dawn

My scars are COOL and TUSKY

My scars DO look like I got them during RITUAL COMBAT

My scars DO NOT look like I got them by tripping over a RUSTY FENCE concealed by TREACHEROUS UNDERBRUSH

Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang and the parentification that ends up hurting both them, all that rage that comes from that pressure and need to protect, that vicious loyalty being a given despite it all. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen having a good but somehow distant relationship that isn’t quite what it ought to be despite the fact they clearly care immensely for each other. Wen Qing and Wen Ning and the doomed nature of it all.

Jin Ling is terrified of his uncle, who’s notoriously short tempered and regularly threatens to break his legs, but is shocked at the notion that he’d ever have struck him because he hasn’t, not once. Wei Wuxian teaching him how to fight bullies and worrying that he doesn’t have friends, after knowing him a few months and getting into physical fights with him most of the times they’ve interacted.

Lan Sizhui. I’m not even getting into it right now but holy fuck.

However the drunk guys are also drinking, and eventually she can't afford to buy another pitcher for the table so she can't keep up the ever-full beer glass trick. At this point she has to resort to setting up the pool trick shot that she's never seen anyone but her boyfriend pull off, and says she'll leave with whoever manages the shot first.

You sidestep him in the cramped galley, ignoring how the flesh of his arm burns you as it brushes against your shoulder. Tuning out the noisy chatter and clanking dishes, you worry your chapped bottom lip, darting to the door.

When the cool breeze kisses your face, you gulp it down with greed. The brine settles uncomfortably in your lungs, but you keep going, taking and taking and taking until you can’t anymore. It isn’t until you dry heave that the tears flow. They scald your cheeks in rivulets and drip down your chin, falling dejectedly onto the deck. The stars—shimmering pinpricks in the velvet night—offer you no comfort in their silence. But a sense of calm washes over you as you slow your breathing to match the lazy lap of the waves against the hull.

“The hell’s this all about?” Zoro demands to your back as he bursts outside, half-shouting.

(Tactless as ever.)

In a melodramatic fantasy, you imagine jumping overboard. The murky sea floor would grant you a moment’s peace, surely… But you know Zoro would dive in to save you without hesitation—then proceed to give you even more grief than he already has.

Instead, you snap.

“I just want to be left alone. Can you not be dense for—fuck, I don’t know!—five fucking seconds?” You don’t bother turning around to deliver your outburst, eyes fixed on the boundless horizon.  

Your words are harsh, but they don’t rattle Zoro. What does concern him, however, is the syrupy thickness of your voice—the way it hitches and clumps as you speak. He’s beside you in three strides, coaxing you to face him with his warm, scarred palms, aching tenderness in his touch. You can’t meet his steel stare.

“Hey, look at me,” he entreats, gravel voice wrapped in silk. A callused thumb nudges your chin upward, your watery gaze meeting his concerned frown. “What’s goin’ on? Whatever it is, it’s gonna be okay.”

Shaking your head before he finishes speaking, a fresh sob bubbles past your lips, wet and desperate. You collapse into his chest as his strong arms encircle your waist, anchoring your bodies together. You weep to the tune of his steady heartbeat and the slow rock of the tide. The heaviness in your spirit feels insurmountable—a tsunami that will surely drown you.

Zoro rests his chin atop your head. “I’m always here,” he murmurs into your hair. “As long as you want me to be.”