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and-claudia · 16 days ago

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Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 1

Word Count: 5000

Warnings: arranged marriage, wedding, talk of beding ceremony, language, talks about having children, references to sexual acts

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The next few days went by in a whirlwind. I was informed that since my cousin, Charles, was being named the temporary heir, he and his betrothed would be moving to Seastar Hold. This meant that my handmaidens had to stay here to assist her. I was assured that House Agnew would be providing me with new handmaidens, but it was not the same. I was close to mine, especially Emily, I would even go as far as to call her my friend.

Luckily, though, there was a loophole. Ever since I was a girl, I enjoyed spending my days down at the tidepools on the shore below the cliff that Seastar Hold sat upon. That is where I met a girl named Angela when I was five years old. Her father was a fisherman in a nearby fishing village. We continued to play by the tidepools for years together. Besides my handmaidens, she was my closest friend. I had sent for her to meet me the day before I was set to leave for Frostspire.

I was standing on shore, just deep enough for the water to cover my feet, not caring that the bottom hem of my dress was getting wet.

“Yn!” I turned upon hearing my name being called by my friend.

She was rushing over to me, the skirt of her dress gathered up in her hands. I couldn’t help but smile at her.

“What’s wrong? You said it was urgent.” She said before gasping, “Did you finally seduce that one guard? Are you pregnant?”

“Angela, slow down. No. I asked you here to say goodbye… and to warn you. There’s a war coming, my father has arranged a marriage for me to Spencer of House Agnew. I leave tomorrow. Word is that Seastar Hold is going to be the first to be attacked. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.” I said.

“Wait. What?! No. You can’t just leave like that…” She said.

I sighed, “I’m sorry, but I have to go… I leave tomorrow. But don’t worry, Emily will still be around. My cousin Charles and his betrothed are moving in, so my handmaidens will be staying here.” I tried to make her feel better, knowing Emily and she got along well.

“Wait, so none of your handmaidens are going with you?”

“No, House Agnew is providing me with new ones,” I explained.

“So… they didn’t say you couldn’t bring one?”

“Well, no… I just can’t bring mine because they’re needed here.”

“Take me! Come on, do you seriously want to go up there alone? I mean, even I’ve heard rumors about Spencer Agnew.” She said.

“Well, if you must know, I am trying to keep an open mind about this… but if you’re serious, yes, please. I am trying to keep myself composed around my father, but honestly, I am losing my mind.” I confessed.

“I’m there then… I may need to borrow a dress for the wedding… and need to learn how to be a handmaiden… but if you want me there, then I’ll be there for you.” She said uncharacteristically seriously.

“Thank you… Lord Agnew’s men should be here tomorrow. They aren’t staying long. Just long enough to get me and my things loaded, then we’re leaving. The snow has already started up north, so we have to get back quickly.” I said.

“Done.” She said, making me smile.

The sun was beginning to set, and I still had packing to do. So, I bid her goodnight with a promise not to leave without her tomorrow. On my way back up to the top of the cliff, I ran into my uncle.

“Saying goodbye to the ocean?” He asked gently.

I looked over my shoulder.

“For now.” I said.

“Your father sent me to find you. Dinner is almost ready. May I?” He offered me his arm.

I took, “Can I be honest with you, uncle?”

“Of course.”

“I’m scared.”

“And that’s to be expected. You’re going to a new place, you don’t know the people you’ll be sharing a roof with, it’s uncharted territory. But, you are your father’s daughter to a tee. You’re strong. Come the end of winter up there, they will all love you just as much, if not more than we do here. And… in case they don’t, hopefully by then you will have a child either already born or on the way that will love unconditionally.” He said gently.

I smiled and nodded, but truth be told, that was another thing I was nervous about. I had heard enough rumors to know my betrothed was not a virgin. I, however, was. I knew plenty of women were virgins on their wedding day, but the idea of meeting him, marrying him, and then having to lose my virginity to him scared me. I had heard enough from my uncle’s storytelling about how the northerners loved their bedding ceremonies. I also knew what often came from a bedding ceremony, and despite what everyone around me was telling me, I wasn’t sure I was ready to have a child. Not soon, at least.

Dinner was quiet, only a few comments on my departure tomorrow, and questions about whether I was indeed packed. Once I was finished, I excused myself to finish the last bit of packing I needed to do. There were a couple of decor pieces I was bringing north with me from my room, but I was waiting until tonight to pack them. The first was a large conch shell my father had given me. I used the tapestry that hung above my bed, that Septa Stevie had made for me, to wrap it and cushion it for the journey. It depicted my father, my late mother, and me. Although there was never a time that the three of us were all together, Septa Stevie had made it shortly after my father brought me home. Lastly, I carefully backed my stationery set, complete with a delicate quill pen, embellished with seaglass. With all of that carefully packed, I was officially ready to leave.

I changed into my night gown and settled under the thin sheet, knowing it would be my last time doing so for a long time. Despite my best efforts, sleep never came. Instead, I spent the night tossing and turning until the sun rose. There was a gentle knock on my door.

“Lady Yn, are you awake?” Septa Stevie’s voice called out gently.

“Yes, come in,” I said, sitting up.

“Oh dear, did you not sleep well?” She asked upon seeing my clearly tired state.

“Hard to sleep well when you didn’t sleep at all,” I said, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palm.

“I’m sorry. Word has come in that Lord Agnew's men are nearing. I came to make sure there was nothing else that needed to be brought down to the courtyard to get loaded when they arrive.” She said.

“Just that small trunk.” I said, pointing to where it sat on the desk.

She nodded, “Is your tapestry in there?”

“Yeah, even if I can’t hang it there, I wanted to have it with me.” I said, yawning.

“I was hoping you would. Perhaps once you have a child of your own, I can make another one of you.” She said with a smile.

“Gods, why is everyone telling me to get pregnant so quickly?!” I snapped, clearly taking her off guard.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s just typically what happens when you get married. Especially in an arranged marriage, even more so when it’s not a particularly welcome arrangement. But it doesn’t have to happen right away.” She said gently.

“But how do I do that? If there’s a bedding ceremony, and what if he wants an heir soon?” I asked, feeling hopeless.

“Well… I didn’t tell you this, but there are other ways for you to satisfy your future husband, and ways for him to satisfy you…”

I laughed, “Aren’t you supposed to be celibate?”

“I didn’t say fucking, did I? I said satisfying one another.” She clarified.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“The gods gave you hands for a reason; use them. If you’re feeling extra adventurous, use your mouth… he can do the same for you as well.”

Before I got the chance to respond, there was another knock.

“Lady Yn, we need any last trunks.” I heard one of my father’s guards call out.

“Give us just a moment. Would you like help getting dressed?” She asked.

“Will you do my hair?” I asked, causing her to smile.

Before I had actually gotten handmaidens, she would do my hair for me all the time when I was little.

I got dressed, and she fixed my hair for me, placing a seashell hairpin in it. As she worked, she informed me that the Septa at Caerwatch Keep's name was Amanda and that two of them were actually quite close. She assured me that Amanda would be a lot like her in many ways and that I would get along well with her. Once she was done, I let the guard come in and grab the crate, telling him to be careful with it before heading to the dining hall for breakfast. Although my appetite was mostly gone, I did force myself to eat something.

All too soon, I was standing in the courtyard, surrounded by my small family and Agnew soldiers. I told my handmaidens, save for Angela, who my father had shaken his head at with a small smile when I told him she’d be coming with me. I knew he was secretly happy that someone from home was coming with me. Then I moved on to my Septa. She hugged me tightly before whispering in my ear.

“Remember what I said.”

I smiled and nodded at her before turning to my uncle. My eyes began to water.

“Come here.” He said, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

“I’ll come visit you as soon as I can, I promise.” He whispered before reluctantly letting go.

When I got to my father, the floodgates broke as I threw my arms around him. He hugged me back tightly.

“I love you so much, Yn. You are so strong. Thank you for doing this for me and for your people. Always remember, Truth Rides the Tide.”

Upon hearing our house words from him, a small sob left my lips. I hugged him even tighter as if keeping my grip on him would prevent me from having to leave. But I knew it wouldn’t. And I knew everyone was watching, so I had to force myself to pull away.

“I love you, too. I promise, I’ll make you proud.”

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped my eyes for me.

“You already have, my dear.”

He grabbed my hand and placed the handkerchief into it, “Hold on to it. I have another one,”

With that, I straightened my back and turned around. Angela has already gotten into the carriage. I walked up to it, and one of the soldiers offered me a hand to help me climb in. I settled in beside her and watched as they closed the door.

I tried to busy myself on the journey north by telling Angela how to be a handmaid. But there was only so much time that conversation could fill. Eventually, the coastal roads gave way to open plains and river crossings, which then gave way to forest-lined trails. I heard others say that you could always feel the north before you ever saw it, and that was ringing true. Or maybe I was just too accustomed to the warm shores of the west. There were no snowy mountains in sight yet, but the cold was already setting in. We had been traveling for nearly three weeks, having been severely slowed down by unkept roads and bad weather. We were finally in the foothills of the Frostspires, but still a week's ride from Caerwatch Keep, from what I was told.

We had finally stopped for the night, and there were a few fires going in our little camp. I was sitting at one with Angela, both of us wrapped in a fur-lined cloak.

I took another bite of the salted meat we were given and tried to choke it down. Between the taste of the meat and the pine-sap smoke from the campfire stinging my nose, I felt ill. I was bone-tired but still knew I wouldn’t sleep, much like the nights before. Not when every mile north felt like another weight pressing down on my chest.

Angela nudged me with her elbow from where she sat beside me on the log.

“You’re brooding again.” She teased.

“I am not,” I said. “I’m thinking.”

“Brooding. With a prettier name.” She smirked and offered me a flask of warmed cider. “Here. You’ll freeze before the ceremony if you don’t thaw out that scowl.”

I rolled my eyes with a smile as I took it from her. The flask was just barely touching my lips when I heard it.

Lord Agnew’s men were clustered near the opposite fire. There were five of them—grizzled, scarred types with weather-bitten cloaks and thick northern drawls. They were the kind of men who sharpened their blades even when they weren’t expecting blood. Loyal, I had been told. Not quite polished, but proven.

I caught bits of their talk, and I had a feeling I was meant to catch them.

“You should’ve seen what he did to the last raider from the Skyrend Hills. Split the bastard from collar to navel.”

“Rode through a blizzard to haul a wounded stag two miles on foot. Gave the meat to a starving village.”

“And quiet too, y’know. Doesn’t need to shout. You just feel when Spencer Agnew’s in a room.”

I raised a brow as I nudged Angela beside me, who could clearly hear the men as well. She stifled a laugh.

“Didn’t they say he once strangled a direwolf with his bare hands?” she whispered.

“I think next they’ll say he pisses wildfire,” I muttered back, unable to stop a small, reluctant smile.

Despite the clear over exaggerations of their stories, I was starting to maybe think Spencer wasn’t all that bad…

There was a weight in their voices, a practiced ease in their exaggerations that made it all feel just a little less terrifying. If they spoke lies, they were at least lies meant to reassure me—not scare me.

I shifted on the log and sipped the cider, eyes wandering to the sky above. The stars above me were unfamiliar now. Perhaps my husband would be able to tell me the tales they held.

Maybe he wouldn’t be cruel.

Maybe the North would feel less like a prison, and more like... a beginning.

Maybe—

A sudden crack of laughter erupted from the fire pit. One of the men threw up his hands.

“Fine, fine! Maybe the direwolf thing was a stretch—but the rest? Ask anyone north of Wyrmwatch Pass. Spencer Agnew’s as close to a prince as the North has left.”

Angela leaned over and whispered again.

“They’re just afraid you’ll freeze him out the way you did to those poor bannermen at your coming-of-age feast.”

“I was gracious.”

“You were drinking mead and talking about decapitation.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

Eventually, conversations died down and I settled in to try to sleep. Although just as I had predicted, sleep didn’t come easily. What was different, however, was what my mind began to think about. Instead of the overwhelming dread that had filled my head before, tonight my mind wandered to the stories the soldiers were telling. And against my better judgment, I started to believe the stories. Even the direwolf one.

The following week went by uneventfully, and my first glimpse of Caerwatch made my stomach twist.

It rose from the frostbitten hills like something left behind by the gods—a citadel of dark gray stone, jagged and windworn, with towers like broken teeth and no banners flying. Built directly into the cliff face of a glacier-scarred mountain, black stone walls with towers that mimicked the ice spikes that surrounded the keep. There were even long bridges that spanned across chasms, connecting the towers together. The snowline bit into its flanks. Its gates were steel, unornamented, shut tight until we were practically on them.

The last 20 miles were not passable with the carriage, instead, my trunks were transferred onto sleds that were pulled by horses. Angela and I also had to transfer onto horseback for this last leg of our journey.

“Charming,” Angela muttered, drawing her cloak tighter.

A guard called down from the ramparts, and the gates groaned open—not with ceremony, but with resignation. No horns. No fanfare. No escort from my betrothed.

No Spencer.

Lord Agnew himself wasn’t present, either. I was led inside, past giant carved owl statues that guarded the entrance with eyes that seemed to follow you, by the same handful of soldiers who’d accompanied me, and though they bowed, their eyes never left my expression—as if they were waiting to see if I’d scream or bolt.

I didn’t. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Shortly after they left, who I could only assume was Septa Amanda, greeted us.

“You must be Lady Yn. Welcome to Caerwatch.” She said with a smile that was the warmest thing I had seen in nearly a month.

“Yes, this is my handmaiden, Angela,” I said, smiling back.

“Oh, I don’t believe we were aware that you were bringing a handmaid with you. I will make sure chambers are prepared for you. Now, there’s a wedding to prepare for, come with me so we can get you ready.” She said, turning and leading us down one of the corridors.

The halls were cold. Not nearly as cold as it was outside, but by no means warm. It was also quite dim– lit with blue-tinted glass sconces and ever-burning coldfire. I only knew this from overhearing one of the guards mention it offhandedly. The decor was also scarce– mostly bare stone with the occoasonal ancient banner with silver-threaded embroidery.

“May I ask where Spencer is? I don’t know if I should have or not, but I expected him to be there for our arrival.” I said, trying to seem just genuinely curious.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be there for the ceremony.” She said, avoiding the question, which definitely made me nervous.

However, I didn’t have much time to dwell on it as we got the room I’d be getting ready in. My dress was already there, since the horses hauling the sleds had gone ahead of the rest of us.

“I had the handmaidens prepare the room for you. Your dress is hanging in the wardrobe, it’s beautiful by the way, and the jewelry box is on the vanity. If you need anything else, send one of them to come get me.” Septa Amanda said, letting us in the room where 4 handmaidens were waiting for me.

There was a wooden tub that they were filling up with water they were heating over the fire in the fireplace.

“Lady Yn. Your bath is almost ready. Would you like some help taking your dress off?” One of them said.

“Angela, would you mind helping with the laces up in the back?” I asked as we both removed our cloaks.

She stepped over and began helping me. Someone else came over and started unlacing my boots for me as well. I stepped out of them and raised my foot to allow them to slip the two layers of stockings off my foot. When I went to place my bare foot onto the stone floor, I braced myself for the cold, but it never came.

“How are the floors so warm?” I asked, looking over to one of the handmaidens.

“They’re heated-old geothermal magic.” She said with a kind smile.

Soon, I was in the tub and was relishing how nice the warmed water felt on my aching body. My hair was washed, and the dust and grime from travels were scrubbed off my body. I came out of the bath feeling like a new woman, almost.

I got my undergarments myself, then allowed the women around me to help me get the dress on. All too soon, it was laced up and I was now sat at the vanity while the handmaidens tried to decide the best way to do my hair. The chatter was becoming overwhelming. Angela caught my pleading eyes in the mirror and sprang into action.

“What would you like, Lady Yn?” She asked, her voice covering the other ladies.

“Just something simple. I have a headpiece I will be wearing.” I said, shutting down all the chatter as Angela stepped up and helped fix my hair into a simple style that would still allow my pearl headpiece to go on.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Lady Yn? It’s Septa Amanda, may I come in?” She asked.

“Yes.” I called, and she slipped in, making sure not to let the door open too much.

“Lord Spencer requested a cloak and veil be brought to you. I hope the ones I selected are to your liking.” She said, holding a beautiful, almost iridescent veil in one hand and a white fur cloak draped over her other arm.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, Septa,” I said, noting the fact that even though they were supposedly requested by Spencer, he had no say in the selection of them.

I stood and allowed her to fix the veil into the back of my hair with a silver feather-shaped hairpin before putting the cloak over my shoulders and tying it in the front for me.

“The hall is ready for you.” She said to me once she was finished.

I nodded, feeling a heavy weight on my chest. When we arrived, I was kept off to the side while my handmaidens went inside and took their places in the hall. Angela gave me a quick hug before disappearing as well, which helped calm my nerves slightly.

“You must be Lady Yn.” I lifted my head from where I had been staring at the stone floor upon hearing my name.

“You must be Lord Agnew, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, dipping my head to him.

“I could say the same to you. Now, since your father is not present, as the Lord of Carerwatch, I have the duty of escorting you down the aisle.” He said.

I only nodded, and he offered me his arm. He let me over to the large wooden double doors to the grand hall. With a simple nod to the guards posted at the doors, they were opened up for us. My gaze lifted to the altar, expecting to see my future husband waiting for me. But I only saw the High Seer.

I heard Lord Agnew mutter an expletive, and I knew that it meant Spencer was, in fact, supposed to be there and this wasn’t some weird Northern tradition of having the bride enter first.

However, not much could be done as the musicians began to play a song that sounded more appropriate for a funeral rather than a wedding. So, I stoned my expression and allowed Lord Agnew to escort me down the aisle to the empty altar.

The venue was nothing impressive. Just a drafty stone hall lit with tallow candles and lined with icicles dripping from the high windows. The drab setting made me and my dress stick out like a sore thumb, like starlight caught in a cave.

Time passed. The High Seer of the North stood bored, muttering over ancient texts. Angela was the only one who dared whisper to me.

“You’re glowing. He’ll be sorry he made you wait.”

I didn’t respond. My hands were folded, breath steady, but my patience had frozen and shattered three times already.

Then it happened. The doors finally opened– way later than they ever should have. And there he was.

Spencer Agnew.

He didn’t ride in on a white horse or wear ceremonial furs. No– he strode in like he was heading to a meeting he just about forgotten was happening, his collar slightly undone, his hair wind-mussed from the mountain air.

He wasn’t ugly—not by any stretch. But he wasn’t glowing with grandeur either. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept much and didn’t care.

“Is this the part where I bow?” he asked the High Seer, loud enough for all to hear.

The old man blinked.

“You’re late,” I said, teeth clenched behind my polite smile.

“You're early,” Spencer replied flatly. “Or maybe I’m just right on time and the ceremony’s wrong.”

He took his place beside me without looking directly at me. I could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of pine and steel, and absolutely no sense of apology.

“Love the embroidery,” he added under his breath, glancing at the hem of my dress. “Is that... an owl being swallowed by a wave? Bold choice.”

I inhaled sharply. “It’s a union of our houses.”

“Mm. Sure. Looks like the owl’s losing, though.”

I turned my head just enough to glare at him. He offered me a quick, crooked grin—the kind that meant he knew exactly what he was doing, and enjoyed it.

The ceremony finally began, and I tuned out most of it. Spencer, unceremoniously removed the cloak I had been wearing, quite literally tossing it off to the side before placing a new one, one of his house’s colors, upon my shoulders, not even bothering to make sure it was secure before letting go. It nearly slipped off my shoulder and would have if I hadn’t caught it and fastened it properly.

The vows were said. The cold remained. The union was about to be sealed along with my fate.

“You may now bestow a kiss upon your bride.” The High Seer

It wasn’t a fairy tale. It wasn’t a true kiss. It was hardly a kiss at all, honestly. I had seen crows make more contact with the ground when pecking at it than Spencer did when he kissed me.

And as I looked at the man I had married, I thought only one thing: The stories lied.

To my honest surprise, he grabbed my hand and led me out of the hall, back the way he had come in, not even ten minutes earlier. It wasn’t a gentle grab. It reminded me of the way my father would grab my hand when I had ran too far into the surf as a child. Quick, necessary.

Soon, I found myself seated at the high table of my wedding feast. The hall was filled with unfamiliar faces. And despite the almost overcrowding of bodies in the stuffy hall, I still felt cold.

I pushed the dried venison around my plate and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. The dress was heavy on my shoulders. My wedding cloak, even heavier.

Angela had squeezed my hand once, earlier, but now sat several seats down, talking to a tall man with a fisher’s braid and sea-salted eyes. She certainly looked more relaxed than I felt.

Spencer sat beside me, drinking slowly, eating even slower. He hadn’t spoken to me since the ceremony, save for a low, grumbled:

“Your wine’s been tasted. You’re welcome.”

I’d only nodded as I reached for the goblet and downed half of it in one go.

Spencer chuckled to himself, “So trusting already.”

I glared at him from the corner of my eye, but said nothing.

Then it began. The crowd began to shift. There was a change in the laughter — a sudden, anticipatory hum — like wolves who’d caught scent of blood.

“Shall we start the bedding?” someone called down the table.

A cheer rose. A chant started.

“To the bed! To the sheets! Strip the bride, strip the groom!”

A man from Caerwatch stood, raising his cup. “It is tradition!”

I felt my chest tighten, breath shortening beneath the fabric of my gown.

Tradition. Of course. Northern tradition.

Stripping. Cheering. Dozens of hands on me, dragging me to a bed while they howled and jeered.

No.

I froze, every inch of me stiffening like the snow-covered peaks beyond the hall. My hands clenched the fabric of my dress, creasing it. My mouth opened — but no sound came out.

Spencer leaned forward.

And then—calmly, lazily—he stood.

He turned to the crowd, cup still in hand, voice loud and smooth as melting ice.

“A bedding ceremony? Gods help us. You lot really want to see me naked that badly?”

A ripple of laughter broke out — confused, but intrigued.

“Because if that’s the case, I’ll save you the trouble. I’m pale. Scar on my left hip. A few tattoos I drunkenly agreed to. Average cock. Disappointed?”

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help but blush at that comment. Sure, I heard my uncle make crude jokes. But I had never actually heard a man, let alone someone I was expecting to see naked at some point, joke about his own cock.

More laughter. A few roars of delight. Some drunken applause.

But Spencer’s tone sharpened — just a little. His smile never reached his eyes.

“What a fine way to celebrate love, eh? Toss the newlyweds into bed like sacks of grain and hope one of them cries loud enough to confirm the deal’s been done?”

He turned slightly, holding the crowd in his palm. “Apologies. I’m old-fashioned. I think I’ll bed my wife when we both feel like we won’t puke.”

The laughter dimmed to a low, warm rumble. The tension dissipated.

Someone muttered, “Soft southern sensibilities,” but no one picked the chant back up.

He sat back down beside me, slow and casual.

And said nothing more.

Not even to me.

Taglist: @fan-g0rl, @spennininomenon @mazzyowl @burrowedinnature77 @apollothegod22 @scratch-and-sniff-ghost33

#smosh fic #smosh spencer #smosh fanfiction #smosh games #smosh #spencer agnew #spencer agnew fanfic #spencer agnew x reader #game of thrones au #bound by winter

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stars-for-circe · 5 months ago

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Circe's Most Frequented 🤍🤍🤍

My favourite authors over many different fandoms, for your indulgence.

@astralnymphh - TLOU, sapphic, shakespeare reborn

𖣂 There is no one else who could begin this list except for you tbh. One of the first authors I ever followed on this app and your work has never failed to blow me away; from your beautifully paced works that never run out of new prompts and tropes that you always nail, to your crazy big words you scavenged from wordhippo and managed to intergrate perfectly into your fics. To the Ellie Williams enthusiasts, give her fics a read and I promise it will change the trajectory of your lives forever. And don't be afraid to send her an ask, because she will quite literally craft a masterpiece.

𖣂 My recommendation: 'The Salvo Project'

@vifilms - TLOU, sapphic, she makes tumblr formatting her bitch

𖣂 At first it was your witty drabbles, then you graduated to 10k fics that take everyone's breath away. The way you can turn a single tiny idea into such a detailed work while also integrating the essence of each character you write into every single paragraph never fails to amaze me every time you appear on my feed. With your constantly changing layouts, and your beautifully crafted fic headers that show just how much of your heart goes into everything you put onto this app, you keep raising the bar again and again.

𖣂 My recommendation: 'Long Night, Long Ride'

@sweetercalypso - TLOU, multi

𖣂 Also one of my first follows, I remember quite clearly scrolling through the Abby Anderson tag on ao3 and being so blown away that I basically did a cartwheel when I saw you on tumblr. Your fics are the perfect late-night fix that are to-the-point, and your drabbles are filled with every trope anyone could even think up. And I'll shamelessly admit that reading your fics definitely moved Joel up quite a few slots in who I liked most within tlou.

𖣂 My recommendations: 'Texas Hold 'Em' + 'Uncharted Territory'

@the-kr8tor - Spiderverse, f/m, sfw

𖣂 I gotta say, this third movie needs to speed up so more people can come here and see how well you write for the spiderverse. Finding you in the tags was like a breath of fresh air, and your series works have kept me up at night on more than one occasion because of their binge-worthy goodness! From the adorable drabbles of Billie and Ramona, to the ups and downs that come with being a pirate, your works keep me invested even in the first, second....twenty-something times I've reread them.

𖣂 My recommendation: 'Our Place In The Middle Of Nowhere'

@s-4pphics - TLOU, Arcane, sapphic

𖣂 I hope you know that when you released 'The Call', it kept me up at night. Seriously, you're a genius. Maybe this style has been written before but it's the first time I've seen it. And amidst all the Sevika and Vi works that were being pumped out after the release of season 2, that fucking gem was put on my feed and it genuinely blew my mind. It was the perfect combination of crack-style fic and dark humour, coming together to make this smutty, hilarious, jaw dropping fic that had me pacing around my room a couple times - one of my favourites of all time.

𖣂 My recommendation, obviously: 'The Call'

@taintandviolent - Ahs, f/m, multi-fandom extraordinaire

𖣂 First of all, your username is fucking genius. Like actually, it had me saying it out loud and having such an OHHH moment and now I can't stop thinking about how cool it is. Secondly, if anyone has a taste for dark, gritty, horror infused tropes, or loves anything Evan Peters just like I do, her blog is the way to go. Her page is unapologetically for the monster-loving girlies who 'can fix him', and there's a little bit in there for every fandom that finds her. You're one of my favourite authors to send requests to, and you have definitely made me see Bill Skarsgard in a different light as of recent. 𖣂 My recommendation: 'Ouija Board’

#PLEASE give them a read they genuinely changed the trajectory of my life #ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #hobie brown x reader #joel miller x reader #tate langdon x reader

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cryoculus · 18 days ago

Text

— TRACK 08: BLISTERING DENIAL ⟢

to protect what you have is to sometimes deny its existence entirely. but to mydei, that protection is nothing short of betrayal.

★ featuring; mydei x f!reader

★ word count; 8.9k words

★ tags; rock band au, found family, hostile acquaintances to friends to lovers, grief/mourning, angst, slow burn, eventual smut

★ notes; just a heads up, the angst is a little heavy in this one, especially towards the end! i'd love for them to be happy together 24/7 but a little suffering just adds flavor to the entire meal, yes?

★ header art cr; sarhiyu on x & ig

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

The first order of business upon touchdown is dinner.

Koraxi doesn’t advertise. There’s no signage, or clearly distinguishable storefront. Just a golden plaque pressed into volcanic stone—ancient lettering weathered nearly blank. If you hadn’t been told of its existence, you’d miss it entirely. But Mydei walks up to the entrance like it’s muscle memory.

The rest of the band has been to Castrum Kremnos before—tour stops, afterparties, a radio interview or two—but to you, this is uncharted territory. There’s a reverence in the air the second the door closes behind you, muffling the sound of the city. The lights go warm and low, the air carries the scent of saffron, and the floorboards hush beneath your boots.

A hostess recognizes Mydei with the barest incline of her head. No questions. She simply gestures to follow.

The dining room feels like a secret. Amber-toned lanterns glow from the rafters. Tables are spaced wide, the ceilings high, and the acoustics soft enough that even Garmentmaker’s movements don’t echo as they slide into their seat with mechanical precision.

You pause just long enough to take it all in.

“This your first time in the city?” Tribbios asks.

You nod. “This place is twelve hours away from Okhema, so...”

“Don’t sweat it, newbie,” Cipher says, sliding into a seat. “Even I was on edge the first time Mydei dragged us here. It’s the kind of place you don’t find unless you’re meant to.”

“That’s the point,” Mydei says. He pulls out your chair. The movement is casual, almost thoughtless, but your skin burns where his knuckles brush your sleeve. “This place doesn’t let in just anyone.”

Aglaea takes the seat across from you but doesn’t settle. Her eyes track the edges of the room first, then the windows. Always watching. Tribbios relaxes instantly. She carries the confidence of someone who’s been here a handful of times and drinks in the aesthetic like it’s a kind of fuel.

Garmentmaker folds their napkin into a perfect square, aligning it precisely with the edge of the table. “Environment calibrated for maximum sensory appeal. Low light. Moderate temperature. Acoustic dampening. Combined effect: emotional ease.”

Tribbios glances at them. “You could just say it’s cozy.”

“I could,” Garmentmaker agrees. “But that would be inaccurate.”

Mydei orders for the table in some Kremnoan dialect—his accent a little rougher than usual, like it’s been stored away for years and dusted off just for tonight. You catch only a few familiar words: citrus, lamb, bread.

When the server leaves, he turns to you. “Do you trust me?”

You blink, then nod. “Yeah. I do.”

He leans back, arms crossing loosely. “Then don’t look at the menu. Just let it happen.”

As you wait, Phainon’s already halfway through his first glass of something deep red and spiced, swirling it like it’s a habit more than a pleasure. He lounges with the kind of ease that makes the high ceilings and dim lanterns feel like an extension of him.

“First time’s always a little eerie, isn’t it?”

You nod, smiling a little. “Eerie, yeah. But kind of beautiful, too.”

“You get it,” he says, tapping his glass against the rim of your water without waiting for a toast.

Castorice, seated quietly between Garmentmaker and Tribbios, glances at you, soft smile curving at the edges. “You’re handling it better than I did,” she says gently. “First time I came here, I kept thinking someone was going to ask for a password at the door.”

“They still might,” Cipher mutters with a grin. “Depends on who’s working. Mydei has the good luck of being recognized.”

“He’s been coming here longer than some of the staff. Some say he’s part of the furniture.” Tribbios adds, barely looking up from the wine menu.

“Maybe he’s just the dust on it,” Anaxa says idly.

“And maybe that’s true,” Mydei murmurs. He doesn’t look offended. Just vaguely amused, like he’s letting the rhythm of the table play itself out.

The rosemary smoke weaves through the air like incense at an old rite. Conversation ripples, low and private. Distantly, a stringed instrument plays a lilting melody you can’t place—foreign, almost mournful, but comforting in its own way. You notice Tribbios hasn’t given any hints that the rumors about you have reached her radar. She just cradles her wine like it’s a rare find and leans into her seat, completely unbothered.

You breathe out slowly, realizing only then how tightly you’d been holding yourself.

“Emotional tension has decreased to baseline,” Garmentmaker declares in that oddly mechanical voice. “Recommendation: maintain current state until supper is done.”

Cipher snorts. “You running diagnostics on our feelings now?”

“I already am.”

“Please don’t,” Phainon says gently. “Let me pretend I’m mysterious for a little while longer.”

Castorice chuckles softly, shaking her head. “At this rate, Garmentmaker’s going to have us all figured out before dessert.”

Laughter bubbles around the table, warm and easy. The nerves you carried in just moments ago feel miles away now, replaced by something lighter. Mydei catches your eye across the table and offers a half-smile, one that feels like an invitation rather than a question.

You smile back.

When the food arrives—spiced lamb, blistered bread, charred citrus, and other dishes you can’t hope to pronounce—you forget about the past and the whispers waiting outside this place. For now, there’s only the hush of conversation, the clink of glass, and the warmth of a world you didn’t know you needed.

“You got any plans tonight?”

That startles you in a way only questions from Mydei can. He has a way of sounding casual while still making everything feel like it matters. You glance over your shoulder as you both step off the shuttle, the hotel's glowing marquee casting long shadows behind you. Cipher’s voice rises in the distance, animated and echoing as the rest of the band filters toward the lobby.

But you and Mydei hang back.

“If watching soap operas in my room all night counts as plans, then yeah. I’m fully booked.”

Mydei laughs. “Shame. I was going to walk around the city. Guess I’ll just have to bother Anaxa instead.”

“Doesn’t Anaxa hate long walks?”

Mydei shrugs, hands in his pockets. “So do most people, if they don’t have somewhere worth walking to.”

You glance toward the hotel entrance, where the others are already vanishing inside. Then back to him.

“…Alright,” you say, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile. “Lead the way.”

Mydei’s smile is small, barely there, but it warms the space between you like a match struck in the dark. He tilts his head down the sidewalk, and you fall into step beside him as if you’ve done it a hundred times before.

The streetlamps flicker on as you walk, one by one, throwing soft halos onto the cobblestones. Castrum Kremnos, known for its soaring spires and brutalist elegance, seems to exhale after sundown—windows glowing amber, streets humming low with life instead of roaring with it.

However, you also see familiar banners hanging off overpasses. Digital billboards cycling through Hell in the Rearview promo shots, glossy and high-definition. In one of the biggest displays, the whole band stands side by side in desert leathers and stormlight colors, eyes forward like saints before the fall. You and Mydei are next to each other in that one.

He’s turned half toward the camera, gaze sharp. You’re a step behind, hair windblown just right, shoulder brushing his like it means nothing. It was just like any other shoot. A scheduled morning in Okhema before you all set out for life on the road. You barely remember the poses. But now, magnified across a skyline that worships him, it feels like a confession.

You look away.

Minutes later, the banners and the billboards fade into the distance as you meander into a smaller neighborhood. Mydei guides you beneath old stone archways and neon shopfronts, the scents of street food and fresh rain winding together in the air.

“I used to come down this street all the time. Back when I was a kid.”

You glance sideways. “Really?”

He nods, eyes tracking a closed shop with vandalized shutters. “There was this little bookstore run by a retired archivist. Strict old guy. Barely ever spoke. But if you showed up with the right question, he’d let you stay past closing and dig through the stuff he didn’t put on display. Mostly mythology. Banned poetry. Stuff no one else wanted.”

“That sounds like exactly the kind of place you'd haunt.”

A huff of a laugh escapes him. “Yeah, well. There weren’t a lot of places I could haunt. Not the way I wanted.”

He kicks a loose pebble down the sidewalk, his pace slowing a touch. “My father used to say music was for ‘men who’d run out of useful things to do.’” The words are bitter, but his voice is calm. Like he’s told the story a dozen times in his head and this is just the first time it’s coming out loud.

You hesitate. “He didn’t want you to be a musician?”

“He didn’t want me to be anything I wanted.” He smiles without humor. “Had my entire future carved in stone by the time I was six. Private academies, diplomatic training, legacy scholarships. I was supposed to take over the estate, the board, the family’s seat on the Circle of Ten. Uh... think of that as a group of Kremnoan business tycoons.”

Your eyebrows rise. “So... like some snotty rotary club?”

“Mm.” He nods slightly. “Old money. One of the founding families. One of those last names.”

You blink, and all of a sudden, it all clicks—how he knew to order in the Kremnoan dialect with that clipped, educated cadence. The effortless posture. The familiarity with places like Koraxi. The fact that he’s never once stressed about money, even on tour. Now that he’s telling you all about this, you realize that those fan speculations about Mydei’s upbringing weren’t too far off after all.

“How’d you get from that… to a rock band?” you ask carefully.

“Hephaestion.” He shrugs, voice softening. “He was already in music when we met. One of the only people in my world who didn’t give a damn about it. We used to sneak out of language practicum to write lyrics in the margins of our textbooks. Got detention more times than I can count.”

Something tender glows behind his words.

“I knew he meant it when he said I could be good. I think I needed that—someone outside the machine saying, ‘You’re not crazy for wanting this.’ So I followed him. We both left for Okhema and burned every bridge I had on the way out.”

Your steps slow with his as he pauses at a stone overlook. The city spills out beneath you, lights glittering like dust on velvet.

“Do you regret it?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Mydei looks out over the city. The wind catches the edge of his jacket.

“No,” he says. “I regret not leaving sooner.”

You stand in silence together, his story still settling in your chest.

Then, lightly, he glances over. “Still think your soap operas would’ve been more interesting?”

You laugh. “I mean, this does have drama, betrayal, wealthy patriarchs—kind of hard to top.”

“Guess I’ll just have to keep it interesting.”

Mydei ends up leading you down narrow backstreets with crumbling mosaics, telling you half-true stories about warriors who used to duel in the amphitheaters and smugglers who buried treasure under the basilicas. His voice is like velvet laced with starlight, and you start to understand why the band—and maybe the whole damn world—would follow him anywhere.

Eventually, he nudges your elbow. “Hungry yet?”

You shake your head, laughing. “You’re insatiable.”

“I’m curious. That was just dinner in Koraxi. This could be dessert.”

You arch a brow. “Are you still talking about food?”

His answering smile is pure mischief as he says, “That’s entirely up to you.”

Innuendoes aside, you follow Mydei past a quiet square where street musicians once must’ve played, their chalk-scrawled names still faint on the pavement, and finally, he stops in front of a storefront that looks like it’s been preserved in amber.

A curved awning in faded pink-and-gold stretches over the door, lettered in a looping script that reads Alma’s — Glacées & Dreams Since 1965.

Rows of wooden booths lines the inside, their cushions worn but lovingly maintained, and above the register hangs a collection of framed portraits. Celebrities, famous actors, a few recognizable music legends. What stands out to you is a frame with teenage Hephaestion, smirking with two cones in hand. Another, unmistakably, is a young Mydei.

“I can’t believe they still have that up,” he mutters, not quite embarrassed but certainly aware.

You peer at it. “You look... criminally innocent.”

“I wasn’t.” He steps up to the counter, tapping the glass with easy familiarity. “Two scoops of blood orange sorbet and one pistachio gelato, please.”

The man behind the counter, in his sixties at least, squints at him. Then his face breaks into a grin, his accent thick. “If it isn’t trouble himself. You still like them in a cone, kid?”

“Yeah,” Mydei says, chuckling. “Still do.”

He turns to you with that quiet half-smile. “Pick whatever you want. It’s on me.”

You end up with something ridiculously decadent—salted caramel fudge with candied almonds. The kind of thing you wouldn’t have dared to eat before the tour started. But standing here, in a half-lit parlor echoing with old music and hometown laughter, it feels right.

You slide into a booth across from him. Mydei leans back against the window, cone balanced in one hand, watching the world outside as he licks the sorbet once with a thoughtful expression.

“They used to sell tiny journals at the counter,” he says eventually. “I don’t know if they still do. The original Alma believed every scoop of ice cream unlocked something in you. Memories, wishes, dreams. Something worth jotting down in a diary.”

You glance around. “That’s oddly poetic.”

“It was. I met her a couple of times when I was younger. She said I had ‘hungry eyes and a lonely heart.’” He smiles faintly. “My father never brought me here. It was Heph who introduced me. We’d go whenever we scraped enough from busking or odd jobs.”

You savor a spoonful of caramel silence. Then, softer, you ask, “Did your dad ever know you joined the band?”

Mydei doesn’t answer at first. Then he says, “He knew. He just refused to acknowledge it. We stopped speaking after I left Kremnos. Hephaestion’s parents tried to help for a while. I think they felt guilty we were doing it all alone.”

You nod. You’re quiet for a long moment, watching the sorbet melt slowly down his fingers, his thumb brushing it away absentmindedly.

He watches you, then asks, “You and Erin were close, right?”

The name settles gently between you, like he knows to hold it carefully.

You nod. “Closer than close. You know all that superstition when it comes to twins? Half of that is bullshit, but the other half might just be true.”

Mydei nods, gaze steady. “What was she like?”

You toy with your spoon for a second, tracing a line through your melting scoop. “She was louder than me. Braver, too. The kind of person who could walk into a room and make everyone feel like they belonged there. But she always looked out for me first. We did that for each other all the time.”

You don’t mention the nights spent curled up on the floor of your shared apartment, watching tour clips and livestreams under a threadbare blanket. How her laughter would ring out every time a new post dropped from that account. Instead, you offer:

“She’s the reason I started playing guitar seriously. Music was just... always around us. But I think I was chasing something through it. She just saw what it did to me. Knew what I couldn’t say out loud.”

The moment hangs there, fragile and warm.

You take another bite, needing something to ground you. The sugar curls around your tongue like nostalgia.

“She used to say listening to The Flamechasers felt like home before we even knew where home was. I mean, we were just a couple of nobodies, you know? But the band mattered to us. Everything about it.”

You bite your tongue.

Don’t say too much.

Don’t say who you were.

Mydei tilts his head. “Did she ever get to see us live?”

That one hurts in a way you didn’t expect.

You manage a nod. “Yeah. She went to every show she could. I was with her each time.”

The words feel heavier than they should, as if they’re carrying years of noise and light and the slow, impossible ache that followed.

You don’t tell him how it felt, the first show after she was gone. How your hand reached out instinctively, halfway through a chorus, only to find empty air. How you stopped going altogether. And you sure as hell don’t breathe a word about handing Flamescapes over to someone else, scrubbing every trace of yourself from the digital altar you’d spent years tending.

“I couldn’t keep going after she passed,” you say softly instead. “Concerts. They just... stopped making sense without her.”

You meet Mydei’s gaze and, for a moment, he looks like he understands.

“But you’re back, aren’t you?”

You nod slowly, eyes falling to the curve of your spoon as you breathe out a quiet laugh. He says it like getting to join the band you dedicated your life to is something that happens to everyone.

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

The booth feels too still, like the kind of quiet that follows something sacred. You look up, and Mydei is watching you with that same thoughtful expression from earlier.

“I didn’t think I would be,” you admit. “For a long time, I thought stepping back into this world would feel like betraying her. Or… like I’d be haunted by it. But it’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” he asks gently.

You breathe in, let it sit on your tongue before answering. “It’s strange. I thought the grief would make it impossible to love this again. And—sorry, this is gonna sound so corny—but the music still hits. It just feels a little different now. Like the loss became part of the instrument.”

Mydei nods, almost imperceptibly. “That’s what music does. It won’t fix anything, but it does give the pain somewhere to live.”

You glance at him, surprised at the way he put it.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Exactly.”

The sorbet’s melted down to a syrupy swirl in his cone, and Mydei deigns to just drink it all up in one go.

“So…” he says as he munches through the cone, “should we see if they still sell those journals?”

You laugh, grateful for the shift. “What, so you can write down your ice cream-induced dreams?”

He grins. “Mhmm. I think I saw a unicorn just now.”

You both get up, easing into the low murmur of the shop again. As you walk toward the counter, shoulders brushing, you think of Erin. You think of that old fan account. You think of everything that’s changed in the past year. And as Mydei holds one last conversation with the old man behind the counter, your chest starts to throb with a single promise.

You’ll tell him soon.

You’ll tell everyone soon.

Before the past catches up to you on its own.

Castrum Kremnos spans three full concert days.

Like Okhema, it holds a massive share of the fanbase—but here, the devotion feels different. You remember befriending a handful of Kremonan fans online in what feels like another lifetime. Their reverence bordered on mythic. After all, they live in the city where the band’s frontman was born. They get to walk the streets Mydei once walked. That alone feels like a kind of privilege.

Day One is one of the most electrifying performances you’ve ever been part of. The arena is enormous—so vast it feels like sound itself could get lost in the rafters—but every single seat is filled. Not just with fans, but with people who came to feel something. And when the lights drop and the first chord hits, the air fractures into a thunderous roar.

There are no surprise fan projects like the one in Carmitis, but what the crowd lacks in coordinated stunts, they make up for in raw intensity. Mydei speaks often between songs, slipping in and out of the local dialect with practiced ease. You don’t understand every word, but you understand enough. The cadence of his voice is gentler here, a little rough around the edges, but warm in a way that cuts through even the heaviest soundscapes.

The language doesn’t matter. The tenderness translates anyway.

From your place on stage, fingers wrapped around the neck of your guitar, you watch it all unfold—his words echoing across the sea of lights and faces, the audience responding like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to hear this exact voice say their names. There’s something about this city that digs under your skin and stays there.

Maybe it’s the weight of history.

Maybe it’s the boy who left this place and the man who returned to sing for it.

Either way, the first night in Kremnos ends with your pulse still racing, your chest still tight, and your heart somewhere out in the crowd.

You’re still buzzing when you return to the hotel, adrenaline thrumming faintly under your skin like phantom reverb. The walls of your suite feel too quiet, the city humming low outside your window. You haven’t even kicked off your boots when the door swings open—unlocked, apparently—and in stumble Cipher and Castorice like twin hurricanes.

“Girls’ night,” Cipher declares, raising a suspiciously full bottle of plum wine in triumph. “By executive decree.”

Castorice grins, arms loaded with snacks and a backup bottle already half-drained. “You weren’t answering your messages, so we assumed you were either asleep or brooding.”

“I don’t brood,” you say, which is a lie.

Cipher flops dramatically onto your bed and immediately starts scrolling through your playlist queue. “You totally brood. It’s the artistic temperament. Now shut up and make room.”

Within ten minutes, the room smells like fruit alcohol and overpriced popcorn. Castorice curls up near the foot of the bed with her legs tucked beneath her, while Cipher is already three shots deep and trying to convince your Bluetooth speaker to play early Flamechasers demos. For science, she claims.

“I think I lost two years off my life out there tonight,” you say, leaning back into the pillows with a groan.

“Yeah, that crowd?” Castorice lets out a low whistle. “I thought the arena was going to implode when Mydei started speaking Kremonan. I nearly cried and I don’t even know the language.”

Cipher refills all three glasses with reckless abandon. “That was hot. Like, genuinely unfairly hot. And I don’t even like him like that.”

You snort into your drink, which tastes like something between floral syrup and liquid courage. “We’re not turning this into another ‘Rate the Members’ night, are we?”

“No promises,” Cipher says sweetly. “Unless you’re scared.”

You hesitate, drink in hand. For a moment, the edges of the day blur—the crowd, the lights, Mydei’s voice echoing like a memory in your bones. You think about how long it took to let yourself laugh like this again. To let people in. To make space for softness without guilt clinging to its heels.

You nurse your drink as their chatter flows easily around you; Cipher recapping the absurd drama happening in the band’s group chat (Anaxa apparently muted them all for sending too many cursed eldritch horror memes), and Castorice giggling into her sleeve, soft and content.

They’re your friends now, you realize. Not just bandmates or coworkers. Friends. People who barged into your room with too much alcohol and not enough boundaries and made it feel like a sleepover instead of a tour stop.

And for a flicker of a second, you think about telling them.

Not everything, not the whole story, but enough that the memories of the account you once breathed life into don’t have to stay buried like contraband. They wouldn’t judge you, would they? Cipher is reckless but loyal; Castorice sees people in ways they don’t always see themselves.

You swirl your glass, watching the liquid catch the light.

“I used to know some Kremonan fans online,” you say suddenly, voice quiet but clear.

Cipher raises a brow. “Hm? Since when were you lurking fan corners? I always thought you were more... chill.”

You shrug, trying for nonchalance. “It was just a long time ago. A different life, kinda.”

Castorice tilts her head. “What happened?”

You open your mouth. Then close it again.

The words tangle behind your teeth, heavy with the weight of too many yesterdays. You want to trust them. You really do. But before you can decide, all three of your phones light up at once with the same chime.

Cipher groans. “No way. Did Phainon send another cursed meme—?”

Castorice snatches her phone first. “Nope. It’s Aglaea.”

You glance at your screen.

Aglaea: Excellent work tonight, everyone. Kremnos Day 1 was a strong showing—let’s keep that momentum going.

Aglaea: That said, please be reminded that backstage is NOT a hookup zone. Keep it in your pants. I’m serious. There will be consequences if you fail to comply (i.e. pay cuts, suspensions).

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

You brace yourself for Cipher to burst out laughing, but she doesn’t. Instead, she and Castorice just… share a look. It’s quick, but unmistakable—eyebrows rising, something wordless passing between them like current through a wire. And then, in perfect sync, they turn to look at you.

“So.” Castorice’s tone is light.

“So,” Cipher echoes as she scoots closer, glass still in hand. “You and Mydei.”

You blink. “What?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Cipher says, eyes narrowing like she’s onto a scent. “You flinched.”

“I didn’t flinch.”

“You totally flinched,” Castorice chimes in.

You open your mouth to protest, but Cipher cuts in again, singsong: “You and My-dei.”

“Stop—”

“You and Mydei!” Castorice joins in, giggling.

You drag a hand over your face as your heart starts beating off the charts. “What are you even talking about?”

Cipher leans forward like she’s interrogating a suspect under a single swinging lightbulb. “We’re not saying it is you that band mom is pertaining to in the groupchat. But the way you’re reacting right now is kind of saying it is you. And Mydei.”

“I’m not reacting,” you lie, voice too sharp, too fast. “A-And why would I even get with Mydei, of all people? We’re bandmates!”

“Oh no, she’s panicking,” Castorice says, delighted, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Look at her, Cipher. Full panic. Guilty.”

You clutch your drink like it might shield you. “I’m not guilty of anything. And even if I were—which I’m not—nothing happened backstage.”

Cipher narrows her eyes. “So you’re saying something did happen, just not backstage?”

You sputter. “That’s not— W-What I meant to say is—”

They both gasp in unison.

“Oh my god,” Castorice breathes.

“No, no, no,” you say quickly, holding up your hands like they’re explosives. “You’re misunderstanding.”

But they’re already spiraling.

“I knew something was up in Lethe,” Cipher declares, jabbing a finger at you like she’s cracked the case. “You disappeared in Thalia’s nightclub party for, like, forty minutes. I was wasted when we walked back to the hotel, but even I could tell Mydei was being—how do I put this—real friendly.”

“Not to mention,” Castorice adds, grinning as she leans forward, “the music video shoot in Akashic? I know the director said to act, but that scene between you two? That wasn’t acting. That was tension. Capital-T.”

You stare at them, dumbfounded. You’d just been considering telling them a secret—your secret—the one buried beneath years of fan accounts and hidden usernames. But now you’re being cornered for something else entirely.

Something that hadn’t even happened when you first joined the band.

Were you and Mydei that obvious?

You want to laugh. Or run. Or throw the nearest throw pillow out the hotel window and scream into the city air. Because somehow, the quiet little thread you’ve kept tucked away is being yanked from the opposite end—and it’s not the one you thought would unravel first. Now, here you are, caught between two secrets, and neither one feels safe in your hands.

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Okay, yes, something is going on.”

Cipher immediately gasps like she’s been vindicated in a murder trial. Castorice clutches her drink like it’s an award. You shoot them both a look.

“But,” you say quickly, firmly, “we haven’t hooked up.”

That shuts them up for half a second.

“Huh,” Cipher says, blinking. “Wait, really?”

“Not even a little?” Castorice adds, leaning forward.

“Not even slightly,” you deadpan, despite the vivid, electric memory of Mydei between your knees in that velvet-draped lounge in Lethe. “Nothing happened. End of story.”

Sure, Mydei has a habit of finding excuses to drag you into quiet corners and kiss you until you saw stars. But he’s never pushed it further—not once. Not even that night, when the air between you went tight with possibility. When it could’ve turned into something else entirely if not for that damn paparazzo and the cold snap of reality that followed.

You like to think he’s been careful on purpose. Gentle in a way you haven’t had the words to thank him for.

They exchange a glance, clearly not convinced, but you give them your best no-bullshit stare until they both back down, at least outwardly.

“Okay,” Cipher says slowly. “Noted.”

“For now,” Castorice adds under her breath.

You pretend not to hear that part, sipping your drink like it’ll wash away the heat crawling up your neck.

“Okay, but seriously—who is Aglaea talking about?” she asks, holding up her phone again. “Like, are we just going to ignore that someone apparently had the audacity to hook up backstage?”

Castorice’s eyes narrow with faux intensity. “Who even has the logistics for that? There’s wires and cases everywhere.”

Cipher snorts. “Exactly. It’s either impressive or disgusting. Possibly both.”

It’s a pretty big group chat. The band members and managers aren’t the only ones part of it, but so are all the staff on-board for the entire tour. But just like that, the attention shifts—off of you and Mydei, and onto the much safer mystery of whoever had the nerve to tangle with temptation under Aglaea’s nose.

You exhale, quietly grateful.

The second night in Castrum Kremnos hits just as hard as the first.

If last night felt like a fever dream, tonight is something else entirely. Yesterday, you’d been too wired, too high on adrenaline to register the crowd during Nightingale Static. But tonight, you see it: a thousand lights swaying in sync to the stripped-down version, soft and solemn like a prayer.

Every city brings something different. Every show changes shape in its own strange way. But this kaleidoscope of noise and silence and something like awe—you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it.

And you hope you never do.

Backstage hums with the kind of joy only a flawless show can spark. The celebration isn’t just for the band, it belongs to everyone who made the night possible. The makeup artists who fixed every smudge, the stylists who kept every thread in place, the local crew who made the stage feel like home, even the ever-watchful security team. If any one of them had done less, the magic wouldn’t have landed the way it did. And standing among them now, you’re quietly grateful—because this isn’t just a job. It’s a rare kind of harmony.

So you let yourself breathe. Let yourself melt into the warmth of the impromptu backstage dinner thrown together by the venue managers. “On the house,” they’d said, and Mydei had made a beeline for the buffet with single-minded determination. No one questioned it. Everyone knows your frontman emerges from each set like a man starved.

Phainon’s laugh cuts sharp through the room as he pulls a reluctant Anaxa toward the food, and from there, the night dissolves into its usual, comforting chaos.

Cipher’s halfway into a theatrical reenactment of someone nearly flashing the band from the barricade while Castorice is doubled over beside her, cackling helplessly into a glass of wine. You’re mid-sip of something sweet and suspiciously strong when a hand closes gently over your shoulder.

“Diana,” Tribbios says, voice gentle. “Got a second?”

That’s all it takes.

The plastic cup in your hand goes weightless. The ache in your calves from the final chorus fades. Your stomach drops like someone pulled the stage floor out from under you.

You follow without a word.

Down the hall, away from the noise and fluorescent buzz of the green room. Each step echoes sharper than the last—yours too heavy, Tribbios’ too calm. You pass cases of cables, crates labeled with tape and Sharpie, someone’s half-finished coffee balanced on a lighting rig. Your throat is dry.

You don’t need to ask what this is about.

They found out. Flamescapes. The fan account, the forum posts, the way your whole world used to orbit this band from behind a username you never thought would be traced back to you. Someone must’ve recognized you. Or maybe they caught wind of the photo Hyacine posted months ago. She reassured that she already deleted it, but you know it’s too late.

“Here.” Tribbios stops in front of a small side lounge, mostly empty save for a couch and a flickering floor lamp. Aglaea is already inside, perched on the armrest like judgment made flesh.

Your skin goes cold.

Aglaea doesn’t waste time. “Sit.”

You do.

It’s suddenly very clear you’re not here for congratulations.

Tribbios leans against the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable. Aglaea eyes you like a problem she’s trying to solve with a scalpel instead of a pen.

“Diana,” she begins, “we’re going to ask you a few questions. We’d prefer you answer them honestly.”

Your stage name sounds too sharp in her mouth. Like a verdict. Like a blade. Your mind immediately kicks into overdrive. A million thoughts flash through like sparks on a short fuse.

This is it. They know. You don’t know how much traction Hyacine’s tweet gained. Or if they found out somewhere else. They probably think you faked your way into the band. That you joined out of obsession. That you’re some creep who just wanted to get close to them, to him. That nothing you’ve done here has been real.

They’ll think you’re dangerous.

You knew this was always going to catch up to you. You just thought maybe you’d have more time. That you'd get to prove yourself before the ground gave out. But of course it’s now. Of course it’s right when everything was starting to feel… possible.

Still, even with all the thoughts clashing in your head, you manage a single nod.

“Okay.”

You aren’t ready to tell them, but you’ve run out of corners to hide in. Run out of excuses to put it off.

Aglaea’s voice slices through the silence.

“How long have you and Mydei been romantically involved?”

Everything in you locks up.

You blink hard, the words not computing, like you misheard them through a pane of glass.

“What?” you echo, because that’s all you can manage. A breathless, dumbfounded syllable.

Aglaea doesn’t flinch. “Don’t play dumb. You heard me.”

No, no, no— this wasn’t what you were bracing for. You were ready for the fan account, ready to admit to Flamescapes, to plead your case, to beg them to see you as more than your past. But this?

This was supposed to stay in the dark a little longer. This was sacred. Fragile. His.

“We’re not... We’re not involved like that,” you say, the words scraping out thin and automatic.

Tribbios exhales behind you, slow and almost sympathetic. Aglaea tilts her head, unimpressed.

“You expect us to believe that?” she says coolly. “You vanish with him at the Lethe afterparty. You frequently sneak off together. The footage from the Akashic shoot could’ve melted half the boardroom. And we’ve seen the way Mydei looks at you. You honestly think no one’s noticed?”

Your hands are ice. Your heartbeat crashes against your ribcage, loud and unsteady. You thought you were ready to burn for the truth, but not this truth. You can’t even let yourself wonder how they found out. Did Castorice or Cipher rat you out? Part of you thinks they wouldn’t. Or maybe they wouldn’t even have to with how careless you and Mydei were.

“There’s nothing going on,” you say again, and it’s almost steady. “The Akashic shoot? We were just doing as the director told us. And we vanished in Lethe because I drank too much and Mydei insisted I sit down and get some fresh air. We’re bandmates, Aglaea. We look out for each other. That’s all there is to it.”

Your heart pounds with every word, doing your best not to trip on the strings of Aglaea’s razor sharp scrutiny. Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker under the surface. Not disbelief. Disappointment.

“And if we were to check the security tapes from the Lethe lounge?” she asks. “Would they say the same thing?”

You hesitate for a breath too long.

But then you nod. “Check them.”

Because you know they won’t find anything. Not what they’re looking for, anyway. Thalia’s made sure of that.

Tribbios’ tone is soft when she speaks. Almost. “Diana, you need to understand—we’ve already had one incident with a band member choosing a relationship over the rules. I’m sure by now, you know what happened to Hephaestion. We can’t afford to go through that again.”

And there it is.

Not the ghost of your fan account. Not the internet trail of obsession and love. But this.

This is the sin that might break you.

You inhale, slowly. Then meet their eyes.

“There’s nothing going on,” you repeat, carefully. “Not backstage. Not off-stage. Not anywhere.”

They watch you. Weighing the words. Measuring the gaps. Neither of them notices the faintest shift in the hallway shadows—the sound of someone pausing just beyond the cracked-open door.

You don’t, either.

Because you’re too busy lying through your teeth. Not for your sake. For his. If they punish anyone, let it be you. You’ll swallow the fallout whole if it means protecting him from it.

What you don’t know is this: just outside, Mydei stands still. A file loaded on his phone cued and ready. The flame-shaped charm clipped to the case catches the dim light, swinging once like a warning bell.

He’d come to surprise you.

He’d finally gotten the track approved for the deluxe release—your song. The one you left half-finished in the shared cloud like a secret confession. The one you played together for the band in some nameless town in the middle of nowhere. Raw, unpolished, and real. He’d cleaned it up. Finessed the edges. Played it for the execs. Fought for it.

All it needed now was a name.

He thought maybe you could name it together.

But instead, he hears you. Your voice, steady. Your denial, sharper than any blade.

For you, it might feel like damage control. Like shielding something fragile from scrutiny. But to him, it sounds like betrayal and the very thing he thought he’d never have to fear from you.

You said no.

Not to Aglaea. Not to Tribbios.

To him.

To everything you’ve shared, everything that bloomed in stolen hours and quiet moments and backstage glances. The look in your eyes when you thought no one was watching. The way your fingers laced with his like he was the only thing keeping you steady.

And now you’re pretending it never happened.

You don’t see the way his fingers tighten around the phone. How long he stares at it, thumb hovering just above the play button, as if hitting it might undo what he just heard. When Mydei walks away, he does it in silence, like a shadow slipping back into the darkness.

Unlike the first two days, something about Day Three feels… wrong.

It isn’t the staff—everyone’s on time, grinning through clipboards and coffee cups as the sun burns away the morning chill. The production crew hums with efficiency. The venue is a well-oiled machine.

Cipher and Castorice are already scheming by the sidelines, locked in a fierce tic-tac-toe battle against Garmentmaker, trying to outmaneuver their algorithmic precision. Castorice keeps score on her wrist in eyeliner, as if she’s sure this is the time they’ll finally win. Cipher is cheating. Openly.

Phainon’s crouched at his kit, tools spread around him like a surgeon mid-operation. He gives you a quick nod as you pass. “Finally got the snares replaced,” he mutters, like it’s the greatest triumph of his day. Anaxa is, predictably, nowhere to be seen. But you glimpsed him earlier, tucked in a backstage corner with a private little smile aimed at his phone. Whatever conversation he was having, he hadn’t noticed you walk by.

It should feel like any other morning.

The final day in a city drenched in myth and heat and the roar of fans who now chant your names like they’ve always belonged to them. The last rehearsal before tonight’s blowout performance—what should be a celebration, a victory lap.

But it isn’t.

Because no matter how much the rest of the world keeps moving, one thing is impossible to ignore:

Mydei is furious.

You don’t know why. No one does. But the shift is unmistakable.

He arrived later than usual, said nothing to anyone, and hasn’t cracked a single smile since. Not even when Cipher offered him a heart-shaped muffin and called it a peace offering “for crimes I haven’t committed yet.” Or when Garmentmaker pulled up a crude statistic of the likelihood of fans fainting in the pit if Mydei performed without a shirt again.

You try to brush it off. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe someone from the hotel staff pissed him off this morning. Maybe—anything.

But then he doesn’t look at you.

Not once.

At the first bout of rehearsals, the opening riff kicks in, and you fall into muscle memory, fingers sliding over the frets like they always have. Cipher catches your eye from behind the synths and waggles her brows with a grin. You smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Because you can feel it. That stillness, just to your left.

Mydei stands a little farther than usual, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the overhead lights like they might offer an escape route, lips set in a line that doesn't budge. Even when Phainon cracks a joke so off-color it earns a groan from Castorice, he doesn’t so much as react.

Then it hits you.

You know that look. That distance.

It’s the same wall he hid behind when you first joined the band—the one built from grief and guilt and the ghost of a friend who vanished without warning. Back then, Mydei had looked at you like you were a puzzle he didn’t want to deal with. Like maybe if he ignored you long enough, the shape of you would shift into someone else.

You never thought you’d see that look aimed at you again. You don’t even know what you did to deserve it.

When the stage lights finally flare to life that night, everything changes.

Out here on-stage, Mydei is every inch the frontman the fans have come to adore. All golden hair and fire-lit eyes, stalking the stage with the kind of swagger that makes people scream themselves hoarse. He hits every cue, every note, every beat of the choreography with lethal precision. His voice threads through the night like silk dragged through flames.

The crowd eats it up. They always do.

You play your part too. The music drowns out your thoughts, your fingers flying across the strings, the pulse of the performance pulling you forward like a tide you can’t resist. But no matter how loud the crowd gets, how bright the pyros blaze, you can’t shake the cold weight lodged in your chest.

Because he still won’t look at you.

Not during the solos. Not during the call-and-response when he always used to turn toward you with a half-smirk, like the two of you shared some private joke above the roar. Tonight, his gaze slides right past you every time. Like you’re not even there.

It shouldn’t matter. This is what you signed up for—professionalism, precision, performance. You don’t have to be close to be convincing. You just have to play like you mean it.

But when the final notes fade into screams and smoke and thunder, when the curtain falls and the stage crew surges forward to begin the teardown, Mydei is already halfway down the back steps, sweat-damp and radiant under the safety lights, but with a grimace etched so deep it could’ve been carved in stone.

He doesn’t stop to talk to the crew. Doesn’t acknowledge the high-fives from Cipher or the praise Phainon throws his way. Doesn’t even spare a glance for you.

Mydei just keeps walking.

Past the dressing rooms. Past the loading bay. Straight to the shuttles.

By the time you make it down the stairs, he’s gone and you’re left standing in the wings, guitar still slung over your shoulder, heart rattling like something broken inside your ribs.

But you don’t let that deter you just yet.

When you find yourself in front of Mydei’s hotel room later that evening, you don’t knock at first.

You just stand there, hand hovering in the space between certainty and fear, staring at the dark grain of the hotel room door like it might blink first. But it doesn’t. It just looms, silent and impassable, the same way he’s been all day.

Maybe you should walk away.

Let him stew. Let him be angry. Let him lock himself behind that blank-faced fury if that’s what he wants. You owe him nothing. Not after the way he looked through you like you were glass.

But you know him. You know this silence isn’t nothing. It’s a storm system, and you won’t let it pass without a fight.

So you knock. Three times.

Nothing.

You knock again, louder this time, shoulders squared like you can muscle your way through the distance between you.

You hear it then—footsteps. Fast and angry.

The door rips open, and Mydei stands before you on the other side.

Shirtless. Hair still damp from the shower, strands curling down his neck. His expression is flat at first, like he expected someone else—maybe room service, maybe Aglaea. But the second he sees you, it shifts. His jaw locks. His hand twitches toward the edge of the door.

He’s going to slam it in your face.

And he almost does.

But as the door starts to swing shut, your hand darts forward on instinct. It catches in the gap—fingers wedged between the frame and the wood with a sharp, breathless snap.

“Shit,” you hiss, staggering forward as the pain flares bright and hot.

The door jerks back open with a violent recoil.

“You—” Mydei’s voice is rough, his hand already catching your wrist as you clutch your fingers against your chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You stare up at him, face pale, breath shallow, anger burning just under the surface.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you snap.

He doesn’t let go of your wrist. Doesn’t look away from your face. But the storm behind his eyes is raging now—less silent thunder, more wildfire caught too long in a box.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t be taking it out on me without even telling me what I did,” you fire back. “If you’re going to hate me, Mydei, then at least do me the courtesy of letting me know why.”

The words are too loud. Too raw. They land hard between you, a gauntlet thrown in the narrow space of the hotel hallway. You don’t flinch. Not even when he finally lets go. His fingers drag off your skin like they’re trying not to remember how you feel. Mydei curses under his breath, then steps back.

“Get in.”

It’s not an invitation, but you go anyway, clutching your hand and brushing past him without looking. The room’s dim, the scent of his cologne still clinging to the air, the floor littered with half-unpacked luggage and a towel slung over a chair. A bandage wrapper peeks out from the bathroom trash, probably from something stupid like a blister he didn’t mention.

He shuts the door behind you with a quiet click. You don’t turn around. Not until you hear the sink run.

Then his voice: clipped and tense. “Sit down.”

You find the edge of the bed and sink onto it, watching as he rifles through the minibar for ice. He doesn’t look at you when he returns, crouching in front of you like this is just a job. Like you’re a stranger who happened to injure herself on his doorstep.

The cold compress lands on your hand with a hiss.

You wince, and he still doesn’t say anything. His brows are furrowed in concentration, mouth pressed thin as he folds the towel around the ice with clinical precision.

The silence gnaws.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you or whatever,” he mutters finally, barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have put your hand there.”

“And you shouldn’t have tried to slam the door in my face.”

His eyes snap up to yours—sharp and furious. “You don’t get to act like this is nothing.”

“What is ‘this,’ Mydei?” you shoot back. “Because just a few days ago you were—we were—” You cut yourself off, throat thickening. “And now you won’t even look at me. What did I do?”

He looks away again, jaw tight.

The ice starts to sting, the cold numbing your fingers, but you don’t pull back. You watch him, every flicker of emotion crawling just beneath his skin.

“I heard you.”

Your brows knit. “What?”

“I heard you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “With Aglaea and Tribbios. Yesterday. Behind the dressing rooms.”

Then and there, the world seems to tilt from right under your feet.

Oh, god.

“Mydei—”

His laugh is short, bitter. “You think I’m mad because of something you didn’t tell me? Because of some misunderstanding? No. I could’ve handled that. I could’ve handled anything, Diana. Except this.”

He starts to pace again, unable to stay still, the fire in his chest too much to bear. “Do you know what that sounded like? Hearing you talk about me like it was all nothing? Like I was just some guy you play next to on stage?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quickly. “I didn’t—”

“But that’s what you said,” he cuts in, turning on you, voice raw. “You said there was nothing going on. You looked them in the eyes and denied me. Like I imagined everything. Like we imagined everything.”

You stand too, heart pounding. “It wasn’t safe to tell them the truth.”

“I’m not asking you to tell the whole world. I’m asking why you couldn’t tell them. Tell the people who would’ve kept it quiet. Who’ve known me longer than I’ve known myself. Tell me.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Because they’re scared, Mydei. Scared of what happened last time. If you’d actually been listening, you would’ve heard Tribbios say it—how this band can’t afford another fallout like Hephaestion.”

His jaw tightens, but you press on.

“I know it’s not fair. I hate how they talk about him like he was some kind of PR disaster and not your best friend,” you whisper helplessly. “But I was cornered, okay? Everything’s been moving so fast, and I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you—to figure out what this is. What we are.”

You take a shaky breath, voice dropping.

“You’ve already lost too much to this band. I didn’t want to be the reason you lost something else. So I took the hit. And yeah, maybe I said the wrong thing.”

Something shifts in his expression just slightly. The fire’s still there, but there’s a fracture now, a question in the heat.

You step forward, quiet but sure. “But I didn’t deny you because I don’t care. I did that because I do.”

Mydei doesn't move. His jaw works like he wants to say something, like something’s caught between his ribs and throat, but whatever it is, it never makes it out. You wait for a beat, then another, hoping stupidly that maybe he’ll reach for you, maybe he’ll say something to bridge the space between your hearts.

But he doesn’t.

So you swallow the knot in your throat, nod once—more to yourself than to him—and step back. Your voice is soft when it comes, barely louder than the hush in the room.

“I’ll... I’ll just go.”

You turn before you can see the way his expression flickers, before you can second-guess every word, every moment that led you here. Your hand aches as you open the door, the skin already purpling, but you don’t flinch.

Not until you’re alone in the hallway, and the door clicks quietly shut behind you.

Only then do you let yourself feel the full weight of it.

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #mydei x reader #mydei #cryoculus #queue

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frankys-wife · 17 hours ago

Text

I'll Never Sail Without You

HAPPY (BELATED) ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY, MY BELOVED FRANKY! (6/25/24)

Header art: art is my own!

Written by: writing is my own!

Words: 8.3k

Mimi had been a member of the Straw Hat Pirate crew for something like a year and a few months now, ever since she reunited with them on the island of Dressrosa, completely by chance as a result of her deployment on a mission by the Revolutionary Army. She had never imagined her life would take such a turn, much less becoming a pirate like the ones that rampaged her home island of Water Seven, but she considers herself lucky that it happened nonetheless.

In the time that she’d been travelling with them, Mimi knew she had found a second family. Everyone on the crew has been so warm to her, the kind of warmth that reminds her of the sun’s rays that kisses her pale skin on a summer afternoon. Especially her captain, Luffy, who has an affinity for attracting people with the radiant optimism that shines in him. Mimi is no different. Almost instantly after joining she was drawn to some members of the crew, either by sharing similar interests, such as Usopp’s knack for creativity or Robin’s love of history, or by simply being interested in the crew’s activities and observing their tight-knit relationships with each other. It helped a lot that Mimi shared their love of adventure, which seemed to be a commonality among her crewmates.

It helped even more, however, that she had known Franky since they were kids.

Out of everyone on the crew, her bond with him is undeniably the strongest one. Ten years apart suddenly felt like nothing when everything she knew and loved about him came flooding back to her after their reunion on Dressrosa. The two of them had changed so much in that time, and yet, it feels as if time did not touch their love. Sure, the first month or so after joining the Straw Hats felt like uncharted waters for Mimi. However, being by Franky’s side once again felt like rediscovering a timeless treasure, one so precious that no amount of Beri could afford it.

She doesn’t know what stroke of fate allowed her to reunite with the love of her life, but she’s grateful she could experience falling for him all over again.

Mimi feels a large, comforting hand plant itself on her back.

“Takin’ a breather?” Utters a familiar voice, the sound of it deep and gravelly with a warmth to it. Mimi opens her eyes, inhaling sharply as the smell of the crisp evening air graces her nostrils. The invigorating smell of the fresh, salty sea relaxes her shoulders, allowing her to catch a moment of respite from the crew’s dinnertime liveliness on the bow of the Thousand Sunny. She skims her eyes along the ocean in front of her, whose gentle waves appear to make the setting sunlight that shone on it dance against its surface.

“I guess you could say that,” Mimi replies with a chuckle. A small smile creeps across her face, exhaling briskly. Leaning her elbows on the ship deck’s railing, she hunches forward, her silver hair tickling her face as she turns her head to meet Franky’s gaze. “It’s fun being with everybody, but a bit exhausting sometimes, to be honest.”

Franky chuckles low in his throat, shaking his head slightly. He places his opposite hand on the ship’s railing, leaning over Mimi as he gazes out at the captivating ocean alongside her. “Yeah, I hear ya. We’re a rowdy bunch, that’s for sure. We know how to have a good time.” He smirks. “But, you might wanna buckle in tonight, sweetheart. The night ain’t over, yet! I wouldn’t want you missin’ out.” Franky states in all his usual confidence, making no effort to hide the fact that he knows something.

Mimi raises an eyebrow, intrigued by his statement. Her eyes widen as she studies Franky’s facial expression, recognizing his mischievous smirk all too well. Mimi squints, a smirk forming across her lips to match it. Mimi lets out a chortle.

“Now what are you up to?” She replies in a teasing tone, her shoulders shaking in response. She’s known Franky long enough to tell when he’s got a set plan in mind. The past few nights haven’t been particularly eventful since the crew has been traveling from one place to the next, so it’s been a lot of work aboard the ship aside from the crew’s usual shenanigans.

Franky grins wider in response. “Ah, nothing. We’re just taking a small detour, Luffy’s orders.” Franky replies, firm but playful. His response does nothing but raise more questions for Mimi, her eyes widening in response. Learning about any sort of detour was certainly news to her, especially since any directional decisions are usually well-thought out in advance by Nami, the crew’s resident navigator.

“And where are we headed, exactly?” Mimi inquires.

“Just a smaller island nearby for some supply runs. Need to stock up on some more cola for the Sunny’s Coup-de-Burst, and Sanji needs some more ingredients for meal prep. Should be there in an hour, so you should get your ass movin’ and get ready.” Franky pats her back gently, a pearly smile still plastered across his lips.

Mimi purses her lips at his response. She takes a moment longer to narrow her eyes at him once more. It puzzles her why they’d be making a supply run at this time, but she decides not to push him for further answers despite her burning curiosity. “Alright, then.” She replies, with a bit of hesitation. Straightening her back, she takes one last deep breath of the fresh air before planting a kiss on Franky’s large, red metal shoulder. “I’ll be in our room if you need me.” Trailing her hand down Franky’s arm, Mimi turns and begins to make her way down towards the lower decks.

Since the crew had expanded, both the men’s and women’s quarters became too crowded of a place for some of the other crewmates to sleep comfortably with their partners. Franky had taken it upon himself a while back to upgrade the layout of his beloved Thousand Sunny, making sure to add a few extra small rooms for the other members to sleep in, most notably Sanji and Moxie, as well as himself and Mimi.

Mimi opens the door to hers and Franky’s bedroom, making sure to close the door behind her as she steps inside. Despite the sudden change in plans, she adores how considerate Franky is of her. Mimi despises rushing to go anywhere, so when she’s afforded time to prepare herself at a leisurely pace, she takes pleasure in it.

Taking her time, she allows her thoughts to run as she changes into a more comfortable outfit for going out.

Franky finds himself at the helm of the ship. For a moment, he allows himself to clear his head, paying attention to the seas ahead with a focused expression. He knew what was to come in the next couple hours, he’d planned this for a couple days now. And, with the crew’s permission, he’s docking the ship on a small island to set his plan in motion.

His large chest heaves deeply, exhaling the salty air as he mentally runs through the plan step-by-step. Resting his head on his large hand, he rubs his brow in thought.

Before he can get too lost in thought, Franky notices footsteps coming up the stairs behind him, accompanied by the faint smell of smoke. He shifts his eyes, taking notice of the ship’s well-dressed cook.

“What brings you up here, brother? Kitchen’s on the first level.” Franky greets Sanji nonchalantly, his eyes remaining focused ahead with one hand on the helm.

“I know.” Sanji replies, almost with a hint of annoyance. Franky catches the sound of Sanji clicking his lighter a couple of times, taking a cigarette between his teeth and lighting it before pushing the metal lid closed. “I was just wondering where Mimi ran off to. She only finished half her plate. I hope you didn’t gross her out, you pervert.”

A pleased grin wipes across Franky’s face, turning to face Sanji as he waves his free hand dismissively. “Easy with the compliments, bro!” He chuckles, not fazed by Sanji’s insult. “Besides, it’s nothin’ you need to worry about. She just needed some super air.” As Franky finishes, his expression becomes serious once again. “She knows we’re docking soon, so she’s gettin’ ready.”

Sanji turns away swiftly, eager to end the interaction. “Great, I’ll bring the rest to her then.” Placing his hands in his pockets, he takes the first step down the stairs.

“I wouldn’t bother, Sanji. Give my girl some space. Luffy will eat her scraps.” Franky’s voice turns serious, a hint of hesitation in his phrasing, which is incredibly rare given Franky’s decisive nature. Sanji shifts his eyes to Franky, a knowing look glazing over his expression. He takes a deep sigh, puffing out some smoke from his cigarette. Without a word, Sanji crouches, taking a seat on the top stair, hunching forward slightly. “You better be doing the right thing, Franky. Mimi’s a good woman.” Sanji furrows his curly brow. “Beautiful, considerate, patient, and a good heart. A lady like her deserves nothing short of your best.”

“Damn it, bro, I know already.” Franky groans, stating bluntly. He continues on, his voice low and serious. “Like I said earlier, it’s not a problem. I’m not a dumbass, rushing into things. I’ll make my bets, but she ain’t one of ‘em.” Franky rubs his brow, bothered by his thoughts but stubborn to admit it.

A moment’s pause ensues, broken only by Sanji standing up once again. He nods, taking another puff of his cigarette. Keeping his head forward, he smiles slightly at Franky’s response. “Good. Proposing to a lady takes a certain finesse. If you rushed into it and scared her off I’d kick your ass.” Sanji looks over his shoulder, glancing at Franky, who is returning the gaze through the corner of his eye. He pauses again, his tone slightly more tender than before. “She really does love you, Franky. Show her that same love back.”

Franky’s lips curl into a small pleased smirk at Sanji’s words. “Thanks, bro. I’m glad Moxie has a man like you.” He replies, giving Sanji an acknowledging nod, watching Sanji return the gesture. Franky watches as Sanji continues his way down the stairs towards the lawn deck, leaving Franky to his thoughts once again.

A few minutes turn into an hour, and the crew finds the ship approaching the island’s shore. Ahead of them was a small, quaint island, decorated by a few rolling hills on either side and a quiet beach along the shoreline. The waves cascade in and out in a gentle rhythm, adding to the serenity of the atmosphere.

Perfect.

Franky steers the ship a good distance away from the island, close enough to travel on the Mini Merry, but far enough for his plan to work.

___________________________________________________________________

Knock, knock, knock.

Mimi’s eyes, not leaving the reflection in her mirror, grits her teeth as she slides one last pin into her silver-haired bun, securing it in place. “Come in,” Mimi replies, fiddling with the shoulder strap of her short summer dress one last time, making sure it’s not too tight, lest it would be uncomfortable and dig into her shoulder.

“It’s about time! Everyone’s already on the lawn deck. If you don’t hurry up we’re leaving without you!” A familiar young woman’s voice scolds. Before turning around to greet her, Mimi catches the glimpse of an orange-haired woman making her way inside the room, closing the door behind her. “Besides, Robin and I wanna make it to the markets before the stores close. I haven’t struck up a good bargain in a while.”

Exhaling, Mimi examines herself in the mirror before turning over her shoulder to face her comrade. “I’m almost ready, Nami, I promise.” Mimi replies, taking one last good look at herself before walking back over to the closet. Pulling the wooden dresser open, she scans her eyes along her neatly lined-up shoe collection at the bottom of the dresser. Her eyes shifted between two pairs, a nice pair of brown sandals with colourful beads around the leather and a simple pair of red open-toe wedge heels. Watching Mimi shift her eyes, Nami almost swears she could see a bead of sweat running down Mimi’s forehead. She gives a sigh, walking over to the dresser.

Nami tilts her head, her long orange hair falling to one side with a puzzled expression as she peers into the wooden dresser alongside Mimi. She gazes down at the collection of shoes in front of them, watching Mimi’s puzzled expression for a moment. Mimi bends down, picking up both pairs and holding them up before abruptly turning to Nami.

“Which pair should I go with?” She inquires, watching Nami’s expression carefully. Flicking her between the pairs of shoes and Mimi’s face, Nami raises her eyebrow decisively.

“You’re really considering wearing heels with that? I’m all for a cute heel, but those sandals work better with the dress.” Nami answers, her eyes fixated on the shoes.

Mimi nods slightly, looking at the heels in her hand before her eyes return to Nami’s expression. “It’s the bright red colour, isn’t it?” Mimi asks, her tone flat and decisive. “It distracts too much from my dress.”

Nami nods slowly. “That, and the fact that we’re walking on the beach. Heels like that would be a hazard.”

Nodding in agreement, Mimi sets the red pair of heels down in the closet, closing the doors not long after. She takes a few moments to seat herself on the bed, slipping her sandals on with haste and checking around the bedroom to make sure she didn’t forget anything important. Lipstick, money, sketchbook, emergency medication, her portable sewing kit- yup, all set. She grabs her small bag, meeting Nami at the doorway.

__________________________________________________________________

The faint sound of lively banter picks up, increasing in volume as Franky cracks open the hatch from below deck. He’d figured that if he couldn’t put his mind to rest, he might as well make use of it and go check over the fireworks he and Usopp had created for the occasion. Boy, did Franky feel lucky to have a friend like Usopp, who would use his projectile knowledge and work with him to create a grand firework display with only a day’s notice. They stayed up almost all night working on it, knowing it had to be perfect. Inside the fireworks, Franky implanted small bombproof receptors that would allow the light from the explosions to take on specific shapes on command.

The only thing in his whole plan that he’d put more thought and effort into than the fireworks was, of course, the ring. He’d spent a good many hours on it, taking extra care and attention to every detail. He was even lucky enough that Nami let him spare a couple small precious jewels from their most recent loot to add to it, and he was pretty proud of the result.

Franky pushes the hatch open, pulling himself up onto the lawn deck to reconvene with the remainder of the crew to head to the island. He scans his eyes over almost everyone, save for Nami and Mimi, who he figures needs an extra few minutes as per usual. His eyes meet with Usopp, flashing a quick confident smile as he makes his way over to him.

“Ready to make a show, bro? Just checked her over one last time. She should be ready to roll! Ow!” Exclaims Franky, his usual enthusiasm hiding his concerns.

Usopp gives a confident grin, placing his fists on his hips and puffing his chest slightly. “Don’t worry, man! I’ve got it covered. Just say the word and Mimi will watch a fireworks show like she’s never seen before! I’ll make sure of it!” He grins. Franky grins wider. “Damn straight you will!” Franky chuckles, giving Usopp a brotherly pat on the back. “We just gotta make sure the timing’s right. Can’t have you setting ‘em off too early.”

Usopp reaches into his pocket, going to pull a small device out of it. His fingers slip as he takes it out, scrambling to catch it with his other hand, only for it to bounce off his fingers. “Careful, bro! Don’t drop it!” Franky exclaims. Usopp grits his teeth, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead as he makes his attempt to catch the small device, his hands flying in a frenzy for a moment before finally catching it firmly in his left hand.

He gives a hearty sigh of relief, finally holding the device up to Franky. “That’s why we made these, right? These transmitters should beep when it’s time for me to set them off!” A proud smile returns to Usopp’s face once again.

“That’s right,” grins Franky, giving Usopp an approving thumbs up. “As long as you light ‘em in the right order, it’s no problem!”

Usopp beats his chest proudly, giving a single understanding nod to Franky. “I swear on my life that I, the great Usopp, will not let you down! I’ll light those fireworks so well that it’ll be stuck in your memory for years to come!” Usopp exclaims, almost boastful. Franky grins once again, his gaze lingering on Usopp for a moment before the words “We’re ready” draw his attention away.

To Franky’s delight, he’s greeted with the view of Nami and Mimi finally rejoining the rest of the crew on the lawn deck. He feels a familiar warmth in his cold metal chest, his heart jumping at the sight of her. Standing before him was his girlfriend Mimi, wearing a short white sundress adorned with a blue and green floral pattern. The dress hugged her body nicely, its neckline decorating her chest with small frills that ran all the way to the puffed sleeves that were just hanging off her shoulders. Her hair was pulled back behind her head into a curly bun, which was slightly different from her usual half-updo with the exception of the two strands of silver hair framing her face.

He takes a moment to gaze at her, his expression softening for a moment. Franky knows that Mimi takes joy in dressing herself up, but something about seeing her now has made him realize that, yes, this is really happening.

Franky picks up his slightly slack jaw, clearing his throat with a soft grin.

“I’M GONNA BE FIRST TO THE MINI MERRY!” Luffy shouts. Waiting for no one, he grabs the hatch to the lower decks and swings it open with haste, practically jumping down the hatch towards the Soldier Dock system.

“Right, then. You heard Luffy, everyone head down to the Mini Merry.”

___________________________________________________________________

The waves roll against the shore, cascading slowly as everyone takes their first steps in the sand from the Mini Merry’s floor. Like usual, Luffy is one of the first out of the boat, basically slingshotting himself onto the beach with the help of his Devil Fruit powers and the closest tree within his stretchy arm’s reach. Mimi smiles a little as she watches the chaos unfold, Luffy running around in excitement, Nami and Sanji yelling at him to wait, and everyone else along for the ride. Minus Usopp, who willingly stayed back on the Sunny.

Mimi hangs back for a moment, allowing the other crew members to step out of the boat before her. Her eyes dart around, taking notice of the rustling palm trees and the evening sky as the sunset glistens on the water. Allowing her thoughts to wander for only a moment, she is brought back to reality by her beloved Franky’s voice.

“C’mon, babe, hurry up!” Franky exclaims, offering his large red hand to Mimi. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on sittin’ there the whole night!” Franky tilts his sunglasses down a little with his free hand, smirking at her. Mimi turns her head, her vibrant eyes meeting Franky’s dark ones. Her shoulders shake in amusement, a small playful smile pulling at her lips. “I only considered it for just a moment…” She jokes. She takes Franky’s hand, standing up in the boat. She uses Franky’s strong support to stabilize herself before stepping onto the golden sands carefully.

“Nope.” Franky chuckles. “Even if you tried, I wouldn’t let ya. There’s no getting out of this one!”

Mimi grins. “Hey, you know I’d never pass up an opportunity to go shopping.” She chuckles, swinging her small leather bag strap over her shoulder. “Besides, I’ve been needing some new fabrics for my sewing projects. A few yards of some nice material, at least.”

With his hand grasping hers, a smaller, silvery metal hand extends from the palm of his larger red ones. His smaller hand carefully grasps Mimi’s, interlocking his fingers with hers. Franky raises Mimi’s knuckles up to his lips, bending down slightly to reach them as he presses a firm kiss to the back of her hand, smiling slightly as he does so. “Now that’s the spirit!” He grins, looking down at his comparatively smaller girlfriend with a pleased expression.

“Hello?! Let’s get moving!” Nami calls out from farther ahead.

Mimi takes her eyes off Franky for a moment to take notice of the ladies across the beach near a tree clearing, Robin waiting patiently for Mimi, and Nami slightly less so. She brings her eyes back to Franky. “I guess that’s my cue… are you coming?” Inquires Mimi, taking a few steps towards her crewmates before pausing and turning back to her boyfriend.

“Nah, you ladies have fun. Chopper wants to find some medicinal herbs, and Luffy’s been going on about tryin’ to catch some weird bug.”

Mimi snickers, her shoulders shaking as she imagines Luffy’s enthusiasm. “You really just want to go bug catching with him, huh?” She teases. Franky grins widely, raising an eyebrow. He lifts up his sunglasses, looking down at her with a teasing smile. “I’ve been needin’ some more scrap wood for quick ship repairs, so I was gonna tag along to keep an eye on ‘em. But…” Franky pauses, “...if I find any bugs on that scrap wood, no promises it won’t land on your pillow.”

Mimi’s jaw goes slack, giving Franky’s arm a light, playful shove. “Franky, don’t you dare!” She exclaims with a smirk, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

A deep chortle resonates in Franky’s throat as he leans downward. “I’m only messin’ with ‘ya, sweetheart.” He clarifies, placing a kiss to Mimi’s forehead. Her expression softens, closing her eyes as he kisses her. “Now stop messing around and get goin’. Nami’s about to blow a fuse.” Franky says. Mimi nods, placing both her hands gently over the soft blue sideburns running down the sides of his cheeks. She stands on her toes, pulling him in closer as she places a quick peck on his lips.

“Okay. I love you.” Mimi smiles, looking into his eyes as she pulls away hesitantly. Removing her hands from his cheeks, she continues over to the other side of the beach towards the clearing where Nami and Robin were waiting for her. Franky watches her make her way over, a warm expression forming on his face as he does so. He waits patiently for Mimi to be out of earshot before turning towards the remaining crew members.

“Alright, let’s get moving.”

___________________________________________________________________

The serenity of the small surrounding town resonates through its streets, the white teak wood buildings patterned on either side. The sunset rests just below the clouds, its last daylight reflecting the faces of passersby as Mimi, Nami and Robin make their way down the shopping district. Scanning her bright teal eyes over the windows of the surrounding shops, Mimi’s eyes widen at some of the lovely garments on display in the shop bay windows. Her eyes land on three mannequins, each with three stunning casual clothing designs. Each of them had uniquely intricate embroidery in certain areas, complementing the differing materials, almost as if each garment was repurposed and put back together in a tasteful manner.

“Robin, Nami, look at those outfits!” Mimi exclaims, stopping in her tracks to admire them for a moment. Nami stops and raises an eyebrow before her eyes open so wide you could see stars in them. Following Mimi’s voice, Robin turns to the window as well, a small smile warming her face as her eyes land on the mannequins.

“They certainly are lovely, aren’t they?” Robin responds with her usual warm tone. “They are quite eye-catching. It reminds me of your work, Mimi.”

“Oh, that skirt is so cute!” Nami squeals as she admires a short brown faux leather skirt. She examines the beautiful gold detailing on the sides of the skirt, which complemented the skirt’s black leather pockets nicely.

Without another thought, Mimi grabs the handle to the door, holding the door for her friends behind her as the three of them step inside the shop. Racks on racks of unique, one-of-a-kind garments lined the beige walls of the store, the yellow overhead lighting giving the shop a cozy, trendy atmosphere. The three ladies immediately spread out across the small interior, sifting through the well-crafted clothing on the shelves and racks.

Skimming the rack with her hand, Mimi catches onto the stiff material of a short denim vest. Taking it off the rack, she immediately notices the inside of the vest, which was lined with a nice floral fabric. The back panel of the dark vest was decorated with old embroidered floral patches, an element she really admired about it. “Amazing…” She mutters to herself. She continues to admire the vest, holding it up before the price tag swipes in front of her eyes.

“225 Beri” the tag reads. Mimi’s face drops.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Nami exclaims. “300 Beri for a SKIRT?! Who the hell would pay that?!”

“It’s hand-crafted…” A woman’s voice chimes in. Mimi looks up from the vest in her hands, her eyes meeting the face of a stern middle-aged woman glaring at the three of them. “...and it’s one-of-a-kind, made with upcycled genuine material. You’ll only find it here.” The shop owner continues, attempting to further prove her point. A starstruck expression crosses Mimi’s face. Simple clothing is easy to find a bargain for, but in her eyes, true art and craftsmanship is deserving of the price. Mimi’s face contorts slightly, her furrowed brow and pained grimace an indicator for her indecisiveness.

She wanted this vest. Badly. But she knew she couldn’t justify spending a chunk of her Beri allowance on it, or Nami would have her head for her poor spending decision alone. Sighing, she places the vest back on the rack reluctantly.

Facing a rack of short dresses, Robin hears a small familiar “puru puru puru puru” sound. She reaches into her jacket, pulling out her small transponder snail and answering the call.

Ka-lick.

“Robin, how’s it holdin’ up on your end?” A familiar, gravelly voice pipes up on the other end of the line, a slight energy to his tone.

“Franky. Mimi’s preoccupied with browsing designer clothing with Nami. A particularly good distraction for her, too. One of the denim vests seems to have caught her eye.” Robin chuckles softly into the phone, her tone quieter so as to not alert Mimi, though Mimi’s attention seemed elsewhere.

“Sounds super!” Franky lets out in relief, his tone upbeat and hopeful. “The crew and I are close to getting ‘er done. If you and Nami can get out of there before Mimi’s done her stuff, we’ll swap places and I’ll pick Mimi up SUPER style while you ladies make some tweaks to the arrangements back at the beach!” He continues, recounting the next steps of his plan. “And make sure to pick out some nice flowers, ya hear?”

Robin gives a small, tender smile. “I’m glad you’re putting in so much effort for her, Franky. Just make sure that the ring is properly fitted to her finger when you propose so it doesn’t cut off blood flow to her finger and make it fall off.” She says, still smiling as she amuses herself with her own dark humor.

Franky audibly shudders at Robin’s comment over the transponder snail. “DAMMIT, ROBIN, DON’T STRESS ME OUT MORE!” He exclaims, off-put by her out of pocket comment. “Just make sure you and Nami get outta there without Mimi seeing’ ya!”

With that, Robin gives a slight understanding nod before hanging up the transponder snail with a ka-lick.

——————————————————————————————————

Shhhhhhh.

The island birds chirp in tune with the rustling palm trees, which fanned out over the heads of the remaining crew. Some shade from the leaves above felt calming, cooling down the beads of sweat that were rolling down the foreheads of the remaining crew as they traversed the forest ground, carrying fresh cut wooden planks and a variety of foraged items.

A sigh of relief escapes Franky’s lips. He knew that Robin and Nami were well aware of his plans, and it’s times like these that make him feel thankful for his trustworthy crew mates. He hangs up the transponder snail, refocusing his attention to the rest of the crew, who were scattered about as they foraged for materials in the wooded area not far from the beach they set foot on when they arrived on the island. He readjusts his shoulders, balancing the wooden planks over them as his eyes scan the remaining crew.

“WHOAAAAA, LOOK!” Luffy’s eyes light up in excitement.

Immediately, Chopper’s attention is caught by the energy in Luffy’s voice, his sweet, round reindeer eyes widening with curiosity. Luffy gestures excitedly to a large mushroom, his eyes fixated on a plump Hercules beetle perched atop the fungi. “IT’S A HERCULES BEETLE ON A MUSHROOM! THEY’RE THE STRONGEST BEETLES EVER!” Luffy exclaims, taking the beetle in his hands and showing it off to Chopper with pride. Chopper’s eyes sparkle with wonder and awe at Luffy’s find, his mouth agape as he admires the beetle.

“REALLY?! You mean it?! It’s so strong it could carry another beetle!?” Chopper asks, his voice riddled with excitement.

“UH HUH! So strong it could fight another beetle and win!” Luffy grins, his smile stretching from ear to ear in childlike glee.

“Can you two stay focused?” Sanji snaps. “You’re supposed to be looking for flowers to use as decorations for Franky’s beach setup for Mimi! A lady like her needs flowers, not bugs!”

Luffy’s face drops in disappointment. “Aww, fine” he bellows, stuffing the beetle in his pocket for later. Without thinking, he tosses the mushroom in the air, popping it in his mouth, followed by Sanji and Chopper turning to him in a panic.

“LUFFY!!! DON’T EAT THAT, IDIOT!!!”

Franky grins, watching as Sanji and Chopper attempt to wrestle Luffy to spit the mushroom out, shaking his head slightly. He turns his gaze, taking notice of Brook staring at a peculiar flower bush.

“I believe these hibiscus might be suitable for Miss Mimi, Franky.” Brook pipes up. He reaches a skeletal finger out, stroking one of the flower petals gently, admiring it’s beauty.

“Finally, you found something actually useful!” Franky exclaims in relief. The past hour or so had proven mostly unsuccessful in terms of finding decorations for the arch Franky planned to whip together on the beach before Mimi arrives. And, for the record, Franky was getting a bit tired of all the useless leaves and pebbles being brought to him by Luffy at random, despite Luffy’s best intentions. He sets the planks of wood down next to him before pushing back the branches of the flower bush, grasping the stem with his large metal hands.

With one strong yank, he uproots the bush, leaving the rest of the crew stunned for a moment. Brook’s bony jaw drops, Chopper and Sanji mirroring his expression. Luffy, however, laughs gleefully at the sight of Franky uprooting a hibiscus bush with his bare hands.

And Zoro, of course, is nowhere to be seen, having last been seen with the crew circa an hour ago.

_____________________________________________________________

It’s not long now until the crew’s efforts come to fruition. After gathering a few more materials, and making the group effort to lead Zoro back to the beach they first set foot on, the last few steps of Franky’s plan were being carried out.

With each passing minute, Franky’s heartbeat grew louder and louder. Of course, there were still a few things to prepare before Robin and Nami arrive, before he sets out to pick Mimi up from the shop, but even trying to use those to get his mind off his worries was proving unsuccessful. Regardless, he hid it well behind his confident persona.

He takes one good look at the beautiful arch he built on a whim, but planned well ahead of time. The rustic wooden planks Zoro had helped him cut, nailed together and set upright in the sand formed a perfect heart shape, which faced the ocean and framed the sunset like a painting. He takes it all in for a moment, before turning his attention to the hibiscus bush from earlier.

Footprints trail behind him in the sand as he makes his way to the bush before grabbing handfuls of the bright coral flowers.

It wasn’t until he looked up that he noticed two slender figures approaching in the distance across the beach.

“It’s about time you got here. I bet the shop owner kicked you out.” Zoro called out to Nami.

“Oh, SHUT UP. You’re one to talk!” Nami retorted, well aware of Zoro’s poor navigational habits. Robin, on the other hand, takes immediate notice of the lovely hibiscus flowers Brook had pointed out to Franky.

“Think ya can manage with these? We were almost hard outta luck until Brook saw ‘em.” Franky scratched his head a little. Without a word, Robin crosses her arms, setting her focus on the heart-shaped arch. The crew watched as a line of slender hands sprouted along the sand from the bush to the heart-shaped arch, passing along individual hibiscus flowers from one hand to the next as Robin’s hands placed the flowers neatly along the arch. Having a Devil Fruit like hers is useful when her friends need a helping hand.

Nami looks at the near-completed arch, her eyebrows raising in a pleasant surprise. “Wow, this actually turned out well! I expected less, but this isn’t half bad!” She says, giving a nod of approval.

“Aw, c’mon, Nami. Don’t do me like that.” Franky chuckles deep in his chest, recognizing her joking backhanded compliment. “It’s the most super proposal arch you’ve seen and you know it. Besides, I’ll always burn some midnight oil if it’s for my girl.”

Puru-puru-puru-puru. Robin’s transponder snail rings once again.

Oh shit.

——————————————————————

After a few unsuccessful try-ons, Mimi steps out of the changeroom in the shop. She’s amassed quite the pile of clothes. She couldn’t help it, having an eye for clothing styles and a heart for artistry, being a fellow artist and seamstress herself. Even more so with Nami having handed her more than a few things by recommendation, thinking they would look cute. So, naturally, Mimi had taken her time.

Just long enough to give Robin and Nami ample time to leave the shop and get back to the beach without Mimi noticing.

“Nami? Robin?” Mimi raises her volume, hoping one of them would hear. She waits a few moments, her calls falling on deaf ears as she receives no response. She sighs. “Are you kidding me? Where did they go?” Mimi mutters under her breath. Slightly miffed, she pulls out her miniature transponder snail from her bag.

Puru-puru-puru-puru. The transponder snail rings. Puru-puru-puru-puru.

Ka-lick.

Putting on her most pleasant voice, Mimi speaks. “Robin, where are you? Did you and Nami go to the next store over without me?”

On the other end of the line, Robin answers. “Ah, Mimi.” Robin pauses momentarily, carefully considering her answer. “We did, the crew ran into a group of murderous wild apes on the beach. We had no choice but to run to their rescue.” Robin smirks slightly, unbeknownst to Mimi.

“Oh, okay.” Mimi replies, without second thought. An air of awkward silence goes by, and Mimi remembers Robin’s sense of humor, especially in serious situations. Her eyes widen. “WAIT, NO, ROBIN. BE SERIOUS.” Mimi pipes up again, her voice louder.

On the other end of the line, Franky overhears Mimi’s response. “She didn’t seriously just buy Robin’s joke as an actual answer!” He exclaims, thankfully out of earshot of Mimi over the transponder snail.

Robin chuckles slightly. “Regardless, wait outside the shop for a few minutes.” She answers cryptically, before hanging up the transponder snail with a ka-lick.

Mimi gives a puzzled look, hanging up the transponder snail before placing it back in her bag. Picking up the pile of clothes she’d tried on, she quickly plops it on the return counter next to the changeroom before heading out the door without a word.

Sitting on a bench just outside the shop, she feels the evening air make her hair dance gently as she waits, as instructed by Robin. Her feet shuffle beneath her impatiently, her eyes shifting around as she watches the setting sun, the bright ball of fire concealing itself behind a cloud every so often.

The peaceful evening air was cool and quiet… until a faint sound of a revving engine came within earshot. Mimi catches a glimpse of a large, red, three wheeled motorcycle with a yellow star on each back wheel, as well as a driver with wild blue hair. The last sunlight of the evening reflects off the front of the motorcycle, revealing the letters “FR-U” printed in black on the front.

And she recognized him immediately.

She has not the slightest clue how Franky managed to get his FR-U Black Rhino motorcycle from the Thousand Sunny to shore, but the sight of him zooming into the town in his bike practically ran over any worries she had previously. And nearly a few townspeople as well, but that was of little concern to Franky.

The bike half circles on the brick road in front of Mimi, allowing for a half donut before the bike comes to an abrupt stop. Franky looks over his shoulder, flipping up his sunglasses as his gaze meets Mimi’s smiling eyes.

“What’s a super pretty lady like you doin’ here by herself?” Franky smirks. “Need a lift?”

A bright, closed-mouth smile graces Mimi’s lips. “Did you even need to ask?” She stands up, grabbing her bag and sauntering over to the bike, swaying her hips in a playful imitation of a model catwalk to play along with her boyfriend’s obvious flirt. The bike had no steps up, so Franky lifts Mimi onto his lap with ease since he, unfortunately, only built one real seat into the motorcycle. Mimi gets comfortable, laying back into Franky’s chest as he once again reaches for the handlebars of his motorcycle.

And before Mimi could blink, Franky stepped on the gas.

——————————————————————

“That was a smooth stop. You’ve gotten good at that.” Mimi smiles, pulling her silver hair out of her face as the bike comes to a rolling stop, the same rowdy half-donut Franky picked her up with. She looks over the side and takes notice of a small clearing of a forest pathway.

“Good?!” Franky says, in mock offense. “That was better than good. That was super!”

Mimi chuckles and shakes her head. “Okay, fine, that was super.” She glances at him for a moment, looking up at his towering frame above her with a genuine warmth in her eyes for just a moment, just enough to make his heart jump.

Just enough to remind him that this is who he wants to spend his life with.

Mimi goes to slide off Franky’s lap and off the bike, but is quickly caught off guard by Franky’s hand stopping her.

“Oi, where do you think you’re going? You’re not gonna tip your handsome driver?” He says. Mimi looks up at him once more briefly, her teal eyes meeting his in curiosity. She finds Franky looking down at her, eyebrow raised in his usual teasing banter she’s so used to from him.

Her smirk matches his, picking up his cue. Instead of kissing him, she reaches her hand up towards his shiny metal nose, pressing and holding it down for three seconds. “Boop” she states, a slight laugh in her voice as she watches her cyborg boyfriend’s hair flatten itself into a stylish, slicked-back hairstyle reminiscent of one that he wore during the crew’s adventures in Zou.

It was then, and only then, that she stretched upward and placed a kiss to his three-pointed chin, before finally sliding off his lap and onto the ground.

“Heh. Alright.” Franky smirks, his shoulders shaking slightly before hopping off his bike, leading Mimi into the forest path entrance.

The minutes it took to walk the forest path leading up to the beach had Franky watching Mimi’s facial expressions closely, as if waiting to see the moment of surprise on her face. The uncertainty of his thoughts had mostly subsided, especially since there’s no use worrying about it now that every other part of his plan had been executed.

All that was left now was to watch the pure, unadulterated joy that would cross Mimi’s face when she sees the surprise he and the crew had waiting for her.

And joyful it was.

The way Mimi’s eyes lit up shone brighter than any precious metal he’d ever seen. She’d completely lost any words she had on her tongue, breathless as she processed the beautiful scene laid before her. Her eyes danced around the scenery: the rustic wooden planks in the perfect shape of a heart, nailed together and decorated by various bright orange and pink hibiscus flowers. The setting sun, which fit into the heart-shaped planks like a perfect picturesque photograph. The Thousand Sunny, rocking gently on the ocean in the distance. Her pirate family, all present save for Usopp, who gave her a wave from the Sunny in the distance.

And, most importantly, Franky. Her best friend and the love of her life, at her side as he gave her his signature, comforting ear-to-ear grin.

A smile creeps its way onto her face before words can escape her.

“W-what is this?” Mimi asked, her voice riddled with joy and sentimentality. A question she already had a feeling she knew the answer to, if it wasn’t glaringly obvious.

“Just a lil’ something we whipped up.” Franky responds nonchalantly, with all his usual confidence. Mimi takes another look around, meeting the eyes of almost all her crew mates as they smile knowingly back at her.

“Is this why you’ve all been acting so cryptic to me these past couple nights?” Mimi smiles, half laughing. Her question is met with silence, but the warmth from their expressions never faltered. Franky gives a small nod to Brook, who gave a small nod back, before picking up his violin and playing a small melody.

He turns his head towards the ocean, watching the sun begin to dip behind the Thousand Sunny, illuminating their impressive ship.

“Ya know how my dream’s always been to build a ship strong enough to sail the world?” Franky starts, his voice warm but serious. Mimi turns her attention to Franky, her eyes following his gaze outwards.

Mimi gives a small nod. “Yeah?”

“There’s a second part to it, not sure if I ever told ya that.” Franky inhales sharply. “I wanted to sail that ship with you on it. Just like old times, or somethin’ like that.”

Mimi’s breath catches in her throat. She feels her smile widen even more at the thought, the butterflies in her stomach dancing as she stares at the painterly sky. “Just like back home when you’d build your Battle Franky ships and take me on them to kill Sea Kings?”

Franky gives a shallow laugh, one that resonates in his chest. “You got it.” He pauses, his smile fading slightly. “I really thought that part of the dream got lost when you left, ya know. Scared me real good for the better part of a decade.” Franky says, his voice slightly shaky. Mimi turns her gaze to Franky once more, her eyes soft with slight concern as she watches his eyes begin to well up with tears, his bottom lip in a pout.

She reaches out her hand, placing her hand on his large, boxy blue forearm reassuringly. She’s not going anywhere without him ever again, and she wanted to show him that, even just a little.

After a deep breath, Franky regains his composure. Still teary-eyed, but enough to continue on.

“I’ve done so damn much in those ten years. I don’t got a clue what I could’ve done to deserve something so super, but you came back to me, Mimi. I didn’t think you would, but you’re here.” Franky continues, his voice still shaky. He brings his large hand up towards his face, wiping a tear away from his eye.

“I’m bored. Just say it already, Franky!” Luffy blurts out. Franky and Mimi turn their heads.

“LUFFY!” Nami and Sanji yell in tandem, calling him out.

Franky smirks slightly at Luffy’s response. He turns back to Mimi, his feet dragging slightly in the soft sand as he turns to come face to face with her. “I guess I’m just trying to say, you’re the cola that fuels my heart. It doesn’t feel right to live my dreams without you bein’ a part of ‘em.” His tone warms up a little more, leading up to his next words.

“So, I just got one more thing to tell ya, Mimi.” Franky smiles, this time softer. Without breaking eye contact, he holds his giant fist in the air, forming a thumbs up large enough to catch Usopp’s eye from the Thousand Sunny.

Scrambling, Usopp makes his way down to the lawn deck of the ship, lighting a match and setting a fuse. He sets the first firework off, almost confident that it was the correct firework… until he looked at the word written on the firework. He looks at the label again, his eyes widening with panic as the realization sets in. Despite his best efforts to stamp the fuse out or blow it out, it was too late.

He gazes across the water towards the beach in defeat.

From the beach, Mimi hears a loud popping noise, beckoning her to turn her head towards the ocean and sky once again. The sea breeze catches her long strands of silver hair as one-by-one, the fireworks explode from the deck of the Thousand Sunny.

The evening sky glows with many colours as the fireworks take the shape of an almost familiar phrase.

“MARRY.” “ME.” “WILL.” “YOU?”

Mimi watches in awe, chortling slightly at the incorrect order. Franky glances at the fireworks for a moment, chuckling slightly.

“Aw man. Dammit, Usopp!” He sighs. Franky flips his sunglasses down over his eyes, waiting for Mimi to turn her attention back to him. Mimi shifts her eyes back to Franky in surprise, finding him grinning back at her through his sunglasses.

Lowering himself, Franky gets down on one knee, now meeting her eye level given his huge stature compared to her. Mimi’s heart jumps, almost in disbelief that this is happening. Like, really happening, as if it wasn’t already years in the making. She can feel the tenderness in his gaze as she watches him reach into his speedo, pulling out a small, wooden, cube shaped box.

“REALLY? IN YOUR UNDERWEAR, YOU PERV?” Sanji exclaims, horrified by Franky’s ring box storing tactics.

Franky clicks his teeth in a charming smile. “Hey, gotta make sure it’s super secure!” Mimi holds back a laugh, rubbing her forehead slightly. Franky refocuses his attention back to her.

Opening up the box, he reveals a beautifully crafted gold ring, adorned with a few small precious jewels. In the middle, it had some tiny gears, which connected to the teeth of a top and bottom band, allowing for the ring to rotate by moving one of the bands. Upon glancing at it, Mimi could tell it was Franky’s handiwork, the hours he must have spent to make it. The thought that went into it.

It was at this moment that it made sense to her, the nights Franky kept coming to bed later than usual after spending time in the workshop late at night. Mimi covers her mouth, her fingertips touching as if she’s saying a prayer of sorts. She had been holding back her emotions since they stepped foot on this beach minutes ago, but this time she couldn’t contain herself as tears of joy streamed down her face like the canals of their home, Water 7.

“So, whaddaya say, beautiful? Will you marry me?”

Mimi pauses, her eyes wide and filled with emotion. Her breath hitches in her throat. There was never any doubt in her mind her answer, yet the air is still as everyone awaits her response. Without warning, she wraps her arms around Franky. Mimi buries her face in the shoulder of Franky’s green blazer, sobbing loudly.

Slightly confused, Franky holds her gently.

“Baby! S-so, is that a yes or no?” He asks.

Mimi pulls away slightly, a smile evident on her face through the tears.

“That’s a yes, dummy.” She smiles softly. “I love you.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!! This has been a project for MONTHS so I'm happy you read and/or enjoyed it!!

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