably slower than rain, but others in large clumps that hurried past their smaller companions. It was captivating, and when he turned back to Stein the boy had resumed looking out the window.

"I had hoped we would see it on the assignment to Alaska, but...then that got canceled," Spirit said, dropping his gaze to the gray of his jeans.

There was still only silence in response, and this time Spirit let it linger, only briefly lifting his eyes a couple of times to find Stein still watching the display through the window. The curiosity in the boy's eyes had turned to something deeper; there was a longing now, and endless questions racing somewhere behind the brilliant, green eyes.

Spirit's gaze snapped up to focus as he realized with a flood of relief that the clarity was returning to Stein's vision. It had to be a sign, he hoped, that the surprise winter wasn't going to steal the life of his young meister after all.

The red-head looked at the window again and sniffed once, his nose starting to run due to the cold air in the room. The wonder and beauty of the snowfall began to fade as he considered again the terrifying possibilities of what could have happened. Suddenly the soft, white landscape seemed just as barren as the desert sands.

And yet...

"I'm sorry."

When he looked away from the window Stein was watching him, his brow risen in slight surprise. Spirit dropped his gaze as he shivered, moving his arms to wrap around himself and tuck his fingers under his armpits. He focused on the lines of denim across his knees as his eyes burned with the threat of tears, hoping that in saving his young meister he hadn't irreparably damaged their relationship when it had hardly started.

It was true they had been able to resonate practically immediately upon partnering, surprising everyone except Lord Death. But Spirit knew that the road ahead of them would require far more from them both than the superficial connection they had made so far. And in dealing so harshly with the boy, he could have undone their three months together and hurt the chances for their future.

"I'm not sorry for saving you, Stein. I was just so scared, and... Your face was all..." He gestured briefly to the still-unhealthy hue to the boy's skin. "But I... I probably could have...done that differently... And, you're not stupid. I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

He didn't look up, only pressed further back against the wall and tucked one set of toes under the other in search for warmth as he became more aware of the chill to the room. He suddenly realized that since all of the students had been expected to go home, the heating had likely been shut off to the dormitory. That, in addition to his window having been open all night to the unexpected winter weather, explained the bitter chill he was feeling in the usually comfortable room. It wouldn't reach dangerous temperatures, but it was still a bit much for the simple jeans and t-shirt Spirit had hurried into after waking.

Stein didn't reply, and Spirit sniffled again, grateful the cold air at least gave him an excuse as he fought back tears. His mind began racing with a whole new set of horrible fears. What if Stein decided he didn't want to be his partner after this?

"You didn't need to give me your blankets and pillows."

Spirit sniffled again and looked up. Stein was watching him and the weapon studied his blue-gray pallor, the rising brightness in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat as concerns of illness rose and shook his head.

"You need them more than me."

Spirit had no sooner rested his cheek—the uninjured one—on his knee, than he heard faint slurping across the room. He raised his head again to see Stein tilting the mug all the way back and finishing the tea, after which he settled his head back against the wall, continuing to clutch the now-empty mug. He shivered.

Spirit frowned and considered offering to microwave another mug, and then looked at his own forgotten tea on the windowsill. Steam was still rising from the liquid.

He slowly uncurled himself from against the wall, feeling the little warmth he had gathered seep away in seconds as he slid his feet back to the floor and picked up the mug.

"Here, I didn't drink any," he said when he offered it, Stein's brow rising, and then, "...Oh."

He pulled out the pen he'd used to stir the sugar in and frowned, making a mental note for the future that Stein preferred his tea without the sweetener. After a moment the boy reached out with a shaking hand and they exchanged mugs. Spirit set the used one on Stein's desk with the pen inside before turning back toward his bed.

"You can sit here."

Spirit stopped and looked at the meister, blinking in confusion as he failed to process the words.

"What?"

There was silence for a moment, the weapon watching the meister's small hands clutching tightly to the cup for the warmth it provided as he sipped the steaming liquid. Then the green-eyed gaze rose again.

"You can sit here, too."

Spirit's mind slowly pieced the meaning of the words together, his brow rising in surprise as he considered. It wasn't the sort of offer he would have expected from the meister in any typical situation, and especially not after he'd manhandled him indoors and ordered him around. But he was growing too cold too fast to find any reason to protest, and after a moment he climbed onto the bed and pulled the blankets back to tuck himself in next to Stein, his back against the wall and a few inches of space between them.

Stein tugged one of the pillows from behind him and pushed it toward the weapon, and Spirit gratefully shoved it behind his back, his spine instantly feeling the relief. He adjusted the blankets perhaps more than was necessary, making sure Stein still had enough to bury as deeply beneath them as he wanted, but grateful for the added warmth immediately.

The view out the window wasn't nearly as good as it was from his own bed, but at least Stein had the better position to continue watching the snowfall. He peripherally observed the meister take another tentative sip of the tea, purse his lips at the taste, and then balance the mug on his knees, both hands still wrapped tightly around it.

Spirit sighed lightly. If nothing else, at least it would help keep Stein's hands warm.

"Thanks," Spirit said quietly, suddenly finding he couldn't meet the meister's eyes. After the way he'd treated him, Stein's kindness was startling, and he wasn't sure how to respond other than accept the offered protection from the cold and continue to hope the younger boy would be all right.

"My microscope cost almost three hundred dollars."

Spirit was startled by the non sequitur and turned to look at the meister. The boy's eyes, definitely no longer glazed, were hardened in the way they looked when they were in class and he was frustrated by something their professor was saying. Spirit swallowed nervously just before words bubbled out of him faster than his brain could keep up.

"I was very careful, I promise! I didn't touch the lenses and I got every crevice. I even went over it twice to make sure it was dry!"

Stein had turned to look at him during the rush of words, and it took Spirit a moment to realize his expression had changed. The hardness had left his eyes, his usual aloofness now the dominant expression, but there was question and curiosity and surprise hidden beneath it. The boy's lips were parted, his jaw ever so slightly slack as he stared unblinking back at Spirit. The intensity of it startled Spirit so much that his words stopped for a moment before he licked his dry lips and fumbled for something else to say.

"And I...I put snow on each slide for you to look at later. They're in the freezer, I turned it down so they shouldn't melt. Sorry I... I should have asked before touching your things. I'm sorry."

Spirit licked his lips again and looked down. He should apologize for going through Stein's clothing too, he knew, but he was suddenly feeling very self-conscious and like he was the one under the lens of a microscope as Stein continued staring at him.

He thought the three months had gone well, all things considered. He wasn't used to being around someone as stoic as the partner he'd been assigned, but he had been trying very hard to learn what made the boy tick and how to be the best partner he could, responding to the meister's quirks and for the most part simply staying out of his way since privacy was what Stein seemed to value most. And Spirit had violated that repeatedly that morning.

He suddenly felt a yawn coming and restrained the action with effort. As his heart raced with the excess of nerves he glanced over to check the time on Stein's alarm clock on his small nightstand. It was just after eight o'clock. He chewed some of the dry skin from his lower lip and considered how to voice the question pressing against his mind after the embarrassing outburst of moments before.

It turned out he didn't have to, because when he turned back he found Stein had been following his gaze.

"I was outside before seven," Stein offered.

Something was different about his tone, and Spirit shifted his gaze to meet his partner's. Stein's expression had changed again to something the weapon had never seen and didn't know how to interpret. His eyes had lost the hardness almost entirely and seemed to be seeking something. Before Spirit could even try to figure it out, Stein surprised him again by handing him the mug of tea. He took a sip and then immediately a larger swallow as the liquid coated his throat, soothing some of the strain he hadn't realized was there as he continued worrying.

When he returned the cup to let Stein keep using it to warm his hands, his fingers brushed against the meister's cooler ones. He frowned at the contact and looked away, his gaze flitting between the window and the clock as he worried.

He wanted to believe that Stein would be fine. But he'd been out in the snow for over an hour and his hands were still cold, despite the heat of the shower, despite having been wrapped around the mugs of hot tea for several minutes.

Spirit felt the sting of coming tears again. He bit his cheeks in attempt to fight off the instinct, let his eyes dart over the room in search of some anchor that would help distract him from the fears and anxiety swirling through his soul. But just as he felt his emotions would collapse, Stein surprised him once more.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

Spirit's brow rose. He had nearly forgotten about the glancing punch and lifted his fingers to lightly press to his cheek. The flesh was tender, but it was nothing like the hits he'd taken in their combat classes or on missions. Of course those were different too, having been taken in weapon form.

"It's okay," he answered.

Stein was looking up at him almost like he'd never seen him before. The curiosity in his eyes was different somehow—not the clinical gaze he favored most things with, nor the apathy that came after the boy determined something held no value to him. There seemed to be almost more color to his eyes as they remained locked on the weapon's, and fascinated by the meister appearing so human, Spirit held his gaze.

The fear that had been consuming him changed somehow, under the inquisitive look that Stein had set upon him. The situation no longer felt hopeless or beyond control. In fact, the way his meister was looking at him now, his eyes held perhaps more life than Spirit had ever seen.

"Hey, ah..." he said, his voice quivering suddenly from an emotion he couldn't place. "When you're feeling better, maybe we could have a snowball fight."

Confusion joined the curiosity that Stein had fixed him with.

"...Snowball fight?"

Spirit smiled. "Yeah. You make balls out of the snow, and throw them at each other. For fun. Snowball fight."

Stein finally blinked, once, but didn't break eye contact. The intensity of his gaze was starting to feel unnerving, but Spirit found he couldn't look away. Not when he was so worried. And not after the long months of trying so hard to understand the enigmatic, private boy. Something had finally seemed to spur the beginnings of a mutual connection, and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Or...or maybe build a snowman?" he suggested, realizing suddenly that throwing hard-packed snow at his meister after nearly freezing was probably not a good idea, even if it would be several hours later. "I've always wanted to play in the snow..."

Stein continued to stare at him. He offered the tea to Spirit again, who took it and only sipped from the mug this time, not wanting to steal away the hot liquid that was helping Stein warm his hands. He held the eye contact, and Stein didn't so much as blink even after the mug was handed back.

Spirit began to feel self-conscious under the meister's gaze, though he couldn't determine why. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair and watched Stein's eyes follow the motion, linger on the spot where he'd briefly scratched his head, and then slowly return to his face again.

"O-Or...if you just want to play with your microscope, that's fine too. We don't have to play together, if you don't want to. I was just thinking—"

"Okay."

The train of Spirit's thoughts that had started running out of control was suddenly halted.

"Huh?"

"A snowball fight sounds interesting."

Stein abruptly handed the mug back to Spirit, who blinked and sipped from it obediently; the tea had begun to cool. Stein's eyes finally left Spirit's face, and he buried his hands under the blanket and tucked it up higher to his chin as he turned his gaze toward the window.

Spirit looked back to find that the snow was falling in thick curtains again. If Stein did feel up to going out later, at least there would be no lack of the stuff to play in.

He leaned his head back against the wall, sipped the sweet tea again, and sighed. He felt Stein look up at him, but he kept his gaze on the window. Part of him wanted to fill the space with talk about the few times he'd seen snow in the past, but a wave of tiredness was hitting him rapidly. For once the best choice seemed simply to remain silent. He was sure Stein would appreciate it.

His eyelids began to feel heavy as he stared at the continuous rain of white flakes that left the room feeling small and isolated, and he realized he was no longer focusing on holding the mug. He swallowed down the last of the cooling liquid and then reached to set the mug down on Stein's nightstand. He knew he shouldn't doze off sitting in the meister's bed, especially since he should still be watching him to make sure his health wasn't in jeopardy. But the snowfall was hypnotic, and coupled with the sugar and the rising warmth from the blankets, and probably an adrenaline crash, it was suddenly very hard to keep his eyes open.

"It's pretty."

Spirit blinked and glanced down, surprised to hear the quiet voice. Stein was watching the unusual weather, but then looked up to meet his eyes again. His expression was still curious and seemed more relaxed somehow. The usual, calculating tension was absent from his jaw and forehead, and his green-eyed gaze—brighter now—slowly slid back to the window when Spirit didn't say anything.

Spirit was the one to stare now, noticing that Stein looked less tense overall. Only his head and shoulders were visible above the blankets, but he wasn't holding himself coiled up anymore the way he so often did, like a snake ready to strike. An ease that Spirit wasn't sure he'd ever before seen in the boy had settled over him, and he looked far more his young age as he looked out the window, his thoughts apparently having drifted back to scientific interests rather than being upset with the weapon.

"Yeah," Spirit said.

Stein glanced up briefly, as if expecting more, then returned his gaze to the snowfall. And then, wide-eyed and curious as he appeared staring out at the world of white, he yawned.

Spirit slowly let his head rest against the wall again as he watched his meister, and he smiled.

#soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #franken stein #spirit albarn #CrossStitch #steinspirit #spiritstein #stein x spirit #spirit x stein #stein #spirit #death scythe #they are babies in this one #i love them as babies #cold nights warm hearts #wild heart

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wormdramafever · 5 months

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Goodbye Volcano High among NPR's best video games of 2023!!

An impending meteor is racing toward Pangea, but Fang, a nonbinary anthropomorphic pterodactyl, has more pressing issues. Their best friend is showing more interest in entomology than the band they started as kids. A shy would-be paramour has started sending Fang anonymous texts. And their brother is trying to hold the family together as their parents struggle to connect with Fang. Meanwhile, news of the coming meteor rolls out slowly: It’s met first with a shrug and then with social media memes and despair — not unlike our own experiences with COVID-19 and climate change. The imminent apocalypse amplifies tensions among Fang’s gang of dorky dinosaur friends, all of whom are also dealing with the sudden cancellation of plans and aspirations. But aided by a brilliant dialogue system and Rock Band-style rhythm challenges, Goodbye Volcano High still manages to be wholesome and hopeful, even in the face of potential extinction. — James Mastromarino, NPR Gaming lead and Here & Now producer

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aerial-tal · 2 months

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My drawing of Stevie Nicks! 🌙

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astrangerlately · 7 months

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bleachers x running

bleachers parallels [1] [2] [3]

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cottlecore · 4 months

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youtube

just sent to me by a california friend -- thought of you!

#stevie nicks #wild heart #Youtube

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1995-9 · 3 months

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#1995-9 #aesthetic #life #love #wild heart #places #vintage #grunge #nature #girls

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stevienickswelshwitch · 4 months

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#stevie nicks #shels scans #wild heart #stand back video

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thewildbelladonna · 1 year

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Artwork from Stevie Nicks: Rock’s Mystical Lady by Edward Wincentsen.

#stevie nicks #fleetwood mac #rock’s mystical lady #book #edward wincentsen #artwork #fan art #drawings #wild heart

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taizi · 4 months

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since your on a roll maybe a prompt with little sanji and little luffy. Mostly it be nice to see how fast the little monkey wants the blonde boy who can cook to be his friend. 5 year old luffy would see kid sanji and go, " want to be friends?"

The Orbit docks at Dawn Island.

It’s a little farther out of the way than they usually sail, but there were very well-paying guests on board at what would have been the end of the cruise who wanted to be taken all the way to their home of Goa Kingdom.

Captain Chas strikes up a conversation with the harbormaster, one seasoned sailor to another, and the harbormaster divulges that it might do him well to stay in port. The people of High Town love an excuse to spend their money on a good day, and with an upcoming visit from a Celestial Dragon, they’re even more inclined than usual to flaunt their wealth. Once word gets around that there is a luxury cruise ship at the wharf that offers fine dining and a cocktail lounge, they’ll show up in droves.

“Make yourself scarce for dinner service,” the head chef warned Sanji very clearly. “These people will take offense as easy as breathing, and I don’t want to lose my best kitchen boy because some middle-aged noblewoman didn’t like the way his uniform was pressed.”

So once all the food was prepped and ready for service, and the staff was taking their last break of the evening before the rush, Sanji was shooed away by the grown-ups and told to entertain himself for the night. He goes easily enough, stopping by the bunkroom to change out of his white service uniform and into secondhand trousers and canvas shirt and boots.

He doesn’t always get the chance to explore when The Orbit is at port, and he was warned to stay clear of High Town—but Sanji isn’t even looking toward the kingdom walls. He heads in the opposite direction, running down the pier toward the beautiful beach that stretches out of sight around the natural bend of the island.

The waters are so clear. There are tropical flowers blooming along the coastline that add something fragrant to the sea-salt in the air. A gull cries overhead and Sanji imagines, just for a moment, what it would be like to find All Blue.

Then he collides with someone hard enough that he goes sprawling backwards.

“Ow!” someone whines from right in front of Sanji. He lifts his head in time to look right into big brown eyes, all watery with hurt, as the little boy he ran into says petulantly, “You made me drop my fish!”

Bewildered, Sanji looks down. Sure enough, there are a handful of huge, colorful fish flopping weakly in the sand between them. They look too big to have fit in the kid’s scrawny arms in the first place.

“Sorry,” he says, for lack of a better thing to say. “The sand will come off easy when you scale them.”

The boy blinks. He rubs the rest of his crocodile tears away, smearing grubby fingers across a pencil-mark scar that curves beneath one of his eyes like a smile.

“Scale them?” he asks curiously. “They already have those.”

“No, you know, de-scale,” Sanji explains. “When you get the skin and scales off to cook them?”

He feels a little too big for his skin under the other child’s undivided inattention. Attention is usually a bad thing. Sanji has always been safer when no one knew he was there. He’s just barely gotten used to his kitchen supervisor hovering at his shoulder, reaching in to guide his hands away from a mistake.

This boy is smaller than Sanji, though. Most of the people who want to hurt him are bigger. That makes it easier to talk to him.

“We just roast them on the fire and spit out all the yucky stuff!” the boy declares.

Sanji thinks that’s the worst thing he’s ever heard. “What about the bones?” he says, not sure he’s ready for the answer.

“They’re crunchy but not big enough to choke on or anything.”

Standing up abruptly, Sanji picks up two of the fish. They’re heavy, someone’s very lucky catch. The younger boy scrambles up, too, face contorted into a scowl and mouth opening around what is probably a very loud protest, but Sanji beats him to it.

“Let me cook these for you properly,” he says firmly. “I’ll show you what fish is supposed to taste like.”

He watches wonder take over the boy’s face. He’s expressive, bouncing from one feeling to the next like he wouldn’t know the first thing about sitting still—not like the way Sanji’s brothers’ faces would always clutch onto anger or derision or mean-spirited glee for days, the way his father’s face was always chiseled into a displeased frown.

This kid has cycled through half a dozen emotions in half as many minutes, and now he’s already moving onto something new. He smiles brightly, sand in his hair and tear tracks on his face and a gap in his smile from a missing tooth.

“You’re a cook?”

Sanji nods, because that’s what he’s always wanted to be in his heart—but something in him that still shies away from lying, even after weeks of pretending to be a displaced orphan to the kind people who took him in on The Orbit, makes him add, “Almost. I’m still learning. My name is Sanji.”

“Sanji! I’m Luffy!”

Luffy’s hands come up and catch on Sanji’s sleeve, sticky and stubborn, already tugging him in the direction Luffy wants him to go. Sanji has no idea, in that moment, that those hands are never, ever going to let him go.

(If he did have any idea, he might have prayed again for the first time since mama died, just to say thank you.)

“Come meet my brothers,” Luffy demands, equal parts spoiled and sunny in a way that manages to just be charming. “But just remember, I found you first!”

#one piece #opfic #black leg sanji #monkey d luffy #my writing #prompt #anonymous #uh oh not the start of another self indulgent au ! i'm running out of room for these #wild heart

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bcbdrums · 1 month

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Ascent

A Soul Eater story. Read on: AO3 | FFn

A/N: Monthly OTP prompt fills from this list for Spirit and Stein, because I cannot stop writing about them. I’m happy to hear recommendations each month for which prompt to write next. March's chosen prompt is: 3. Fresh Starts So without further ado... I just love them as babies. I love them so much.

Ascent

Stein stared at his hands where they rested on his thighs as the car rumbled over the cobblestones. He alternately spread his fingers and then brought them together again, watching the way tendon and bone moved beneath his skin, noting the blue of his veins and how asymmetrically they spread out within his flesh, and none quite the same between his two hands.

It had been a long time since he had truly been able to look at his hands.

The car's speed had slowed, and gravity lightly pressed Stein to the seat as it ascended steep hills, made sharp turns, and followed twisting paths through the city. Stein glanced out the window occasionally, but the sunlight was bright in a different way than the lights of his former residence, and the world it illuminated far too large. It was much easier to keep his focus on the interior of the vehicle, even if travel itself was a foreign sensation; the car's smallness was familiar, at least.

He was forced to alter his focus however, as the car finally arrived on level-ground and rolled to a stop. He looked past the man seated to his right and out the window, at countless stair steps that rose up out of sight, and black stone walls trimmed in red that also vanished beyond what he could see from his confinement.

The other man seated to his left opened the car door, got out, and then beckoned Stein follow with a wave of his fingers. He took in a slow breath, and then complied.

Stein hadn't been expecting Lord Death to be waiting for him, and apparently neither had the others, as one of their gasps was what first drew his attention to the Grim Reaper towering above them even at a distance as the three walked around to the other side of the vehicle.

"Heya! Good to see you again, Frankie! May I call you Frankie?"

Stein merely blinked up at the approaching dark figure, unused to speaking without permission. Soon the reaper's massive form blocked his view of the stairs and most of the building beyond. It was as he tilted his head backward to look up at the still, white mask, that he realized the men were no longer flanking him.

He turned to see them both a few paces away right next to the car, their bearing cautious, and on the car's other side the driver stood and watched them all with a look of unease.

Fear?

One corner of Stein's mouth turned upward.

"Well..." the reaper continued upon receiving no reply, "you must have some luggage with you?"

One of the men reached back into the car's open door, pulled out a shabby, gray, drawstring bag, and after a moment slowly extended the item toward Stein.

Stein looked at the limply-hanging item, considered a moment, and then raised his eyes to lock onto the man's. He kept his expression utterly still, not even blinking, until the man sucked in an anxious breath and quickly looked away.

With effort, Stein forced himself not to smirk as he reached out and took the bag. He didn't bother giving the same treatment to the other two men; their having seen was enough.

He turned his back on the men and the car, swung the thin straps of the bag over his shoulders like a backpack, and then stepped past the reaper to look at the veritable wall of stairs beyond. He slowly cast his gaze across the walls that framed them, and then upward to the oversized candles protruding from the building, the giant skull-masks with their spikes, and the towers that seemed to reach almost to the clouds.

"Well, that's all taken care of! See you around!" Lord Death was saying a few paces behind Stein.

He continued staring at the building, but his focus zeroed in on the sound of soft soles moving over the cobbles, the rustle of clothing as the men got back in the car, and the decisive click as each door closed in succession. He listened as the motor started, heard the sound of tires scraping against stone.

Stein held his breath as the vehicle rolled away, back down the hill and around a curve. He strained to hear until every last trace of the motor was gone, and the only sounds around him were the occasional chirps of a bird and the breeze against his clothes.

Stein closed his eyes tightly as he slowly exhaled.

The wind chilled the fabric of his linen pants, whipped it softly against his legs and cooled his skin as well.

When Stein opened his eyes his vision was blurred, and he blinked in surprise as tears fell hot over his cheeks. When had he last cried?

Probably more recently than he'd felt a breeze, he thought.

"Well..."

The Grim Reaper's voice was gentle where it sounded high above him, and Stein, suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious, hurriedly wiped the tears on his sleeve. Then just as quickly, he was startled as large hands clapped together in his periphery, and he shifted his gaze upward.

"I thought a tour of the academy first, and then I can take you to your room to meet your weapon partner! He'll be your roommate and he's already moved into one of the boys' dormitories."

'Roommate?' Stein thought. He had never shared a room before.

Lord Death had already begun moving toward the stairs, and Stein grabbed hold of the drawstrings over his shoulders and took large strides to catch up. There was so much to process of the new experience all at once that he almost missed the reaper's sudden stop when they were just reaching the stairs. He barely avoided stepping on the large black cloak that seemed to change its form as the reaper moved, but he didn't have time to analyze that as a new presence drew his attention.

"Spirit Albarn? I told you to wait at your dorm."

"I— I'm sorry, S-Sir. See, I realized I'd forgotten some books in my locker, and then I was already here so I figured I could just—"

Stein slowly stepped out from behind Lord Death to find the source of the stammering voice, and it stopped abruptly as the boy laid eyes on him.

Spirit Albarn, as the reaper had identified him, was at least a head taller than Stein, and thin. He was dressed in all black—a contrast to Stein's head-to-toe white—with the exception of hideous large gold buttons down the front of his jacket. But that wasn't what took Stein's breath away and caused his fingers to tighten on the drawstrings.

"Ah, well. I suppose there's no time like the present. Spirit, this is your new partner, Franken Stein."

Spirit's eyes—a shade of crystalline blue that Stein had never seen before—looked him up and down where he stood next to the reaper, and then his brow furrowed. But he apparently dismissed whatever his first impression was as his expression cleared and was filled with a bright, friendly smile as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Franken."

Stein could feel Lord Death's gaze as his fingers tightened further on the thin strings that held the bag on his back, but his eyes were fixed on the face of the likely-older boy in front of him.

He knew what was expected. He was to reach out, shake the boy's hand, and offer some form of polite greeting; meaningless niceties to satisfy social etiquette, and then hopefully he could move on to gathering data on how to survive in his new environment. But even his ability to process these needs was rapidly failing him under the radiance of this boy that was taking over his every sense.

"Franken?" Lord Death said.

Spirit Albarn's smile weakened at the corners, his brow creasing slightly as he stood waiting.

Any appropriate words Stein could have said had left his brain. But the pressure of the requirement to speak forced his lips apart, caused one hand to release his grip on the strings. And before he could even begin to piece a sentence together, he heard his thoughts spill out freely as they hadn't in years.

"Your hair is the color of blood."

Spirit Albarn's eyes widened, and he blinked repeatedly as he appeared to process Stein's declaration. The offered hand began to retract ever so slightly, but just as quickly the boy's smile renewed and he reached for the hand Stein had started to move and gripped it firmly. His touch was as warm as the aura that seemed to surround him.

“Well, that’s better than 'copper-top' I guess, for a scythe,” the boy said.

Stein took in the feeling of each strong finger wrapped around his, the confident and assured way his hand was being shaken. And then the touch departed and left his hand feeling strangely empty. He hurriedly gripped the drawstrings again.

The crimson-haired boy glanced past Stein, looked around in confusion.

“Where’s your luggage?”

Stein wanted to look up at the reaper, the self-conscious feeling having returned in the face of the other boy’s confidence. But he realized all at once as no answer was given for him that this was his new reality—that he was expected to and free to speak, that he got to choose the responses he gave, and that his thoughts were wanted.

And yet again, he was at a loss in the light of this new information.

He startled out of his musings when a large, white hand settled over his shoulders and gave him an affectionate pat on the back.

“I think this is all, right Frankie?” Lord Death said.

Stein watched the other boy’s brow furrow as he peered at the near-empty bag that held Stein's single change of clothes and a toothbrush he'd stolen.

“Yes,” he managed, tensing under the unexpected touch, but astonished that fear didn’t accompany it. Nor was the invasion of his personal space followed up with harsh manhandling, a command to silence, or confinement to darkness that lasted for days on end.

Stein closed his eyes and slowly inhaled, felt again the cool of the breeze against his face and the contrast of the sun's warmth atop his head. When had he last felt the sun?

He slowly let out his breath, focused on the feeling of air passing through his lips, and the tension began to ease from his shoulders. The reaper’s hand moved away, and Stein opened his eyes.

“Well,” Lord Death continued, “let’s get on with your tour!"

He stepped past Stein and began gliding up the stairs, the great black cloak changing its shape once more as it floated behind the mysterious being who seemed larger than life both in form and personality.

Stein was considering this irony when Spirit Albarn continued up the stairs. But he paused a few steps above Stein and turned back.

"I'm really excited to be your weapon, Frankie."

Stein's move to follow was halted by the boy's words. He was excited?

Stein almost smirked at the naiveté. This boy knew nothing about him, and he was sure it wouldn't be long before his youthful excitement turned to fear. How many days would Stein be roommates with this boy before he requested a change of accommodation? Before he no longer wanted to be weapon partner to someone like him?

The dark amusement Stein had gained from imagining that boy's bright aura dimming was arrested suddenly as he realized: the typical conclusions he was used to when he put someone off no longer applied. The parameters of his situation had changed entirely, and there was no way he could predict the possible outcome.

He'd been released to the Grim Reaper's school because he had potential to be a weapon meister, the great being had said. But when this other boy inevitably refused to work with him... Would Lord Death change his mind and...send him back?

Stein blinked and swallowed slowly. He hadn't considered the consequences of potential failure. He hadn't yet considered anything at all about his new circumstances; there hadn't been time. Even stealing the toothbrush had been a last-second thought.

"Oh, uh..."

Stein startled back to awareness and looked up at the boy again.

"Sorry, I should have asked... Is 'Frankie' all right, or do you prefer Franken? You can call me Spirit. I don't have any nicknames."

Stein set aside his deeper concerns for the moment. He considered both names, and the further diminutive 'Frank' that he was often called.

Within moments, his memory rang loud with a chorus of terrified cries, followed by those that were full of fury and viciousness. A rush of fear that nearly always accompanied the hearing of his name followed, and he felt a phantom pressure across his chest, a pulling at his shoulders and arms.

He shuddered, flexed his fingers just to remind himself that he could, and gripped the drawstrings tighter as sounds and images continued flooding his mind. But on the steps above, Spirit Albarn waited, and Stein held his gaze as he had that of the man who handed him his bag.

He was once again at a loss as he took in the older boy's expression. His almost-teal eyes were hopeful, his smile bright and welcoming. And with the halo of blood-red hair that feathered around his face he seemed to be practically glowing with the exuberance of life.

The cacophony in Stein's head faded to silence.

He felt his heart thunder in his chest as a fleeting thought—a wondering if this boy's blood did in fact match the color of his hair—passed through his mind in place of the bedlam. But it was all quickly overtaken by something new; a sensation Stein couldn't ever remember having before.

"Actually..." he began, taking the time to feel his voice on his tongue and lips, to hear it as he made the first decision that was his own in over two years. "Just call me Stein."

Spirit looked a bit surprised, if Stein was reading him correctly. And then his smile grew.

"Okay, Stein! I really hope you'll like it here."

Spirit smiled at him another moment, and then continued up the stairs after a fast-disappearing Grim Reaper.

Stein took a few steps up after them, and then paused. He turned back to look at the cobbles where the car had been, and then at the vast expanse of the city and the desert beyond, stretching limitless in every direction. The sight was almost dizzying, simply because he wasn't used to seeing distances so great.

Above, the sun grinned knowingly and shone warm on his face. The breeze at the high elevation continued to cool his thin, linen clothing. And as Stein squinted out toward the road that led across the sea of gold, he spotted a tiny speck glinting under the sun that was traveling rapidly away.

He stared after it until it vanished, too distant any longer to be seen, and suddenly he became aware of pain in his knuckles. He slowly loosened his grip on the drawstrings and with deliberate care moved his hands down to rest at his sides.

It was so difficult an idea to grasp, as it was something he had given up on long ago. But he forced the thought remain as he stared at the horizon, still expecting either to see the blinding speck return or else wake up and find everything around him a dream. But neither event took place. And gradually, the present reality took over.

Nothing about it would be easy; it would be stupid to pretend otherwise. But in that moment, all Stein wanted to think about was the fact that he could move, and he could breathe. And that he was in control of each and every breath.

He turned around and lifted his gaze. Part of the way up the steps Spirit Albarn had paused again, smiling down at him. And then at the very top, white mask angled toward him, waited the Grim Reaper.

Stein inhaled. Exhaled. It made no sense, but somehow his lungs seemed to be filling with light, gradually growing brighter with each breath he took. And in his mind: a new, alluring quiet.

He listened gratefully to the silence as he breathed. He flexed his fingers again and lowered his eyes from Lord Death down to Spirit Albarn, and then to the stone steps just in front of him—let the pathway to freedom fill his vision.

He stepped forward.

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