#slice-of-magenta

[braedenhales]

✨🧡🌙 SEND THIS TO TEN (10) OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING 🌙

[ksbbb]

🌺 Send this to ten blogs you think are wonderful. 🌺

[fakezircon]

Fun Fact: Peonies were not originally going to be two tall flowers. or at the very least there was a test of a single block variety made:

The developer Jeb_ said in the caption of this post that the peony was being added as it was the main flower used in his wedding!

(Source)

Peony

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧ sleepy carry ✞⛧

Warnings: nothing, just fluff

Word count: 1k

The car ride home was quiet, the low hum of the engine and the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows creating a soothing rhythm. You had been nodding off for a while, your head resting against the cool glass, eyes fluttering shut despite your attempts to stay awake. Sevika hadn’t said much during the drive, her focus on the road ahead, but you caught the occasional glance she shot in your direction. It was the kind of look that made your chest feel warm—like she was checking on you, making sure you were okay, even when she didn’t say it out loud.

Your eyelids grew heavier, the streetlights outside smearing into soft blurs as the car rolled over uneven roads. Sevika’s jacket was draped over you, the faint scent of leather and her cologne wrapping around you like a second blanket. It was the last thing you remembered before slipping into sleep, your body leaning slightly toward her, the seatbelt pulling taut across your chest.

When the car finally pulled into the driveway, Sevika cut the engine, the sudden silence jolting her from her thoughts. She glanced over at you, her sharp features softening when she saw you slumped in the passenger seat, lips slightly parted as you breathed deeply. The dim light from the dashboard highlighted the strong lines of her face—her angular jaw, the scar slicing across her cheek, and the faint furrow of her brow as she watched you.

“Always pushing yourself too hard,” she muttered under her breath, her deep voice barely audible over the sound of rain pattering against the car roof. She leaned back, her prosthetic arm creaking softly as she adjusted it, and let out a small sigh. Shaking her head, she stepped out of the car, boots hitting the gravel with a dull thud.

Opening your door, Sevika crouched down, her broad frame taking up most of the space as she assessed the situation. You didn’t stir, your body still heavy with sleep, your head leaning toward the seatbelt. Her lips twitched into something between a smirk and a frown. “What am I gonna do with you?” she murmured, her tone softer than usual.

With one arm sliding beneath your knees and the other cradling your back, Sevika lifted you effortlessly, her muscles flexing under her fitted shirt. The cold leather of her prosthetic arm brushed against your leg as she adjusted her grip, holding you securely against her chest. Your head lolled to the side, landing against her shoulder, and she froze for a second, her expression unreadable as she glanced down at you.

The rain had picked up as she made her way to the door, droplets glistening on her magenta cape as she shifted your weight slightly to unlock it. The house was dark and quiet when she stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards breaking the silence. Sevika didn’t bother turning on the lights; she knew the layout well enough to navigate blind. Instead, she headed straight for the bedroom, her boots muffled against the rug as she carried you through the hallway.

Your room was as you’d left it, a little cluttered but cozy, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air from the candle you’d blown out before leaving earlier. Sevika paused in the doorway, her gaze flicking around the room before settling on the bed. With careful precision, she lowered you onto the mattress, her arms lingering for a moment as she made sure you were settled.

Your face was peaceful in sleep, free of the usual tension that crept into your features when you were awake. Sevika knelt by the bed, her prosthetic arm resting on her thigh as she adjusted the pillow beneath your head. Her fingers brushed against your cheek, calloused but gentle, as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She hesitated, her hand hovering for a second before she let it drop.

“Didn’t think you’d conk out so fast,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She pulled the blanket up over your body, smoothing it down over your shoulders. The fabric of her cape brushed against your arm as she leaned over you, her gaze lingering on your face in the dim light.

You stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips as you shifted under the blanket. Sevika froze, her hand hovering over you as she waited to see if you’d wake. But you only turned your head, nuzzling deeper into the pillow with a small sigh. The corner of her mouth lifted into a faint smile, and she shook her head.

“You’d sleep through a goddamn thunderstorm,” she muttered, standing to her full height. She stretched her shoulders, the prosthetic arm creaking softly as she rolled it, and glanced at the door. For a moment, it seemed like she might leave, but then she looked back at you, her expression softening in a way that was rare for her.

With a heavy sigh, she sat down in the chair by the window, her broad shoulders slumping slightly as she leaned back. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the glass, and Sevika rested her chin on her hand, watching over you. Her sharp features softened in the moonlight, the faint lines around her mouth and eyes more visible now that her usual scowl had eased.

She stayed there for a while, the room filled with the quiet sounds of your breathing and the rain outside. Every so often, her gaze would drift to the scarred prosthetic resting on her knee, the metal gleaming faintly in the low light, before returning to your face. There was a quiet protectiveness in the way she watched you, a rare vulnerability she rarely let anyone see.

Sevika shifted in the chair, her knee bouncing slightly as she let out a low sigh. “Don’t make a habit of this,” she muttered, though the edge in her voice lacked any real bite. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched you sleep. Her fingers tapped absently against the armrest, her mind drifting as the hours ticked by.

Eventually, her eyes began to grow heavy, the rain and your steady breathing lulling her into a rare state of calm. But even as she drifted off, her focus never strayed far from you. It was a quiet moment, one she wouldn’t have traded for anything else in the world.

[the-enfolded]

Unend Departure Dinner

Celebrating the maiden voyage of the Ship

Courtesy of Chef Quino Del Belsaban (chef) and sous-chefs Voro and Mikelord

We will tonight celebrate the commencement of the journey, and it’s our pleasure this evening to treat you all to a very special and unique singular meal, compliments of the Cosmological Consortium’s Highest Light subcommittee.

We begin with ephemera of mineralflower enclosing lavenderwater-infused mirrorhawk mousse, dusted with riftgrass pollen, nestled on a sprouted microbloom tuft, crowned with edible Serapha Nebulaflorum.

And of course our signature cocktail tonight the Aurora Prismatica, exquisite Empyrean lavender and silk cordial, layered with zephyr of eldermanflower, misted with Alpinian plume of Verdure and lightly smoked with charcoal of Sequestrian hacklethorn. I personally recommend you enjoy it on the rocks – perhaps unorthodox, but just trust us on this one.

Buloga pearl caviar tartare, accompanied by shaved roast of sloe, crowned with frosted Ebonreef truffle, drizzled with 100-traversal-aged prang syrup and garnished with chinchona leaf. Enjoy.

The palate-cleansing salad is up next. My friends, a medley of crisp frisée, tender mini prunus hearts, and heirloom rubus misted with essence of blackened citrus of elderthief, sprinkled with delicious and nutritious high-altitude breadmoss and garnished with greens from the gardens of Gloria. Please enjoy.

Our main entree, my friends: sovereign spice-seared filet of Vildefeluvian lake grouper, ladled with reduction of burk buranah, brushed with crushed pistachio and golden salt, served atop a bed of rare black macrograin sourced from the marshes of Ackute. Dig in.

Miravette Reserve, an aromatic honeylight wine from the Highest Light? Quite delicate, notes of straw and almond, very well-balanced, very intriguing

And for our grand finale, exquisite bombe of blonded and blued chocolate mother-of-mica, encased in a delicate wind-woven sugar dome, decorated with self-caramelizing tufted sugar frond, rosewater foam, and edible silverleaf confetti, and finished of course with a touch of our most rare and fine melt-velvet orchid extract. It’s been our pleasure to serve you this evening everyone. Thank you so much.

Ingredients (by request)

Hors d'oeuvre (Un inspired)

Ephemera of mineralflower - phyllo pastry blossoms lightly brushed with strawberry syrup and sprinkled with gold decorator sugar “minerals”.

Lavenderwater-infused mirrorhawk mousse - salmon cream-cheese mousse (go very easy on the lemon juice) with chili flakes, and smoked paprika, partially lavender tinted

Riftgrass pollen - paprika and a hint of turmeric, edible glitter mica

Sprouted microbloom tuft - ball of sprouts, local wildflower micro blossoms

Serapha Nebulaflorum - Rosemary blossoms, saffron, cornflower petals, and marigold petals

Cocktail (Fold inspired)

Empyrean lavender and silk cordial -

lychee mogu mogu drink(as base silk cordial - can be blended smooth if needed), strong chilled butterfly pea flower tea (as lavender cordial - spoon gently over appears lavender/indigo in basic conditions)

Zephyr of eldermanflower - small amount of Plum Soju spooned gently on top (mildly acidic, turns top of butterfly tea magenta/violet) substitute a tiny amount of white peach or other clear fruit juice of your choice for a non-alcohol version

Alpinian plume of Verdure - Blossoming heather sprig)

Charcoal of Sequestrian hacklethorn - torched cinnamon (not recommended, maybe a cherry wood? smoking not essential for how sweet and floral this cocktail is)

On the rocks - giant ice cubes

Appetizer (Fold inspired)

Buloga pearl caviar tartare - chia caviar with butterfly-tea dyed tapioca pearls served on a base of crème fraîche (alternatively could try black lumpfish caviar too, if available)

Shaved roast of sloe - if sloe = slow thinly shaved oil and sea-salt roast purple potato, if sloe = the gin plum, sliced and roasted umeboshi red plum for garnish (both plum and potato used)

Frosted Ebonreef truffle - crunchy dried shiitake snack mushroom frosted with silver edible mica glitter,

100-traversal-aged prang syrup - balsamic vinegar, fresh raspberry and apricot jam reduction with a touch of soy sauce (strained)

Chinchona leaf - shiso leaf

Salad (Un inspired)

Medley of crisp frisée - a base of curly endive and pea shoots

Tender mini prunus hearts - almonds and dried apricot cut into hearts (both in prunus family),

Heirloom rubus - raspberries and blackberries

Essence of blackened citrus of elderthief - sugared and caramelized blood orange and mini clementine slices, scant raspberry balsamic vinaigrette

High-altitude breadmoss - French bread triangles brushed with olive oil and coated with dried parsley and dill (needs work to become more tasty - try garlic bread triangles and a lighter dusting of herbs)

Greens from the gardens of Gloria - parsley and “spring mix” greens.

Main (Fold inspired)

Sovereign spice-seared filet of Vildefeluvian lake grouper - pacific cod with salt, pepper and old bay, pan seared in vegetable oil and basted with butter

Reduction of burk buranah - supposed to be a cab-sav beurre blanc, but used a Béarnaise instead

Crushed pistachio - crushed pistachio (blanched to remove brown hulls) Golden salt - golden decorator sugar because it looked pretty, but could also try a turmeric-ginger-garlic golden salt,

Rare black macrograin sourced from the marshes of Ackute - black rice

Wine (Un inspired)

Miravette Reserve - 2020 Gérard Bertrand Orange Gold (clean and citrusy, good with fish)

Dessert (Un inspired)

Exquisite bombe of blonded and blued chocolate mother-of-mica - Mirrorhawk pearl of white chocolate strawberry Lindt rolled in blue/yellow cake sprinkles, on a split lemon madeleine shell with blue and yellow chocolate button and crème fraîche ganache

Delicate wind-woven sugar dome - blue cotton candy

Self-caramelizing tufted sugar frond - punished and caramelized marshmallows on a strawberry pocky stem with strawberry syrup and golden sugar embellishments

Rosewater foam - pink lychee gel foam

Edible silverleaf confetti - oregano leaves dusted with silver edible mica glitter

Melt-velvet orchid extract - strawberry vanilla syrup

Enjoy!

[romerona]

All Y/N ever wanted to do was sing her songs and be free. Yet somehow, after offering to pay for the meal of a certain boy in a straw hat she finds herself causing havoc through the East Blue.

Masterlist - Next.

Trigger warning: canon violence. Word count: 7.4K

A/N: The only thing I will be describing about Y/N is her hair colour. Everything else you can imagine her as you wish.

Disclaimer: The songs I will be using in this fic aren't mine bc I have 0 creativity. I'm sorry.

Syrup Village, Gecko Islands.

It's been a few days since Buggy's mishap. The days dragged on tediously, with Y/N's head throbbing every time Nami and Zoro argued or Luffy experimented with potential names for their non-existent crew. Therefore, when it was revealed that Nami's boat was gradually sinking, Y/N felt a surge of relief because it meant they needed to navigate towards the nearest island, which they did.

Currently, they found themselves at Syrup Village on Gecko Islands…

The village exuded a quaint charm, with its small, closely-knit community and rustic architecture. Cobbled streets wound through clusters of thatched-roof cottages, each adorned with colourful window boxes brimming with vibrant flowers. The air was filled with the scent of salt from the nearby sea, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread from the village bakery.

Children laughed and played along the streets, their cheerful voices carrying on the gentle breeze. Merchants peddled their goods from wooden stalls, offering everything from fresh produce to handmade trinkets. The villagers moved with a relaxed, unhurried pace, greeting one another warmly as they went about their daily routines.

Y/N flashed a charming smile at the baker as she accepted the paper bag of biscuits. "Much appreciated, kind sir."

The baker, a portly man with flour-dusted hands and a warm, ruddy face, beamed back at her. "You're most welcome, young lady. Freshly baked this morning. I hope you enjoy them!"

Y/N's eyes twinkled with mischief. "With a scent this heavenly, I'm sure they'll taste like a slice of paradise. You have a true gift for making hearts flutter."

The baker's cheeks turned a deep magenta, and he chuckled sheepishly.

"You are too kind," he stammered, clearly flustered by Y/N's charm.

Y/N leaned in slightly, her tone conspiratorial. "Oh, but you deserve the recognition, especially when delectable treats are involved."

The baker's eyes widened with surprise, and a shy grin played on his lips. "Well, in that case, I'll have to make sure to bake extra special goodies for you next time."

Y/N gave him a playful wink. “I’ll hold you to that promise. Thank you again, and may your ovens always stay warm and your dough always rise perfectly.”

With a final charming smile, Y/N bid the chuckling baker farewell and sauntered off.

As Y/N walked through the cobbled streets, savoring the sweet treat, the corner of her eye caught a flash of orange. She turned her head slightly and saw Nami approaching, her hair unmistakable in the bright sunlight. Without missing a beat, Nami fell into step beside Y/N, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced precision.

“Found something useful about this town?” Y/N asked, offering the open paper bag of biscuits.

Nami reached into the bag, taking a biscuit as she continued to survey the street. “We’re in luck. This is a ship-building town,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of satisfaction.

Y/N hummed in acknowledgment, her gaze softening as a group of children darted past them, their laughter echoing through the air. An older woman, likely their grandmother, scolded them gently from a nearby doorstep. Y/N smiled at the scene, thinking that if she weren’t caught up in the whirlwind of adventures with Luffy and the crew, she might have enjoyed staying in a place like this for a while.

“How about you? Found something?” Nami asked, her tone casual but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

Y/N smirked, holding up the half-eaten biscuit. “Apart from these divine biscuits, not much yet. But the villagers are friendly.”

Nami scoffed lightly as she took a bite of her biscuit. “More like naive,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But that works in our favor since we need to take one of their ships.”

Y/N nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Let’s just hope they don’t notice it missing too soon. This place seems peaceful—I’d rather not bring trouble here.”

Nami glanced at her, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Don’t go soft on me, Y/N.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not going soft. Just enjoying the calm before the storm.”

The two continued down the street, their conversation drifting to lighter topics as they made their way through the village until they reached the straw hat Luffy and three swords Zoro.

“Hey! You got us a ship?” Luffy called out as soon as he spotted them, his eyes lighting up with excitement. Then, his gaze zeroed in on the bag of biscuits in Y/N’s hands, practically sparkling with anticipation.

“Working on it. Did you push the sloop out to sea like I told you?” Nami asked, her tone brisk as she kept her focus on their mission.

“Yeah.” Luffy nodded, already diving into the bag and pulling out the last three biscuits. “No Marines are gonna be following us here.”

Y/N’s scowl was immediate, and with a swift hand, she snatched one of the biscuits back from him. “Leave me one.”

“Well, we’re not gonna be here very long. Turns out Syrup Village is known for their shipbuilding. Lots of options,” Nami explained, glancing between them.

“What are we waiting for then?” Luffy asked, already chomping down on his biscuit as he began striding off in the direction both girls had just come from.

Nami sighed, her expression a mix of confusion, frustration and acceptance as she followed after him.

Y/N chuckled softly at their captain’s predictability, but just as she was about to move, the sound of paper tearing made her pause. She turned to see Zoro ripping Buggy’s wanted poster, crumpling it in his hand with a scowl.

“Stupid clown,” Zoro muttered, his tone laced with annoyance.

"Stupid clown indeed," Y/N’s lips twitched into a grin as she gave him a playful pat on the back. “But we did get to wipe that smirk off his painted face. Worth it, don’t you think?”

Zoro’s expression darkened further. “Should’ve cut his dick off,” he grumbled, tossing the crumpled paper to the ground.

Y/N laughed, a light, melodic sound that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. “Ah, but then what would he have left to make a fool of himself with? Besides, something tells me your swords will have plenty of other targets soon enough, so don't dwell on it, hot shot.”

"For now, how about a little sugar to sweeten that sour mood?” She held up the last biscuit with a teasing wink. “Consider it a token of my endless admiration for your swordsmanship.”

Zoro eyed the biscuit, then Y/N, who continued to grin up at him with that infectious charm. After a moment of regarding her, he sighed and took the treat. “Let’s go then, stupid.”

Y/N gasped in mock offence, placing a hand over her heart. “You wound me, Zoro. But I’ll forgive you since you’re sharing this last biscuit with me.” She snapped off a piece of the treat and popped it into her mouth before Zoro could protest. Shaking her head with a smirk, she quickly caught up with the rest.

The four of them walked through the bustling shipyard, their eyes scanning the area for a suitable vessel. The shipyard was a hive of activity, each corner alive with the sounds and sights of shipbuilding.

Y/N’s gaze roamed over the scene with a mixture of fascination and appreciation. Workers moved with practiced efficiency, their hands expertly crafting the vessels from the ground up. Carpenters were hard at work, sanding wooden planks with smooth, rhythmic strokes, each swipe transforming rough wood into sleek, polished surfaces. Nearby, blacksmiths wielded hammers with precision, shaping red-hot iron into nails and screws. The clanging of metal against metal rang out in a steady rhythm, a stark contrast to the otherwise serene surroundings.

“Look at ’em all,” Luffy said, his eyes wide with fascination as he took in the busy scene.

“How much do these cost?” Zoro wondered aloud, his gaze drifting over the impressive array of vessels.

Y/N let out a scoff, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Oh, a pittance. Just your firstborn, an eye, half a leg, and if we're feeling generous a pint of your finest blood— bargain prices, really.”

Luffy’s excitement seemed to shift into high gear. “Okay, so we need one with a very, very impressive figurehead. At least two… no, three masts! And a really high crow’s nest!”

Nami shot him a look, “We’re not gonna be able to sail a ship anywhere near that size. There’s only four of us.”

Luffy’s enthusiasm remained undeterred. “Four of us right now.”

Y/N chimed in, a playful smirk on her face. "Unless you manage to recruit another weird, desperate soul to help us, that is."

Zoro grunted. “Speak for yourself.”

Both Nami and Y/N rolled their eyes in unison.

Listen, we’re going to need something a little less flashy if we want to sneak out of here,” Nami said firmly, catching Luffy off guard.

The straw hat boy came to a sudden halt, causing the others to stop with him. He turned to Nami, his frown deepening with confusion. “You want to steal a ship?”

“How else did you expect us to get one?” Nami asked her tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“I don’t know. But we can’t steal one,” Luffy said with determined finality.

Y/N shrugged her tone a blend of resignation and sympathy. She didn't enjoy the idea of stealing the hard, arduous work of someone but she also understands what it takes to survive. “It’s less about ‘wrong’ and more about ‘what works' because either we get practical or get used to swimming. It’s your call, stud.”

“A ship isn’t just a ship,” Luffy said, determination in his eyes. “It’s part of our crew. We need the perfect one. And we’re going to get it the right way.”

Y/N felt a twinge of sympathy. It was as if he hadn’t quite grasped the harsh realities of the world—or maybe he simply refused to. His optimism was endearing, even if it was a little misguided

“Okay, pitch that to the salesman. I’m sure that’ll win him over,” Nami said, her sarcasm barely masked.

Luffy’s smile widened. “Exactly.” He then started walking off in a random direction, leaving the others to watch him go.

The remaining trio sighed in unison.

“Right over his head, as usual.” Y/N huffs, shaking her head with a wry smile.

“So what are we actually going to do?” Zoro asks

“I’m guessing plan A, right?” Y/N said with a shrug.

With a resigned sigh, Nami nodded. “Find a ship and see how lax the security is around here.”

“Got it,” Zoro replied, his tone reflecting a mix of determination and acceptance.

The three of them set off in the direction Luffy had wandered. After a bit of searching, they finally found him admiring a ship with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“There you are,” Nami said, catching up with the eager boy.

“Guys!” Luffy called out, “I found it. I found our ship!”

Y/N looked up at the vessel he was so enthusiastic about. The first thing that caught her eye was the large figurehead—a jovial ram’s head perched proudly at the prow, its carved eyes gleaming with a friendly, mischievous glint. The ship, though modest in size, radiated a warm, inviting aura. The polished wooden hull, adorned with intricate patterns, was both elegant and whimsical. Y/N couldn’t help but smile; the ship was certainly unique, if a bit quirky. Just like Luffy.

“And this guy will sell it to us,” Luffy said, pointing at a boy with a bandana and a cleaning cloth in his hands.

The trio turned to the so-called salesman. The boy’s expression oscillated between confusion and alarm.

“Uh, wait. What? Uh…” the boy stammered.

“Yeah! The ship, we’ll take it,” Luffy declared with confidence.

“Technically, she’s not for sale,” the boy said slowly, earning a confused “huh?” from Luffy. “And technically, I’m not a salesman.”

“Then what are you doing around here?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

The boy’s face lit up as he noticed Y/N. He puffed out his chest. “Well, you see, I’m the Chief Technician in charge of encrustation removal and aviary waste eradication.”

Y/N stifled a laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, I see. A very prestigious title.”

“Encru what?” Luffy asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“He scrubs barnacles and cleans bird shit,” Zoro explained flatly.

Nami sighed, looking to Luffy. “He can’t help us.”

As they turned to leave, the boy’s voice rang out.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! I can help you,” he called, a hopeful smile spreading across his face. “The owner of this ship is my closest friend in the world.”

“Your friend owns this ship?” Nami asked, clearly skeptical.

“Not just this one. She owns the whole shipyard,” the boy said, his grin widening with a touch of arrogance. “She’s rich, rich.”

“Oh!” Luffy exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.

“I’m sure you could strike a deal with her,” the boy said confidently.

Luffy turned to the group with a hopeful grin. “See?”

Y/N pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Nami said with an unusually sly smile. “It couldn’t hurt to say hello.”

Y/N glanced at Nami for a second, at her grin, definitely planning something. With a resigned sigh, Y/N nodded with a tight smile. “Alright, let’s go meet this friend of yours and see if we can charm her into giving us a ship.”

The boy beamed, clearly delighted by their willingness to meet his friend. “Great! Follow me. You’re going to love her.”

Usopp, as they had come to learn the boy’s name was, led them to the edge of the village. There, towering above the town, stood a massive mansion that seemed almost out of place amidst the quaint charm of Syrup Village. The elegant structure loomed with an air of grandeur, its pristine walls and manicured gardens hinting at the wealth of its owner.

"I’ve never seen a house this big before," Luffy said gazing at the mansion.

"Impressive, right?" Usopp grins, and he walks backwards to talk to them a skip on his step as he continues, "Kaya’s given me an open invitation to drop by anytime I want."

"All of this just for one person?" Luffy asked, puzzled.

Usopp leans against the well, "Well, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff."

Y/N whistled as she peered down the dry well, a playful smirk on her lips. "When I’m famous, I’ll need a place like this—no, scratch that. Bigger, with a well so deep you could drop your problems in it and never hear them hit the bottom."

Y/N started to head toward the front door but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her away. "Errr—not that way," Usopp said, releasing her as he led them toward a lush garden and… a pond?

Luffy, ever curious and clueless, asked, "So if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?"

"I never use the front entrance." Y/N frowns as she watched the boy leap across the large, floating plants. "This is more of a VIP entrance reserved for special guests."

In the short time of knowing Usopp, Y/N knew he had a knack for stretching the truth, but she hoped that at least this time, there was some truth to it. If he knew another way into the manor, he must've been here before. Plus, the way he talked about Kaya, the girl who lived there, made it seem like he knew her personally.

Against her better judgment, Y/N hopped onto one of the large plants. It was surprisingly fun.

Just as she landed on another plant, Usopp suddenly halted. "Oops. You know, there’s actually a more exclusive entrance this way."

Y/N looked up just in time to see a burly butler throw something with pinpoint precision, landing between Usopp’s feet, causing him to gasp.

"What the hell are you doing here, Usopp?" the butler growled, advancing toward them. Behind him was a blue-haired woman—another maid, Y/N assumed—expertly swinging a broom like a weapon.

Y/N couldn’t help but think, That’s... odd. These butlers seem way too familiar with weapons.

"Buchi, buddy, uh, Kaya’s expecting me," Usopp said, voice urgent.

The butler, Buchi, hissed, echoing Y/N’s thoughts. "Another one of your lies."

The butler grabbed hold of Usopp's shirt, pulling him closer as he hissed, "You ain't welcome here, and you know it."

Usopp, despite being in a tight spot, kept his carefree demeanour. "I know nothing of the sort," he said, unfazed, if a little nervous. "I’m here to give Kaya an extra-special gift."

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement at Usopp’s audacity, even in such a tense situation.

Suddenly, like a beam of light cutting through the tension, a girl's voice rang out. "Usopp!"

From deeper in the garden, a young girl—no older than the group—emerged, leaning on another butler for support. Y/N could tell he was likely the head butler, judging by how the other two straightened up immediately. Luffy, Y/N, Nami, and Zoro exchanged glances filled with curiosity and confusion, particularly at the realization that Kaya, the girl of the house, actually knew Usopp.

With ash-blonde hair and wearing a soft pink dress, Kaya beamed at Usopp with pure happiness. "What a wonderful surprise!"

"Hmm!" Usopp grinned victoriously, brushing off Buchi's hands as he confidently walked toward her. "Kaya!"

"Happy birthday," he said once he was close enough.

Kaya’s smile was shy but full of admiration. "You remembered."

"Of course I did."

The head butler, wearing glasses and white gloves, cleared his throat sharply. "Usopp, we've discussed this. You musn't show up unannounced."

"Nonsense, Klahadore," Kaya quickly interjected, giving Usopp an encouraging smile. "Have you come to tell me another story? I do love hearing about your adventures."

"I'll do you one better," Usopp replied, turning toward Y/N, Luffy, Nami, and Zoro, and dramatically gesturing toward them. "I brought some of my crew."

Y/N’s eyebrow twitched in confusion.

Luffy glanced at Zoro, Nami, and Y/N, all wearing the same bewildered expression. "Is he talking about us?"

Kaya, however, does not seem to notice it and smiles at the four. "It’s so nice to meet you. You all must stay for dinner."

Klahadore’s eyes darted to Kaya, his tone instantly concerned, if a little anoyed. "Miss Kaya, it is a bit last minute. I’m afraid the kitchen hasn’t prepared for any extra guests."

From beides her, Luffy deflated.

"Please, Klahadore," Kaya pleaded, her voice sweet as she gave him a pout. "It’s my birthday. Can’t be too much trouble, can it?"

"Of course, Miss Kaya," Seems that the girl's pout did its work the butler didn't even hesitate this time around. "Anything for you."

Luffy perked right back up. "All right! So, when do we eat?"

Without missing a beat, Klahadore replied, "You don’t. Not dressed like that."

Y/N’s expression soured slightly as she glanced down at her outfit. It wasn’t the fanciest, sure, but she certainly didn’t think she looked bad. She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Rude."

"Sham, please show Usopp and his… friends to the guest suites," Klahadore instructed. The blue-haired woman stepped forward at his command. "You will all bathe and change before dinner," he added, looking back at the group.

Sham gave a curt nod and led the way inside the mansion, the others following.

"A bath does sound nice," Nami said, smiling as she followed Luffy, who skipped along behind Sham.

Usopp followed next, but Zoro and Y/N lingered—each for different reasons. Zoro’s gaze lingered on Klahadore with a hint of suspicion, while Y/N hesitated for a different motive. She wanted to charm the birthday girl. After all, as Usopp had demonstrated, having powerful friends never hurt.

With a dazzling smile, Y/N sauntered over to Kaya and the ever-watchful Klahadore, their gazes snapping to her in unison. Undeterred, she tilted her head slightly, letting a playful glint appear in her eyes as she spoke.

"Well, I figured after such a warm welcome," Y/N said with a subtle wink, glancing at the butlers before focusing on Kaya, "it’d be rude of me not to introduce myself properly." She extended her hand gracefully. "Y/N, at your service. And a very happy birthday to you! If I’d known, I’d have brought a gift—or at least a balloon or two."

Kaya blinked, caught off guard for a moment before a giggle escaped her. "Oh, thank you! That’s very kind of you."

Y/N flashed a grin. "Kindness comes naturally when I’m around people as lovely as you." Her eyes darted toward Klahadore, her voice dropping playfully.

"Though, if I’d known we were in for such a grand entrance, I might’ve brought a sword too. Seems like that’s part of the dress code around here." She smirked at the butler’s stiff posture, her words teasing but never crossing the line into disrespect.

Kaya blushed slightly, clearly charmed. "I’m so glad you could all join. Please, don’t worry about a gift—your company is enough."

Y/N placed a hand on her chest, feigning relief. "Thank the stars. I’m a terrible shopper, anyway. Though, if we ever need to sneak into a party again, Usopp and I will make a fabulous team."

Even Klahadore seemed momentarily at a loss for words, while Kaya laughed brightly. It was a small victory, but one Y/N could savor as she followed the rest of the group, already making mental notes on how to further charm the household.

But suddenly, Kaya began to cough, causing Y/N's grin to fade into a look of concern. It was then that she noticed just how pale and sickly the girl appeared—gnarly, in fact. Kaya’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes looked a bit too bright, as if she were fighting something beneath the surface.

"Miss Kaya, we should head inside so I can get you some tea," Klahadore said, still holding into the girl.

Y/N stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm. "Is there anything I can do to help? I’m no healer, but I’ve seen a thing or two when it comes to health."

Kaya shook her head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, but it fell flat. "I’ll be fine. Just... need some tea."

"That you do,” Klahadore remarked, his voice neutral but laced with a hint of reluctant acknowledgment as he gently guided Kaya back toward the mansion. “Let us take our leave then.”

As they moved, Klahadore glanced back at Y/N, his voice cold professionalism. “Please, Miss Y/N, follow your friends to the guest suites and make yourself presentable for dinner.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at his words but kept her composure, offering a charming smile. “Of course, wouldn’t want to miss the chance to freshen up. After all, first impressions are everything.”

She gave a playful wink before turning on her heel, but not before throwing a quick glance at Kaya, silently promising to check on her later.

After a thorough, very refreshing, and much-needed wash, Y/N made her way to the closet, expecting a modest room with a few spare garments and maybe some accessories to choose from. But as soon as she opened the door, her jaw nearly hit the floor.

The ‘closet’ was an entire room—no, a boutique—bursting at the seams with every kind of clothing imaginable. Silks, satins, velvets, lace, and fabrics she couldn’t even name filled the racks. Gowns, tunics, trousers, and dresses in every color she could dream of. There were shelves dedicated to shoes, from the dainty to the daring, and accessories sparkling like stars under soft light. It was basically the heaven of clothing, and Y/N was living for it.

Her eyes gleamed as she stepped inside, fingers grazing the fabrics, a giddy smile creeping onto her face.

“Oh, I could get used to this…” she muttered, practically vibrating with excitement. She didn’t know where to begin—was it the shoes, the gowns, or that ridiculously luxurious-looking coat hanging in the corner?

However, as the rest of her group entered the ‘closet,’ it became clear that Y/N was the only one genuinely enjoying the experience.

“Why would anyone even need this many clothes?” Luffy asked, his voice echoing off the lavishly adorned walls as Y/N held up yet another dress to inspect.

Nami, behind a divider, was quick to respond. “It’s not about need with these people; it’s about want.”

“What are we even supposed to wear?” Luffy asked, looking utterly baffled as he peered at the colorful array of garments.

Y/N grinned, feeling a spark of mischief. “Literally anything you want, stud. And I say we should take advantage of it because I hardly think you’ll wear wear things this nice in the future.”

She held up a black vest, similar to the ones he usually wears, playfully placing it over his chest and winked. “This one might bring out those dreamy eyes of yours.”

Luffy blinked, momentarily processing, before breaking into a wide, goofy grin. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely!“ Y/N chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. “You could be the life of the party.”

Nami stepped out from behind the divider, her figure adorned in a classic dark blue dress. She struck a pose, looking expectantly at Luffy and Y/N. “Well? What do you think?”

“You look like Nami,” Luffy shrugged, offering a response that did little to boost her confidence.

Nami’s lips pursed in irritation, and she turned to Y/N for a second opinion. Y/N shook her head. “Not your style, pumpkin. We need something that really pops!”

“Hey, Zoro!” Luffy called out, causing Y/N to glance toward the entrance.

Zoro entered, his usual indifference etched on his face. Clad in a bathrobe and holding his three swords, he scanned the room with a nonchalant air.

“What are you gonna wear?” Luffy asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

“Something black,” Zoro replied flatly as he moved deeper into the room.

“How edgy,” Nami muttered sarcastically from behind the divider.

“I don’t know, I reckon I quite like black on him,” Y/N said, slipping into a pretty yellow dress that shimmered in the light.

“Hey, does that butler seem familiar to you guys?” Zoro asked, his gaze drifting toward the door.

Nami shot back, “Yeah, I think he was at the last dinner party I attended.”

“I swear I’ve seen him somewhere,” Zoro continued, taking a seat and placing his swords on the ground beside him.

Nami emerged again, now in another lackluster dress. “How’s this?”

Luffy shrugged, “Still Nami.”

“I said I’m wearing black,” Zoro reiterated, his expression unchanged.

“I hate you guys,” Nami deadpanned.

“Y’know, Zoro, now that you mention it, he does seem oddly familiar,” Y/N chimed in, stepping out from another divider in her eye-catching yellow dress. She looked at Nami and shook her head. “No, baby. That just won’t do. We need something that’ll make a statement —not blend into the wallpaper!”

“You’re all annoying,” Nami huffs as she started to look through the racks of clothes.

With newfound energy, Y/N began rifling through the dresses again, determined to find the perfect outfit for Nami. “Let’s find you something that’ll turn heads!”

"Sadly, Y/N, we're not all you," Nami muttered, half-joking as she skimmed through the rows of clothes.

Y/N gave a playful smirk, flicking through the garments with ease. "Well, darling, not everyone can have my impeccable taste."

As they continued to browse, Luffy wandered aimlessly around the room, his eyes darting from the towering shelves to the endless racks of extravagant outfits. “I kind of feel bad for Kaya,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “All this stuff. All this space. It’s gotta make a person feel… lonely.”

Y/N paused, her hand hovering over a dress. Luffy's innocent observation hung in the air, tugging at a thread of empathy that she hadn’t quite expected to feel in that moment.

"He's got a point," she said softly, glancing around at the grandeur that suddenly felt a bit... empty. "Having all these nice things doesn’t mean much if you don’t have anyone to share it with."

Nami crossed her arms, her tone dry. "Rich people don’t have the same emotions we do. This stuff doesn’t make her feel lonely. It makes her feel important."

Y/N pursed her lips thoughtfully, still not quite buying Nami’s take. Kaya hadn’t struck her as the type to relish in wealth or power, but then again, she’d only just met the girl. “Hmm,” she hummed noncommittally, pulling a sleek red dress off the rack. "Maybe… but she didn’t seem like the ‘money equals importance’ type."

"Well, Usopp likes her," Luffy chimed in, ever the optimist. "And she invited us to dinner!" His eyes sparkled at the mention of food, an unmistakable grin spreading across his face. "I’m sure we can work out a way to get that ship."

Nami didn’t even glance up, still rifling through the endless garments. "No way. Rich people don’t stay rich by giving things away."

Y/N shrugged, holding the dress up to regard it. "She might."

Nami mumbled under her breath, “Hardly.”

But Luffy’s grin only widened as he turned to Nami with a glint in his eyes. "You want to bet?"

That caught Nami’s attention. She stopped mid-search and eyed him with interest. "What are the terms?"

Luffy stepped forward, confident as ever. "I bet I can convince Kaya to give us that ship."

Nami raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And when you can’t?"

Luffy paused for just a second before answering, "We go with your plan. Steal one and move on."

Nami grinned, extending her hand. "You’re on."

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, draping the red dress over her arm. "Oh, goodie. A gentleman’s wager. How refined." She glanced between them with a playful smirk. "I’d start polishing my silver tongue if I were you, Stud."

Nami pulled out another shirt, giving it a brief glance before casually tossing it at Zoro. He caught it effortlessly and looked it over with his usual deadpan expression.

"Nice," Zoro muttered, as if mildly impressed, but not overly excited.

Nami barely had time to react before Y/N swept in like a whirlwind, red dress in hand and that signature mischievous grin plastered across her face. With a teasing flourish, Y/N wiggled the dress toward her like it was the Holy Grail.

"Found something for ya, pumpkin," she teased, voice dripping with playful charm.

Nami raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dress skeptically. "Red? Really?"

"Trust me," Y/N winked, grabbing Nami’s hand and practically dragging her behind the room divider. She positioned her in front of the mirror, standing behind her and holding the dress up to Nami’s frame. The contrast of the vibrant red against Nami’s skin made Y/N’s grin widen.

"See?" Y/N purred, her voice dipping into a whisper as she met Nami's gaze in the reflection. "This dress is the perfect blend of sultry and sophisticated—just like you, Nami. It’ll hug your curves in all the right places and make you look utterly irresistible." She flashed a knowing smile, adding, "Trust me, It’ll make you look like a million Berri."

Nami’s lips twitched, trying and failing to hide a smile. "You're dangerous."

Y/N grinned wider, giving Nami a playful nudge. "Dangerously right, you mean."

Nami, after a moment of staring at Y/N in the reflection, looked away, her gaze darting as if she’d just been caught in a secret. An uncharacteristic hint of pink dusted her cheeks as she took the dress from Y/N. "Fine, whatever. I’ll wear it,"

“Great!” Y/N exclaimed, her grin blooming into a triumphant beam, practically radiating delight. With Nami set, she turned back to the closet, her eyes dancing over the racks like a kid in a candy store. ‘Now, it’s time for me to find something…’

At long last, the four were dressed to the nines, gathered in the grand foyer, waiting for Kaya. Usopp and Luffy were thoroughly enjoying the appetizers, both looking like kids in a candy store as they devoured the tiny, fancy bites with gusto.

Nami, ever the strategist, was busy chatting up Merry, the man who handled Kaya’s finances. He had a peculiar appearance—his hair resembling a lamb’s fleece with two small horns poking through, making him look as though he’d just wandered off a pastoral scene. Despite the odd look,

Zoro, in true Zoro fashion, had found the comfiest spot in the room—a plush sofa—and settled in with a glass of fruity cocktail, his face unreadable as always. He gave off the impression of someone who had no interest in the opulence around him.

Y/N, with her cocktail in hand, decided to join the swordsman, her emerald dress flowing elegantly as she took a seat beside him.

"So, you look... almost civilized," she teased with a playful smirk, swirling her drink as she settled in. "I think that fruity cocktail’s working wonders for your edge."

Zoro scoffed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Don’t get used to it."

Y/N chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. "Wouldn’t dream of it, hotshot. Though I gotta say, you look unsurprisingly handsome. You might even be mistaken for a gentleman if you stay quiet long enough."

Zoro raised an eyebrow, leaning back into the sofa with an amused grunt. "I’ll take that as an insult." He watched her out of the corner of his eye before adding, "You’re not so bad yourself. That dress looks... expensive."

"Why, thank you, Zoro." Y/N winked at him. "It’s called ‘style'. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but you wear black with enough attitude that I suppose it evens out."

He gave a small chuckle, which was about the closest to a compliment she'd expect from him. The two sat there in a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the others.

"Think this dinner’s going to be as fancy as all this?" Y/N asked, glancing around the opulent surroundings.

Zoro shrugged, taking another sip. "Doesn’t matter to me as long as the food’s good. Fancy or not, it all goes down the same way."

Y/N laughed, raising her glass in agreement. "I’ll drink to that."

A moment later, the soft clearing of a throat at the top of the stairs made the room fall silent. Klahadore, ever the picture of formality, stood tall as he announced, "May I present... Miss Kaya."

All eyes turned upward as Kaya appeared, gracefully descending the stairs with Klahadore’s arm for support. She was dressed in a delicate yellow gown adorned with subtle dots, her face glowing with a wide, genuine smile—one that made Y/N smile as well, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the warmth of the moment or the way Kaya's joy seemed to radiate outwards.

At the bottom of the stairs, Merry stepped forward to meet her. Offering his arm with a soft smile, he said, "Kaya, you look absolutely radiant."

Kaya's smile brightened as she took his arm with familiarity. "Merry, I’m so glad you could make it."

"This is a milestone I wouldn’t miss for the world," Merry replied warmly as they made their way down the last few steps. "Your parents would be so proud."

Kaya’s gaze softened at the mention of her parents, but her expression didn’t falter. She turned toward Nami, who stood somewhat awkwardly nearby. "Nami, I love that dress on you."

"Thanks," Nami responded, though her tone was a bit stiffer than usual.

Kaya gently touched the fabric of the dress, her voice soft with nostalgia."It belonged to my mother. It was one of her favourites."

Nami's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by the sentiment. She started to stumble over an apology, "Oh, I’m sorry. I —"

Kaya interrupted with a kind smile, shaking her head. "Not at all. I’m sure she would agree it suits you splendidly."

Y/N stepped in at that moment, smoothly saving Nami from the awkward tension. With a bright smile, she looked at Kaya. "That she does! And as for you, Kaya—you look absolutely wonderful. Like you just stepped out of a fairytale."

Kaya’s cheeks flushed lightly at the compliment, and she gave a shy smile. "Thank you, Y/N. You’re too kind."

"Nonsense," Y/N waved her hand, "just calling it like I see it. A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl and a beautiful evening, wouldn’t you agree?"

Kaya’s smile softened, clearly touched by Y/N's warmth, as Merry turned to tell Kaya something about the transfer of ownership of the shipyard. Meanwhile, Nami shot Y/N a grateful look, while Y/N simply gave a little playful shrug, as if to say, What can I say? It’s a gift.

"Merry, dear friend, it's always business with you," Klahadore cut in, his voice smooth but firm. Merry nodded, somewhat reluctantly, as if he'd been caught in the middle of a moment. Klahadore’s arm swept elegantly toward the dining room. "Tonight is about celebration. Shall we all move to the dining room?"

"Yes!" Luffy’s voice boomed across the room, his face lighting up with pure excitement. "Oh! Oh, I’m so ready for this!"

Y/N chuckled under her breath at Luffy’s enthusiasm, glancing sideways at Nami. "You’d think he’s never had a meal before."

As the group began to file into the elegantly decorated dining room, Y/N couldn't help but admire the lavish setup. The long table was adorned with pristine white linens and flickering candles, casting a warm glow over the room.

Soon, they were indulging in the delicious spread laid out before them. The table was a feast for the eyes, adorned with an array of vibrant dishes that seemed to dance with colour. Y/N couldn't help but let out a satisfied sigh as she took her first bite of a creamy pasta dish, the flavours bursting on her palate.

"I’d love to try the fish tonight," Kaya said, glancing at Sham, the maid, who was holding a platter of food.

But before she could reach for it, Klahadore interjected, "I’m sorry, Miss Kaya, but that is not possible."

Kaya’s smile faltered, and Y/N couldn’t help but frown at the butler’s sharp tone as she took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Maybe just a small piece?" Kaya asked, her voice tinged with hope.

The butler remained unyielding, unlike earlier in the day. "Now, you know that certain foods can affect your constitution," he replied, gesturing for the plump butler to step forward. "Here, Buchi has prepared your special soup."

Kaya’s face fell, despite her attempts to hide her disappointment as the bland soup was placed in front of her.

"Kaya, it’s your birthday," Nami chimed in with a hint of irritation. "You should be able to enjoy whatever you like."

"Miss Kaya’s medical condition necessitates that I closely monitor her dietary needs," Klahadore responded curtly, addressing Nami as if she were overstepping.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she leaned back in her chair, wine glass poised. Her tone was laced with mild sarcasm. "Ah, I see. So you manage her plate… and her voice now, too?"

Luffy, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness building at the table, raised his hand enthusiastically. "I’ll take her fish!"

"Luffy…" Y/N mumbled under her breath, shaking her head softly as if to reign in his bluntness.

Usopp, sensing the awkwardness, piped up nervously while shooting a wary glance at Klahadore. "Luffy, isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to Kaya about?"

"Oh, yes!" Luffy’s face lit up as he turned back to Kaya. "Usopp told me you own the whole shipyard!"

Kaya smiled warmly, correcting him gently. "Well, actually, my parents founded the shipyard. Merry’s been running the business since… well, since they passed," She gestured towards Merry, who lifted his glass in quiet acknowledgement.

"But all of that is about to change," Kaya added, her eyes flicking to Usopp with a soft, meaningful glance. "Tonight, at midnight, I’ll officially become the sole owner."

"Ah. Well, that’s great, because we want to buy a ship from you," Luffy announced, his grin wide and infectious.

Kaya raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "I see," she replied, her smile growing. "Usopp mentioned that you’re sailors."

"Nope, not sailors," Luffy corrected quickly, his grin widening. And before Y/N could stop him, he dropped the bombshell. "We’re pirates."

The room seemed to freeze. The air became thick with tension as Usopp nearly choked on his drink, sputtering. Every guest at the table turned to look at Luffy in stunned silence—none more exasperated than Nami, who shot him a look that screamed, Seriously?

Y/N let out a long, resigned sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is going to be a disaster," she muttered, feeling the weight of impending chaos.

Zoro, unfazed, took a slow sip from his cup and muttered under his breath, "This ought to be good."

"Pirates?" Kaya echoed, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

"Yep!" Luffy replied with unrestrained enthusiasm, oblivious to the looks of Nami, Y/N, and Zoro. "We haven’t sailed together for long, but we’ve already defeated an evil clown, raided a Marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe for a hand."

Kaya’s smile widened as she turned to Usopp. "These sound a lot like your adventures, Usopp."

"Yeah, that’s…" Usopp chuckled nervously, stealing a glance at Luffy. "That’s crazy."

"Oh yeah. And we’re just getting started!" Luffy declared, suddenly seizing his wine glass. In an impulsive burst of enthusiasm, he hopped up onto the dining table, eliciting gasps of shock from the guests.

Klahadore’s face darkened with disapproval as he bristled at Luffy’s antics. "What on earth are you doing? Get down from there at once!"

But Luffy, undeterred and brimming with enthusiasm, continued to hold his glass high. "Being a pirate has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and now I’m finally making it a reality!" He stepped closer to Kaya, completely ignoring the bewildered looks from the guests. "We’re heading out to the Grand Line, where even more adventures await us. And at the end of the journey, I’m gonna find the ultimate treasure, the One Piece, and become King of the Pirates!" With a triumphant grin, he took a hearty sip of his wine, completely unfazed by the chaos he was stirring.

He stepped closer to Kaya, completely ignoring the bewildered looks from the rest. "We’re heading out to the Grand Line, where even more adventures await us. And at the end of the journey, I’m gonna find the ultimate treasure, the One Piece, and become King of the Pirates!" With a triumphant grin, he took a hearty sip of his wine, completely unfazed by the chaos he was stirring.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking her head as she watched Luffy’s unyielding spirit shine through. "Well, at least he’s got ambition,"

Kaya gazed up at Luffy, wide-eyed. "You're serious?"

Luffy slammed back the remainder of his wine, then held out the empty glass to Klahadore, who sneered but reluctantly took it. Leaning closer to Kaya, Luffy gripped her shoulders with earnest enthusiasm. "Kaya, you have a beautiful ship out there—a caravel with a sheep figurehead. It spoke to me." Zoro and Nami exchanged exasperated glances, while Y/N couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the sheer audacity of it all.

"That’s the ship we need to follow our dreams," Luffy continued, his eyes shining with determination. "I promise you, we’ll take care of it. We’ll maintain it and treat it like any other member of our crew, because a ship is also a home."

"That will be quite enough!" Klahadore snapped, stepping in beside Kaya with an air of authority. "I should’ve known Usopp would bring riffraff to our doorstep."

"Klahadore, it’s okay. I..." Kaya began, trying to defuse the tension, but a sudden coughing fit interrupted her.

"Now look what you’ve done. You’ve upset Miss Kaya!" Klahadore accused, his irritation palpable. "All of you, out of this house at once!"

Kaya, ever the kind-hearted soul, shook her head weakly, managing to breathe out, "No. It’s late. Let them stay the night."

"As you wish, Miss Kaya," Klahadore relented, though his tone was less than pleased. He assisted her out of the chair and led her from the room, adding, "But they are out first thing in the morning."

"That went pretty well," Luffy remarked as the door clicked shut behind Klahadore, leaving the five of them in the cosy dimness of the room. "Don’t you think?"

Y/N hums before gulping down the rest of her wine. "sure"

Hours later, Y/N lay wide awake, her bladder full and demanding release. She couldn’t help but scoff at the absurdity of it all—a mansion this grand and yet no loo in her room?

Finally deciding to venture out, she crept down the hallway, but instead of finding a bathroom, she stumbled upon a certain orange-haired girl in a curious sight: Nami was stuffing shiny treasures into a pillowcase.

"What are you, the reverse Father Christmas?" Y/N quipped, leaning against the doorframe with a playful smirk.

Nami, startled by the sudden voice, whipped her head around, eyes wide. "Shit, Y/N! You scared me! What are you doing up?"

Y/N shrugged, crossing her arms casually. "You know, just on a midnight quest for a loo. But clearly, I found something far more interesting."

Nami huffed, returning to her task with quick hands. "I’m just borrowing. Besides, they’re not going to notice a few missing trinkets."

"Oh, so you’re playing the long game, huh? Borrow now, return... never?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "If you get caught, I’m not covering for you."

Nami shrugged, a cheeky grin spreading across her face as she continued to stuff the shiny trinkets into her pillowcase. "Who says I’ll get caught? I'm a master of stealth."

"Right, because sneaking around in the middle of the night with a pillowcase full of stolen goods is such a subtle move," Y/N teased, closing her door and following Nami.

Nami paused for a moment, glancing around to ensure they were still alone. "These are just sitting here collecting dust. No one will miss them."

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "You do realize you’re robbing from a girl who just wanted to celebrate her birthday, right?"

"Details, details," Nami waved dismissively, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, it’s not like I’m taking anything valuable… yet."

Y/N smirked, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, but you--"

They suddenly heard footsteps approaching, echoing through the vast halls of the house.

Nami’s eyes widened in panic as she quickly shut the cabinet door "Crap!"

“Quick, come on!” Y/N urged, pulling Nami toward the nearest door. She flung it open and they slipped inside a dark room.

Just as they were about to catch their breath and survey their surroundings, Kaya’s voice startled them.

“Y/N?… Nami?” The lights flicked on, illuminating the room.

Both girls gasped in surprise, and Nami hurriedly concealed the pillowcase behind her back.

“What are you two doing? Is everything okay?” Kaya asked, still unaware of their antics.

"Oh, Kaya!" Y/N exclaimed, feigning a chuckle. "Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep! This house is like a maze, and I couldn't find the loo. So naturally, I enlisted Nami's expert navigating skills, right, Nami?"

"Yeah, we just got a bit turned around," Nami added, trying to sound casual.

Kaya’s gaze drifted behind Nami, landing on the clearly bulging pillowcase. She raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "With a pillowcase?"

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Y/N pursed her lips in embarrassment.

"So… you really are pirates after all," Kaya said, rising from her bed. Her demeanour was calm, not angry or frightened.

"No," Y/N quickly denied.

"I hate pirates," Nami chimed in, her tone dripping with disdain. "But I am who I am," She declared, setting the pillowcase down defiantly. "And I won’t apologize for it."

Y/N pursed her lips and sighed, taking a seat on the window sofa. "Can’t put it much better than that."

Kaya let out a light chuckle as she settled beside Y/N. "To be honest, I find some of the decor to be a bit gaudy. I’d prefer to donate it to charity."

Nami bristled at that. "We’re not charity."

/N waved her hand dismissively. "Relax, Pumpkin. I’m sure she didn’t mean it that way, right?"

Kaya quickly shook her head. "No, of course not. I just think, what’s the point of having so much if you can’t share it with others? Like those in need—family... friends."

"So we’re friends now?" Nami asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course we are."

Nami turned to Y/N, motioning toward Kaya. "But she doesn't even know me!"

Kaya shrugs thoughtfully. "Usopp and Y/N do, and that’s a start.

Nami frowned slightly, but Y/N patted the space beside her with a playful grin. "Come on, Pumpkin, let's bond."

Nami rolled her eyes at Y/N's antics but eventually settled down next to her. "So what do we do now? Have a sleepover? Do each other’s makeup?"

Y/N smirked, leaning closer. "Only if you promise to let me go wild with the glitter. We can start with—" Y/N began, but was interrupted by Kaya's coughing.

"Kaya, are you okay?" Nami asked, concern etching her features.

Y/N placed a hand on Kaya's back. "Should I get you some water or something?"

Kaya stopped coughing and looked at the girls, shaking her head. "Not you too."

"What?" Y/N frowned in confusion, sharing a puzzled glance with Nami.

Kaya sighed. "Everyone’s so careful around me. Like one wrong move and I’ll break." She looked between the girls. "I don’t want your pity."

"Well, you won’t get it then," Nami said, with a small grin.

"No pity here, just friendship," Y/N shrugged, a teasing smile creeping onto her face. "And as friends, you ought to tell us what is going on between you and Usoppppp."

"Is he your boyfriend?" Nami grins.

"Oh. Um…" Kaya chuckled, glancing between the girls. "Usopp and I? No, no. We’ve known each other for years. Ever since his mother passed away, he didn’t have anyone, so my parents gave him a job at the shipyard." Her smile grew a little wider as she continued, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. "He likes to come around and tell me all about his brave exploits and grand adventures. And the truth is, they make me feel better."

Y/N leaned in, a teasing grin on her face. "So, it’s like Usopp is your personal bard, spinning tales to lift your spirits? I can see how that’d be comforting."

Kaya chuckles, "After my parents... he was able to make me smile again."

"Your parents, what happened to them?" Nami asked, her voice softening.

Kaya’s eyes instantly glistened with unshed tears, and Y/N could see this was a sensitive subject. "They, um… They died at sea. After all these years, it still takes my breath away. I couldn’t even go through their belongings. Just… locked up the memories in the East Wing, where their bedroom was."

"I’m so sorry," Nami said softly, echoing Y/N's thoughts. She understood the weight of loss, grief, and the pain that lingered.

"Have you ever lost anyone close to you?" Kaya inquired, her gaze searching.

"No," Nami replied, her voice steady but filled with empathy.

Y/N paused for a moment, her heart heavy. "Yes," she said softly.

Y/N and Kaya shared a look of understanding, a silent acknowledgement of their shared pain. The bond of loss wove them closer together in that quiet moment, as they realized they were not alone in their experiences.

Kaya, after a moment of quiet, turned to Nami with a small smile. "Well, I’m jealous of you, Nami."

Nami scoffed, her eyebrow raised. "Said the rich girl."

Kaya chuckled at the response, shaking her head before looking directly at her. "You’re not very good at this friends thing, are you?"

Y/N grinned at the exchange, nudging Nami playfully. "She’s a tough nut to crack, but trust me, she’s definitely worth it."

The three of them shared a laugh, the tension lifting as they bonded in their own quirky way.

Kaya let out a soft yawn, clearly indicating how late it had gotten. Y/N smirked, her eyes glinting with playful amusement. "Need your beauty sleep, princess?"

Kaya chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "I suppose I do," she admitted, rubbing her eyes. "Though I’m not sure how much help it’ll be."

"Trust me," Y/N grinned, "you're already glowing."

Nami rolled her eyes, but even she smiled a little at Y/N’s cheeky comment. "We should get going though,"

Y/N stood up, stretching a bit before nodding. "That we should. I still need a loo."

Kaya chuckled, pointing down the hall. "Down the hall on the left."

As she made her way to her bed, Kaya added, "Why don’t you two join me for breakfast tomorrow? Your friends too. We can discuss a deal for the caravel."

"Yeah, that’ll be great." Y/N smiled, starting to walk away, but she paused when Nami spoke again.

"This may not be my place," Nami said, glancing back at Kaya, "but don’t let Klahadore or anyone run your life. You’re stronger than you think."

Kaya smiled softly at the sentiment. "I appreciate that."

"Good night, Nami, Y/N," she called out as she settled under her blankets.

"Good night," Nami replied with a small smile.

"Night, Kaya," Y/N added with a wink.

As they reached the door, Kaya called after them with a grin, "Don’t forget your pillow."

Nami took the pillowcase as she, Kaya and Y/N chuckled softly. Once they were outside the room, Nami halted and pulled something out of the pillowcase—a small box of some sort—and placed it on a nearby table. Y/N grinned at her, clearly amused.

Nami noticed the grin and rolled her eyes. "What?" she asked, her tone exasperated.

Y/N shrugged, still smiling. “Funny how a little girl talk can literally change people.”

“Shut up,” Nami muttered, giving Y/N a playful push. “Besides, Kaya’s just an exception.”

Y/N laughed, her teasing grin only growing wider. "Sure, pumpkin, whatever you say. How about you and I go for a midnight snack?"

"I could eat," Nami shrugs aimlessly.

"Right, you go find the kitchen while I find the loo because I'm about to explode," Y/N told the girls she was already on her way to the bathroom.

Nami shook her head with a smirk. “Alright, see you in the kitchen—if I don’t get lost first.”

"Shut up,"

After using the fancy loo, Y/N strolled into the kitchen, her usual playful grin in place. "Can you believe they have hyacinth-scented soap here? I mean, if you're going to steal something, might as well go for—"

Her words came to an abrupt halt when she noticed it wasn’t Nami in the kitchen. No, standing there were the butlers—Klahadore, Buchi, and the maid, Sham. And on the table, laid out unconscious, was Luffy.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she took in the scene. Klahadore turned slowly toward her, his expression cold and calculating.

“Well, it seems we have an unexpected guest,” Klahadore said with a chilling smile, the air growing tense.

"Shit," Y/N muttered under her breath, instinctively taking a step back. Her heart raced as she quickly realized she had walked straight into something dangerous. It didn’t take a genius to know the butlers were up to no good.

"Now, now," Klahadore cooed, "there’s no need to make a fuss."

"Too late for that," Y/N shot him a defiant look before bolting for the door.

However, Y/N didn’t make it far. Just as she turned to run, Klahadore seemed to teleport, appearing in front of her in an instant.

She gasped, heart pounding as she spun back around, desperate to escape. But before she could even take a step, a sharp blow struck the side of her head. Pain exploded behind her eyes, and everything went dark as her body crumpled to the floor.

The next time Y/N opened her eyes, the first thing she saw wasn’t Zoro’s concerned face but the dark, starry sky above. The cool night air hit her skin, and the faint sound of crickets chirping filled the quiet. She blinked, disoriented, before realizing she was lying on the cold, hard ground outside, near an old stone well.

"Oi, wake up," Zoro’s familiar gruff voice cut through the haze, accompanied by another tap, harder this time.

Y/N blinked and squinted, barely making out his face against the moonlit sky. “Zoro?” she muttered, trying to sit up.

“Yeah, it’s me. You good, or you need another nap?” he asked, crossing his arms, his expression unbothered but with a hint of concern in his eyes.

Y/N groaned as she sat up, feeling the cold stone of the well against her back. “Where are we?”

“Outside. Near the well behind the mansion. I found you knocked out cold.”

“Gee, thanks for stating the obvious,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “What the hell happened?”

Zoro knelt down beside her, his tone growing more serious. “Klahadore isn’t just some butler. He’s Kuro—Captain Kuro of the Black Cat Pirates. That bastard’s been hiding out here, playing the good servant. That psycho’s got some plan involving Kaya-"

Y/N's heart raced as she shot up to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that washed over her. "Luffy—he was passed out! And Nami—she was supposed to be in the kitchen. They’re in there with those psychos. We have to go back!"

Zoro’s expression darkened as he drew one of his swords, the steely glint catching the moonlight. "Then let's go. No time to waste."

Despite the pounding in her head, Y/N steadied herself, determination fueling her. She nodded, and the two of them sprinted toward the mansion. The eerie quiet of the night only heightened the sense of urgency, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestone path.

As they neared the mansion, Y/N and Zoro began to hear voices, the two exchanged a glance as they crept closer, the voices becoming unmistakably clearer.

"Father always said, 'Dead pirate weighs the same as a live one,'" came the cocky, irritating voice that Y/N instantly recognized. Helmeppo.

"Garp gave us strict orders," a softer, more hesitant voice responded, trying to reason with him.

"He gave you strict orders," Helmeppo sneered as Y/N and Zoro finally reached the scene. Helmeppo stood there, holding a gun to Luffy, "Start walking, pirate, or die."

Zoro wasted no time. He was a blur of movement, taking out the two marines flanking Helmeppo with effortless precision. They hit the ground before they could even register what had happened.

As groans filled the air, Helmeppo and the kind boy Kobi she had met before turned to face Y/N and Zoro. The smug look on Helmeppo's face faded quickly when he saw them approach.

Y/N crossed her arms, a dangerous smirk tugging at her lips. "Gotta say, you picked the wrong night to be an idiot, Helmeppo. But then again, that's just who you are."

"Zoro! Y/N!" Luffy called out excitedly, as though he hadn’t been held at gunpoint just seconds earlier.

Zoro strode forward with his usual calm, while Y/N rushed to Luffy's side, giving Helmeppo a quick but satisfying punch that knocked him out cold.

"How’d you two know where to find me?" Luffy asked, a huge grin on his face.

"We didn’t, stud," Y/N replied, helping him up. "We thought we were headed to the house." Her nose scrunched up as she noticed the blue barf near Luffy and and instinctively wiped some goo from his face with her sleeve, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine now," Luffy smiled, his usual carefree attitude shining through as he began to make his way back to the house. "Come on!"

Y/N and Zoro exchanged a glance before following Luffy, but their steps were halted by Koby.

"Hold it right there!" he called, his voice firm. "By order of the Marines, I’m placing you under arrest."

"Koby…" Luffy took a step forward, a small grin creeping onto his face, but it quickly transformed into a more serious demeanor. "I know you’ve got a job to do… but I’m gonna go back and help my friends. So don’t try to stop me."

Koby hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face as he looked at Luffy. It was clear he was torn between duty and friendship but he remained rooted to the spot, conflicted, as the three of them dashed into the shadows of the mansion, hearts racing and adrenaline pumping. They needed to save their friends, and nothing was going to stop them now.

When the trio reached the house, they quickly noticed the heavy metal covering the door, effectively barricading them from entering. Y/N felt a surge of frustration, but before she could voice it, Zoro stepped forward with a determined look in his eyes.

“Step aside,” he said. Zoro squared his stance, gripping the edge of the metal barrier. With a powerful grunt, he heaved against it with all his might.

To her astonishment, the metal slid upwards with a loud screech, revealing the entrance. Without hesitating, she quickly shoved a nearby statue beneath the opening to keep it in place and with a swift kick, she propelled the wooden door open, and it swung inward with a thud, revealing the interior of the mansion.

Luffy stepped inside, followed closely by Y/N and Zoro. The three of them paused in the foyer, taking in the surroundings. The air was thick with tension, shadows stretching across the walls as the faint light flickered from the ornate chandelier above.

“I need to grab my fans from my room,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Luffy nodded, his determination unwavering. “Let’s split up.”

Zoro and Y/N exchanged glances before also nodding in agreement. Without wasting another moment, the trio took off in different directions. Luffy headed upstairs, while Zoro moved toward the kitchens, every step echoing with purpose. Y/N made her way to the guest wing, her heart racing as she recalled the location of her weapons.

As she dashed down the corridor, the silence of the mansion felt oppressive, every creak of the floorboards amplifying her anxiety. She finally reached her room and pushed the door open, relief flooding through her as she spotted her fans resting on the dresser.

“Got you!” she whispered to herself, snatching them up and flipping them open, the familiar weight comforting in her hands. With her weapons secured, she turned to leave, but a noise from the hallway caught her attention.

Holding her breath, Y/N peered out into the corridor, her war fans gripped tightly in her hands, poised defensively. The dim hallway stretched before her,

Holding her breath, Y/N peered out into the corridor, her war fans gripped tightly in her hands, poised defensively. The dim hallway stretched before her, shadows danced along the walls.

She scanned the area, her senses heightened, every creak echoing ominously in her ears. The silence felt almost tangible, pressing against her as she waited for any sign of movement. Just as she was about to step out, a creak from behind made her whip around.

Standing there was Bushi, the plump butler from earlier, draped in an absurd cat-like costume complete with a cape. His beady eyes gleamed in the low light, and a smirk spread across his face, giving him an almost sinister air.

"Of all designs, that's the one you chose?" Y/N scoffed, laughter bubbling up despite the tension.

Bushi smirked, revealing sharp canine-like teeth as he brandished two blades from behind his back. "It comes with perks,"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful grin still on her face, but her stance was ready. “Perks, huh? I guess you must feel pretty fancy in that ugly getup." With a swift motion, she opened her war fan, the edges glinting ominously. “Shift it, mongrel.”

The butler lunged forward, and Y/N expertly sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as his blade sliced through the space she had just occupied. In one fluid motion, she spun around, bringing her war fan down with precision aimed at his wrist.

Bushi barely raised his other blade in time, the metallic clash ringing out as sparks flew from the impact. He grinned, lunging again, but Y/N ducked low, her fan cutting through the air as she aimed for his legs.

He jumped back, narrowly escaping. With a swift kick, Y/N drove him against the wall, the force of her strike causing him to grunt.

“You’ll pay for that!” he snarled, lunging at her with renewed ferocity. Y/N raised her fan just in time to block the incoming strike, their blades clashing once more.

Using the momentum, she pushed off his blade and leaped into the air, executing a graceful flip. As she landed, she swung the fan down toward him like a blade.

Bushi rolled out of the way, regaining his balance as Y/N charged again. He swung at her, but she ducked and sidestepped, moving with agility. She slashed at him, the fan cutting through the air, forcing him to backpedal.

As they danced around each other, the sound of metal on metal echoed through the hallway, tension thickening the air. Y/N felt the adrenaline surge, her instincts kicking in as she prepared for the next move.

Bushi lunged, but she pivoted, dodging and countering with a swift strike aimed at his midsection. He barely blocked it, gritting his teeth as they continued to clash, each movement fluid and aggressive.

Finally, Y/N saw an opening. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent her fan spiraling toward his face, momentarily stunning him. In that split second, she charged forward, delivering a powerful kick that sent him crashing to the ground.

As Y/N caught her breath, she glanced around the dimly lit hallway, scanning for any additional threats. But before she could take a step, Bushi sprang back to his feet, eyes narrowed with determination.

“Not done yet!” he growled.

The butler lunged again, and Y/N met his charge with a swift deflection of her fan. The two danced around the narrow space of the staircase, trading blows as they fought against the railing.

Bushi swung his blades, forcing Y/N to duck and weave, her instincts sharp. She retaliated with a swift jab of her fan, catching him in the side. He stumbled, growling in frustration, but quickly regained his footing, the glint of his sharp canines reflecting the dim light.

Y/N could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she adjusted her stance, her fan poised for the next move. Bushi lunged again, blades slicing through the air, and she narrowly avoided the attack by pivoting to the side, the tips of his weapons barely grazing her. The narrowness of the staircase forced them into a tight rhythm, each movement calculated and precise.

Bushi spun low, attempting a sweeping strike at her legs. Y/N leapt back, her heart pounding, and then retaliated with a powerful jab of her fan into his shoulder. The impact sent him reeling against the railing, his balance faltering for just a moment.

Seizing the opportunity, Y/N launched forward, her movements fluid and fierce. With a well-aimed kick to his midsection, she sent him crashing through the railing. The sound of splintering wood echoed in the hallway as he plummeted down into the foyer below.

Y/N glanced down at the foyer, her eyes locking with Zoro, who had just dispatched the maid, Sham.

"Impressive finishing move," Zoro remarked, sheathing his swords with a casual air.

Y/N grinned, tilting her head in playful acknowledgment."What can I say? It’s hard not to show off when I’m surrounded by such unimpressive company. Now, let’s find something to restrain them with—preferably something more effective than their fashion choices."

Sooner rather than later, to Y/N's relief, Kaya, Nami, Usopp, and Luffy emerged from the upper levels, sporting only a few scratches but no serious injuries.

"Oh, thank the stars," Y/N exclaimed, her heart settling at the sight of them. "Looks like you all survived the thrilling experience of fighting off shit butlers and overly dramatic maids."

Zoro swung open the main door, allowing the bright morning light to flood into the dim foyer.

Nami rolled her eyes but there was a shinning in her eyes of relief and amusment. "You missed all the fun, Y/N."

"Fun?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on her lips. "You mean the kind of fun that comes with questionable service choices and bad manners?"

Both girls exchanged grins, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Zoro remarked to Kaya, his tone devoid of any regret. “You probably need some new staff.”

“I think I’m done with staff for a bit,” Kaya replied, her gaze lingering on her former cook and maid, now tied on the floor.

“Too bad we can’t collect their bounty,” Zoro sighed, arms crossed.

Nami jumped in, her frustration bubbling over. “No. No. The Marines already know where we are. We have to get out of here.”

Y/N pursed her lips, glancing around the room. “We don't have nowhere to go,"

"Nor a ship," Luffy added.

"Yes, you do." Kaya said, catching them all off guard.

The atmosphere shifted as the realization sank in, and grins spread across their faces. They knew she was about to gift them the very ship they had set out for—the one that had led them into this chaotic mess.

Y/N smirked at Luffy, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Congratulations, stud. Looks like you won the bet."

Luffy returned her smirk, his playful spirit shining through, before glancing at Nami, who rolled her eyes.

After everything that had transpired, the six of them stood before the ship, its elegant lamb bow glimmering in the sunlight.

"Wow," Luffy exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe. "That looks just like your lawyer friend."

Kaya smiled softly, nostalgia washing over her. "Merry ran the shipyard after my parents passed. He was their dearest colleague and my oldest companion."

"Then his memory will live on, "Luffy declared, "I hereby name this ship the Going Merry!"

Kaya smiled warmly, her eyes shining with pride. “It’s yours now. Your new home.”

“Thank you, Kaya,” Luffy replied, his voice full of genuine gratitude. Then, with a burst of energy, he thrust his fist into the air. “Whoo! Yeah! We did it!”

Without warning, Luffy leaped at Y/N, Nami, and Zoro, pulling them into a bone-crushing hug.

Y/N laughed, feeling the warmth of Luffy’s infectious happiness wash over her. “That we did!”

As they broke apart, no matter how hard she tried not to, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that this was only the beginning of something truly extraordinary or horrifying.

"Usopp!" Luffy suddenly called, causing everyone to turn their heads toward the boy.

Luffy approached him with that signature grin. "What are you waiting for? Get your stuff."

"What stuff?" Usopp asked, clearly confused.

"You’re coming with us. Right?" Luffy said with a grin that suggested he already knew the answer.

"What?" Usopp stammered. "Uh… uh… No. I… I couldn’t."

"Don't make him beg, champ," Y/N teased with a playful wink.

“I’m gonna need a great sharpshooter,” Luffy added, leaning in confidently. “Just like Yasopp. And I saw what you did back there--sticking up for your friends. That’s exactly the kind of guy I need on my crew.”

Usopp hesitated, his gaze flicking to Kaya. "But… I couldn’t leave Syrup Village. What… what about Kaya?" His voice wavered as he looked at her. "She needs me to take care of her."

Kaya stepped forward, her expression gentle. "Usopp, you’ve been a great friend," she said, taking his hand. "But I think it’s time I start taking care of myself."

"But I said I’d never leave you," Usopp protested, his frown deepening. "And don’t you need help with the shipyard?"

Nami, Y/N, and Zoro quietly made their way to stand beside Luffy, content to watch the moment unfold between Usopp and Kaya.

"The shipyard was my parents’ dream," Kaya said softly, her eyes warm as they met Usopp's. "I think I might do something different. Like study to become a doctor."

"So… I guess this is goodbye," Usopp said slowly, his voice tinged with sadness.

Kaya squeezed his hands, offering him a soft, encouraging smile. "I’ll see you again someday. And when I do, I expect to hear all about the real adventures of Captain Usopp."

Much to Usopp's surprise—and to no one else's—Kaya leaned in and kissed him. It was a tender moment, prompting the spectators to avert their eyes… except for Luffy, who frowned in confusion.

"They… they do know I’m the captain, right?"

Nami patted Luffy on the shoulder. "Let them have this one,"

Y/N grinned, nudging Luffy playfully. "Besides, you’ll get your moment, stud. Maybe with less kissing though, but who knows." she winks at him.

And just like that, they were out at sea again—this time, however, with a new friend and a real ship beneath their feet. The Going Merry cut through the waves with ease, her elegant lamb figurehead gleaming in the sunlight.

And then, they were out on the open sea again, this time with a new crewmate and a real ship beneath their feet. The Going Merry glided effortlessly over the waves, its lamb figurehead leading the way toward new adventures.

Y/N leaned against the railing, gazing out at the endless blue ocean. The sun warmed her skin while the salty breeze danced through her white hair, tousling it playfully. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, letting the serenity of the sea wash over her, giving her a sense of freedom she hadn’t felt in a long time.

A sudden shout nearly made Y/N jump out of her skin, snapping her attention to the bow of the ship. She couldn’t help but snicker as she spotted Luffy, perched at the top of the lamb’s head, waving his straw hat with pure joy. His wide grin was infectious, and the sight of him celebrating like a carefree kid brought a warmth to her chest.

He was so ridiculously happy, as if he’d just discovered the greatest treasure in the world, and for a second, Y/N envied his simplicity—his ability to find joy in the smallest things, no matter the chaos surrounding them.

Looking back at the ocean, a quiet hope took root inside her. This might actually work. The thought of reuniting with her sister felt closer than ever, and the mere possibility made her smile.

A lively melody echoed around the ship's gallery, and Y/N ran her fingers over the guitar strings, crafting an upbeat tune that danced with the rhythm of the waves.

In Syrup Village, where dreams took flight, Lived young Kaya, shining so bright. But Kuro the Cat, with a sinister crew, Plotted to take her, oh, what would they do?

Then we arrived, with laughter and cheer, “Don’t worry, dear Kaya! Your heroes are here!--”

"We did not arrive with laughter and cheer," Nami scoffs from beside Y/N, interrupting the ballad.

Y/N rolls her eyes, a playful grin on her face. "Shush, it rhymes! Besides, artistic license!"

Nami crossed her arms. "More like a disaster in the making."

"Focus on the song, not the flaws," Zoro mutters from her other side, his voice low yet steady.

Y/N scoffs at him, "Excuse me, but my ballad doesn't have any flaws."

Luffy, grinned wide as he ate some fruit. "I like it! Keep going!"

With a theatrical sigh, Y/N continued, her fingers dancing over the guitar strings.

“Thank you, brave souls!” Kaya smiled wide, “I’ve got a surprise—come take a ride!” With joy in her heart, she gave them the key, To the Going Merry, as grand as could be!

"And that’s the end of my masterpiece," Y/N said with a playful shrug, her grin wide.

Nami shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. "You're utterly ridiculous, you know that?"

“Ridiculously talented, you mean!” Luffy exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious. He turned to Y/N, beaming. "Can you whip up one about each of us?"

"Only if the muse strikes me just right," Y/N replied.

“Guys! You’ve got to see this!” Usopp burst into the room, proudly draping a black mantle over his shoulders. “Behold my unparalleled artistic genius!” He positioned Luffy to hold the flag aloft. “Ta-da!” The flag showcased a cartoonish skull with exaggerated features reminiscent of Usopp himself.

Usopp chuckled at his creation, but the room fell into silence, the others unsure how to react.

“I know, I know,” he said, breaking the quiet. “My flair for design often leaves people speechless.”

Luffy, unfazed, closed the flag and handed it back to Usopp with a cheeky grin. "I already drew our flag."

"Okay, but this one is way cooler!" Usopp insisted, trying again.

Zoro interjected, his tone deadpan, "Neither of those flags are gonna scare anyone off."

"Well, the Jolly Roger is supposed to reflect the captain," Usopp argued, wrapping the flag around himself like a cape.

Luffy leaned in closer, a playful spark in his eyes. "I am the captain. We are the Straw Hat crew."

"They call me Captain Usopp!" Usopp declared dramatically.

"I’m the captain. Me, captain. Captain, me."

"The captain is the one who gets the ship and knows the most about sailing," Usopp countered, trying to hold his ground.

"I am…"

Their ridiculous bickering over who truly held the title of captain was so absurd that even Nami couldn’t help but chuckle. Y/N exchanged amused glances with her, and soon the whole crew was laughing along.

Luffy beamed as he patted Usopp on the back, his excitement radiating through the room. "You see? This is what it’s all about!" He leaned in closer, confidence oozing from him. "From now on, it’s all gonna be smooth sailing."

Just as his words hung in the air, a thunderous boom erupted from outside, causing everyone to exchange puzzled glances. Before they could react, another explosion shook the ship, this time sending a tremor beneath their feet.

"What was that?" Usopp asks as he holds into Luffy.

Y/N cursed under her breath, instinctively reaching for her weapons. "Cannonballs!

Nami set her drink down with a frustrated sigh, rising to her feet. "You had to open your mouth," she shot at Luffy, just as the sound of cannon fire rattled the ship again.

The crew scrambled outside, eyes widening as they took in the sight before them. A Marine ship just behind them, cannons poised and ready for another strike.

"Marines! We’re under attack!" Nami shouted, her voice laced with urgency as another cannonball soared perilously close.

Y/N felt a sense of dread wash over her, but what came next was entirely unexpected. Luffy, the boy who prided himself on being a pirate, who declared his dreams of becoming the King of the Pirates with fervor, said;

“Grandpa?”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Lots of love. Be safe.

Also, tell me if you want to get tagged.

Divider by @cafekitsune

[attapullman]

The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples. 

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out. 

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge. 

“I can make you a pink lady.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious. 

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip. 

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again. 

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

taglist: @berryvanille @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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[disastergay]

TRANNY FLAG ♾️

(requested by @lovelesstranniedykefaggot)

Black: in memoriam of the trans people whose lives were claimed by hatred. Dark blue: the joy of finally discovering your true self Magenta: making the choice to accept yourself no matter what, even if it means losing loved ones Light blue: borrowed from the blue stripes in the transgender flag. Pink: borrowed from the pink stripes in the transgender flag. White (stripe only): borrowed from the white stripes in the transgender, genderqueer, and nonbinary flags.

The ouroboros, a snake that eats its own tail for all eternity, represents two things: the never-ending cycle of self-discovery we all experience as we learn and grow, and our inability — our refusal — to be stamped out of existence. It is scientifically impossible to eradicate us, no matter how hard some people will try.

Its single fang is a reminder that, whether we're fighting against dysphoria, fascism, or harmful myths about ourselves, we're not helpless to defend ourselves.

The stripes of this flag are warped and glitched out — by the ouroboros, as it slices through the white center — to symbolize the way we inherently challenge gender norms and society's expectations, pulling them apart at the seams and turning them back into thread, which we can weave a new tapestry with together. Before we can build a better foundation, we have to break free from the institutional restrictions that hold us back.

[evesedenramblings]

Damon and Diana: Design Comparison

Gear up everyone because this is a LONG post. The parallels between Damon and Diana are plentiful, so this post just sticks to just their design elements or else it would never end. Spoilers beneath the cut.

1. Names

The name Diana in Hebrew means “giving light”, “shining one” and “luminous”, but also is associated with leadership. While Diana already acts as a light for many of her classmates, Damon included, I think her leadership role will begin to bloom in Chapter 2.

Meanwhile, the name Damon means “to overpower”, “to conquer”, “one who subdues” and “to tame”, which associates him with power and control as he displayed in the courtroom. Additionally, these terms can be associated with leadership qualities. Damon can also be associated with “guardian spirit” and “loyal friend”.

When comparing the two names to each other, the parallels become clear. Each represent a different approach for how they want to lead the killing game. Diana represents a light/faith-filled and optimistic approach while Damon leads with a more cautious and pessimistic approach. Diana protects everyone while Damon protects those he needs to. Diana is unable to accuse anyone of being capable of murder, as she’s still to inwrapped in light while Damon has the swift execution of power capable to make the decisions to find the culprit, and even turn on those he trusted if needed. Both need each other- Diana’s strength lays in faith and charisma while Damon’s lays in doubt and decision making.

As of Chapter 1, the two embody each other’s weaknesses. If that will change, it could go either way! In an ideal world, the two could grow and learn from each other (a balance if you will), but I think due to Diana’s idolized version of Wolfgang, and Eva’s betrayal of Damon, the two are going to go further down their own paths, convinced that they’re right and the other is wrong.

2. Appearance

Diana’s main colour palette is primary colours, given the red is substituted with the diluted shade of pink. Additionally, the neutral colour she’s paired with is white, which again aligns her with that idea of light, or brightness.

Meanwhile, Damon’s main colour is green, a secondary colour! First and foremost, it’s outside the primary wheel entirely, creating contrast with Diana’s design. It’s also worth noting that the only yellow in Diana’s design is her bowtie above her blue shirt, right where Damon’s green tie goes. Additionally, whereas Damon’s eyes are green, Diana’s are a lighter magenta, which are opposing colours on the colour wheel. The same applies to their hair colours, as Damon is blond and Diana’s hair is a darker shade of magenta than her eyes, pushing it closer to purple, which are also opposite colours on the colour wheel. For those unfamiliar with the wheel, that means the colours, though opposite, compliment each other when paired together!

The same opposing pattern can be found with Damon’s neutral colour scheme, as a majority of his design is dark neutral colours like grey, black, or brown, which opposes Diana’s prominent neutral colour of white. However, they both do have a white undershirt which is a nice similarity between the two, and both are even wearing vests though of different styles

3. Ultimate Talents I would also argue their talents parallel each other! If Damon’s talent is to convince people of something via words (telling), I would say Diana’s talent is to convince people of something via appearance (showing), both two different ways of conveying information. Damon’s talent is pretty self explanatory. He is the Ultimate Debater, responsible for convincing action through words. Diana’s talent though, as the Ultimate Cosmologist, I don’t think has had enough spotlight. Diana’s talent is good enough to convince people she’d never been sliced with a knife- what is that if not convincing via appearance, showing rather than telling? Damon’s talent embodies telling, while Diana’s embodies showing.

Additionally, there's how the two perceive their talents and others. Where Damon is confident in his own talent but thinks everyone else's talent is useless, Diana has the opposite ideology where she downplays her own talent but uplifts everyone else's.

I think it’s really interesting how much their designs compliment each other and I absolutely cannot wait for Chapter 2 to see them interact as protagonist and antagonist.

[rd0265667]

Magenta x Reader: Of Seasons and Symphonies

A/N: This is a fic that might not catch as many of your eyes, given that Qwer and Magenta aren't as big as the usual groups I write for, but I do hope you guys read this and hope this helps to kickstart the QWER fanfic community

Spring

This isn’t a fairytale. Not even close. Fairytales don’t begin in places like this, where hope feels like a ghost, faint and fleeting, like it’s forgotten why it came in the first place. Once upon a time, the world was flawed but breathtaking—messy and wild in a way that almost felt intentional, like it was daring us to do better. We had room to grow, to screw up, to try again. Choices, too—ones we didn’t always get right, but at least they were ours.

But now? Now, you look out the window and see what’s left. A fractured mosaic of humanity, held together by threads so fragile they shimmer, ready to snap under their own weight. Down there, in the shadows of something that used to matter, people don’t live so much as survive, clawing their way through each day because the alternative isn’t any better. And up here, in a palace of glass and gleaming steel, you just watch. Helpless. Or worse—complicit. You wished you could do something about it. But everything had changed too quickly, and now, there is nothing to do but watch.

The world didn’t fall apart slowly. It didn’t even give us time to grieve what we were losing. One moment, there was a path forward; the next, the ground had disappeared under our feet. But even then, we had a chance to fix it. We could’ve fought for what was left, planted our feet, and rebuilt. Instead, we ran.

We turned our backs on the flames and pointed to the stars. Mars. It started like all big ideas do—idealistic, hopeful, wildly expensive. A handful of the world’s wealthiest pooled their fortunes to terraform a planet and call it paradise. And in a way, it worked. Mars became everything Earth could no longer be—pristine, abundant, perfect. A utopia, if you could afford the price of entry.

At first, it was just the billionaires who boarded the ships, their wealth carving out seats for their families and a few carefully chosen friends. Then it was the upper class, the “almost rich,” their one-way tickets bought with every penny they had. The rest of us stayed behind, watching the rockets vanish into the atmosphere, one by one, taking the future with them.

Governments tried to step in, to level the playing field, but the math never added up. The cost of salvation was always just out of reach. What remained of Earth became a pyramid scheme of survival. At the top, the upper-middle class lived comfortably enough to forget how bad things really were, literally living upon mountains, as if to emphasise their self supposed superiority. Below them, the rest of humanity scraped by, scavenging scraps of a once-golden age, living more like cave dwellers than citizens of the 21st century.

“Focus,” your mother snapped, her sharp tone slicing through the room like the crack of a whip. You dragged your gaze away from the window, back to the banquet table, its surface an explosion of opulence. Gilded plates, sparkling crystal, an array of dishes so rich and vibrant they almost looked alive. Lifeless. It was suffocating. Just like everything else here.

“Apologies, Mother,” you murmured, though the words felt as hollow as the polished silver centerpiece. You should be used to this by now. The rigidness, the rehearsed movements, the unspoken rules that turned every family meal into a performance. And yet, it still felt foreign.

“As I was saying,” your mother continued, turning to the butler who stood stiffly in the corner, “the trespassing problem. What’s the latest update, Beakley?”

Beakley cleared his throat, his voice as measured and flat as always. “There has been an uptick in attempts to breach the mountain barriers. The enforcement units have dealt with the intruders.”

Dealt with. Such a tidy little phrase for what he really meant.

“And those trying to leave?” your mother pressed.

Beakley didn’t miss a beat. “A few individuals have been caught attempting to descend into the slums. They were… managed.”

“Sneaking into the slums?” your father scoffed, his voice thick with amusement. “How utterly moronic.” He chuckled, low and earthy, and your siblings joined in, their laughter ringing out like the clink of champagne flutes.

You didn’t laugh. You couldn’t. You just sat there, hands clenched in your lap, forcing your face into an expression that wouldn’t betray the disgust curling in your stomach.

They laughed. Laughed as the world burned.

The dinner continued with that lifeless conversation, you and your siblings finally being excused. As you gazed out from your balcony, you sighed, looking out at the open lands below you. It smelt of Spring. You used to love Spring.

You leaned against the railing, letting your gaze drift across the dark landscape. That’s when you noticed it—a break in the fence. Small, almost unnoticeable, but there. A jagged edge where the metal had bent or rusted away. No guards patrolled nearby.

And then, you heard it.

A voice, soft and low, carried on the breeze, accompanied by the twang of a bass guitar. A song, lilting and sweet, threaded with melancholy so raw it made your chest tighten. The melody danced just beyond reach, but the voice—hers—was unmistakable. It wasn’t just singing; it was an invitation. A tether to something real, something alive, somewhere down there in the darkness.

You pressed a hand to the cold railing, your pulse quickening. For the first time in ages, you felt something stir in you—something reckless, something alive.

The song lingered in the air, tugging at you like a thread unraveling a tightly wound spool. You gripped the railing, your knuckles white against the polished metal, and stared at the jagged tear in the fence below. The world up here, pristine and glittering, suddenly felt suffocating—an artificial cage that smelled of rosewater and desperation. Down there, in the shadows beyond the break in the fence, was something raw and untamed. Real.

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat urging you forward. You stepped back into your room, quickly pulling on a dark coat over your dinner clothes, its hood heavy enough to mask your face. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess what you were about to do.

The halls were silent, their marble floors gleaming under soft, calculated lighting. You moved quickly, your steps light, your breath shallow. The guards wouldn’t expect anyone to leave the compound. Why would they? No one in their right mind would trade gilded cages for the chaos below.

But the chaos was calling you.

You slipped through a side door near the kitchens, your pulse quickening as the cold night air wrapped around you. The fence wasn’t far, the jagged edge glinting faintly in the moonlight. You crouched low, keeping to the shadows as you moved closer, every rustle of the wind making you freeze in place.

When you reached the fence, your fingers brushed the rough metal, and you hissed as a sharp edge nicked your palm. You ignored the sting and pressed on, tugging at the damaged section. The metal groaned, loud enough to send a spike of panic through your chest.

“Come on,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Finally, the gap was wide enough. You slipped through, the jagged edges catching on your coat as you emerged on the other side. The ground here was different—uneven and raw, dirt kicking up beneath your shoes. You were outside the perimeter for the first time in your life.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breath clouding in the night air, the fence a silent sentinel behind you. And then you heard it again—the song.

It was closer now, the voice clearer, rich and haunting. The melody wound through the darkness like a ribbon, pulling you forward. You followed it, your steps cautious at first, then quicker as the song grew louder. The air smelled different here, earthier, filled with the sharp tang of something alive.

She was sitting under a cherry tree, the blossoms stark and ghostly in the moonlight, her bass guitar resting across her lap. Her fingers moved over the strings with a practiced ease that made the song feel effortless, though you could hear the ache in every note. Her head tilted slightly, the movement revealing sharp cheekbones and the soft curve of her mouth, a contrast that stole the air from your lungs.

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped until the music did.

Her head snapped up, and her eyes—dark and unflinching—landed on you. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then she stood, the guitar hanging loosely from its strap over her shoulder, and planted her boots firmly on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the stillness.

The warmth of her song was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp edge that made you hesitate. She crossed her arms, her stance radiating defiance, as if daring you to take one more step.

“I…” You faltered, suddenly feeling foolish. What could you say that wouldn’t make this worse? “I heard your song.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You heard my song?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “And you thought that was an invitation to waltz on over like this is your backyard?”

“No,” you said quickly, your heart pounding. “It’s not like that. I just… I couldn’t stay up there anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze dropping to your coat, your shoes—both of which were far too clean, far too well-made for anyone who belonged here. “Up there,” she echoed, her voice thick with disdain. “Of course.”

She stepped closer, and you could feel the tension radiating off her in waves. “Let me guess,” she said. “You got bored of your glass palace? Thought you’d come slumming it with the rest of us for a little excitement?”

Her words hit like a slap, but you held your ground. “It’s not like that,” you said, your voice firmer now. “I left because… because I needed to. I can’t explain it, but when I heard you—”

“Oh, I see,” she interrupted, her tone mocking. “You heard a pretty song and decided to go on a little adventure. Must be nice to have that kind of freedom.”

“It’s not freedom,” you said, your chest tightening. “There’s nothing free about it. You think I don’t know what this means? That I don’t know what’ll happen if they catch me down here?”

For the first time, her expression faltered. Her eyes flicked to the fence in the distance, then back to you, as if weighing your words against her instincts. “Then why risk it?” she asked quietly, the sharpness in her voice giving way to something softer. “Why come down here at all?”

You hesitated, struggling to put it into words. “Your song was the first real thing I’ve experienced in, ages.” You took a step closer, your voice dropping. “It felt real. Like I could finally breathe.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her guitar. “Well, that’s poetic,” she muttered, but her voice lacked its earlier bite.

“It’s true,” you said, taking another step. “And I think you know it too.”

She glanced back at you, her eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to trust you. “You’re really not like the rest of them, are you?” she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

You shook your head. “No. I’m not.”

For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees. Then she sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. “Magenta,” she said abruptly.

You blinked. “What?”

“My name,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Figured I should tell you, since you’re apparently risking life and limb to hear my music.”

“Your real name is Magenta? What’s the meaning behind it?” You ask.

“My parents weren’t poets, neither am I, my name’s Magenta, that’s that.”

“Magenta,” you repeated, the name settling on your tongue like a secret. “It suits you.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” she said, though her smirk lingered. “You’re still a rich kid trespassing in my world.”

“And you’re still just a singer with a bass guitar,” you said, unable to hide your grin.

Her laugh was quiet but genuine, and it sent warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re trouble,” she said, shaking her head. “I can already tell.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, your gaze locked on hers. “But so are you.”

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she looked at you with a mixture of exasperation and intrigue, her walls cracking just enough to let you see the person beneath. The distance between you felt smaller now, the night pressing in around you, making the world seem impossibly close.

“What song was that? An original creation?” you asked, sliding down to sit beside her. You leaned back against the cherry tree, your eyes drifting toward the fields stretching before you—worn paths of dirt and grass where people like Magenta’s family likely lived, their lives tethered to the earth in a way you hadn’t known in years.

“It is. I call it Rough,” she replied, tossing you an apple from her bag with a casual flick of her wrist. “You like it?”

You caught it, weighing the fruit in your hand before biting into it. The sweet juice dripped down your chin as you spoke, your voice laced with the faintest amusement. “You do realize I’m risking my life to hear it, right?”

Magenta raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Guess I’m just that good.”

You chuckled but didn’t let go of the question lingering in your mind. “I have to ask, though… is that song for anybody? It sounds… kind of romantic.”

She hesitated, her fingers absently picking at the strings of her guitar. The night felt suddenly heavier, as if the air itself were waiting for her answer. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice softer, almost unsure. “The lyrics just came to me one spring day, you know? Like they were already there, waiting to be sung.” She turned her gaze away from you for a moment, staring out over the fields. “Guess sometimes the songs write themselves. Maybe I’ll know why the song chose me one day.”

“And you say you’re not a poet.” You say, your eyes with a teasing glint.

“Oh shut it rich kid, or I’ll stop singing.” Magenta teases back, nudging you with her shoulder, her velvet smile more beautiful than anything you had seen in years. Perhaps the most beautiful thing you’d ever see

Summer

The summer sun hung heavy in the sky, draping the orchard in a golden haze. Everything smelled like ripe fruit and freshly turned earth, the kind of heady sweetness that clung to your skin long after you left. You wound your way through rows of cherry trees, the bag over your shoulder growing heavier with each step, though you couldn’t quite summon the energy to care. You already knew where she’d be.

And you were right. Magenta sat perched on the low branch of that same old cherry tree, her guitar resting on her lap, its worn wood catching the sunlight like it belonged there. Her hair shimmered as though she were something out of a dream—or maybe something sharper, something too smart and too fleeting to pin down. She glanced up when she heard your steps crunching over the dry grass and gave you that grin—the one that always landed somewhere between playful and cutting, like a dare and an invitation rolled into one.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice lilting in that teasing way that made it impossible to tell if she was actually annoyed or just liked keeping you on edge. Probably the latter.

“I had to smuggle this past a fence, you know,” you said, jerking your chin toward the overstuffed bag weighing down your shoulder. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to climb while also keeping contraband intact?”

Her gaze flickered to the bag, and for the briefest moment, her expression wavered. Her walls went up so fast it felt like watching shutters slam closed. “I told you not to do that anymore,” she said, strumming a soft, dissonant chord. “It’s not like I asked for this. I don’t want—” She stopped, exhaling hard like she was trying to push the words out. “I don’t want this relationship to feel transactionary.”

“Good thing it’s not,” you replied easily, setting the bag down between you and dusting your hands off like it had been some monumental task. “It’s not even for you. It’s for everyone. You just happen to be the only one sitting under this particular tree…the tree I always come to.”

Her lips twitched, but she stubbornly fought the smile threatening to break free. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Funny. That’s not what you said last time,” you quipped, brushing a hand across your brow for dramatic effect. “If I remember correctly, you called me a saint. Or was it an idiot?”

Magenta snorted, finally setting her guitar aside. “Definitely an idiot.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

For a moment, the air between you held its usual electric charge—the one that always felt just shy of sparking, like a storm that hadn’t quite gathered itself. Then she hopped down from her perch, landing with a soft thud beside you. Up close, she was all sharp edges softened by the sunlight, her quick smile disarming even as her eyes stayed guarded.

“So, what’s the grand prize today?” she asked, nodding at the bag but keeping her hands conspicuously to herself.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you teased, unzipping the bag slowly, savoring her impatience. Her eyes darted toward the contents like she couldn’t help herself. “Honeycombs,” you said, pulling a jar out.

“This is your big smuggling job? A honeycomb?” she asked, though she didn’t put the peach down.

“That’s not what I brought for everyone. For everyone, I brought just a variety of foods, whatever was free at the kitchen and pantry. I got you the honeycombs because you were complaining about your throat that one time, besides, it’s sweet, kinda messy, and a pain in the ass to deal with, just like you.”

“Wow, thanks for the compliment.” she said dryly, plucking the jar from your hand. 

“You’re welcome,” you said, leaning against the tree and watching as she twisted the lid open with her bare hands. She dipped a finger into the jar and took a bite without hesitation, her expression carefully neutral as she licked the honey off her finger. “Good?”

“It’s fine,” she said, shrugging, though the way she reached for another taste betrayed her.

“That’s the highest praise I’ve ever gotten from you,” you said, grinning. “I think I might cry.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible,” she muttered around a mouthful.

“And yet, you keep inviting me back,” you said, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and crossing your arms like you’d won some kind of battle. “Why is that, Magenta?”

“I don’t,” she replied quickly, almost too quickly. Then, softer: “You just keep showing up.”

“Same thing.”

She groaned, throwing her head back, but there was a smile pulling at her mouth now, something genuine breaking through her carefully constructed defenses. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet, here we are,” you said, plucking a peach for yourself and taking a deliberate bite. “Speaking of exhausting,” you added, gesturing to the guitar she’d left lying in the grass. “What’s the latest masterpiece?” You asked, settling back against the tree trunk, your voice light but with just enough weight to make her feel cornered. You knew she hated being put on the spot almost as much as she loved proving people wrong.

Magenta stiffened, her fingers twitching toward the guitar before stopping, like it wasn’t worth the effort. “It’s nothing,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter now, the bravado she always wore peeling away like old paint.

“Oh, come on.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, the teasing edge in your tone softening. “I know it’s going to be good, like all the other songs. What’s it called?”

Her jaw tightened like she was chewing on the answer, debating whether or not to spit it out. Finally, with a sigh so dramatic it should’ve come with its own sound effects, she muttered, “Summer Rain.”

“Wow,” you said, letting out a low whistle as you bit into the honeycomb you’d been holding. “Summer Rain for the season of summer. Truly groundbreaking stuff, Magenta.”

She shot you a glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Do you want me to play it, or do you want me to murder you?”

You grinned, sticky honey smearing the edge of your mouth. “I mean, ideally neither. But if I had to pick…” You dragged the words out just to get under her skin. “I’d say play it. We can revisit the murder option later.”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but the way she lazily slung the guitar strap over her neck betrayed her. She was going to play it, and you both knew it.

She adjusted the guitar on her lap, her fingers brushing over the strings like she was coaxing them into cooperating. The first few notes came softly, tentatively, like they weren’t sure they belonged. Then her voice slipped into the gaps, low and unpolished but so achingly real it made your chest tighten.

She didn’t look at you while she sang—not at first. Her gaze stayed locked on the space just above her hands, like the music might fall apart if she acknowledged you were there. But as the song stretched on, her eyes started flickering in your direction, fleeting and sharp, like she was daring you to say something, to ruin it, to tell her it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

When she finished, the orchard seemed to hold its breath, the buzzing of insects and the rustle of leaves suddenly muted, like the entire world had paused to listen.

“That,” you said softly, the word feeling too small for the moment, “was incredible.”

Magenta scoffed, her fingers still resting on the strings. “It’s nothing,” she said, her tone casual, but the way her hands fidgeted betrayed her. “Just something I’ve been messing with.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insisted, leaning forward like you could physically close the distance she was trying to create. “It’s you. And it’s beautiful.”

She froze, her fingers tightening around the neck of the guitar. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, her expression unreadable, and then she turned her head sharply, her gaze flicking to the horizon like she couldn’t handle the weight of yours.

“Shut up,” she muttered, but the words came out softer than usual, and her lips were already curling into that faint, shy smile she always tried to hide.

“Make me,” you teased, leaning back against the tree with a grin. “Although, fair warning, you’ll have to use some pretty impressive insults to top that song.”

Her eyes snapped back to you, her smile gone but the light in her gaze unmistakable. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” you shot back, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she set the guitar aside, her hands finally free to pluck the jar of honeycomb from your lap. “That’s because I haven’t figured out how to get rid of you yet.”

“Don’t bother,” you said, your voice dipping lower as she unscrewed the jar’s lid with a deliberate twist. “I’m like this orchard. Sticky, sweet, and entirely too much in the summer.”

Her laugh burst out before she could stop it, a real, unguarded sound that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. “God, you’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” you said, watching as she dipped her fingers into the jar and pulled out a small chunk of honeycomb. “But I’m also right about the song.”

She popped the honeycomb into her mouth, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she chewed. “You’re exhausting,” she said, but her voice had softened, the edges worn down by whatever it was you managed to get past her walls.

“And yet, you wrote a whole song about me,” you said, crossing your arms like you’d just won the argument.

“Summer Rain is not about you,” she shot back, rolling her eyes so hard it looked like it might hurt.

“Oh, sure,” you said, raising a brow. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about me every time you sang about love.”

She groaned, leaning her head back against the tree, but this time she didn’t fight the smile. “Shut up, or I swear to god, the murder option is back on the table.”

“Make me,” you said again, your grin wide and shameless.

Autumn

Summer came and went, and soon, Autumn dawned, and all you could think of was, what new symphony had Magenta cooked up

"Your father has requested your presence. You will head to the main hall immediately," Beakley’s voice came through the door, as crisp as ever, a reminder of everything you couldn't escape. His uniform, perfectly pressed and stiff as always, made your stomach tighten, like you were already expected to be something you weren’t.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair and quickly straightening your shirt. You hoped your nerves weren’t showing as you hurried downstairs. Your father sat at the large mahogany table, his expression a perfect mask of authority. Across from him was Mr. Suputhipong, a businessman whose smile didn’t reach his eyes, and beside him—Natty.

"Where are your manners?" Your father’s voice snapped, making you wince. "Come, greet Mr. Suputhipong’s daughter."

You gave a stiff bow, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. "Good morning, Mr. Suputhipong."

He gave a sharp nod, his voice booming but empty. "Ah, lovely. Now, if you would, take my daughter for a walk in your garden." It wasn’t a request. It never was.

You nodded and motioned for Natty to follow you, and the two of you stepped outside, the heavy door closing behind you like a lock clicking into place.

The garden, with its manicured hedges and perfectly laid paths, felt like yet another gilded cage. You didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to walk with Natty like this—playacting under the watchful eyes of parents whose plans were already made for you both.

"So…" Natty’s voice cut through your thoughts, light and easy, as though it were nothing at all. "Guess we're stuck with each other for a bit."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Looks like it."

She shrugged, her hands slipping into her pockets, her posture relaxed in a way that seemed effortless. "At least we’re outside," she added with a small grin. "Could be worse."

You chuckled at that. It was true—things could always be worse—but Natty’s casual ease made you feel like she didn’t take any of this seriously. You had to admire that, even if you didn’t feel the same way.

“So... this is what we're doing now, huh?” she said, her tone more dry than curious, but there was an amused look in her eyes. “Walking around pretending like we care about all this nonsense?”

You couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, pretty much." It was like living in a play where you were always the understudy, never the lead. “I can’t say I’m a fan of these… arranged encounters.”

"Arranged, huh?" Natty’s voice was playful, but there was an edge of weariness to it. “Guess we both know why we’re out here. Both are just tokens in their little plan.”

Her bluntness surprised you, but it also made something inside you snap into place. "Yeah," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "Pretty much. Just pieces in a game."

Natty snorted softly, her lips curling into a dry smile. "Funny how they pretend it's all about alliances and family pride when it’s really about keeping us where they want us. Like we're anything but chess pieces."

You didn’t have to think hard to agree. It wasn’t something you’d ever quite put into words before, but Natty had said it exactly right. You both knew the truth, even if neither of you wanted to say it aloud.

"You’re right," you said, your voice quieter now, the weight of it all pressing down on you. "They want us to fall in line. To just... follow the script."

Natty leaned against the garden wall, her gaze drifting across the horizon as if searching for something beyond the perfectly neat rows of flowers and trees. "Yeah, well. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the script," she said, her grin playful but with a hint of rebellion. "I’d rather be anywhere else right now."

You chuckled, though it felt more strained than you wanted to admit. "I’m getting there too."

The conversation fell into a comfortable silence. You both stood there for a moment, side by side, the shared understanding hanging between you, unspoken but undeniable. The arrangements, the alliances, the families using you as pawns—it all felt suffocating. But as much as Natty was easy to talk to, to be around, the truth was clear: she wasn’t her

There was someone else. Someone who wasn’t part of this world.

Magenta.

You thought of her, and your chest tightened. It wasn’t just a passing thought, either. She made you feel like you could breathe, like you didn’t have to conform to the rigid mold that had been set for you. When you were with her, you could be yourself. Unpretentious. Untethered to expectations.

She was real.

And you couldn’t get her out of your mind. The way her laugh seemed to make the flowers sing back in a harmonious melody, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved. The way she never tried to make herself something she wasn’t. You thought about her when you woke, when you closed your eyes at night.

You thought about her now.

But Natty, standing next to you, was just... easy. She wasn’t Magenta, and it wasn’t fair to either of you to pretend that she could be.

"So, what about you?" Natty’s voice pulled you back into the present, her eyes suddenly sharper, as if she had read the shift in your expression. "Anyone in your life?"

You hesitated, the weight of her question lingering longer than you would’ve liked. Magenta’s face flashed in your mind, her smile, her energy, and your chest tightened all over again.

"Yeah," you said finally, keeping your tone neutral. "But it's... complicated." You didn’t need to say more. Natty didn’t press.

She looked at you for a moment, her gaze softening, as if understanding the layers behind your words. "Yeah, me too," she said with a small, knowing smile. "We all have someone, don’t we? It’s just… in this world, it’s never really about what we want. It’s about what fits. Like we’re jigsaw puzzles first and humans second."

You nodded, the unspoken truth between you both like a weight that refused to lift. "Exactly. It’s never been about us."

The silence that followed was comfortable in a way, but it was also heavy. You both knew what was coming, even if neither of you wanted it. The arrangements. The alliances. The marriages.

And the truth you couldn’t ignore: you were both stuck with futures that weren’t yours to choose.

"I guess we just have to play along for a little while longer," you said softly, breaking the silence.

Natty gave a small, resigned nod. "Yeah. For now."

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, a resigned look as you lean on the railing.

“I’m sorry too.” Natty responds in earnest, the both you stuck in this sick game

“You’re late,” Magenta said, her voice teasing but warm as her fingers strummed effortlessly across her guitar, the sound carrying lightly in the cool evening air. She didn’t look at you as she played, but you could hear the smile in her voice.

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I swear, you always know when I’m running late. Are you watching me from the window?”

She smirked, still not looking at you. “I’ve got my ways.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, sure,” you teased, walking closer to her, boots crunching on the wet grass. “And what’s your excuse? You were probably waiting here for ages already.”

Magenta finally looked up at you, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I don’t need an excuse. Time doesn’t pressure me the way it does you.” She grinned, letting the last note of her guitar linger in the air before she added, “Though, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I made it before you started your solo concert,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you took a step back, mock bowing as if she were the star of the show. “Should I be impressed?”

Her lips curled into a playful smile. “Oh, absolutely. But if you’re so impressed, you better be ready to hear my new song.”

“New song?” you asked, leaning against the nearby tree, intrigued. “Well, I’m all ears. What’s it about this time?”

Magenta’s fingers moved with ease over the guitar, the chords shifting into a new pattern. “This one’s called All About You.” She said it matter-of-factly, but there was a hint of something behind her words, something she wasn’t quite sharing.

You raised an eyebrow. “All About You? Seriously? Sounds a bit... on the nose, don’t you think?”

She shot you a playful glare but didn’t respond, letting the song speak for itself. The melody was soft at first, a gentle flow that pulled you in, but it quickly became clear that the song was filled with emotion—warmth, longing, and something far more intimate than you were expecting.

By the time the chorus hit, the words were unmistakably romantic, and the way Magenta sang them made it feel like she was pouring every bit of herself into the song. You couldn’t help but grin, listening closely as the lyrics unfolded, each one wrapping around you like a thread tying you to something she couldn’t hide.

When the song finished, you couldn’t help but give her a knowing smile. “Wow, that’s definitely... all about someone.”

Magenta set the guitar down with a light laugh, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks. “What? You think I wrote it for you or something?” she asked, her tone defensive, though it only made the blush on her face more obvious.

You smirked, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I didn’t say anything. But if I’m the first one that came to mind…I mean, it sounds like it’s about someone. You really think you can write a song that sappy and not have it be about... well, someone?”

She rolled her eyes, clearly flustered, but she wasn’t backing down. “It’s not about you. I didn’t even mention your name.”

You held up your hands in mock surrender, trying to suppress your grin. “I didn’t say it was. But it’s obvious, right? All those lyrics about being captivated, about waiting for someone—come on, Magenta. That’s practically an open declaration.”

She huffed, looking away, but her lips betrayed her with a tiny smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” you said, stepping a little closer, not wanting to push too much. “But that song is definitely about someone. I mean, I could see how someone might get the wrong idea with all that heartache in it.”

Magenta’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—perhaps annoyance, perhaps embarrassment. “It’s not about anyone specific,” she muttered, but even as she said it, you could tell she didn’t quite believe it herself. “Just... inspiration.”

You chuckled, knowing full well that she was trying to brush it off, but it was clear from the way her fingers tapped nervously on the guitar that she was a little more rattled than she was letting on.

“Well, whatever it’s about, it’s a beautiful song,” you said, smiling genuinely this time. “But come on, it sounds like you’re secretly in love with someone. Or... at least have a crush.” You teased, nudging her shoulder lightly.

Her cheeks reddened again, and she shot you a glare. “I don’t have a crush on anyone, okay?” She said, voice slightly tight, though the amusement was still there in her eyes. “It’s just... a song. Not everything has to have a backstory.”

“Sure,” you said, holding her gaze, though you couldn’t help but push a little. “But it’s pretty obvious that you’ve got feelings for someone. It’s a lot of emotion packed into one song.”

Magenta shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to laugh it off, but you could see it. That flicker of something. She liked someone. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want you to know about it.

You decided to drop the teasing for a moment, though the thought of her love life still hung there, unexplored. Instead, you let the moment sit in the air, both of you feeling the weight of it in silence. Magenta, with all her bravado, wasn’t as immune to vulnerability as she liked to act.

“Well,” you finally said, breaking the tension, “whether it’s about me or not, I still think it’s a great song. Really.”

She sighed, exhaling through her nose with a soft laugh. “You’re impossible,” she muttered again, but there was no malice in it this time. She was just... flustered.

And honestly, you found it endearing.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re definitely hiding something,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Magenta turned her head, pretending to ignore you as she picked her guitar back up. “Not everything needs to be about me, alright?”

You laughed, but there was something else there now, something more... serious, between the two of you. Magenta had a way of hiding her emotions behind that tough exterior, but you weren’t fooled. You weren’t sure what it was—maybe it was the song, maybe it was just being here together—but it felt like something had shifted.

Then, without warning, you decided to bring up something else entirely, something that had been weighing on your mind since you’d gotten here.

“So, there’s this girl,” you started, and even though you hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, it felt important to say. “Natty. My father wants me to... well, to marry her. It’s all part of some arrangement with Mr. Suputhipong.”

Magenta’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings, the air around you suddenly feeling heavier. She looked at you, disbelief flickering across her face before it quickly morphed into something more guarded. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her gaze piercing through you like she was trying to make sense of your words.

“Marry? As in, marry, marry?” she finally asked, her voice flat, though there was a quiet tension in her tone that you couldn’t ignore.

You sighed, leaning back against the tree as the weight of the situation settled back on you. “Yeah, that’s what I said. I mean, it’s not definite yet, but with how my father operates... it’s probably gonna happen. My siblings are already being set up with other kids from Mr. Suputhipong’s family too. It’s all this whole arranged marriage thing. Mass marriage bullshit, really.”

Magenta’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought she might say something sharp or dismissive. Instead, she just let out a breath, looking at the ground as if she were weighing her words carefully. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, though—a mix of frustration, confusion, maybe even jealousy. It was there, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath. “So just like that, you’re supposed to be... what, married off to some stranger? All because your father says so?”

“Pretty much,” you said, trying to keep the tone light, but inside, it was anything but. “I don’t know. I don’t want it, but... it’s just the way things are going right now. It’s all about business and alliances and all that. My feelings don’t even come into play.”

Magenta shook her head, her expression a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something that looked almost... hurt? “And what about you? What about what you want?”

You hesitated, not really knowing how to answer that. How could you explain that you felt trapped, like your life was being decided for you? You wanted to fight it, but at the same time, what could you do against your family’s expectations?

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, trying to brush it off. “It’s just something I have to deal with. You know, family stuff.”

But Magenta was still staring at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she were trying to find some clue in the way you were talking, some hint of how you really felt. She bit her lip, frustration clearly simmering under the surface. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that defensiveness slipped away, replaced with something that almost looked like vulnerability.

“You’re... not serious about this, right?” she asked, voice quieter now, almost uncertain. “I mean, you don’t actually want to marry her, do you?”

You felt your stomach churn at the question. There was something in Magenta’s voice—something fragile—that made you pause. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you standing in the clearing, everything else fading away.

“No,” you said quickly, trying to reassure her. “I don’t want to marry Natty. I don’t want any of this, Magenta. It’s just... expected. You know how it is with my family. But I’d never just go along with it. I don’t want a life like that.”

Magenta’s eyes softened, but there was still a shadow of uncertainty there. She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering away from you as if she were trying to collect herself. “So... you’re saying, if you could choose—” She hesitated, as if the question was harder than it should’ve been to ask. “You wouldn’t marry her? Not if you had the choice?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Of course not. I don’t even know her, Magenta. I don’t want to marry someone just because my father says it’s a good idea. I’ve got... other things I want. And if it were up to me, I wouldn’t go through with any of it.”

Magenta took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if trying to process everything. Then, after a long pause, she looked at you again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then what do you want?”

‘You.’ You opened your mouth to speak, but for a moment, the words didn’t come. There was something in the air between you, something unspoken that made the moment feel bigger than it was. You didn’t know what you wanted, not entirely—but in this moment, with Magenta standing so close, you had a pretty good idea.

“I want...” you started, then paused, considering how to put it into words. “I want to be in control of my own life, Magenta. I want to make my own choices, not just follow what other people think is best for me. And right now, that means I don’t want to marry Natty. I don’t want to marry anyone unless I really choose to.”

Magenta’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, she just nodded, her arms still crossed as she looked down at the ground. Her expression was harder to read now, a mix of relief and something else—something more subtle that you couldn’t place.

“Well,” she said quietly, “I’m glad to hear that. I just... I don’t like the idea of you being stuck with someone you don’t care about.” She shifted, avoiding your gaze for a moment. “And I definitely don’t like the idea of you marrying some stranger.”

You took a small step closer, your voice soft. “I promise that I’ll do what I can.”

Magenta finally met your gaze, the tension in her expression easing just a little. “Good,” she said, a small but genuine smile tugging at her lips. “I mean... if anyone’s going to marry you, it better be someone who actually matters, right? Someone good with the guitar at least.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the way she said it, the mix of playfulness and something deeper that made your heart flutter just a little.

“Right,” you said, your voice light, but underneath it, you both knew there was more to it than just words.

Winter

The winter wind cut sharp, carrying whispers from the upper levels down to where the air always seemed a little heavier, a little colder. Magenta had heard the news—everyone had. Mr. Suputhipong, the head of S2, had announced a new round of transport capsules bound for Mars, seats reserved for his family and their extended network.

Magenta hadn’t cared at first. Space travel was a rich person’s game, nothing to do with her. But then someone had mentioned the list, rattling off names like they were celebrities. One name had stopped her cold.

Natty.

Magenta’s fingers froze over the guitar strings, the name ringing in her ears. You’d mentioned her not too long ago, but it made sense now, all the talk about marriage alliances, the quiet weight in your voice when you’d brought it up. This wasn’t just a rumor. It was real. You were leaving.

You were going to Mars.

You were leaving her.

Magenta let out a low grunt as she slumped back against the gnarled tree. The bark pressed into her spine, grounding her even as her thoughts spun out of control. Her fingers moved again, plucking lazy, dissonant notes from her guitar, but her mind stayed stuck, clouded, frantic.

She couldn’t let you go. That much was clear. But how could she stop you? How could she even begin to ask you to stay? Her mind raced, sifting through excuses, schemes, anything to keep you here, on this Earth, in this moment with her.

But for all her sharp wit, for all the teasing comebacks she always had ready, Magenta couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

She shouldn’t ask. It was selfish. Even by the standards of the upper levels, Mars was the closest thing to heaven. To deny it was stupid, and as much as she’d tease you and prod you for the slight bursts of stupidity that she often found more endearing than anything, you had to jump at any chance to go to Mars. Even if it meant leaving important things here back on Earth, it only made sense to leave. What would you most mind leaving on earth? Magenta wondered if she made the list.

You hadn’t mentioned it to her, this move to Mars, not once. All winter, she’d been waiting for some small hint, some casual drop of your plans. But it never came. A tiny, bitter part of her wondered if you’d ever planned to tell her. Maybe you were just going to disappear, leaving her sitting here under the wish tree, strumming her guitar and waiting for someone who was never coming back.

She glanced down at the scratched notebook in her lap. Her new song, Wish Tree, stared back at her, the ink still fresh, the lyrics mocking her now. It had come to her on the same wind that had carried the news, and she’d written it in a rare moment of hopefulness, her fingers moving faster than her doubts.

Her songs had always leaned melancholy, romantic with an edge of longing, but this one was different. Wish Tree was a hopeful ode, a soft prayer for staying together, for finding a way through the chaos. And now, just as it had started to sprout, the news had come, ready to uproot everything.

Magenta closed the notebook and leaned her head back against the tree, exhaling a shaky breath. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She���d written about wishes, but she hadn’t made one. Not yet.

She wondered if she’d waited too long.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the familiar crunch of your boots on the soft mud.

“I’m early! Right?” You asked with an almost joking tone.

Magenta smirked, a quick, automatic reflex, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Depends what you mean by ‘early,’” she said, her fingers idly strumming a chord. “You missed the winter solstice, but I guess you’re on time for… Tuesday.”

You grinned, hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, the wind making a mess of your hair. “Guess I’ll take that as a win.”

Magenta’s gaze drifted back to the guitar strings. She didn’t know why her hands were still moving, picking out a quiet, aimless melody, but it felt safer to look at the guitar than at you. “I wrote something,” she said, almost too casually, like she wasn’t sure the words should leave her mouth.

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting up your face. “Yeah?”

She nodded, brushing her thumb over the strings, the sound soft and tentative. “It’s not finished,” she added quickly. “Probably needs, like… a bridge. Or a chorus that doesn’t sound like a bad diary entry. But I—” She hesitated, her usual teasing confidence faltering just enough to make you take a step closer. “I could play it for you. If you want.”

Your smile softened. “Of course I want to hear it.”

As Magenta began to strum, the light breeze carrying her harmonies, your mind began to whir. The song was hopeful, uncharacteristically hopeful for Magenta’s music. Did she really not know? Not heard about the new capsules? You had been pondering for weeks on how to properly tell her, but now, sat in front of her, mesmerised by her symphonies as you gazed into her eyes, you wondered if it would be better to give it all up. Attempt to run from your family, gargantuan task as it is, risky too, but if there was anyone you’d do it for…

“Did you like it?” Magenta’s voice pulled you out of your reverie. 

“Of course I liked it, Magenta. It was exquisite, just like you.” You almost whispered the last words, catching Magenta’s gaze.

You shook your head, stepping closer until you were standing just a few feet away. “It’s perfect,” you said, your voice quiet, almost reverent.

Magenta’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, brushing her hair back from her face like she could shrug off the compliment. “You always say that. You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, grinning slightly. “But I mean it.”

The silence stretched, the winter wind tugging at the edges of it, neither of you quite ready to fill it.

And then, so softly it was almost lost to the breeze, she asked, “When were you going to tell me?”

Her voice was quiet, almost steady, but she wouldn’t look at you.

“Tell you about what?” Magenta was right, you really were stupid.

“The Capsules. News travels down here too, you know.” Magenta replied, scoffing, her mood clearly having taken a turn for the worse.

“I…I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure how to tell you, I was-” You tried to explain, but Magenta quickly turned toward you, glaring at you.

“You were what? Going to Mars? Leaving without a word or even a goodbye?” Magenta challenged as she stepped closer to you, almost cornering you into the cherry tree.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to go.”

Magenta didn’t move at first. Her eyes were locked on yours, disbelief rippling through her like a wave about to crash. Then she laughed, sharp and humorless, the sound cutting through the cold air like broken glass.

“You’re not sure if you’re going to go,” she said, her voice dripping with incredulity. “Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?”

“Magenta—”

“No, don’t ‘Magenta’ me,” she snapped, stepping closer, her words coming fast and fiery now. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? You’re telling me you’d give up Mars—Heaven, for God’s sake—for me?”

“Yes!” you said, the word bursting out of you like it had been trapped inside too long. “Yes, Magenta, for you. I—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to stand here, under this stupid tree, and act like I’m worth that. I’m not.”

“Stop,” you said, trying to close the gap between you, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“No, you stop,” she said, her tone sharp and cutting. “Do you even hear yourself? Mars isn’t a vacation. It’s a whole new life. A better life. And you’re telling me you’d throw that away for what? For me? For some girl who spends her days sitting under a tree and writing songs no one even hears?”

“I hear them,” you said quietly.

Her mouth opened, then closed, her breath hitching for just a moment before she threw up her hands. “Well, great. One audience member. Guess that makes me worth uprooting your entire future.”

“Magenta,” you said again, your voice softer now, pleading. “I don’t care about Mars. I care about you. You’re worth it. Can’t you see that?”

Her eyes burned as she stared at you, her jaw tightening. “No. No, I can’t, because it’s not true.”

“It is—”

“Stop!” she yelled, and the force of it made you freeze. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her voice trembling now, even as she tried to keep it steady. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re just—you’re just trying to make this easier for me, and it’s not. It’s not easier.”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” she cut you off, her voice cracking at the edges. She sucked in a shaky breath, her anger slipping for just a moment, just long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the hurt underneath. “You think this is what I want? You staying here, wasting your chance, looking at me like I’m worth more than heaven?”

“You are,” you said firmly.

She laughed again, bitter and cold, and it broke something in you to hear it. “God, you’re so stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her voice dropped, quieter now but no less sharp. “You’re going to regret this. Maybe not right away, but someday. You’ll look at me, and you’ll see all the things I can’t be, all the things Mars could’ve given you, and you’ll hate me for it. And I can’t—I won’t let that happen.”

“Magenta—”

“Just go,” she said, cutting you off one last time, her voice tight, her eyes refusing to meet yours. “Go to Mars. Forget about me. It’s better that way.”

You stared at her, your chest tightening, words piling up in your throat that you couldn’t force out. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself together, her jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. 

You turned and walked away, your footsteps crunching against the frozen ground, the distance between you growing with each step.

You didn’t see her crumble the second you were out of sight. Didn’t see her drop to her knees under the gnarled branches of the tree, her hands clutching the cold earth like it could anchor her to something, anything.

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking, her breath coming in broken gasps. She did the right thing. It had to be the right thing. Or else, that would mean…mean that she ruined the only thing she ever really loved.

She pulled herself up from the ground, dragging herself onto the tree that had been your meetup point for so long. Your cherry tree, your Wish Tree. 

Spring

(Imagine the pre chorus but slowed down and sang through sobs)

It had been a year—a whole, impossibly short, impossibly long year—since you appeared out of nowhere, stumbling into her life like some cosmic accident. A stranger, in a place where strangers didn’t just happen. A year since she’d looked up from her guitar, startled by the sound of boots squelching through the muddy ground, and seen you standing there, impossibly wrong and yet somehow exactly right. Like you’d been meant to find the cracks she hadn’t even realized were there.

She’d told herself she wasn’t counting. Not really. But she knew. Knew it had been exactly one year since you wandered into her orbit and tilted everything, just enough to let the light in.

Now, lying beneath the gnarled branches of the cherry tree that had become yours—not hers, not yours, but yours, together—Magenta couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. About the capsules.

The capsules.

Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep the image out. It didn’t work. Her fingers dug into the damp grass beneath her as though holding on tight could somehow stop the inevitable. She didn’t want to see it—the sleek, gleaming capsules with their yawning doors, ready to whisk you away. To lift you up, out, beyond. Somewhere she couldn’t follow. Somewhere she wasn’t sure she could even imagine.

She should be happy for you. That was what she told herself, again and again, the words looping endlessly through her head like a melody she couldn’t escape. This was what you’d been waiting for. The chance to leave, to start over, to escape the heaviness of this place. To find something better.

It was what she deserved, wasn’t it? She’d told you to go. Pushed you to go, her voice steady even when it felt like the weight of it might break her in half. She’d told you she couldn’t be the reason you stayed, couldn’t let you throw away a shot at something brighter, something easier, just because she wasn’t brave enough to let you go.

But lying there, staring up at the branches shifting against the pale winter sky, Magenta felt the truth settle deep in her chest, heavy and sharp-edged. She wasn’t noble. She wasn’t selfless. All she wanted, in the quietest, most desperate part of her heart, was for you to stay.

And then it came. That low, growing hum, the sound that swallowed everything else. The capsules, rising in the distance, their engines roaring as they tore away from the earth and into the sky. Magenta’s breath hitched as she watched them climb, higher and higher, until they were nothing but a distant speck. Until they were gone.

Her hands found the guitar beside her, her fingers brushing against the strings like muscle memory. It felt wrong to play it now, cruel, even. The song she’d been playing the day you first appeared. What had once been the beginning of everything now felt like a cruel epilogue to what she’d lost.

Still, the melody spilled out of her, her voice soft and trembling: We are revolving because we can’t meet

We are like parallel lines

If I could run through time and become an adult

I will hold your hand in this cruel world

We aren’t closing in, that one tiny bit

We are like parallel lines.

When the last note faded, Magenta folded forward, her body curling into itself as the tears came, hot and unrelenting. She pressed her forehead against the guitar, her shoulders shaking, her breath coming in broken gasps.

And then, softly, the words she’d never expected to hear again, carried on the breeze like an impossible dream:

“Would it be too much to ask for an encore?”

Her head jerked up, her breath catching. And there you were, standing beneath the cherry tree, the same tree where it had all begun. Your face was sheepish, almost apologetic, as you took a slow step toward her, then another.

Magenta blinked, her tears blurring the edges of you, but there was no mistaking it. You were here.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet, her fists against your chest, her sobs spilling over as the words tore out of her.

“Why didn’t you go?” she shouted, her voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “You could’ve had it all! You could’ve gone to the closest thing to heaven, and you stayed—for what? For me?”

Your hands found her shoulders, steady and warm, and when she didn’t pull away, you pulled her closer, wrapping her into the kind of hug that felt like it could hold her together, even as she fell apart.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and lingering, and when you spoke, your voice was quiet, like a secret meant only for her.

“Oh, my love,” you murmured. “What’s heaven got that beats a picnic in spring, just you and me?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

For the lilia and ms. spade thing lol, have you ever seen that post where op's grandparents meet like...

person 1: *chilling on their motorcycle*

*CUE FRANTIC RUNNING*

*police sirens*

person 2: *HOPS TF ON* "DRIVE! JUST DRIVE!"

I think it's very them coded lmao

Referencing this unofficial blog event!

I don’t know that post but damn, you’re so right about it being so Lilia x Mrs. Spade coded 😩 It works especially well if we run with the theory that Mrs. Spade is an ex-delinquent herself! Delinquent and war criminal couple…

Here, I wrote a short thing based on the prompt since I thought it was a cute idea :))

I can't go back to yesterday, I was a different person then.

"Pick me up at 7 pm? I'll be waiting for you in Foothill Town's square."

"You got it. See you then."

That had been the promise.

Dylla anxiously fiddled with the hand clutches of her magical wheel. Her son had tinkered with the vehicle recently, buffed and polished it to look brand-new for her big night. She had gone out of her way to make an effort as well--wearing her nicest leather jacket over a cute shirt with a white rabbit on it, pairing with ripped jeans and ankle boots, her eyeshadow smoked out and lips bright red.

Cute, cool, casual.

She hoped Lilia would think so too. Well, whenever he gets here.

Admittedly, Dylla had shown up much too early on account of her nerves--the people of Clock Town valued being punctual. But her concerns were starting to mount. Lilia hadn't responded to her texts all day, hadn't taken her calls. It wasn't like him, not at all.

I wonder if something happened. Or... is the date off? Is he calling it quits altogether?

She was tempted to nibble at her lower lip--a habit, "Like a blessed rabbit," her mother would say--but, knowing it might smudge her lipstick, refrained.

TROMP, TROMP, TROMP!!

A series of frantic footsteps came down the cobblestone street, swelling louder on the approach. Then came the shrill shriek of a police siren. And the call of her name.

"DYLLA!!"

A short figure, backlit by flashing red and blue lights, charged at her. The jacket that hung off his petite frame fluttered in the breeze.

"LILIA VANROUUUGE...!" a livid voice bellowed after him. A red-faced redhead leaned out of a police car, shaking a fist. "Come back here right this instant!! You have a sentence you've yet to serve!!"

"Wh-What’s going on…?!” Dylla demanded as the fae ran up to her.

"Drive!! Just drive!!" he urged her, magenta eyes wide with alarm. Lilia latched his arms around her waist and pressed himself to her back. "I'll explain later!!"

Dylla didn’t ask questions.

She turned her key in the ignition, sparking her magical wheel to life. Twisting the right handlebar--the throttle--Dylla pulled out in a burst of speed.

Frigid wind smacked them in the faces, blowing their hair back. The adrenaline hit, and Lilia so close to her, burning hot. The buzz of it, electrifying, reigniting her dampened spirit.

"Kufufu~ How delightful! I missed this feeling...!" Lilia chuckled. "It's like flying, but far closer to the ground than I am used to."

"Hahah, What kind of trouble did you get up to this time? Flying in a no-flight zone?" she asked, holding back a laugh. Dylla knew to keep her sights set on the road--especially when it was this dark--but she managed to meet his eyes in one of her bike's mirrors.

He pulled a silly face on her, sticking out his tongue and wiggling it. "Wouldn't you like to know? I'm sure I could enlighten you over dinner."

"If I didn't already have plans with you, I'd say it's a date." Dylla tossed a glance over her shoulder, squinting into the blaring lights. Crimson, cobalt, alternating. "First thing's first though, we'll have to shake them."

"Think you're up to the task? We're up against a formidable foe."

"Just watch me."

She threw a wicked grin and winked, revving her engine. It gave a monstrous roar that echoed deep, deep into the night. Lilia wondered if it the sound would slice space itself and reach Diasomnia too.

Together, they sped off to paint the town red.

[braedenhales]

🌈💖✨ Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome 😎💜💚💙

[ksbbb]

Lilac, lemon, lollipop

[ace-does-stuff]

karma's the judge

Summary: Clay learns that Viva is pink down to her very core- well, more of a magenta color right under her skin, the deeper into her flesh the more purple it gets.

Warnings: gore, near death, hospitals, agony, i cannot stress enough that this is not romantic, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: me and @ohposhers got talking, I'm legally not allowed to say anything else about the convo aside from the fact it inspired this fic. title from FØØL, specifically the INHUMAN remix. hope ya'll enjoy and if ya do consider dropping a like or reblog, or checkin' the Ao3 port.

It's only a mildly horrific sight for Clay to see.

He's lying actually.

The sound of the predator running off into the underbrush is still heavy in the air with cracking branches and rustling leaves. It echoes in his ears; that and the sound of Viva's laboured breathing. Her breath stutters as she wheezes, paw hovering over the bright blue shards in her chest and stomach. She's shredded in every sense including literal.

"C-Clay," Viva barely manages to get out, fat tears rolling down her face as agony surges through her. Neon magenta oozes out of rended flesh and seeps into fabric and slides down from her nose. Ears downturned and claws detracted, she's still in fight mode even though she should've ran with the rest of them.

Words are failing to form for Clay as he takes hasty, yet tentative, steps closer to his companion. Then she coughs, she sounds like death incarnate. Wet and shaky; phlegmy blood spills past her teeth and the gouges in her torso bubble up with her blood, the glass sinks deeper into her flesh. She's curling in on herself as she shudders and shakes and loose flesh trails on the dirt in stringy tendons. She grips for the shards to pull them out but even with adrenaline she's still fading fast. Her eyes flutter shut as the sharp edges slice her hands open to match the rest of her torn up body.

Viva falls limp and Clay is just frozen as he stares at their leader. Her chest rises and falls impossibly slow, she should be dead but she isn't and that gives just enough kick to get Clay to move and save her. Try to at least.

Clay drops down beside her and runs a paw across her wounds, checking the depth and the intensity aside from looking so bad it makes him feel nauseated. She shudders in her passed out state, tensing and flexing her claws against the unknown. The blood on his paws contrasts his own fur so much it makes him gag, the slimy texture of coalescing and cooling Pop Troll blood; it's lukewarm and drips but it's thick with bits of flesh. He wants to hurl as he shuffles Viva around a bit, she curls and shifts and hisses in her restless and forced state of sleep as he tries to help her.

Her cape is slowly wrapped around her body and her blood clings to the tufts of fur on the bottom and collar of the cape. The capes exterior doesn't hold in the blood, at all. Instead the magenta substance just slides off it, seeping through the fabric interior and slowly dripping down pieces of faux grass. Her breath heaves and her body is near entirely limp as it's restricted, Clay has to keep her head from hanging awkwardly and further straining her body as he carries her.

-/-/-/-

Viva jolts awake, body tingling with anesthetic that hasn't fully worn off. And as fast as she's shocked herself upright she's buckling in half due to an agonizing pain shooting up from her abdomen to her sternum. She clutches desperately only to find a similar pain resting heavy in her arm. Only then does she let her vision register as a train of thought in her head instead of bouncing from reflex to reflex.

White bandages wrap her arm and she isn't wearing a shirt, her entire torso is wound up in gauze that's a blend of magenta and almost purple with the darkness. She uses her other paw to touch it, and it's almost damp, that makes her stomach turn. She presses a bit more, higher up, and then she hits stitches left uncovered almost at her clavicles.

She glances down further and finds her leg covered in a thick layer of gauze, she can barely move her toes with how tight it is. And the magenta. She feels ill as the scent of drying and gelatinizing blood really sets in as hers instead of some other Troll in the medical ward.

Viva tries to move again, get off the bed and walk purely to spite the agony ripping through every wound on her (some unstitched but she can't tell with how much gauze she's wearing). Her paws rest shakily on the cot and so little effort leaves her winded, struggling to breath instead of cry out in pain. She's the leader. She has to be strong.

The second her toes hit the floor she swears she can hear something snap and she screams. Every torn tendon and string of muscle in her leg tries to fire all at once, preemptively activating to hold her weight, and the rush of blood darkens her gauze. It hurts enough to push her to tears as she falls back on the bed and clutches her leg. The agony in her arms and torso doesn't do much to deter her from holding the wound even as the sheets below her start to turn pink.

"Viva!"

Clay, it's Clay whose coming and closing the door behind him and rushing over. She bites back sniffles and pathetic little sounds as she lets go of her leg and relaxes just a bit. Her body lays prone on the cot, arms at her side and legs loose as Clay comes to her side.

"You were supposed to be out cold for fifteen more minutes," Clay said quietly. Then he laughs a little bit, awkward and forced, "I should've known you'd fight through the anesthetic though."

Viva laughs too even though there's nothing funny, "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Horror rests heavy on Clay's voice as he speaks.

Viva rephrases, "How am I still alive?"

"Look, all I can't find any logical reason as to why considering how wrecked you were. But let's just take it and run." Clay's eyes linger on the darkness of Viva's terribly done excuse of a cast. He should've added more layers of gauze, or made actual casting materials.

"Did anyone else get hurt?" Viva asked, trying to sit up but pushed back down by Clay. She reluctantly stays still.

"No one else got hurt, the tribes really, really worried though," Clay said quietly, "But I have everything under control, just stay in bed till you're healed up."

Viva's blood goes cold at the notions of being bedridden for music knows how long. Her eyes widen a little bit and she stares at Clay, "What are you planning, Clay?"

Clay laughs nervously, "Nothing much, ya know, just taking reign until you're better."

"What."

"For your own health! It'll be fine!"

Viva gives a long sigh as she closes her eyes, "Don't mess it up, Clay."

"I won't! Besides, I've been doing the legal stuff, it'll be fine."

"Have fun socializing and being the funboy again."

Clay swallows hard. Right. Funboy. He'll have to be the funboy again. It makes hims stomach knot but he nods along because he knows. Being the funboy, he's pretty sure the notions alone make his mind flood with dysphoria.

But for Viva's sake?

He'll manage.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 44

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 44 all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

44. the god of death

As you savor the last days of early fall before bitter cold sets in, John seems way more interested in teaching you how to ride, than planning a wedding. You are perfectly fine with that. You studied up and took the permit test online the very next day. Most of it was common sense–or at least, you’d like to think so. A trip to the DMV in Clear Forks rendered you legal for the road. 

You go for rides together almost every afternoon, through the winding mountain roads, and down in town in higher traffic as well. You’ll be good and ready for your test come spring. You feel as though he has gifted you a set of wings, when you are flying down the highway together, the mountains looming majestically in the distance. Once you get the hang of it, it’s not hard to work the bike, it just takes focus–or you might die. 

Oddly–the risk seems totally worth it. Not just for your own enjoyment, but his too. You can tell that being on the bike soothes something in this man’s battered soul, and you’re rather honored that he’d share this hobby with you.

When the days get short and winter sets in, it’s too cold for the bikes, even with battery heated jackets, you fall into a new routine. John is usually the first one out of bed. Sometimes he wakes you with kisses and his beautiful cock before wandering down to the kitchen to make a simple breakfast for the two of you, usually eggs and sliced fruit with coffee. John disappears into his workshop repairing a set of first edition Beatrix Potter books, and you go to your studio, though true inspiration continues to escape you. You feel as though something is hovering just beyond your grasp; inspiration waits behind a curtain, if you could just find the right trigger to sweep it aside. 

After lunch you often sit together and read in the den with the fireplace burning. When the first snow falls it feels like magic, in that house with him. You make love on the couch and then watch the fat flakes fall through the window from under a soft blanket, John’s arms wrapped around you. Later you make dinner together, feeding each other tidbits while chopping up vegetables, bumping into each other on purpose just to steal a kiss. You close the evening with a glass of wine and sometimes a movie or a show, and sometimes you read some more. 

Sometimes, John looks at you with that smoldering warmth in his dark eyes, and you go to bed early.    

Life is so damn near perfect that it almost scares you. It really seems like the Camorra have convinced the idiotic young Dante to leave you alone, and a part of you deep down wonders if you could truly be so lucky? You know that John has not forgotten about him completely. He does not let you go to town by yourself, not even to the grocery store. This doesn’t particularly bother you–even something so mundane as pottering up and down the isles with your trolley is fun with this man at your side. You crack jokes in the wine aisle, and exchange kisses in the produce, and you’re sure everyone around you is rolling their eyes at your expense–you’re so in love you simply do not care. 

One morning John cuts up a pomegranate for breakfast, the juicy little seeds glowing brilliant magenta in the sunlight, and as he holds out one for you to try from his fingertips inspiration hits you like a shovel to the head. You accept the morsel between your lips, laving his digit clean with your tongue as you gaze up at this man in black towering over you: your lover, your protector, your captor turned your intended. Sensing the change in you, John tilts his head slightly, raven hair swinging into his midnight-dark eyes. You reach up to brush it behind his ear carefully, almost as though you are seeing him anew. 

“You like it?” he asks, and there is something fragile in his tone. Neither of you are sure he’s talking about the pomegranate. 

“I love it,” you assure him, putting him at ease. You tangle your legs with his under the breakfast table, further affirming your affection. But for the first time in a while, you cannot wait to get up to your studio.

You start with sketches, working manically to make a sort of storyboard, plotting out a whole series. You incorporate the symbols of the pomegranate and the narcissus, telling the tale of a girl who is snatched up from beside a Venetian canal by a God of Death–and how she falls in love with him. 

Though you work with your door closed, needing the privacy to create, you know John looks over what you’re making later. Sometimes he’ll place a pen or a sketchbook not quite where you left them, as though signaling that he’s been there. His most blatant admission comes in the form of a sticky note pasted like a caption below one of your gouache illustrations on thick paper, of a glowing girl clutching a bright white narcissus flower, gazing up at a man in shadow sitting upon a throne of skulls, “And the God of Death fell hopelessly in love.”     

Later, while you’re snuggled together on the couch with dog at your feet, he tells you, “If you make them on longer pieces of paper, I can bind them for you.” This quiet offer of collaboration on an art project fills your heart with a sneaking warmth that starts in your chest, and spreads all the way to your toes. 

“I would like that,” you admit, kissing his cheek sweetly. 

His next question comes quieter still; you see the worry written in those soulful dark eyes: “Are you still angry?”

You realize that the answer to that is complex. The truth is: you were, deep down, despite how good things have been. But putting all of it down on paper with ink and pigment has exorcized something toxic from you. Something that might have acted as a slow-leaching poison in your relationship, had you not administered these therapeutic paintings as your antidote. Something about reclaiming your story in the images drawn from your hand, and telling it the exact way you please, (with some stylistic embellishments borrowed from Hades and Persephone) acts as a healing balm. 

“Not anymore,” you tell him, and you mean what you say. 

John’s relief is a palpable thing; you feel the tension release from his body pressed against yours. It still has not ceased to amaze you, the power you seem to hold over this formidable man. But it goes both ways, and somehow, through blood, sweat, tears, and all the love in your hearts, you have managed to strike a balance together that makes both of you happy. 

Maybe you are young, but you are smart enough to know that is a rare and precious thing indeed. 

[alastor-simp]

Watching a Horror Movie With Lilia Vanrouge🦇

❥Summary: Its horror movie night at Ramshackle Dorm. Who are you inviting over?

❥Tags: horror movie night, twisted wonderland x reader, lilia vanrouge, fluff, adorable, so much fluff, pillow fight, cuddles, lilia is such a goofball.

❥Notes: Wanted to continue this horror movie series with twisted wonderland characters. Last one I did was Floyd so now its time for Lilia. Enjoy!

Lilia Vanrouge 🦇 + Jeepers Creepers🪡

(Lilia gif credit to @flowerofthemoonworld)

🦇"Kufufu. Your asking little old me on a date now, are we? Hehe, I'm teasing you. I'd be delighted to come over~!" Lilia would instantly tease you, causing you to blush, the minute you said if he wanted to come over to watch a horror movie with you at Ramshackle. He was over the moon that you were inviting him, and immediately started to ask if he needed to bring anything special for the movie night.

🦇You told him just to bring his cute self with his pajamas to your dorm, and reminding him to arrive at 7 PM. Giggling at that, Lilia gave you a quick hug, before he disappeared with his magic. As you began to head back to class, you started to think on how you could prepare for the movie night, and also what movie to pick. You knew Lilia has been around for a long time, and he was up to date with modern technology as he often gamed with Idia. Maybe you could pick a movie from your world? It would be something that Lilia has never seen before and he may enjoy it.

🦇After class, you headed to your dorm and started to prepare. Remembering Lilia's fondness for tomatoes, you decided to have some tomato juice for him to drink, and also make a margarita pizza as well, as nothing beats eating pizza when watching a movie. With the help of the ghosts, you were able to string some colored lights around the walls, giving the room a spooky feeling. The couch was layered with fluffy blankets and pillows, and the food was placed on the living room table.

🦇A rhythmic knock was heard from the door, alerting you. Sprinting towards it, you opened it wide to reveal, nobody? Huh? Sticking your head out, you looked left and right, wondering where Lilia was. "BOO!" Popping up from above, Lilia was hanging upside down, wearing a cheesy grin. "AHH! Jeez! Lilia!" Glaring at him, he continued to laugh at your reaction before floating around to where he was standing face to face with you. It took a moment for you to look at his adorable outfit. He was wearing neon green lounge wear with little bats decorating it. "Hehe~ Gomenasai. I couldn't resist." You couldn't stay mad at him for long, as a smile made its way to your face. Grabbing his hand, you led him inside your dorm, heading towards the decorated living room.

🦇Lilia couldn't resist and ran towards the couch, hopping onto it with a giggle, causing you to shake your head. Making your way towards the tv, you inserted the movie you picked for the both of you to enjoy, heading back towards the couch to sit next to Lilia. Reaching for the tomato beverage on the table, you handed it to Lilia with a smile which he gladly accepted with a kind smile. "What is the name of the movie we are watching?" Lilia questioned, as he reached for the pizza and began nibbling on it, cheese stretching out from the slice he consumed. "Oh its a movie called Jeepers Creepers. It's a very popular movie from my world and I picked it because I'm pretty sure its gonna be a movie you have never seen before."

🦇Lilia chuckled, saying he was excited to watch it, leaning more towards you to place his head on your shoulder. He always does stuff like this to make your heart race. Trying to ignore the adorable bat fae on your shoulder, your eyes drew to the tv as it began to play. The movie continued to play, showing the two main protagonists exploring a local church where they saw the villain supposedly dumping bodies somewhere. Lilia was beaming with excitement, his magenta colored eyes sparkling the more the movie played. He broke into a fit of laughter when you got jump scared by the crow scaring the female character in the movie. "Haha...very funny." you said sarcastically, as Lilia finally managed to calm down, wiping the tears from his eyes.

🦇Further into the movie, it is revealed the villain is an ancient bat like monster, which consumes the body parts of others, to regenerate parts he has lost. This was the first time you had seen Lilia looking so serious, appearing very upset with the actions the monster was doing, and all the deaths he had performed. The ending to the movie gave off an eerie feel to it as the monster survives and manages to kill one of the main characters. As the credits began to roll, you turned to look at Lilia, who appeared a bit upset, "Are you alright?" Lilia turned to you and gave a soft smile, "I'm alright..its just....wasn't expecting an ending like that, most of the movies I have come across the heroes survive and defeat the evil villain, yet this time, the villain wins." Your hand move to nestle against his hair, giving it a rub, "Its only a movie Lilia." Lilia nodded, but it was clear he was still a bit sad.

🦇Smirking to yourself, your hands reached for the couch pillow behind you, throwing it to hit against Lilia with a thud. "Wha-?" Lilia blinked in confusion as he peered at you, smiling wide at him. "PILLOW FIGHT!" Grabbing another pillow, you threw it at Lilia, which he caught with ease, smile revealing his little fangs, as he chuckled evilly. "Prepare yourself!" Lilia quickly vanished from your sight, appearing behind to hit you with the pillow. The pillow fight continued for a couple hours, the both you running around with pillows, ready to attack the other. Lilia had a bigger advantage, as he was very quick and his magic allowed him to teleport, making it easier for him to attack you. The both of you had ran into your bedroom, pillows at the ready, waiting for the other to strike. Raising it in the air, you gave one last hard throw to Lilia, before he vanishes again. He appears from above, hitting the pillow into your face, as both of your bodies land on the bed.

🦇"Kufufu~ I win!" He hovers above you, fanged smiled appearing on his face. Removing the pillow from your face, you gaze at him fondly, as you continued to lay on the bed. "Feeling better?" Lilia paused for a second, and then proceeded to laugh wholeheartedly. "Was that your little plan? Making me feel better with a little pillow fight?" He raised an eyebrow at you, moving closer to where his lips were almost touching. "Yeah." Lilia laughed at your innocent answer, moving to place a kiss on your cheek, before moving his head down to lay on your chest. "What an adorable human you are." Lilia nuzzled his head deeper into you, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you closer.

🦇Wrapping your own hands around him, you pulled him in deeper, moving further up the bed, to have your head lay against the pillow. One of your hands toyed with the colored locks of his hair, earning a comforting hum from him. "I enjoyed doing this with you. Perhaps we can do this at Diasomnia with the others. I'm sure Malleus would be happy. Just hope Silver doesn't fall asleep through the movie." Lilia chuckled against you, lifting his head up to gaze at you with loving eyes, "Sounds like a plan." His head returned to your chest, and you felt his breathing slowed. Your hands continued to play with hair as you continued to hold onto each other, enjoying each others warmth. Little mini snores could be heard from Lilia as he had fallen asleep on top of you, as your eyes gazed down at him softly. "Good night Lilia." you said softly, as you placed your head down against the pillow, sleep consuming you as well.

-END-

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