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kallie-den · 11 days ago

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Rescue Hound Chapter Three

Kione grapples with the consequences of what she's done to Sartha - and faces up to what Sartha needs

This is a Warhound story! The preceding stories can be found at this tag

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I’ll save you, Sartha. I promise

Those words, drawn out of Kione by a poisoned, unnatural faith, curdle in her heart as she passes the night in Sartha Thrace’s arms. At first, they felt like a blessing. Not for Sartha. For Kione. There’s an inimitable sense of power to promising salvation to someone—to Sartha Thrace, of all people—and feeling her trust you. Feeling her melt into your own body, sobs subsiding and fear falling away as she believes. That’s intoxicating. That’s divine.

But it doesn’t last. Once Sartha settles into a heavy, peaceful sleep, Kione is left awake and alone with her thoughts, which increasingly circle around the terrible repercussions of what she has done.

They both wanted it. Didn’t they? It was hardly out of character for Sartha. And she’d certainly seemed passionate enough. Desperate, even. Like she had pent-up urges to vent. It was probably good for her to get it all out of her system. Has Sartha ever once complained about getting a chance to fuck Kione? Is it really such a big deal?

Yes, Kione knows. Of course it is. Because she did it by using the words that imperial handler has put in Sartha’s head.

Restful sleep isn’t coming. And Kione is realizing she’s the scum of the earth.

Even basking in Sartha’s body heat strikes her as a sin. Before long, Kione can’t take it. She needs to be somewhere else. She needs to be back in her quarters so she can beat herself up in private. As Kione extracts herself from Sartha’s arms and prepares to leave, she casts a glance at the muzzle she put on Sartha’s head.

It’s truly awful. A symbol of every violation that was inflicted on her friend. It would be a mistake to leave it with Sartha. A crime to let her wake with it on. Kione should slip it off, take it with her, and throw it away.

But after the way she just wielded it, she can’t even bring herself to touch the cursed thing.

Kione puts on her jumpsuit and slips out of Sartha’s quarters empty-handed. Maybe she’ll find a bottle to swipe before she retreats into her own. She needs that, right now. Oblivion. But she can’t face going to the bar. She can’t face being witnessed by another living soul. She just has to hope that at this time of night, the only people awake on the rebel base are the lookouts posted outside.

No such luck. Just as she’s closing the door to Sartha’s room, a rebel soldier comes around the corner and catches her. Her eyes go wide, and for a brief instant, Kione feels transparent, like all her sins are visible to the eye. She goes still. She doesn’t know what to do.

It’s even worse than that, it turns out. Kione quickly sees that from the rebel soldier’s perspective, all she’s done is caught Kione making the walk of shame. Her suspicion is confirmed when, a moment later, the rebel does the worst thing she could possibly do. Calculated, seemingly, to bring Kione the maximum conceivable level of gut-wrenching guilt.

She flashes her a roguish, knowing wink.

***

It’s an entire day before Kione leaves her quarters. Isolation does nothing to quell the froth of shame writhing in her gut, but that’s nothing compared to knowing that she’s out there, somewhere.

Sartha.

How can Kione face her? How can Kione ever face her again? More than once, she makes up her mind to run to the hangar, climb in Theaboros, and fly a thousand miles away just so she doesn’t have to. But each time, as soon as her hand touches the door, what freezes her in her tracks is the simple fear that as soon as she opens it, she might find her friend standing right there.

What kind of look will she have on her face, when Kione sees her? Kione’s dark dreams answer that question a hundred different ways when she finally makes herself settle down to try and sleep.

When she’s awake, there’s little for Kione to do but ask herself an endless stream of questions: how could she have done that to Sartha? Why did she get so angry after their sparring session? Why hadn’t she been able to stop herself?

And why had it all felt so fucking good?

She thinks about the imperial handler, too. The one she saw on Ancyor’s comms log. She’s the one who brainwashed Sartha. Has to be. What kind of person do you have to be to do something like that? To rip open someone’s mind and brand those three words into their thoughts to serve as a collar they can never slip? Kione already knew it had happened, of course. But until last night, she hadn’t even begun to grasp the sick artistry of the brainwasher’s craft. It haunts her, now; the memory of the handler’s eyes, as sharp as scalpels as they seemed to stare through the screen and through time, into Kione’s soul.

The handler is a monster. One look at her and Kione’s certain of that. But after what she did, is she really any different?

All her many questions are nothing more than a spiral. They lead Kione inward and downward, inexorably, through fits of crying, of self-punishment, of vicious ideation. The weight of her actions hangs on her, a heavy, cold sweat, and everything she’s ever felt about Sartha Thrace tastes like poison.

In the end, hunger is what drives her from her self-imposed, self-pitying isolation. The gnawing in Kione’s belly overtakes the gnawing in her head and, as despicably unearned as any act of self-preservation feels, she makes up her mind to slip out of her quarters, steal down to the canteen, and swipe something to eat. If nothing else, she’ll need food in her belly if she decides to run.

Head down, long jacket covering her jumpsuit, it all goes just fine until Kione reaches the canteen and finds Sartha’s already there.

Waiting for her.

There’s no use trying to duck beneath her notice. She’s keeping an eye out and as soon as Kione enters the room, Sartha’s on her feet and headed her way. Kione is a deer in headlights. Her blood is ice. This is how it’s gonna be, huh? Sartha wants to expose her. Have it out in front of a crowd. It makes sense. It’s safer, Kione figures, and guarantees that everyone will know exactly what she’s done. Kione will be lucky not to get executed on the spot.

She doesn’t try to flee. Kione accepts her fate. She deserves it, right?

When Sartha reaches her, the expression on her face is unreadable. But when she speaks, the distinct, earnest adoration in her voice is as stark and shocking as a thunderbolt.

“Hey, Kione,” Sartha says, a touch breathily. “You need to eat, right? I already got us a table.”

After a long moment, Kione replies with an awkward, jerky nod. Her hunger is instantly forgotten, so she simply follows Sartha over to where the hero is sitting. She can’t help but notice that Sartha doesn’t have a tray of her own. Just waiting then, not eating. For a moment, Kione resists the implications staring her in the face. The stay of execution she’s received isn’t comforting. It’s horrifying. But as they sit down, Kione’s forced to acknowledge that the expression on Sartha’s face isn’t unreadable at all. It’s the expression Kione’s put on the faces of dozens of girls by rocking their world after feeding them some stupid pickup line about feeling a connection. The blush. The parted lips. The eager, awe-filled hope in their eyes. She’d know it anywhere.

But on Sartha? It’s so wrong.

“You OK?” Sartha asks. “I got worried. Wasn’t sure where you’d gone when I woke up.”

“You got… worried?” Kione repeats dumbly.

Sartha just smiles at her. “Of course.”

Kione can’t stop staring at her. She doesn’t know what to say, and she’s too busy grappling with her feelings to try and figure that out. A moment ago, her veins were full of ice. Now they’re hot, and flooded with something sticky and intoxicating.

Sartha was worried about her.

It’s not that she didn’t care, before. Sartha was never a bad friend. Not exactly. But she was under a thousand pressures and had a million people vying for her attention. She was the hero of rebellion, and her eyes were always set on the far horizon. Not the kind of friend to count on for if you’re a little quiet and sad and need somebody to take notice.

Until now, apparently.

“Um…” Sartha begins, after the awkward silence has dragged on for a little while. Her visible anxiety is a wonder. “About last night… I’m sorry.”

Kione thought she’d already found the limit of her own capacity for surprise. She was wrong.

“You’re sorry?” she splutters.

Sartha nods. She looks ashamed.

“Why?” Kione asks in a hushed, incredulous voice.

“When we sparred,” Sartha begins. That’s what she wants to talk about? “I disappointed you. I completely fucked up. You were right. You were absolutely right. I need to try harder. Gotta get my head back in the game.” She looks across the table at Kione hopefully. Hoping for forgiveness. “I’ll do better next time.”

It’s everything Kione thought she wanted to hear—and it makes her sick to her stomach. Numbly, she shakes her head.

“No, but…” she stutters. “That’s not… I was…”

Her clear discomfort only seems to fuel Sartha’s penitence. She leans in, voice infused with fresh eagerness.

“I’m sorry,” she insists. “You were right, Kione. I needed to hear it. All of it. I really did.”

“N-no,” Kione groans. “I should be…”

She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want how this makes her feel. She doesn’t want this Sartha.

“Please, Ki,” Sartha presses. Why does she look so damn happy? “I’ll do better. I can do better. I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop!” Kione snaps. Sartha flinches. The wounded look on her face doesn’t make it any easier.

“But-“

“Don’t!” Kione hisses. If she hears one more ‘sorry’ from Sartha’s lips, her head is going to split open. “Understand? Just… don’t. Do not apologize, Sartha.”

Appallingly, a strange light appears in Sartha’s eyes. She sits up very straight and nods.

“Yes, Kione,” she pants.

A fresh wave of nausea passes through the mercenary. No. No, no, no. She has to fix whatever she broke.

“Last night,” Kione attempts. “Uh… after we sparred, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Sartha nods. Gods, she’s hanging on Kione’s every word.

Kione looks down. Something in Sartha’s manner makes it damn near impossible to bring it up, but she has to try.

“I came to your quarters,” Kione forces out through gritted teeth. “I said… some things. No, I mean, I said… something in particular. Some words.”

“Ah.” Sartha hangs her head. Kione senses that she’d be apologizing for something right about now, if not for her instruction. “I guess I’m still a little messed up, from when they… took me. I’m afraid I don’t remember that much about what happened.”

Kione blinks. “You don’t?”

Sartha shakes her head. Pink stains her cheeks and she speaks in a very quiet, secretive voice.

“I mean, I remember a little. Memories kind of bleed over, you might say. From the other me.”

After all that heat, Kione goes cold again. She feels feverish. She feels insane.

“So you do remember?” she presses, even though it pains her.

“We hooked up, right?” Sartha grins sheepishly.

“No,” Kione replies. “Or, well, yeah, sure, I guess. But what I mean is-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Sartha interrupts. Kione realizes she looks a little pained too.

“I kinda have to, Sartha,” Kione presses on. “Especially after I used-“

“Look, um,” Sartha interrupts again. “I wanted it. Let me just say that much, Ki. I wanted it. And it was really, really good.”

Now Kione’s the one blushing like a rookie with a crush. “You did?”

“Of course,” Sartha tells her. As much of a ghost as she’s been these past weeks, in moments like this, her smile still has some of its former radiance. “We’ve hooked up plenty of times, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

It’s so tempting to just agree with her. To simply bask in Sartha Thrace’s favor. To wonder if, perhaps, all the yearning Kione felt the night before wasn’t just one-sided.

Kione Monax has never been very good at resisting temptation.

“I guess so,” she concedes.

She wanted it. Sartha wanted it. They both went a little too far, and clearly the details are a little mutually embarrassing. In that sense, is it really that different from some of Kione’s other misguided conquests?

“So there’s no problem?” Sartha asks hopefully.

Kione wouldn’t go quite that far. There’s one important boundary to set before they can dispense with this.

“Let’s just agree,” she says, blushing. “Not to let that happen again. I mean, maybe sometime, we can… y’know. Again. If we both truly want to. But not like that. With you, Sartha, I don’t want it to be-“

Once again, Kione is interrupted. Not by Sartha. By her own growling stomach. Now that her anxiety is settling, the hunger is coming back. It’s making her just as light-headed.

“Gods, Ki,” Sartha says, face a mask of concern. “Haven’t you eaten?”

“I guess not,” Kione admits. “But seriously, let’s-“

“No, wait,” Sartha stands up out of her chair. “You need some grub. You stay right here, Ki. Let me get you something.”

She hurries off before Kione can mount a protest. Once again, it’s her concern that proves intoxicating. Nobody else in the canteen is sitting close enough to listen in on their hushed conversation, but a couple of rebels quickly pick up on the fact that Sartha is fetching a meal on Kione’s behalf. Some of the jealous looks Kione gets are truly filthy. As usual, looks like that scratch her pride and demand in reply a big, smug, shit-eating grin.

Maybe that’s why she can’t quite find it in herself to broach the subject again once Sartha trots back with a laden tray, looking every bit as proud as a dog with a stick.

***

After that, Kione promises herself that she’ll force the issue. That she’ll have a real conversation with Sartha about the way she took advantage of that imperial trigger phrase. She really means it, too. It’s important. She has too much respect for Sartha to leave her apology unsaid.

But in the end, it’s easy to just… not.

Sartha obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. She breezes past all of Kione’s feeble attempts to touch on the subject. Plus, it’s not like Kione is thrilled at the prospect of explaining to Sartha that she feels like an abusive piece of shit for what she did, and that it’s disturbing how Sartha doesn’t seem to view it in the same light.

Why force that talk when, instead, Kione can simply stay quiet and enjoy the new bond she shares with Sartha?

That’s exactly what she ends up doing. In the wake of her silence, everything returns to normal. Not normal-normal, of course. Sartha’s still damaged goods, and most of her rebel comrades are still plainly, hopelessly unable to cope with that. But it’s closer than ever before, weirdly. Contrary to Sartha’s fears, what Kione did to her doesn’t send her back to the infirmary. If her betrayal is a fresh, deep wound in Sartha’s psyche, a reminder of how her imperial brainwasher opened up her soul and hollowed it out, it doesn’t show. Quite the opposite.

Now, Sartha is better.

Not all the way. But there’s a fresh brightness to her smiles. They seem less forced. Everybody senses it. Her comrades start waving to her again, and she waves back. When they let their hero-worship show, she accepts it with a gracious nod and an easy, modest comment. The rebel doctors closely monitoring her psychological health are all smiles. According to them, she must be healing. Bouncing back. Soon enough, they reckon, she’ll be back to her old self.

And if she’s always at Kione’s side, hanging on the mercenary’s every word? Why, clearly all she needed was a good friend to lean on.

Hearing that puts one hell of a vicious knot in Kione’s stomach.

But not for long. With Sartha at her side, there’s only so much time she can spend wringing her hands. It feels like a waste. Sartha is doing well, isn’t she? Even the doctors think so, and they’d know, right? Besides, doesn’t Kione deserve this? She's been a good friend to Sartha, despite a couple of lapses. She stuck with her when nobody else did. Sartha’s affection starts to feel, more than anything else, like simple recognition.

She still has reservations. Kione can’t quite shake the worry that all of this points to a nameless sickness within the rescued hero. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t push Sartha to try piloting Ancyor again, even though it seems like she would if Kione asked. It’s growing difficult to tell what Sartha genuinely wants, and what she simply thinks Kione wants. But perhaps, after everything she’s been through, putting her in the cockpit of a peerless, hundred-ton war machine isn’t actually the wisest move.

Once or twice, her reservations build to the point she’s tempted to tell someone. The doctors, maybe. About Sartha’s trigger phrase, if not the way she used it. That seems like something they should know, doesn’t it? It seems like it might be important. Really, extremely important.

But then Kione will mention—off-handedly and thoughtlessly, of course—that she needs something and Sartha will bounce up and race off to find her exactly what she’s looking for. When she gets back, she’ll flash Kione this eager, hopeful look until Kione says ‘thank you, Sartha’, and then Sartha will show her the brightest, most contented smile Kione has ever seen on the hero’s face.

The temptation fades. The gods are in their heaven. All is right with the world.

Until the night there’s a knock at Kione’s door.

Kione is just bedding down to sleep when she hears it. She sits up and frowns. That’s weird. Nobody ever comes knocking, and the base is all quiet tonight. Everybody else shipped out on some mission. Apparently not one worth paying Kione for. Given everything that’s been happening, she probably shouldn’t be surprised when she opens the door to her quarters and sees Sartha standing there. But she is.

Sartha never comes to knock on her door. It’s always the other way around.

“Hey, Ki,” Sartha says. The look on her face is fathomless. Sad and eager and ashamed and gleeful all at the same time. “Can I, uh, come in?”

“Sure.”

Kione steps back and lets her in. Once she gets over her surprise, she can’t keep herself from grinning. It’s perfect. It’s what she always wanted. Sartha Thrace, here to climb into her bed. Kione’s turned on already.

“What’s up, Sartha?” Kione asks, playing it as casual as she possibly can. A bit of a fool's errand, given that she probably looks like the cat that got the cream. But she really, really wants to get Sartha to say it.

“Not much.” Sartha sounds decidedly flustered as she steps inside and closes the door. That’s good. That’s great. “You busy?”

It’s funny; Kione hasn’t seen as much of her today as she’s become used to. When they had lunch, she seemed a touch listless. But now, Sartha’s all over the place. Frenetic. Manic. Practically vibrating, and she keeps looking all over everywhere like she’s afraid to let her gaze settle.

As far as Kione’s concerned, it’s perfect.

“Not really, I guess.” Kione stretches lazily. “So, uh, what brings you here?”

Getting to watch Sartha squirm for a moment before she answers is better than Kione could have hoped. “Um…” she replies slowly, voice fraying from the sheer, bubbling tension. “Actually, I… was hoping we could, maybe, do something together. Like before.”

It’s a little mean, but Kione can’t quite bring herself to not smirk and laugh. Gods, Sartha! She sounds like a schoolgirl with a crush. It’s flattering, really. Kione knows she’s a great top. She doesn’t get as much feedback about being a bottom. Sartha’s the only woman in a position to give it. Clearly, Kione’s ass is quite the prize.

It’s desperately tempting to throw herself at Sartha already. To savor her warmth once more. As tarnished as she is, Kione knows she’d still taste like the sun. But Kione reckons she can go for just one more tease. One more bout of squirming.

“Oh, like what, exactly?” she asks, feigning confusion as best she can with this dumb, horny grin on her face. “Not sure what kind of stuff you mean.”

Sartha wraps her arms around herself and squeezes tight. She glances away in desperate embarrassment, and it’s everything Kione could have hoped.

“You know… this?”

Every bit of Kione’s glee turns sour when Sartha sticks a hand into one of the big pockets in her bomber jacket and fishes out the muzzle.

"What the…” The ghost of Kione’s smile remains etched onto her face, and she lets out an inadvertent, nervous titter as hairs rise on her spine. “Y-you’re joking, right?”

“No.” Sartha shakes her head. She’s blushing and embarrassed, but something else is moving through her too, compelling her to hold the muzzle out reverently toward Kione like an offering. “I-I need it.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sartha.”

Kione’s stomach is churning. Why did it have to be this? Why couldn’t it have just been sex?

“Why not?” Sartha pleads. Her eyes are wide, and a jagged, needy light shines from within them. Kione has seen this before, or something like it. She knows it for what it is: addiction.

“Because….” Kione can’t figure out how to explain it; it’s so blindingly obvious that the fact Sartha can’t see it is damning. But it’s so hard to just say ‘no’ to her. That’s one skill Kione has never got the hang of. Instead, she tries bargaining. “OK, um, you want me to… put the muzzle on you? And then we fuck? Shit, if that’s what does it for you then sure. Seems a little dark, but who am I to blame a girl for developing a few kinks after going through it?”

The forced lightness in her voice is a feeble attempt at manifesting. Kione is hoping Sartha won’t say the thing she was always, inevitably going to say.

“N-no. I mean, yes, um. We can fuck if you want to. Yes. Absolutely. But that’s not…” For a moment, Sartha squeezes her eyes closed. Shame and need are fighting a battle within her. Need wins. It was always going to win, and it leaves her leaning in ever closer to Kione and visibly salivating when she opens her mouth to speak. “I need you to use the words.”

Kione lets out a whimper.

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, no, no. No way, Sartha.”

Sartha takes another step toward her, but the muzzle is between them. Kione steps back. That thing terrifies her.

“Why not?” Sartha protests.

“Holy shit, Sartha!” Kione splutters. “That’s so many different kinds of fucked-up I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Why?” Sartha asks again.

Kione is about to deride her for her childishness until she realizes: it’s a real question. On some level, Sartha simply doesn’t get it.

“Gods,” Kione says quietly. “Don’t you see? Those words are what they did to you. A way to control you. It’s not right. People just… they just aren’t supposed to have something like that.”

Sartha goes quiet for a long moment. She looks down—then up again, and Kione sees that her plea for sanity skated off Sartha like a pebble across ice.

“But,” she says eventually. “I need it.”

Kione is on the verge of tearing up. “No,” she begs. “You don’t.”

She's still in there somewhere, isn’t she? The Sartha Thrace that Kione remembers. The ace that pushed her to her limits. The hero that made her want to be better. The woman who never needed anything. Not even Kione.

“It makes me feel whole again,” Sartha explains miserably. It’s like she’s half-aware of how abjectly awful what she’s saying is—but only half. “That’s all I want. To feel good. To be… to be free. That’s what I get from my… other half. Without that, it’s just me. And I feel everything, all the time, weighing me down. Whenever anybody around here looks at me. I can’t do it, Kione.”

The pain in her voice makes it so damn hard. Kione wants so badly to be the one who makes her stop hurting. But it’s too awful. She’s forgiven herself once, just about. No more second chances.

“No, Sartha,” she says, with all the firmness she can find. “You can do it. You really can. I believe in you. Or, you… you can at least try, yeah? If it sucks, if it hurts, I’m there for you. But anything’s better than pulling on the levers they stuck in your head. Hells, there’s so much we don’t know about what they did to you, or how. We don’t know what they were using you for. We don’t know why you were traveling in Ancyor like that, on your own, when we intercepted you. So… you need to stay clear of all of it, OK? You need to get those words out of your head and forget about them. That’s what you need to heal from. Right?”

That’s as heartfelt as Kione gets. She looks long and deep into Sartha’s eyes. Praying to see clarity. Praying to see hate. Hatred might mean she understands, at least, the extent of the violations committed against her. Mostly, though, Kione hopes that they can embrace and fall into bed together, shed tears together, find comfort together. As friends and equals. As more, perhaps.

It’s a stupid dream, of course. Kione should know better. Now she gets what’s coming to all stupid dreamers.

Sartha blinks, and when her eyes open again, she’s gone. Just as gone as when Kione put her off the leash. This time, though, it’s not Hound. Not Sartha’s other self. It’s just the part of Sartha Thrace that is nothing but need.

And need can fight dirty.

“It’s funny,” Sartha says. The way she smiles at Kione, crooked and bleak, is more unnerving than anything. “How you’re saying all this now. Where were all these reservations the other night, Ki?”

“Wha-“ Kione’s guts churn so violently she almost gags. She’s never seen this Sartha before, not once.

“You keep pretending you don’t want it.” Sartha’s eyes are vast and dark. Empty. There’s nothing inside them. Kione feels swallowed up by their gaze. “But you do. Why not just do what you want with me? That’s all I’m offering you.”

“Gods!” Kione gasps. “N-no I don’t.”

“You do,” Sartha insists. She’s unsteady. It’s like she’s drunk. “Be serious, Ki. You’ve been on cloud nine ever since it happened. Just do what you want.”

Another gut punch. The truth itches at Kione’s skin. She can’t deny it, and she can’t stop feeling devastated by the sudden realization that if she keeps saying ‘no’, all of Sartha’s doting adoration will be over.

“You want me to be all yours, right?” Sartha whispers, and it’s all poison. “Always have. All you have to do is say the words.”

“S-shut up,” Kione snaps violently. She can’t handle this Sartha. Not even for a moment.

Sartha’s smile widens still further, but there is absolutely no joy in it. “You know how you could make me shut up?”

“Fuck!” Kione flinches away from her, aghast.

She was right the first time. This is addiction. But still, she hadn’t been prepared for this: for the withdrawal, for the addict who’ll say anything. It’s even more pitiable than the forlorn depression, but that doesn’t stop it getting under Kione’s skin.

Gods, Sartha. That handler. What did she do to you? How did she crawl this deep into your heart?

“Just give me what I need,” Sartha wheedles, advancing on her, not giving her an inch of space. “One more time, at least. Can’t you do that for me, Kione? Don’t you owe me that? Come on. Make it up to me.”

“No!”

“Why not? Why not just do it again?”

“B-because it was rape!” Kione’s been nursing that bitter truth for days. Saying it out loud is a perverse kind of release.

Until Sartha licks her lips to make them wet, then parts them as she looks up at Kione, eyes shining, breath coming in wet pants of deranged craving.

“Don’t you wanna rape me again?”

Kione lets out a wet grunt of pain. It sounds a little too much like a moan for her liking. She’s dizzy. She needs to get out of here. All the ultra-honed merc alarm bells in her head are ringing. This is dangerous. This is her own personal hell.

“You could.” Sartha seizes her advantage. “Any way you want. I made you feel good, right? You want me to fuck you again, Ki?”

Kione’s back is against the wall, and there’s nowhere else to go. Sartha is pressed all the way up against her. The broken hero’s body heat is another vector of attack. This close, Kione can see the burning fever in Sartha’s face. She looks crazed. Like she barely knows what she’s saying.

Only that it’s working.

“Or,” Sartha whispers. “You could fuck me instead. How about that, huh? You could finally have my body. All of it.”

Her voice is so breathy. Feminine, melodic, seductive. It’s so wrong for Sartha Thrace. But who could ever resist it? Not Kione, that’s for sure. It’s more than just dizziness that’s making her light-headed. She’s sick to her stomach, but there’s more to her appetite than just her stomach. To her utter horror, Kione realizes that she’s hard.

A moment later, Sartha notices too. That’s even more horrifying.

“It’s n-n-not…” Kione stammers pathetically. “I’m n-n-not…”

It’s not that she wants to fuck Sartha. That’s what Kione’s trying to say. It’s not about sex. It’s about attention. It’s the way that, right now, she is the focal point of Sartha Thrace’s existence. She has eyes for nobody else. It’s not Kione’s fault she’s completely, hopelessly intoxicated by the experience. How long has she admired Sartha? How often has she wished she could be that good? That strong? That principled and hopeful? All those good, earnest, honest yearnings are crucifying her now. That’s what Kione wants to say.

It’s kind of a lie, unfortunately. Cause she also really does want to fuck Sartha.

“Just say those three words for me,” Sartha promises, “and I’ll be all yours. You can make me anything you want. Anything you need.”

“N-n-nooo,” Kione whines.

“C’mon.” Sartha wheedles. She nestles her leg between Kione’s thighs and raises it so that it presses against her cock. That has Kione seeing stars. “Don’t you want me?”

“Yyyyes!” Kione cries. “Or… I m-m-mean…”

Now she’s admitted it, is there really any point pretending?

Yes. She wants it. Kione wants it so bad. Of course she does. She wants the dependence. She wants that moment when she felt herself reaching into Sartha’s broken head and playing with the pieces. She wants to be Sartha’s everything. She wants to be her god.

And Sartha wants it too. So what’s the problem?

All of a sudden, it’s on the tip of her tongue. Kione wants to say it. It would be so easy to say it. Everything after that would be so easy too. Maybe she could order Sartha to back off. Maybe she could use the words just to get some space to clear her head. Or maybe she and her hound would be swept up in each other until the morning, and morning is so far away. Not having to think and be strong until morning would feel amazing.

“O-Off… The…”

“Yes,” Sartha pants. “Gods, yes, Kione.”

She can sense Kione’s will breaking. In the face of her impending victory, her seductiveness evaporates. Once again, there’s nothing in her eyes but gnawing, bitter need. It makes Sartha look like a black hole into which you could pour everything, forever, without filling it. She starts tearing up, and they are the tears of someone finally approaching the end of their pain.

They reveal that, in the end, Sartha never actually wanted Kione. She just wanted to be nothing at all.

Kione brings both her hands to Sartha’s chest—and shoves her off. Sartha doesn’t resist. She seems stunned that Kione found the strength. In that instant she’s like a lost child, as she looks at the merc.

“Not like this,” Kione says. Her voice is ragged, but it's firm. It’s not that she doesn’t want Sartha. It’s just that if she says ‘yes’ to her now, she’ll never get from her what she truly wants. “Not like this.”

Then, all over the rebel base, alarms start blaring. And everything goes to shit.

***

It feels like it’s been an eternity, even though it’s just twenty minutes later that Kione is standing in the hangar bay on the boarding pier next to Theaboros, making the last few essential pre-launch checks—and watching, from a short distance away, as Sartha does the same with Ancyor.

To most people—to all the mechanics watching from the sidelines and saluting with stars in their eyes—it probably looks like she’s her old self again. Sartha Thrace, getting back in the saddle. Just where she always belonged. Kione can see different. She can see how Sartha’s hands are shaking. She can see the fear—the abject terror—in the hero’s eyes. After their sorry spectacle of a duel a few days before, she can see the painful truth.

Sartha can’t do this.

But she’s going to try, because they asked her to. Her comrades. The people she’s been fighting for all these years. Damn her, she always lets them ask too much of her.

Admittedly, it would have been hard to say ‘no’ to this one. As soon as the alarms started sounding, Kione went for her radio and found they were already calling for her—her and Sartha both. She was preposterously grateful for the interruption until she heard the sitrep:

An imperial recon force is sweeping the sector, and heading straight for the rebel base.

It’s far from unprecedented. Rebels and imperials play a constant cat-and-mouse game with one another, as the empire tries to ferret out rebel positions while the rebels try to keep them hidden. It’s the only way to wage an asymmetric war. Battles and fronts have to be chosen with care; the rest of the time, strength must be conserved and secret.

To that end, rebel fighters are skilled in the art of misdirection. They know just how to put together an ambush in a way that throws imperial hunters off the scent and leads them somewhere else entirely. This time, there’s just one problem.

Everybody is already sortied and out of range, lending assistance to a fight in a neighboring sector.

Plus, the imperial patrol is a lot beefier than usual. The scant few rebel pilots that remain to be deployed aren’t enough to head them off. Not without Sartha.

“I’ll do it,” Kione offered, when they asked. “Send me out. You know my fees. You know I’ll get it done.”

Put the money front and center. Can’t let them know how off-kilter she is. Can’t let them know how much she cares about keeping Sartha Thrace out of combat.

Unfortunately, they already had their wallets out. They want Kione out there. But they want Sartha too. Even then, they said, they’ll be outnumbered. Without Sartha to even the odds, there’s no way.

Kione grimaced when she heard that, and again when she checked the reports for herself and saw that it was probably true. All the same, when they turned to Sartha and told her that they were sorry it was so soon, but that they had no choice, Kione was shaking her head and mouthing ‘please’ behind their backs.

Sartha locked eyes with her, then turned to the base commander, saluted, and said: “You can count on me.”

So here they are, mounting up. Everyone in the hangar has eyes for Sartha Thrace. All the rebels are betting their hopes and dreams on her glorious return to the battlefield. Meanwhile, Kione is looking past the heroism, past even the shaking, fearful hands, and searching for a sign of the broken, needy, hollowed thing she encountered in her quarters just minutes before.

Fuck. This is going to be a disaster.

But since she can’t just say that out loud and expect anybody to listen, Kione remains miserably silent as Theaboros, Ancyor, and just two ramshackle rebel mechs shudder to life and file out of the hangar to march across the blasted landscape to war.

Single file, they follow the bed of a long-dried river that crests several nearby hills as it leads away from the rebel position. It’s the kind of thing few imperial map-makers take notice of; with luck, the scouts will be in the valley below and easy to take by surprise. Kione would love to take the skies and find them herself; Theaboros’s wings are back online, although she’s been warned to be careful with them. Smarter to simply follow the rebels, though. This is their terrain. They know it, and it knows them. Unlike Theaboros, all of their mechs are painted the exact color of the dust their feet are kicking up. They might look like heaps of junk, but they’re built smart.

All machines, someone familiar. says over the radio, head’s up. We’re closing on their last known position. I’m running command and comms, so keep it clean and listen to me.

It shouldn’t make much difference given all the different kinds of hell Kione’s wading through, but for some reason, the little light-bulb moment of recognition she gets at the voice is enough to pierce through it all and, just for a moment, bring her actual, heartfelt joy.

“Radio girl!” she calls out, delighted.

There’s a derisive snort. Radio girl is trying to sound scornful but even over the crackling comm link, Kione can tell she’s smiling.

I have a name, you know, she retorts.

“Yeah?” Kione is smiling too. “Get us back to base in one piece, maybe I’ll think about learning it.”

That gets a laugh out of the rebel. That’s a win, in Kione’s book.

Is this where I tell you to buy me a drink instead? radio girl says. I guess at that point we could just call it even.

“No, no, no,” Kione tuts. “No drinks? Where’s the fun in that? Let’s get twice as drunk instead.”

She hears more laughter over the radio—then another voice. One Kione’s not familiar with. Another rebel pilot.

Merc, stop flirting! the other pilot snaps. Focus.

Not one who’s been introduced to Kione’s unique charms, then.

It’s one hell of a request. Where’s the fun in a scrap if you’re not flirting? Might as well join the empire, and have nothing to say besides ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’. But Kione’s willing to play nice and keep her mouth shut, given the circumstances. Maybe she can have her pleasure later, instead, if she wows miss wet blanket in combat and then tracks her down once they’re back at base.

Kione blinks. It’s been weeks since she’s had a thought like that. Piloting Theaboros against the imperials is starting to make her feel like her usual self again. She can’t believe how good the idea of spending a night all wrapped up in someone who isn’t Sartha sounds.

I see them!

Radio girl’s not flirting now. She’s all business, and so is Kione. A few more steps and Kione sees them too. Almost two dozen black shapes passing in several columns, no more than two hundred feet down the hillside. The rebels are in perfect ambush position, but even so—four perfect shots and four perfect kills would still leave them outnumbered more than two to one.

And that’s assuming Sartha does her part. Kione casts a glance back at Ancyor. During their march, she hasn’t said a single word.

Everybody get in cover and pick your targets. Before they leave our kill zone. Get ready. On my mark.

Kione obeys silently. This is no time for her smart mouth. She unholsters Theaboros’s rifle and levels it carefully at her chosen target. A short distance away, Sartha does the same. That’s good. At least she’s present enough for that. Maybe they’re not totally doomed.

They wait, and the wait is murder. The imperials inch closer and closer at a lazy pace until they’re passing the closest point their path will take them to the rebel ambush. Their reactor signatures should be well-shielded by the terrain, but at this distance all it would take is for one of those idiots to look up. It occurs to Kione to quickly pray that each member of their impromptu squad is aiming at a different hostile. It’s always truly, comically grim when that part of an ambush goes wrong.

Now! Fire!

At radio girl’s word, the rebel squad opens up. The ripping roar of two large autocannons tears open the air and fills the valley beneath with smoke and, a moment later, the crack of Ancyor’s jezzail is punctuated by the crash of its victim collapsing to the ground, disabled. That gun might be Sartha’s sole concession to long-range combat, but it would be a mistake to assume she doesn’t know how to use it. Even now, it seems.

Kione is the only one who isn’t shooting yet. Oh, she’s pulled the trigger. Her weapon just takes a moment to actuate. In the cockpit, Kione feels her entire mech thrum as Theaboros’s reactor spins up, juicing the long, unwieldy rifle in its hands with antimatter. Turns out, that stuff is good for more than just floating. Turns out, controlled micro-annihilations play ungodly havoc with magnetic fields, and with enough charge and the right design—concentric rings firing in sequence around the barrel—you can accelerate a heavy, solid, ferrous slug to sanity-defying speeds until it pierces straight through the core of the first target it hits, comes out the other side, and lodges in the cockpit of the second.

A railgun.

While Theaboros opens all its external vents and literally lets off steam, Kione smirks. Two-in-one. Now that’s a shot. Maybe she should raise her fees again.

Her smirk fades when even as five of them fall, the rest of the imperial patrol pulls together and begins to return fire with alarming alacrity.

Imperial pilots are invariably unimaginative, but they sometimes prove annoyingly professional. These ones have been drilled well. They shift rapidly into a defensive formation and take what cover they can, and soon enough the sounds of their guns utterly drowns out all of the rebel weaponry combined. Most of them are Dorus, and Kione’s never had trouble putting those down, but there’s a newer model with them too. A Xiphos, according to Theaboros’s targeting data. It opens up with more than just gunfire; a large, shoulder-mounted mortar fills the air with deadly hail that threatens to blast the rebel cover apart, leaving them all exposed.

Uh-oh.

It’s not the lethality of their firepower that keeps Kione and the others hopelessly pinned down. It’s certainly not the accuracy either. It’s the sheer volume. Kione is forced to huddle against the bank of the dried river, and the constant whipping and screaming of shells above her head leave her no opportunities to line up a shot. Trying to withstand it for even a moment would be a death sentence.

When you boil it right down, a mech is a giant tin can with a little squishy grape inside. Kione knows you don’t need to punch holes in the can to pop the grape. Rattle it around enough, and you’ll be left with nothing but pulp. Keep whaling on it, and little shards will shear off and start flying around the inside like bullets. Spalling. Bad way to go. Whale on it with something that goes bang, and you can propagate an internal pressure wave that makes the grape implode. Worse way to go.

Kione doesn’t fuck with small arms fire. Armor is a last resort.

That’s why—as usual, when things get rough—Kione is thinking about bolting. It would be so easy this time. All she has to do is turn around and fly away. They’d never catch her.

Giving radio girl mixed signals really would suck, though. And Kione can’t leave Sartha behind, of course. Especially not now.

While she’s fighting to formulate some kind of plan, the rebel who snapped at Kione for flirting gets impatient. Bad move, but easy to do when you’re sitting in a ditch getting shot at. She stands up, ready to shoot, ready to lead the charge, roaring defiance over the radio. Moments later, her mech’s torso is simply gone. The legs are left to topple over like dominoes.

Well, shit.

Kione grits her teeth. The odds are awful and getting worse. Sitting tight isn’t going to help. But the thing is, Kione knows she and Sartha have been through worse. As bad as it is, they can do this.

All they need is a hero.

Kione looks over at Ancyor. Oh no. Sartha isn’t even trying to shoot back.

But she wouldn’t leave Kione out to dry. Would she? When Kione truly needs her, she’ll rise to the occasion. The mercenary is sure of it. Which means all she has to do is force the issue.

“Sartha!” Kione yells down the radio. “Remember Pathyris? Let’s go!”

Before Sartha can tell her not to, Kione guns Theaboros’s flight system and rockets up into the sky.

It’s one of those dumb moves that anybody would tell any rookie pilot to never ever do, no matter how much of a hot-shot they think they are. Never. Be. The. Distraction. The thing is, though, Kione’s beloved Theaboros makes for a truly excellent distraction. The sight of it floating into the sky, all six wings extended and shimmering with anti-matter, will catch anybody’s attention. It makes her target number one, but it always takes Kione’s enemies a moment to adjust their aim. Even once they start shooting in the right direction, Theaboros is maneuverable enough that, if she really needs to, Kione can spend a little time dancing with bullets.

All in all, you couldn’t ask for a better ploy to let Ancyor break cover, charge straight at the imperial lines, and get stuck in right where it belongs.

It works—but only because they’re both really that good, and only because they both really, truly trust each other. Kione trusts Sartha not to keep her waiting, and to put the bad guys down before they can land a solid hit. Sartha trusts Kione to take the flak and be her eyes in the sky, and to use her railgun to blow apart anyone who threatens to put holes in Ancyor.

It’s the kind of tactic nobody would ever teach. Kione and Sartha have honed it over and over, fighting back-to-back against long odds. It’s something only they can do. It is their bond made manifest.

And Sartha isn’t moving.

Kione spares a precious millisecond to switch over to a private comms line. “Thrace!” she cries. “I’ve got you covered. Get in there. We need you.”

All she hears coming over the radio is sobbing.

I can’t do it, Kione.

Sartha’s letting her down. Again. And now they’re all gonna die.

“Sartha!” Kione screams. The shots are getting real close now. She doesn’t have much longer. “Yes, you can! You can do this! Please!”

Even now, even after everything, Kione can’t shake the deep-seated conviction that, at any moment, her hero is going to spring into life and save her. But it’s beginning to dawn on her that she won’t. She really won’t. Sartha isn’t a hero. Not anymore. She’s just scared and helpless, and nothing Kione sobs or begs or yells will change that.

Except one thing.

Kione doesn’t want to say it. She really doesn’t, even now. But she’s realizing that all her guilt and reservations, all that effort spent saying ‘no’ to Sartha, in her quarters—it was all for nothing. All her pleas were wasted breath. It’s a little embarrassing it took her this long to figure it out. Sartha would never come begging to Kione’s quarters and Sartha would never let Kione die like this, and so Sartha is gone. Dead. All Kione rescued on that bridge was a husk. A shell. Nothing more.

But Kione still cares about the husk. And more to the point, a husk has its uses. That imperial handler clearly knew as much. Now Kione’s learning the same lesson. And she will make use of the husk of Sartha Thrace, oh yes. With the right leverage, she’ll be everybody’s hero once more. She’ll be the shining star all those rebel mechanics need to see. And she’ll get Kione and radio girl out of this mess in one piece. Kione will make sure that happens.

Whatever it takes.

“Sartha,” she says into the radio, and the certain knowledge that this will work makes her voice calm and firm. “Off The Leash.”

The sound of growling and slavering is what lets her know that she’s going to be OK. Isn’t that funny? It’s not the dashing, cool, brave Sartha Thrace that saves her.

It’s the faithful, brainwashed, obedient Hound.

She doesn’t need to be told what to do. She’s a good dog. Already, she’s breaking cover and sprinting at the enemy. All Sartha’s hesitation is gone, replaced by a fathomless rage that these prey-things dare to try and hurt Kione. Kione can sense the current of her thoughts. They’re seductive. Kione feels herself pulled into that same feral, violent mindset.

And why fight it? Now that they have Ancyor barreling toward them, the imperial mechs are starting to step back and split their fire. The pressure is receding. In its wake, in the sky, Kione is supreme. Beneath her, the imperials look like ants. Ancyor takes enough pressure off that Kione can take aim with her railgun and turn another one of them into a cored, melting heap.

It’s that Xiphos. Kione starts laughing. New model? It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t they know? Kione has Sartha Thrace in the palm of her hand. She can do anything. She’s a goddess.

All it took was using those three little words.

Why did she waste so much time fighting it?

It feels amazing. The ego trip is unbelievable. Wielding Sartha like the greatest weapon ever forged feels so good. Even the dependency feels good. Kione loves that Sartha needed her to do this. That’s real power. It’s more power than all her merc money ever earned her. Now all she wants to do is ride it out. She wants more.

Is this how the imperial handler who brainwashed Sartha gets to feel all the time? She’s been in Kione’s dreams ever since she saw the recording, in her black leathers and with her sharp, icy gaze. She seemed, even in that brief glimpse, more than human. Perhaps Kione is starting to understand why.

And she yearns to revel in this moment of apotheosis.

“Sartha,” Kione laughs into her radio. “Kill for me.”

Hound whooping with glee and snapping her jaws is all the answer Kione needs.

Split, disorganized fire isn’t even close to enough to put a beast like Ancyor down. Once Hound makes it into melee combat, the fight doesn’t last long. She has all of Sartha’s skill, and Sartha is a legend for a reason. Dorus have basic CQC capabilities, but those do nothing at all to keep them from being ripped apart by Ancyor’s hulking limbs as the hellhound of a mech ducks, weaves and leaps through their fields of fire without taking a scratch. A predatory spider amongst the ants. It’s only moments before their squad cohesion collapses, and after that, it’s just a matter of picking off stragglers. Hound gets most of them. Kione takes out a few, as the mood takes her. Even radio girl manages a couple. She’s still alive, and a better pilot than Kione has been giving her credit for.

And then the imperials are all dead. It’s over.

All it took was letting Sartha off the leash.

The elation of turning defeat into victory washes away the regrets Kione might have had. This is good, she sees. This feels too good to be wrong. It’s saved them, and isn’t that a message? Now Kione is sure. The Sartha Thrace that was cowering uselessly in that ditch doesn’t deserve Kione’s anguished scruples. The Sartha Thrace that was begging for oblivion back in her quarters doesn’t want them, and will never appreciate them. It was all pointless.

Kione gets it now. Sartha Thrace needs a handler.

It’s time for her to step up. Duh.

—

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#story #warhound

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your-icarian-carrion · 1 year ago

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I need to talk about Anything But for a second cuz good lord what a poetic and intelligent song. Once I saw that it was the circle Fraud everything about it fell into place and I’ve been marveling at how smart this song is since.

It starts off incredibly bright. It’s possibly the lightest and brightest song we’ve ever heard from a Hozier song to this point, which is strange because we are many songs deep into a thus far heart-wrenching breakup album. The tone contrast seems jarring, but we’ve had clashing sound/lyrics from him before.

On a casual listen, we hear all the markers of a traditional Hozier love song. (This is smart because this is obviously how fraud works; on the surface everything seems normal, until you start to see cracks later). We see nature symbolism, we see something that could be attributed to devotion and protection (“if I was a riptide I wouldn’t take you out,” “If I was a stampede you wouldn’t get a kick,” “if I had [death’s] job you would live forever”), and the chorus “But I would do anything just to run away,” initially left me thinking he meant to run away with his love. All the classic Hozier lines.

Of course, though, we know this is a breakup album, and it would be strange to have such a happy song placed so deep into it. And once we know that this song is the circle of fraud, the cracks start to show.

The use of negative things like riptides, stampedes, and death is very smart because of course we know that no one would want to get caught by any of these things, so of course we initially think Hozier is protecting his love. But then, the realization; these lines are supposed to mean that even in these natural things that would normally not discern who to attack, Hozier, being these things, would purposefully avoid his love, because he wants nothing to do with them anymore. He would not take his love’s hand if he were death, and although then they would live forever, he would never have to interact with them again. In addition, there really wasn’t any implied addition to “but i would do everything just to run away;” he truly wants to just get away from this person. He doesn’t want to be anything, but this person, for whatever reason, would make him to absolutely everything to get away. He wants to become a riptide, a stampede, death, and wants to do so and purposefully avoid his love.

Though all of this we realize this song isn’t about devotion, like we (or at least I) initially thought, but it’s about letting go.

It’s not that the song is about fraud, it’s that the song, is, in and of itself, fraudulent in it’s presentation.

It’s so smart.

#It’s really one of Hozier’s bitchier songs if you think about it #“Seriously like even if it were my job to lead people to the afterlife i wouldn’t come near you”#Hozier #unreal unearth #hozier unreal unearth #andrew hozier byrne #hozier

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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 months ago

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What Should Be - Part 4 (Batman)

Summary: You have a loving family, a cozy home, a great job - What more could a person ask for? But what do you do when an injured man dressed as a bat shows up in your home in the middle of the night?

Pairing: Batman x Reader (Platonic or Romantic)

Word Count: 1,036

Warnings/Disclaimers: Blood, injuries

Counterpart: Alchemy (Please read first)

Masterlist

You didn’t sleep again, but you weren’t about to let Jesse find out. After you had found the will to stand, you went to bed and laid on your back staring up at the ceiling until dawn broke. You waited for your partner to get up, vaguely wondering why the alarm hadn’t gone off yet.

What day is it?

A cell phone rang on Jesse’s side of the bed. They groaned and answered it. You shut your eyes and pretended to sleep. They kept their voice low to not wake you, but you knew what was being said. It was a Saturday and they were being called into work on some emergency. Well, at least it was less of a chance for them to find you out.

They hung up, rolling over to nudge you. “Hey, babe. Wake up.”

“Mmmm,” you feigned drowsiness.

They huffed amusedly. “I have to go into the office today. Are you okay taking Torri to his friend’s party today?”

You frowned internally. You didn’t remember any party today.

Peeling your eyes open, you breathed, “Yeah… What time, again?”

“One. At Amusement Mile.”

“Heh?” You shot up. “Why there? That’s where—”

Jesse leaned in and pulled you to them into an awkward embrace. “Where, what? That’s where kids have parties and fun? You act like its a criminal hangout.” They laughed when you scrunched your nose. “You’ve got to be joking. Babe, it’s just an amusement park. It’s been around for years. It’ll be great!”

You just nodded. They kissed your temple and left to get ready for work.

Later that day, you got Torrence ready to go and in the car. The drive was fairly quiet, only hearing the road noise and your son playing with a toy in the back seat. He was the one to break the silence.

“Do you think Adrian will like the gift we picked?”

“Of course, she will,” you smiled, glancing into the rear view mirror. “Why wouldn’t she?”

He bounced his heels on the back seat. His bottom lip puckered out in thought. “I mean… She likes Batman… A lot. But she has a lot already.”

“Bat…man?”

Torrence gasped, “You don’t remember Batman?”

He immediately went into describe him, hands going up to show the pointed ears on the cowl, but you couldn’t hear him. Your ears deafened with a loud ringing. You looked up in the rear view mirror and saw him. Batman, still battered, was sitting in the back seat. And he was staring right at you. You turned your body to face him. Nothing was there. Just your son who froze, hands in the air, with a look of terror on his face.

A horn honked angrily. Twisting back, a car going the opposite lane was in your lane. Or rather, you were in theirs. You wrenched the steering wheel to the side, veering away from the car and off the road.

You slinked through the shadows of the warehouses along the wharf. Graffiti littered the building exteriors.You could not afford to be caught by one of the gangs who called this home or what you were hunting.

Maybe you should have told one of the vigilantes you were going to be here or tried to get one to come with you. No. That wouldn’t have worked. They would have never let you leave your apartment if you said anything. They were definitely products of the Bat. You shook your head as you rounded the corner.

There it was. You saw an old ship repair building up ahead. It was the one you had found on one of Gotham’s older maps. Newer ones didn’t include it. The gangs didn’t go near the shabby former business. It was the only one not covered with grotesque spray-painted words and symbols. You made your way inside through a window void of glass.

Much to your dismay, you had to use a flashlight to see anything. The smog was too heavy a filter to let any natural light the moon may have provided. You hoped this didn’t alert your prey. Unsheathing your silver blade in your unoccupied hand, you used it to steady the flashlight beam.

Everything seemed untouched, layers of dirt and sand on the equipment and a constellation of dust in the air. That is… Until you reached the highest floor.

Abandoned boxes of office furniture had been shuffled about. They had left a clear trail across the wooden flooring so desperately in need of sweeping. Rusted gurneys laid strewn about while chains swayed from the ceiling. Your thigh pulsed in time with the chains. It was here. You needed to get to Batman quick. But where was he?

You stuck to the walls, keeping your back against them. A set of double doors settled just down a nearby hall. Your throat constricted. The hairs on your arms stood on end. This was a terrible idea.

Sucking in a deep breath, you began your power walk down the hall. When you reached the doors, you stopped. No ambush… Yet.

You tried to peer through the glass panels, but the grime and dirt only blockaded your flashlight’s beam. You nudged one of the doors. No squeaks from the hinges. Steeling yourself, you slowly pushed the door open, ready for the old metal to whine. It never happened. You slid past the threshold, gently letting the door fall closed.

There he was.

His gadgets and most of his armor had been strewn about the room. For his sake, his cowl remained on him. Batman was chained, beaten, his suit ripped and torn. A butterfly needle was stuck to his leg, blood slowly drifting through the connected tube and into a sealed container. He was left to dangle from ceiling… In the middle of the room. Cold sweat beaded along your forehead.

Bait.

Yes. You were 100% regretting your decision to come alone.

You pressed yourself against the wall and sidling along in hopes of not being caught off guard. Not that it mattered much. A hand shot out from the shadowy corner you were closing in on, latching onto your throat, touching what little bare skin was available. And you fell into darkness.

#batman x reader #batman x you #batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x you #batman #supernatural #batman x supernatural

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spacesapphi · 5 months ago

Text

There's Always Time

WAOW uploading my first Stardew fic, surrounding mostly Marnie this time!

Synopsis: Today's the day Marnie decides she'll get Lewis to go public with their relationship. She's determined to let nothing get her down, but the day seems to have other plans for her. Perhaps a certain adventure can remind her of the good in life

Word count: 8,412

CW for mentions of a previous death and drinking

Story below the cut!

Important note! A few parts of this fic have Pennsylvania Dutch words written in it, so I have a small translation section up here. Keep in mind that I am fairly a beginner at the language and doing my best grammatically given the few resources that exist 🙏

Distelfink- a folk art symbol of a bird that represents happiness and fortune

Aendi - Auntie

“Ach, schlecht exempel” - Ugh, bad example

Schatz- treasure/dear, used often by parents towards their kids

“lieb dehr beed” - love you both

Gottverdam - damn it!

zwieschpalt- troublemaker

onto the fic!

Mondays were supposed to be a calm day off for Marnie, a day where she had time to herself, things to look forward to besides her normal chores. Jas would be at school, Shane at work, and she would be able to bask in the peace and quiet. Usually she’d take time to work on her quilting, or go chat with the women in town at Pierre’s, pretending to shop as they gossipped. This Monday was special, however. She had a date with Lewis tonight, and she had a very important question for him.

It seemed every person and creature in this household had other ideas for this particular morning, however. She had been woken up at 7 am to the sound of a disagreement brewing in the kitchen, a sour start to her morning.

“Jas you need to put your shoes on, now.”

“But I wanna go say hi to the cows before we go! Pleaaaaaase!”

“We’re already about to be late for school and work, kiddo, we don’t have time.”

“I always say hi, they're going to be sad if I don't!”

“And I'm going to be sad if I get fired, let's go.”

“PLEASE.”

“No.”

Her nephew’s exasperated voice permeated through the door. This scene wasn’t too uncommon for their household. Jas liked an exact routine for each morning; get dressed, eat, say hi to the animals, then leave for school. She wanted it to be exact and punctual each day, but there were many days that threw a wrench in the schedule. Now that it was thrown off, the young girl immediately was put in a mood, and that was putting Shane in a mood as well.

“Yoba I’m too hungover for this” he thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a deep sigh, “Look, Jas, if I bring home a treat for you today, will you get your shoes on?”

The young girl thought for a moment before nodding, running off to her room to grab her little mary jane shoes. Shane gave a small sigh of relief, not having the energy or willpower to battle with her any longer.

“Ach, schlecht exempel… You shouldn’t give in like that.” Marnie scolded, walking to stand next to him, “It’ll spoil her.”

“You win some, you lose some, and I’m already losing the battle with my patience.” her nephew groaned, “I’m willing to get her a snack if it means she gets to school on time, and I get to work on time.”

Marnie opened her mouth to speak, a lecture already brewing up in her head, but she stopped herself. He was in no mood to receive advice from her, especially parenting advice, and she didn’t need more bickering this early.

“Okay, okay…” she pursed her lips for just a moment, “You remembered to fix the cabinet by the way, right? I wanted to get it decorated today.”

“Yeah, yeah I think I did,” he shrugged.

"You think you did, or you did do it?" Marnie raised a brow.

Shane thought long and hard. The last few days were a blur, but he believed he had a memory of doing it. After a few seconds he nodded, "Yeah... I did, don't worry," he gave her a brief smile, keeping a hand on his throbbing forehead. He was beginning to regret the previous night.

“Are you hungover again?” Marnie asked exasperatedly, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, schatz.”

“I don’t want to talk about this again, please?” he grumbled defensively.

“This is the third day in a row, I’m wor-”

“Please stop.” Shane looked at her with an expression halfway between embarrassment and annoyance. He knew he had a problem and Marnie was only looking out for him, but it didn’t make him feel any less shitty about it, “Sorry.. I’m sorry.”

His aunt nodded slowly in acknowledgement, looking fairly frustrated herself, “Listen, I’m going to be heading out as soon as you get home, so you need to be here with Jas,” she changed the subject.

Shane raised a brow, “Where are you going?”

“If you must know, I’m meeting a special someone for a date,” a tint of blush appeared on her cheeks.

“Aendi I know it’s Lewis.”

Marnie’s face went white, “Is it that obvious?”

Shane winced uncomfortably, giving her a slow nod. Marnie and Lewis' relationship had to be the worst kept secret in town. The pair pretended like no one knew, but nearly everyone was acutely aware of the couple. It was almost a game amongst some of the townsfolk betting on when they would finally crack and admit it.

“I'm ready to go now...”, Jas stepped back into the room, fully ready for the day. A pout sat on her face, the girl still obviously very upset about the change in routine. Shane looked at his watch, huffing in annoyance, “Ohhhh Morris is gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“Language.” Marnie warned, lightly hitting his arm.

Shane huffed and motioned to the door exaggeratedly, “Alright kiddo, we gotta run let’s go.”

“Remember, come straight home after work!,” Marnie called out, “No saloon.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Shane mumbled, feeling just a bit offended, “I can go a night without being there, you know,”

“Just a reminder,” she said, “I’ll see you two soon, lieb dehr beed!”

The pair gave her a wave as they ran off, racing against the clock to get where they needed to be. Finally, Marnie had the house all to herself. No disagreements, no problems, just her and the ranch. There were chores to do of course, such was life, but she didn’t mind them all that much. Nothing was going to keep her down, because tonight would be the night her life was going to change, and for the better this time. Tonight, she was going to tell Lewis they were going public about their relationship.

She smiled at herself in the vanity mirror in the foyer, fixing her hair into her signature braid. She felt confident, she felt good! After tonight she wouldn’t be Lewis’ little secret. She was going to be able to hold his hand in the town square, waltz with him at the Flower Dance, openly go on dates at the saloon. Just the thought of it made her heart soar. Nothing could ruin her mood.

That was, until she stepped into the kitchen. It was a complete disaster. Remnants of Shane’s 2 am freezer raid and mess from the breakfast he made for Jas littered just about every counter and surface. Cans next to the recycling bin, a frozen pizza box haphazardly teetering on top of the microwave, dishes stacked on the stove, table and counters. From being in such a rush he had neglected cleaning the scene, leaving it to Marnie instead.

“He’s doing his best… he’s trying… I have to give him that.” she thought to herself, holding her head in her hands. She waited for the tight feeling in her chest to dissipate before taking a deep breath to ground herself. It was just a little bump in the road, an obstacle she could easily tackle.

“Nothing is going to get you down. You got this, Marnie,” she reminded herself. She just thought of Lewis, of their rendezvous tonight, and she felt just a bit lighter.

It didn’t take too long to clean up, she thanked Yoba for that. Didn’t make it any less frustrating, but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind for now. There was no time for her to feel bad, she couldn't allow herself. As long as she had been running the ranch, she had been seen as a beacon of positivity in town. It was a hefty title to carry, a draining one even, but if she just kept smiling, life would go by just fine.

She didn’t want to ruin the kitchen she had just so perfectly cleaned, so she just threw a frozen breakfast sandwich in the microwave, leaning against the counter as she waited for the timer to go down. Looking to the old clock on the wall, she tsked seeing the time. It was already half past 8, the morning flying by in the blink of an eye. She had so much she wanted to do before meeting with Lewis tonight, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the time for it all. Cleaning the coop, working on her quilt, and decorating that curio cabinet in the foyer. Only three tasks, but time consuming ones. She removed the sandwich from the microwave, blowing on it before tearing into it as she arranged the schedule in her mind. The coop would likely take the longest, and it was a priority. Best to get it done early before it got too warm.

The coop was loud and lively, the hens strutting around impatiently as they waited for Marnie to open the little hatch that led them out to their field. Donning her work gloves and boots, the woman waded her way carefully through the flock and unlatched the hatch, watching amusedly as the chickens ran on out to bask in the yard. It never got old, seeing them get so excited like that. She grabbed the pitchfork from its hook on the wall and gripped it tight. Time to get this done with.

As she scraped up the old straw from the ground, Marnie let her mind wander, imagining the evening ahead of her in great detail. She could practically feel it, sitting with Lewis at his table alone in the candlelight as they talked about their future. Marnie would suggest they finally tell the whole world about their love for each other, abandoning all worries. They could get married, have a beautiful ceremony in the middle of town for everyone to see. She had her mothers wedding dress somewhere stuffed in a hope chest, a beautiful gown any woman would feel like a princess in on her special day. She could feel her heart swell with childlike glee as she thought on it more. Today was the day, and she couldn’t be more excited.

A shrill squawking from the yard broke her from her frilly daydream, one that she knew meant trouble. Throwing down her pitchfork she shuffled her way through the hatch door, catching a view of one of the hens squeezing through a gap in the chicken wire, running off into the forest with reckless abandon.

“Mathilde! Come back here!” she called out, “Gottverdam!” she vaulted herself over the fence, immediately regretting the decision as she felt her body ache. She wasn’t young enough to be able to pull stunts like that anymore.

The little brown hen was much faster than her, darting in and out of trees as Marnie chased after her. The tricky thing was an escape artist, and she had no idea what danger waited out there for her. Wolves, coyotes, bears, all creatures who wouldn’t think twice about eating her up. Marnie didn’t want to run into them either, knowing full well she couldn't fend them off. Why did everything have to be so difficult today? Was it some bad luck day where “the spirits were displeased” as the farmer always put it? Whatever, that wasn’t important. What was important was finding Mathilde before something else did.

She could hear the hens soft clucks, but had no idea where they were coming from. The forest tended to have an echo to it that made noises carry. She tsked and called out for her once again, hoping Mathilde would run to the sound of her voice. Suddenly, the clucks turned into panicked squawks, sending a shiver down Marnie’s spine. She could finally tell where the noise was coming from, just a few feet away over in the clearing beyond the brush. She picked up a hefty stick, prepared to fight whatever creature had gotten to her poor little hen. Running towards the source of the sound, she held the stick over her head, preparing to lunge.

From behind the brush, a man stepped out, holding the hen in his arms. His face contorted in terror as he saw Marnie lunge towards him, dodging out of the way before he got lobbed in the head with the stick. The rancher yelped, stumbling back as soon she registered that he wasn't a wild animal.

“I’m so sorry! I thought you were an animal.” she apologized profusely. She dropped the stick, taking a good look at him. Shaggy gray hair hung in front of his wrinkled face, a patch over his left eye. A bulky cape hung from his shoulders, shrouding his frame in mystery, the silvery glint of a sword sitting at his waist. Her eyes widened as she recognized him.

“Marlon! Oh I’m so sorry!”

The man chuckled, “It’s quite alright, ma’am.” he held out his arms, Mathilde resting in his hands, “I take it this one is yours?”

“Yes! Thank you so much, really,” she took the chicken in her arms, scolding her like a child, “You zwieschpalt, don’t do that to me! What if this nice man hadn’t found you?”

The chicken just stared at her with blank eyes, obviously not understanding the danger of her escapade. All she knew was she wanted to run around and play, and there was a whole forest in front of her! Marnie held her close to her chest and smiled, looking up at the mysterious man, “What brings you down to the forest today? I don’t see you near town unless we’re having a festival.”

“The new farmer reported seeing some creatures around here, monsters from the damned mines who got bold and decided to take a chance out of the caverns.” Marlon sighed, “No matter how many times we slay them they just keep coming back.”

Marnie raised a brow, “I haven’t seen any monsters,”

Marlon put a hand on his sword's hilt, a small smile on his face, “Then I’ve done my job well… I must be going now lass, but it was good to see you again.”

“Oh…” Marnie frowned in disappointment, “I’ll see you at the fair next week though, right? I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been working on!”

“Aye, you will. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Marlon gave her a short salute, “Take care, Ms.Yoder.”

The man walked off, his mysterious aura still captivating the rancher. She held Mathilde closer and whispered, “He’s handsome, don't you think?.... Don’t tell Lewis,” the hen bawked in response, getting a small smile from her owner, “Let’s get you home.”

Walking briskly back to the ranch, she was thankful that seemingly none of the other hens had squeezed their way through that little gap. Hauling herself over the fence, Marnie placed the hen back down in the pen, watching her run off to her little flock of friends, squawking away as if she was telling them all about her escapade. The rancher reached into her pocket, pulling out a fabric scrap and looping it through the chicken wire, tightening the part that split. It was a temporary hold for sure, but hopefully would ward off the hens from getting bold again until she had the material to properly fix it. If Marlon was right about monsters coming down to the forest, she didn’t want to have to go run after one of them again.

Going back to finish cleaning the coop took quite a bit of time, but Marnie was proud of her work. The enclosure smelled fresh and clean, fresh soft straw laid down on the ground for the hens to roost in. She herself wasn’t exactly the cleanest after finishing though. Sweat from the heat clung to her skin, stray pieces of straw sticking to her hair and clothes. She checked the little watch on her wrist, 1:00pm. She had just enough time to get ready and work on the curio cabinet before her date with Lewis. She hated pushing off the quilt work again, just itching to pick up sewing again, but it would just have to wait for now. Such was life.

But oh, how fun it was getting ready. Marnie felt just like those princesses in those movies Jas loved to watch, dancing around as she donned her favorite dress, mind full of thoughts of her “one true love”. She decided on a nice, purple gown for tonight, sewn in a similar cut to her everyday wear, but much more lavish. The fabric was soft and high-end, detailed embroidery along the bodice and skirt's hem. A silk shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, pinned in place with a brooch she’d gotten from her mother. A little distelfink was painted on the front of its opaline surface, a prized possession she hoped would bring her luck and new beginnings this evening. In the spirit of doing something new, she decided to keep her hair down, finding she loved how it framed her round face. Hopefully Lewis loved it too.

She felt beautiful, like a new woman. The stressors of today were the last thing on her mind, and oh how glad she was for that. A life that was simple meant that many days she had nothing more to do than stew on what had happened. Maybe that all would change too. With being in the public eye, maybe she could have more say in town, have more to do, places to go. She loved her family and her ranch, but she wanted, needed, more. And Lewis would provide that for her, she knew he would.

It was 5:30 now. Marnie had time for just one more thing before she had to get going. She looked to the little hope chest that sat at the foot of her bed and grabbed a heavy box from the bottom, full of old trinkets and heirlooms. Little porcelain statuettes, vases, and even some jewelry. But the most important piece of all was the music box that lay at the bottom. Marnie gently grasped it, removing the cloth the protected its fragile form and taking a good look at it for the first time in years. Upon a pedestal with a turnkey stood a glass statue of a dancer dressed as if she were at a ball, arms held out wide in a pose of triumph. The name “Mona'' was inscribed in gold lettering at her feet, a name that made Marnie’s heart ache.

It had been 27 years since she had passed now. She still missed her sister dearly, and cherished every last bit of her memory that remained; family photos, Shane, and this music box. Putting it out on display had been an idea for some time now, but only recently did she have the heart to pull it from storage. It was difficult seeing reminders of her even after so long, but it was time to confront this feeling again. The birthday they shared was coming up, and it would be nice to have something of hers in the main room. It would be the center of attention, the centerpiece on the middle shelf that caught everyone's eye. Ever so carefully, she placed it on the shelf, hearing the soft clink of porcelain against the wood. Removing her hands, she stood back to take a look at it, a small smile on her face. The cabinet was beautiful, fitting in perfectly with the decor of the foyer. It made the counter area look homier too. This is exactly what she needed to finish off the day.

But then, the shelf slipped. The support hadn't been placed as promised, causing the wood to crack under the weight of the heirloom. Without time to react, the antique slipped and crashed onto the floor, shattering on impact. It took her a moment to process, a sick feeling in her stomach when she saw the dancer in pieces, an echo of the music box components ringing out discordantly. All she could do was stare, hands shaking as a silent rage built up inside of her. The frustration that was pent up in the back of her mind burst from its confines, making her dizzy with anger. Why couldn’t one thing go right today? Why couldn’t she just have a simple, peaceful morning, why couldn’t she trust her nephew to fix something so simple? She knew it wasn’t out of malice, rather forgetfulness, but somehow that made her feel worse.

The rage was quickly joined by a heavy weight of sadness, pulling Marnie to her knees as she looked at the scene in front of her. Shaking hands picked up the shattered porcelain pieces in front of her, careful to not cut herself on the sharp edges. She wanted to cry, to scream, but she couldn't. Something in her mind stopped her, as much as her heart begged her to. Scooping the broken pieces into her arms, holding it close to her heart, she stood and placed them on her shop counter. She felt sick to her stomach.

The front door swung open, the sounds of laughter flooding through the front doorway. Shane walked in, looking much better than this morning, with Jas sitting on his shoulders. She held the previously promised treat in her hand, a little pastry that her godfather had “borrowed” from the backroom at work. She was chattering away about some new book Penny had her reading at lessons, and Shane contentedly listening to her rambles. He lifted her off his shoulders, placing her gingerly on the ground, “Alright chickadee, why don’t you go say hi to the cows now? I’m sure they missed you today.”

Jas nodded excitedly, running off towards the kitchen door that led to the animal housing. Her giggles echoed out as she closed the door, her ever-so-loud voice still audible through the walls as she greeted the animals. Shane smirked and shook his head, turning to his aunt. He held up a little takeout bag with the saloon logo, “Hey Marn, I got dinner handled for me n’ Jas tonight. If you need to go now we’re fine.”

“I thought you said you fixed this.”

Marnie didn’t so much as turn to face him, her voice uncharacteristically ice cold. It sent a shiver down her nephew's spine, his smile dropping into a concerned expression, knowing he screwed up, just not how. He looked over to where Marnie was facing, seeing the collapsed shelf of the curio cabinet and tiny glass shards on the floor. Oh shit. He thought he had fixed that already, he truly did.

“Aunt Marnie I’m so-”

Marnie held up a hand, cutting him off, “I don’t want to hear it.” she turned to face the doorway, still refusing to look him in the eye, “I’ll be home late tonight. Leave the door unlocked for me.”

She stepped out without another word, refusing to look him in the eye. Shane was left alone in the foyer with a heavy guilt sitting in his stomach. With Marnie gone he could see the mess on the counter, approaching it to see what had broken. The first thing he saw was his mother's name. The guilt sat heavier, a sick feeling accompanying it. He didn’t know her for all that long, Mona had died when he was barely old enough to remember her, but he knew how much she meant to his aunt. And now, another act of his forgetfulness had destroyed something of hers. He felt like shit, and he knew Marnie deserved to be angry with him. Hell, he was angry with himself. What a mess he was making of things. He thought back on the entire day, cringing as he realized just how badly he had messed up. His attitude this morning, the mess in the kitchen, and now this. He had to make it up to her, he just had to.

Jas stepped back inside, not initially noticing the mess, “I’m back! I told Bertie aaaaall about today, she’s such a good listener!”

“Watch out for the glass!” he warned, pulling her away from the cabinet. Damn, he needed to sweep that up.

“What happened?” she asked, confused at the sight before her.

Shane peeked into the kitchen, grabbing the broom and dustpan off the hook on the wall, “I made a mistake, but I’m gonna make it up to Aunt Marnie. Wanna help?”

“Yeah!”

—------

“You’re going to have a good night… Don’t let this steal your joy.” Marnie whispered a little affirmation to herself as she approached the steps to Lewis’ home. It did little to ease her heart, but she needed to stay positive, at least appear positive. That’s what Lewis loved so much about her anyways, her ability to always be such a sunbeam even in the hardest of times.

The front door swung open with a creak, the mayor she loved standing in the doorway. Lewis was dressed in his favorite attire, brown suspenders and a deep green dress shirt, but Marnie thought it looked lovely. The mayor looked to the left and right, as if to check that no-one was watching. Once he saw that the coast was clear, he pulled her inside, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“How are you doing, dear?” he whispered, kissing her cheek softly. Marnie smiled, letting out a small laugh as she leaned into the crook of his neck, “Better now that I’m with you.”

Lewis grinned, eyes crinkling up in the corners, “That’s good to hear…” he motioned to his dining room table, now decorated with candles and a lace tablecloth, “Why don’t you sit, I made your favorite tonight.”

All the anger and frustration was quickly returned to the back of Marnie’s mind. None of it mattered now that she was in Lewis’ arms. For now, there were no troubles here. Lewis indeed made her favorite, a hearty farmers lunch. It was a simple dish, but one that had many good memories attached to it. Just the smell transported her back to a simpler time, a time when everything was right in the world.

The couple made small talk, speaking about the town, all the hot gossip that had been spreading around. Pelican Town looked like a sleepy little village from the outside, but one would never guess how much drama was unfolding behind closed doors. Everyone had something going on, and with such a tight knit community that meant everyone knew about everything. The conversation switched to Lewis’ day. Not much interesting going on with him, he was afraid. He gardened, took a walk around town, and spoke with the new farmer in the town square about a secret little quest he had asked help with, but that was about it.

“ Nothing wrong with a simple day!” Marnie mused, taking a sip of her drink, “Sounds peaceful.”

“I guess it was,” Lewis chuckled, “How about you? What has my angel been doing today?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Cleaning, tending to the animals, decorating. Wasn’t much more exciting than your day, unfortunately.” the voice in the back of her head gnawed at her, begging her to be open about what had truly been going on. Against her better judgment, she listened, “Actually, maybe that’s not entirely true.”

“Hmm?”

“I… had a hard day actually.” she mumbled, “There was a spat this morning, one of the chickens got out, and-”

Lewis put up a hand, cutting her off, “Don’t you worry about all of that dear, just focus on the positives.”

“But-”

“Marnie, dear,” Lewis put a hand on hers, “It doesn’t help to dwell on the negative. We’re here now, we’re having a good time. Let’s look to the future.”

Marnie pursed her lips, pulling her hand away slightly. Lewis was never someone who enjoyed talking about serious things, and she understood, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Maybe he was right though, maybe she needed to focus towards the future.

“Well….” she began, folding her hands neatly, “I’ve been thinking recently.”

Lewis raised a brow, “About what?”

“About us.”

“What about us?”

Marnie sighed, taking a deep breath. Here goes nothing, “I want to make our relationship public!”

She looked to her lover with a hopeful smile, scanning his face to see what he was thinking. Lewis didn’t look impressed with the idea, quite the opposite really. He sighed and put a hand to his head, “Marnie…. No.”

“What do you mean no?” Marnie felt her voice grow defensive, a tightness in her chest, “Lewis we’ve been dating for 3 years now and you refuse to tell anyone!”

“You know I can’t!” Lewis scoffed, “I have a reputation to uphold in this town, an image to maintain. What would people say if they knew about us?”

The sentence stuck a dagger in Marnie’s chest, the heartbreak obvious on her face. Lewis stammered, holding up a hand, “Wh-what I mean is-”

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Marnie warbled, feeling tears form in her eyes.

“Marnie, please-”

“NO, Lewis.” the woman stood up, lunging across the table to get closer to his face, “Why would telling people about us hurt your reputation? Why would I ruin your image?!”

The mayor tripped over his words, trying to find a way to say what he wanted without getting her angrier, “I just meant that people may look at me differently if I tell them about us! You understand, don’t you? The mayor of Pelican Town with a rancher? What would people say?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’ll say they’re happy for us? Maybe our friends will celebrate?” Marnie snapped, “Are you embarrassed about my job? I make a good and honest living, Lewis. I’ve carried my family’s farm on my back alone for decades!”

“And I’ve carried this entire town on mine!” he snapped back.

“Please, I know all about what you actually do: Nothing!” Marnie hissed, “Ever since you became mayor this town has gotten worse! The community center is gone, Joja is ruining the small businesses, the bus is still broken! The only reason anything gets done around here is because the new farmer is pitching in! That’s your job Lewis, not hers!”

Lewis stood from his seat, slamming the chair angrily into place, “How dare you. After all I’ve done for you and your family... If it weren’t for me inviting Joja to this town, your layabout of a nephew would be jobless and still in debt!”

“You don’t get to talk about him like that!” Marnie barked. As much as she got frustrated with Shane, she never tolerated anyone speaking ill of him, even Lewis, “I don’t want to ever hear you talk about my family that way again.”

Lewis threw his arms up in exasperation, “Where is this coming from?! You’ve never acted like this, this isn’t you.”

“Well maybe it is! You never let me talk about these things! I’m so tired of acting happy all the time, Lewis…” she paused to catch her breath, holding her head in her hands, “I’m tired of all of this. You get so upset with me when I try to talk about my problems. “Just focus on the positives!” , well maybe I don’t want to! Maybe I’m sad, an-and I need help, because I don’t know what to do anymore!”

She finally broke out into sobs, letting the sadness take over for the first time, “I’m the only one keeping my family together, Lew. If I were gone tomorrow, everything would fall apart. I can’t keep being the only person who has it together and I’m so tired of doing it by myself.”

“You aren’t doing it by yourself, you have me.”

“Do I?” Marnie snapped.

There was a tense silence for a moment, Lewis just staring at her with such shock. Marnie had never cried in front of him before, never spoken against him. He didn’t even know what to say. All Marnie wanted was for him to comfort her, for him to take her in his arms, to tell her he was there for her. She needed someone to finally let her be free.

“I’m sorry you feel like I’m such a terrible person.” Lewis’ voice dripped with contempt, “I’m trying Marnie, but you can’t just throw all of this onto me with no warning. That's not fair.”

Marnie looked up, staring at him with puffy, tear filled eyes. Did she just hear him correctly? Her face contorted to one of anger, arms falling to her side, hands balling into fists. How could he say that to her, like she was the one who was the problem. Lewis approached her, holding his arms out like he was ready for an embrace.

“But it will be okay, Marnie. I love you, I want to be with you.” he hugged her, but Marnie wouldn’t return it. She stood still as a statue in his arms, rage undeniable.

“I forgive you too, Marnie. Why don't we just try to talk about something nice, hmm?”

The rancher pushed Lewis away, staring at him in disbelief. She didn’t have the words to describe how betrayed she felt right now. Lewis had the audacity to look confused, as if he had no clue why she’d be so upset with him.

“I… I need to go.” she choked out, shaking her head slowly. Lewis groaned, “Marnie stop, we can still have a good night.”

“No.” she hissed, putting a hand on the front door handle, “I’m leaving.”

“Marnie!”

“What?!”

“Go through the kitchen window. I don’t want someone to see you and get ideas.”

Marnie opened the door, giving him one last look, one full of anger and exhaustion, “Goodbye, Lewis.”

She couldn’t be at the mayor's manor, she couldn’t be home, and she wouldn’t be able to handle the saloon. Marnie felt like she didn’t belong anywhere right now, and maybe she didn’t. She felt free, finally letting her feelings be known, but that freedom had a price, and that price was finding out how alone she really was. Lewis’ words and reaction stuck with her, infecting her mind and making it spin. She didn’t know who to trust anymore, the person she thought she could trust with her life completely broke her heart. Was she really that shameful? What was so wrong with her that she’d ruin his reputation? She stormed off into the mountains, the brisk autumn evening breeze frigid against her cheeks. She was thankful that she dressed warm.

The mountain lake was always beautiful at night. The valley didn’t have the light pollution of the city, meaning stars were visible as far as the eye could see, reflecting onto the water’s surface. Sitting under the oak by the lake’s edge on her own, she curled her knees close to her chest, letting herself cry once more. It was a quiet, mournful sob, a heart-wrenching symphony of every horrible thing that had piled up since Yoba knew how long. Marnie had tricked herself into believing she was happy for so long, using every distraction she could to block herself from seeing how terrible things were. They didn’t work anymore though.

“Fancy seeing you again.”

Marnie snapped her head up to see the source of the voice, finding herself once again staring face to face with the leader of the elusive Adventurers Guild. She wiped her tears, and sniffled, “Marlon? I’m sorry, I hope I’m not causing any trouble.”

The man sat next to her, shaking his head, “On the contrary. I don’t mind your company.” he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, holding it towards her, “Though, if you’re not in the mood for it, I can leave.”

Marnie scoffed, a bitter smile on her face, “Thanks. Not many people seem to care what I want around here.” she took the handkerchief, dabbing at the corners of her eyes, “It’s been… a terrible day.”

“Would… you like to talk about it?” Marlon asked awkwardly, “I know we’re not awfully close, but I’ve never been one to turn down a story.”

“Well..,” Marnie started, “My family is a mess, one of the chickens escaped, I broke an heirloom… and….” she buried her head in her knees, “And the man I thought I loved doesn’t love me...”

She began to cry again, not even caring that Marlon was watching. The adventurer sat quietly, nervously putting a hand on her shoulder as a quiet signal to let her know he was listening. The rancher sniffled and looked to him, “You must think I’m a baby for being this upset over it. There’s people dying in combat right now and here I am crying about this.”

“You’re not a baby.” Marlon affirmed, his voice gentle and genuine, “You wouldn’t say that about anyone else in your shoes, would you not?”

“Well… no.”

“Then why are you so hard on yourself?”

“Because I’m supposed to be the one who has everything together!” Marnie growled out, “Everyone always looks to me as someone to lean on. Lewis, Shane, Jas, everyone, they need me. I can’t sit here crying like this over one bad day. I have to be there for them.”

“But then who’s there for you?” Marlon questioned. It seemed to throw Marnie off, her expression just a bit surprised.

“No one, I suppose.” she mumbled, “I guess that’s a sacrifice I’ve accepted. It’s life, you know?”

“No, I don’t. You can’t just be out there on your own, lass. You need someone who cares for what you need and want.”

“I don’t even think I know what I want anymore... I don't want this but what can I do? My life’s already set out for me; not like I can change it.” Marnie mumbled.

“It’s never too late to make a change, to be happy.” Marlon stated, “There’s always time,”

The rancher laughed softly, “You think so?” Marlon nodded in response.

Looking up to the sky, Marines eyes softened, “Well... I always wanted to be an artist. I went to school for it actually, textile arts.”

“Is that so?” Marlon smiled, leaning back against the tree behind them, “You’re such a natural with animals, I didn’t take you for that type.”

“Ranching is nice, but it was never my dream. Trust me, I love the animals, but that was more my sister’s passion.” Marnie’s face grew solemn, “When… our parents passed, she took over the ranch so I could pursue my dream. I was doing so well, I had a good job in the city already lined up for once I was out.” she took a deep breath, “Mona died the year I graduated, left the business and Shane behind. We don’t really have anyone else, so I had to turn down the job and come home.”

She turned to face Marlon, surprised to see his normally solemn face full of pity. Shaking her head, she turned away, feeling almost embarrassed, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m sorry. Mona’s just been on my mind recently and Lewis doesn’t like when I talk about it.”

“Lewis? Is that the man you were talking about earlier?” Marlon felt an odd twinge of jealousy in him, “I never thought you two were… on those terms.”

“Well not anymore!.... Maybe… I don’t know,” Marnie scoffed angrily, “Apparently dating a rancher would look bad on someone so important as our mayor. He tried making me climb out of his window because he was too embarrassed to have me seen leaving.”

“Why do you put up with this?”

“Well why do you ask so many questions?”

“I… don’t know.”

“I guess I don’t know either.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, neither certain how to continue the conversation. Marlon had gone from knowing little about Marnie to knowing what she had barely discussed with her own lover within a night. He never knew there was so much to her, their conversations at festivals never piercing past the surface of small talk. But now, all he wanted was to be closer to her.

“I think you should try pursuing your dream. again” he finally said, staring off towards the lake, “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Marnie shook her head, “Oh, I couldn’t leave the animals behind, or the business. It’s been in my family so long… And my nephew, bless his soul, he’s not ready for that responsibility. He won't admit it, but I see how his eyes light up when he does work around the ranch... Still, I know he’d have a hard time on his own. I’d be selfish to leave.”

“Then teach him how to do it and follow your own dream. Don’t you think you deserve to be a little selfish? Even once?”

Marnie chuckled, shaking her head, “It’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?”

“No… Better to follow your dreams late than to let them die.” he let out a laugh, “Hell, Gil and I didn’t even start adventuring until we started going gray ourselves. As long as you’re still in this world, you have time.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Marnie questioned. It was almost suspicious how kind he was being. She wasn’t used to this, “What do you get out of this?”

“Nothing. I just want to be nice to you.”

A strange feeling came over her, almost a feeling of... love? It was true, she didn’t know Marlon that well. Besides the short conversations they had every once in a while, he was a mystery to her. But he was kind to her without any expectations in return, and he spoke to her like she was a person. He didn’t shy away when she showed emotion or encourage her to ‘just be happy��. It was nice. He was a good man, a kind man. With him, she felt seen in a way she never did with Lewis.

Slowly, she leaned her head against his shoulder, the poor man feeling his heart beat out of his chest. He had always loved Marnie from afar, but never spoke more than a few words to her before tonight. And now, she was confiding in him as if they had been close friends all their lives, sitting with him while they looked at the stars. He felt like the luckiest man in Pelican Town. They basked in the comfortable silence between them, Marlon slowly sliding his hand along the ground to reach Marnie’s. Feeling his touch, she moved to meet him as well, interlocking their fingers. It was just them, the lake, and the stars. No one else existed to them in the moment, and for once today, Marnie was truly at peace.

“You look beautiful tonight, you know,” Marlon finally admitted. Marnie lifted her head from his shoulder, looking at him with surprise. A tint of blush crept up the guildmaster’s face,” You always do...”

“Marlon…”

“Please, let me finish.” Marlon clasped her hand between his, squeezing gently as he looked at her with longing, “Marnie… I don’t care for many of the festivals in this town, but I always go for a chance just to see you. I make up reasons to go into town, since there’s a chance I may be able to say hello. You are the most beautiful woman in this town, this world, and anyone would be so lucky to have you in their life.”

He paused, waiting for a moment to see her reaction. He half expected her to run off, finding his confession offputting. But she didn’t. She just stared at him, the same longing in her eyes, silently begging him to continue.

“You deserve to have someone that looks out for you. I want to be that someone and I’ve wanted it for so long... I need you to know that. I apologize if it’s made you uncomfortable.”

“...Quite the opposite, really,” Marnie whispered, leaning in closer, “I think I’d like to know you better, Marlon.”

“As do I,”

Closing their eyes, they moved forward, lips gently pressing against each other. Marnie felt something now she had never felt with Lewis, a feeling she couldn’t exactly place. There was always the thrill of secrecy with the mayor, the feeling of the forbidden that made the adrenaline flow when they kissed. But Marlon made her feel safe. Being with him in this moment was soothing, warm. Her heart was racing, but for entirely different reasons now, good reasons.

The pair pulled back, unable to look each other in the eye from how flustered they had gotten. Marnie toyed with her hair, rubbing strands between her fingers nervously, “Can I see you again tomorrow?”

Marlon cupped a hand to her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek, “You are always welcome at the guild… Stop by at 7 tomorrow night.”

“It’s a date,” Marnie smiled. She stood up, brushing stray grass and leaves from her skirt, “I have a long walk home, I should get going.”

“I can come with you,” Marlon offered, “The mountains get dangerous at night, all sorts of creatures crawling out of the mines looking for a poor soul to follow.”

Marnie gave him a playful jab in the side, “Oh stop it, you’re not scaring me… a walk home does sound nice, though.”

Marlon smiled, holding out a bent arm for her to hold onto, leading her down the mountain. The feeling of the unknown that had been around them for so long was gone. They knew each other for such little time, but Marnie felt like she could tell him anything, as did Marlon. He told her all about his escapades in the mines, the monsters he faced and wild tall tales of his brushes with death down in those depths. She wasn’t sure how much of it was true or a legend, but she was entirely enthralled. The cadence of his storytelling voice, the excitement with which he spoke, it made her feel alive in a way that she never felt alive before. She’d grown so used to the same old stories; weeding the garden, standing in town square, visiting the local businesses. There was nothing wrong with a simple life, but this is what she wanted, no, needed more than anything. She needed someone who could excite and surprise her, and someone who listened.

It was near midnight by the time they reached the ranch. The moon was at its peak over the mountaintops, soft sounds of crickets chirping in the bushes. The lamp next to the door was lit, the soft yellow glow encircling the pair in angelic light as they said their goodbyes.

“I’m glad you found me again.” Marnie mused, taking his hands in hers, “Thank you, for everything.”

“Anything for you,” he responded, giving her hand a gentle kiss, “Have a goodnight, Marnie.”

The two parted ways, Marnie stepping softly through the door of her home, shutting it softly as to not wake Jas. The overhead lights in the foyer were on, buzzing softly. It initially frustrated her. Shane always forgot to turn them off before going to sleep, making for an expensive electric bill, and she wasn’t exactly made of money. But something caught her eye. The curio cabinet was polished and cleaned to near perfection, as was the once dusty floor. The glass shards that she had left behind were nowhere to be seen, only her own shiny reflection.

But most importantly was what was inside the cabinet. The middle shelf had been properly fixed, a support anchor screwed in beneath it. On top was Mona’s music box, glued together the best it could be. There were little gaps here and there, chips on the paint, but it was whole again. She gently picked it up, rubbing her thumb over the name on the pedestal. A little piece of paper, a note, sat next to it. Scrawly letters in Shane’s handwriting were scribbled on the front in pencil. She picked it up, squinting to read :

“I’m sorry about the mess I caused. It’s not fair to you. You’ve done a lot for me and Jas and I wanted to show I actually appreciate it. It’s not perfect, but we tried to get it fixed up.

I know I screwed up today. I’ve screwed up a lot recently. But I want to be better for you and Jas, and I hope you can forgive me for everything.

-Shane”

Marnie looked to the direction of her nephew's room, smiling softly. It was gestures like these that reminded her of just how sweet he was. Shane wasn’t all that different from her really, and she understood just how easy it was to fall into the habits and behaviors he had picked up. She tried to be patient, give him the time and support he needed, the same that she needed when she was in his place 27 years ago. It was taking time to get back to normal, or something close to it, but these moments made her feel like things could be okay again.

Marnie gently placed the note on her shop counter, making her way into her bedroom with a small smile on her face. She turned on her nightstand lamp, sitting down on the old bed that sat flush against the wall. She pulled Marlon’s handkerchief from her pocket, rubbing a thumb over the fabric. It was a simple little square with basic stitching around the edges, the fabric a faded robins-egg blue. It meant everything to her. The initially unassuming rag was a symbol of a great change in her life, a change she never saw coming.

The adventurer had given her a new lease on life, hope that despite her situation, she could still continue to do more. Marnie could be more than just the little rancher in Cindersap forest, more than what was expected of her in this life. Lewis never made her feel this way, and she was beginning to wonder what she ever saw in that man to begin with. Perhaps it was out of desperation, out of a desire for anyone to even look her way and consider her desirable, no matter how they treated her. The bar was pitifully low, but Marlon had raised it to the stars in just one night. She could actually imagine the future she wanted with him, Lewis’ face fading from those visions. Holding hands as they strolled in town, waltzing together at the Flower Dance, and maybe even getting married. Today was a good day, she decided, just not in the way she ever expected.

She turned to look at the dial-up phone on her dresser. She had made an important decision, and it was time to let it be known. Picking up the receiver, she dialed in Lewis’ number, waiting anxiously for a response. She half hoped he’d pick up so she could hear his reaction in real time, but mostly prayed that he was asleep. Ring after ring droned out, until a prompt to leave a message started. Taking a deep breath, she spoke softly, yet firmly into the receiver.

“We’re done.”

#Holy shit i posted a fanfic #it'll be on AO3 as soon as i get an acc invite #YAHOO #marnie ur one of my favorite characters ily #fuck lewis #Stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #Stardew valley marnie #Stardew valley marlon #sdv marnie #sdv marlon #so genuinely nervous to post this but f it we ball

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legobiwan · 5 months ago

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34. “ Are you testing me? “

With Dimentio and Mr.L

Not 100% happy with this one, but I'm trying to bang these out!

Also, what it tense consistency, I never knew her hahahahaha

I do so love Dimentio, though.

SPM, takes place pre-Whoa Zone.

~~~~~~~~

He needs to know who he’s working with.

He needs to know what he’s working against.

The enemy is the hero, at least on paper. The one in red and his band of misfit friends, more story than person, a man tireless in his quest to collect the so-called Pure Hearts and forestall a future already foretold in the Dark Prognosticus.

He’d meet them soon enough.

~~~~~

Perfect worlds. That was the prize for serving the Count’s destructive whims.

Quite the incentive. Who wouldn’t want a reality to shape for themselves, to create an existence tailor-made for one’s own hopes, wants, and dreams?

The thing was, L thought, securing an instrument panel cover with a hard twist of his wrench.

The thing was, deals too good to be true were usually too good for a reason. (He knew this from experience. What experience exactly, he couldn’t quite articulate, the majority of his memories still floating around his brain like soggy cereal bits, misshapen and bloated past all recognition).

Perfect worlds didn’t manifest from nothing.

It was a law. The first law, in fact.

He must have missed something in translation. Again. This whole dimension, it seemed, communicated in metaphor, in meanings and symbolism that everyone could parse but him.

And maybe Bleck’s “perfect worlds” were just that. An ideal to strive after, a motivation, an existence excised of bad actors who threatened the fabrics of reality.

Or maybe he had landed himself in a cult.

It didn’t matter. Not really. There was a job to do, and he would do it.

He pulled on one of two large red levers, initiating a set of thrusters on their lowest setting. The reaction time was good, better than good.

But it wasn’t enough.

He might have to switch to a hypergolic bipropellant. It would be longer-lasting and eliminate the need for an ignition source. But it also would eat through its storage container faster, would heighten the risk of an all-systems implosion, if the engagement got protracted out in the field.

L wasn’t planning on letting the “hero” last more than five minutes forget fifty.

It would be fine.

There had to be more to Bleck’s offer. The stick to the carrot he hung over all their heads. People didn’t just hand out perfect realities, metaphorical or not. Same as they wouldn’t give away a bridge or even a mansion without some reason.

The real question was where the other shoe was hiding.

And when it was going to drop.

~~~~~~

He decides to start with O’Chunks.

In truth, he tried to start with Nastasia, but had received a stony refusal in response to the lightest of entreaties. Unsurprising, but a disappointment. She, along with the other one, had the most to plumb, to pick apart and piece back together.

Despite this, he had been able to gather some tidbits here and there. How her methods of persuasion were more about rearranging the furniture of the mind, of optimizing rather than overwriting. (After all, why should you keep the pans in the lower cupboard, if someone taller did the lion's share of the cooking?)

Maybe that wasn't the best explanation.

He thinks of the other analogy he had concocted, that of an audio engineer standing over a mixing board, Nastasia looming over some piece of equipment with large headphones over her perfectly coiffed hair. Lower inhibition. Fade memory. Add distortion to schemas.

The important thing was that it wasn't magic. Not really. Nastasia's brainwashing abilities, as the others so gleefully called it, was just another path for science to manifest, an evolutionary quirk of biology that allowed someone to tamper with neurology from across a crowded room.

Odd, yes, but ultimately understandable. Something he could wrap his head around and fit into the neat schematics he had started to draw out for this world.

~~~~~

L was a curious man. He knew that much about himself.

He wasn’t curious enough to approach the Count.

~~~~~

Of all of them, O’Chunks had provided the least amount of useful information. A typical enforcer-type, his preternatural levels of strength combined with a literal combustion engine of a stomach, the latter of which probably merited some form of investigation, if not for the fact its byproduct was a vile organic concoction that treaded just above the definition of “biological weapon.”

His arms, however, were a point of interest. Not for the heavy-packed layers of muscle (anyone could cultivate that, with enough work and steroids), but rather the way his upper limbs lacked visible continuity, flesh presenting in accordion-like chunks that stretched from bulky shoulders to large, gloved hands.

“There are weapons,” O’Chunks had said in his usual grumbling lilt, gazing at some distant point on the violent black-and-violet horizon. “That can deal far worse damage than etching a wee pretty picture on your skin.”

L would like to see those weapons some day, but he doesn’t push for more information. He still needs these people on his side.

For now.

~~~~~

Unlike O’Chunks and Nastasia, Mimi is more than happy to show off her shapeshifting abilities, morphing between bodies like a caffeine-poisoned chameleon. It’s weird to be faced with himself. Not the flat, mirror image he's already familiar with, but a true three-dimensional replication, one that breathes and moves just as he would - or at least as he thinks he would.

He (the other he that’s him and damn if that’s not confusing as all get-out) looks tired, dark circles digging under bright, intelligent blue eyes. If Mimi’s copy is accurate, it means he hasn’t shaved in a few days, although he has no recollection of that amount of time passing. L rubs at his mouth. The bit of stubble forming around his chin and cheeks does nothing to add years to his youthful appearance. He wonders if a mask might help to obscure his age, or at least minimize the fatigue that seems baked into his features.

If nothing else, he could look menacing, less mad scientist and more like those bad guys in movies set in the Old West. (The Old West of what, he asks himself, shaking the thought away).

He asks if she can shift into someone else based on a description or a drawing. Mimi shrugs, flitting through a series of outfits before landing on a bright fuchsia dress with ruby-red bowties on either shoulder. “Maybe,” she says, rearranging her two green pigtails, tying them off with matching ribbons. “But I’ve never really tried. I think I'd have to see the person for a proper shift. And you know, I don’t get their abilities or anything, just the looks.” She gives a high, piercing laugh. “Could you imagine? That’d be so gross.”

So gross and so powerful. But she’s right. If Mimi had been able to inherit the abilities of the people she shifted into, she would be the one calling the shots right now, not Count Bleck. L takes a moment to be grateful for that fact. As surly and unapproachable as the Count is, he seems to know what he is doing, even if L is certain he hasn’t shared even half of his plan with his subordinates. A world, or part of a world, ruled by Bleck might not be so bad, at least in comparison to Mimi, who would probably try to bury continents in glitter only to demand an army of hot boyfriends on day two.

L shrugs off visions of muscled, tight-shirted men carrying Mimi on a palanquin through a rainbow-colored apocalypse. He considers asking her to shift into the hero, the man in red he knows she’s already faced, and that he’ll be facing (and beating) soon.

Something stops him.

He tells himself he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise.

~~~~~

“But what if you were stripped of your magic? If you had to rely on physical combat alone?”

Dimentio’s mask splits into an uneven smile.

“Are you testing me, my cantankerous friend?”

He's put off this conversation for days.

A good scientist explores all avenues, he had told himself, building up the resolve to go through with his plan.

It was an essential step. Was maybe the keystone to understanding what was going on around him.

Unfortunately, it meant being one-on-one with a man (if he was a man at all) who more often than not regarded L like he was a prime cut of meat about to be served on a cheap plastic lunch tray.

It was unnerving.

And completely bewildering.

Obviously, I’m testing you, asshole, L frowns, throwing his arms across his chest. “Let’s just say as a hypothetical that some day," a day which I hope will never come, "we have to combine forces. I want to know what I’m getting into.”

Dimentio crosses his legs, allowing himself to float upwards.

“Combine forces?” The jester takes his chin in his hand, rictus etched into his dual-colored mask. “What a delightful turn of phrase! Such a sculptor of language you are, Mr. L.”

L rolls his eyes with a violent moan. This was why he hated conversations with the jester.

“Just answer the question, Dimentio! If your magic gets taken out by this so-called hero, am I going to be on my own here?”

So far, all he had been able to glean from his annoying co-worker was that he had terrible suggestions for robotic weaponry (magic missiles? really?) and an aversion to standing on the ground so severe that - if it had been anyone else but Dimentio - he might have called it a phobia.

He breaks every law of physics with a smile and snap of his fingers.

The others, he could figure out, could create some kind of link to reality that matched with his understanding of how the universe worked, of the rules and laws that governed the physical realm. Sure, maybe it all sat on the far boundaries of what was possible, but the fact remained that it was possible, that he could justify the existence of this reality and these people within it by expanding his understanding by a few hundred-thousand square meters.

Dimentio existed wholly outside his paradigm.

“If my magic is taken out,” Dimentio echoes, biting on the tip of a gloved finger in an obviously affected pose. “What a catastrophe that would be! Like an asteroid whose path is fixed on a four-footed, doomed civilization.”

“What are you talking about, Dimentio?”

In one smooth movement, the jester comes to land near his feet, the bells dangling from his motley headdress giving a dull tinkle as he curls his hand around L’s shoulder.

“For my magic to be nullified,” Dimentio whispers, the words shimmering with a dangerous edge, “it would require quite the cataclysmic event.”

L wills himself to not pull away from Dimentio’s creeping grasp. “What kind of cataclysmic event?”

The jester stares at him, his mask devoid of any writ emotion, yellow and black twin crescents peering into him with an unquestionable, nearly palpable intensity. A moment later, his sharp fingers dig even further into L’s shoulder, voice lowering to the edge of audibility. “You know what they say about curiosity, Mr. L.”

“Yeah, I do,” L growls, ripping himself from Dimentio’s claw-like grasp. “It killed the cat. But what they don’t like to tell you is that satisfaction brought it back.”

“Oh, Mr. L!” Dimentio cackles, a loud, jagged sound like two knives being dragged over a ceramic plate. The jester makes a backwards somersault in the air before wiping an invisible tear from his yellowed eye. “You truly are the right man for this job. Fortune has smiled wide upon us with your arrival.”

L tugs at his shirt, trying to wipe away for cloying feeling of Dimentio's touch. This conversation is going nowhere. He should have known the creepy jester was just going to waste his time. L ignores the still-giggling figure, heading towards the door. “Next time you don’t have your magic, don’t come running to me for help.”

“Au contraire, my friend," Dimentio sits up, eyes bright. "I imagine if I don’t have my magic, you would be the first I would call on for help.”

L pauses, his hand hovering above an geometric-engraved ebony doorknob.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The only response he receives is a wide grin.

“What are you, Dimentio?” L asks after a moment, the question bubbling past his lips in a low, urgent hiss.

Dimentio floats towards him, head tilted. “The better question is what are you, my dear? And what will you become when satisfaction brings you back?”

“I…” L stutters, edging towards the door, hands groping for the knob. Abstract images fly across the canvas of his mind, too fast grab onto, a whirlwind of muted tones and undefinable emotion.

“Mr. L!” a high voice commands from the other side of the room. L gasps, peering around Dimentio's looming form, his heart beating a trail up his throat. It's Nastasia. Clipboard in hand, her pen tapping an impatient rhythm, the Count's second-in-command frowning at the scene laid out before her.

“It’s time, Mr. L,” she says simply.

Dimentio floats to the side, allowing L a path of egress. “Do enjoy your little reunion, Mr. L," he says, words soft enough only he and L can hear. "I hope it may prove fruitful. And do give the hero my most sincere regards.”

L shivers, slipping past the jester, giving one more look over his shoulder as Dimentio reclines, hands joined together behind his head, one leg crossed over the other like he's enjoying a day at the beach.

It's nothing. He’ll unravel Dimentio’s game later on, will get to the bottom of Bleck's true intentions, will piece together this world and his place in it.

But for now, he has a hero to destroy.

#hello there #writing #the eternal struggle #luigi #mr l #dimentio #nastasia #mimi #o'chunks #i'm not sure what this is????#ahhahahaha

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mrs-apocalypse · 23 days ago

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Vegas for the character ask thingy? Latest chapter of Trolley Problem absolutely shattered my heart 🥺🥺

Hi!!! First, I will not lie, my intention when writing this fic is always to cause pain to my readers. I enjoy making everyone feel the same gut-wrenching desire I do for these boys and a happy ending.

Onto the character ask, AHHHHHHHHHHHH! Okay, so:

How I Feel About this Character:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! So, while I look at Pete and see the perfect vessel for all the sour, rotten feelings that people experience about life (much of those feelings being strangely in tune with how I felt as an emo fifteen year old), Vegas is who I believe to be a perfect symbol for all the physically grotesque aspects of being human, something I personally feel really close to. At the risk of scaring everyone, I grew up being called a freak by all my classmates. I'm into bugs and monsters and horror (supernatural and real), I collect embalmed animals and bones that I find in the woods, and nothing sounds more romantic to me than being handed a piece of jewelry with a human tooth (I know, I know). The point is, I love him desperately because he symbolizes all the darker aspect of humanity that are villainized when there is so clearly romanticism hidden inside them. (Idk maybe I just have a very gothic view of love).

In addition, I love the unknown depths of his character. We know who he is, and we somewhat know why, but not really. We know his father hits him, but nothing more than a slap (Has he ever experienced anything worse?) He solves every problem with sex. (Why? Is there a reason? Was he raised to believe his body is the best way to seal a deal?) How did his mother's death affect him? There is so much we suspect, but don't know for sure. He is a well of questions and quirks that are off putting and captivating all in one! UGH, I love to pick his brain and figure out how each and every action of his can be traced back to a certain experience (He makes me feel like a forensic profiler lol).

All the People I ship romantically this character with:

Pete. No one else.

I know a lot of people can see Vegas with Porsche, but truthfully, I can't think of any world where Vegas would pick anyone over Pete. Even in the show, you can see just how forced his feelings are with everyone outside of Pete. Pete is the only one we know of who has seen the vulnerable, humiliating parts of Vegas; Vegas has been flayed open for him. Vegas doesn't need to explain himself because Pete has seen the reason for why he is what he is. And, most importantly, Vegas does not need to force his own. vulnerability (something humiliating for a Theerapanyakul to do) because Pete sees it without any help, meaning Vegas can seek him for comfort without having to explain why. Pete just knows. They understand each other on levels that I think no other person ever has, and that is why they only see each other. God, I love them.

My Non-Romantic OTP for this character:

This is going to sound very strange, but Nop. Maybe that's because I've invented my own version of Top for Game Theory, but I personally like to think that this guard who has seen him through Pete, and has stayed with him for so long, would know him in a way that after the walls have fallen in the end of season 1, would leave them open to a friendship. I could see him remaining his guard after Vegas' fall from grace, first to protect him, and then because Vegas has made extra for dinner and 'Just stay, Nop. It's not a big deal." leads to "Pete's gone out with his friends. Wanna have a drink with me?" to "Nop, we've got to get you a partner. You're spending way too much time in this house." (I have a bad habit of falling in love with my interpretations of small, nearly nonexistent characters.

I also see Vegas becoming good friends with Tay in a world where he eventually wises up and leaves Time. They have so much in common with their gossiping and cattiness. I think they'd enjoy each other's company a lot. Pete comes home from drinking with Porsche, Tankhun, Arm, and Pol to find Tay and Vegas drinking wine and whispering about what who their wealthy peers are fucking in private.

ANYWAYS, give Vegas some fucking friends, dammit!

My Unpopular Opinion about this Character:

I DON'T KNOW WHY MY UNPOPULAR OPINIONS ALWAYS INVOLVE PORSCHE I'M SORRY but I just don't think Vegas was ever interested in him. I think people give Porsche too much credit. I think people often believe that he eventually got to a point where he actually liked him, but no, I'm sorry. I've watched the entire series over 10 times and every time they talk, it feels so forced by Vegas. The motorcycle ride, the flowers in the hospital, the party and bathroom scene,,, nothing about that felt nearly as authentic as after Vegas fell in love with Pete and helped Porsche find his uncle. That was the only time I felt like these two's emotions were both honest. So yeah, I just don't think he likes him near as much as a lot of the fandom thinks.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character:

LET HIM HAVE THE FUCKING RING, DAMMIT. Listen, Porsche would be shit at running the family. I'm sorry, there is no real world where the man who struggled beating a man who fed secrets to a competitor would willingly run the enterprises of a family that deals in drugs and sex. I know we love Vegas, I know he's our poor little meowfioso, but he is cruel. His circle of caring is small, and it does not include the victims of the industries that family most probably deals in. If Korn's goal is to ruin his own family, then putting Porsche in charge was a great idea. If he wants actual profit, give it back to my baby!

Anyways, those are my opinions. Please remember they are OPINIONS and I totally do not expect everyone to agree with me. I just enjoy ranting :)

#fanfiction #fanfic #vegaspete #vegas x pete #vegas theerapanyakul #pete saengtham #kinnporsche la forte #kinnporsche the series #kpts

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bluemoonscape · 2 months ago

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The symbolism of how the artbook cover of Mizi is so similar to the round 7 stage, I think it's a interesting contrast in how similar composition wise they are: Big lights that overarch the picture, the tiny form of the contestants, and the darkness that is the audience of aliens. In the Mizi one, there's a air of loneliness, and in the round 7 one it feels extremely crowded and LOUD because of the panning to the aliens, but there's a similar loneliness on the stage, just not as palpable

I’m assuming you mean this gem (this devastating thing) dear anon

This is a very interesting point, good observation… in the art book cover, we have the arches like R7 creating that huge space only for it to appear empty. Mizi is alone up there with nothing but a corpse—a shell of the love of her life. Like you said, the lights distort our perception and makes the whole piece so lonely. Mizi looks so small up there. She’s just lost her person. She’s alone.

As for Till and Luka on the stage of Round 7, it looks like a damn rave with the neon lights and roaring crowd, but like Mizi, Till and Luka look so small. They’re far apart, so much so that they might as well be on stage alone. Till lost Mizi, the person he perceived as his only hope, and then he lost Ivan, the person he didn’t know was his only solace until he was gone (in a blink gone haha get it get it—) He’s had everything taken from him and he’s furious and he’s never been more untethered to this place, this game than he is now. He’s never been more adrift. And Luka is alone, too. Luka has driven everyone who’s ever loved him far away. He’s become a symbol of the aliens and their control, the very thing many pet humans despise, especially Till. While neither is alone opposite a corpse as Mizi is, they are alone. They’re no comfort to one another. Neither of them has anything to lose.

I think it’s a really heart-wrenching detail you’ve found how all three—Mizi, Till, and Luka—are all placed under scorching lights and lauded by an adoring audience, and yet they‘ve never been more alone than they are in that place. While Mizi has been able to escape that loneliness by joining the rebellion with Hyuna, Luka and Till have yet to face it.

#thank you so much for this ask! i’m flattered you wanted to discuss this with me on my silly little blog <33 #alnst #alien stage #alnst till #alnst luka #alien stage till #alien stage luka #alien stage round 7 #alnst round 7 #asks

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ellie-the-oracle · 2 years ago

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The Bad Batch s2e12 Review and Discussion - The Breaking Point of Crosshair

Massive Spoilers Ahead!

That was by far one of the greatest episodes I think i've ever watched. I don't even know where to begin and I do not say this lightly - I have been thoroughly broken by this show. I am genuinely heartbroken at this point.

First and foremost, the music was on point. It hit every single emotion it wanted to convey and it complimented the themes of this episode perfectly. Kevin Kiner remains to be one of the best composers, in my opinion.

Secondly, the symbolism that was the lone ice vulture flying above Crosshair's head throughout the episode was just poetic. It really got the message across to the viewers that Crosshair is utterly and brutally alone. He is nothing more than something that is “expendable” in the eyes of the Empire. This episode made that evermore clearer to Cross.

Thirdly, the new clone introduced in this episode, Commander Mayday, was a perfect way to SHOW (and not just tell) Crosshair the tragedies, the mistreatment and the injustices that the clones are facing. Throughout the entire episode, both Cross and the viewers were reminded of just how poorly the clones are being treated. Mayday's inevitable death was the final moment for Crosshair; It genuinely broke him (and me, frankly). The lieutenant (I forgot his name because idfc) really rubbed it into Crosshair’s face about what the clones mean to the Empire.

The emotions that we get to see Crosshair experience throughout this episode really show just how broken his spirit is; he has reached his breaking point. He was left both physically and emotionally devastated by the end of his mission; losing yet another companion, another brother. Someone whom he was just beginning to confide in, especially to feel less alone. I also found it quite fascinating to see him express distress when the ship blew up and caused him a sort-of sensory overload. A bit of an ode to the Batches enhanced features.

I appreciated the little details of him shivering in the cold as he and Mayday made their way back to the outpost; huddling together to survive. on top of that, his facial expressions really showed just how lost, distraught, devastated and broken he has become. Truly, what a masterful episode. Crosshair shooting the lieutenant by the end of the episode was his moment of “going awol,” albeit, in the most devastating and heart wrenching way.

The ending of this episode was rather concerning. I literally have no idea what that lady poked his neck with nor do I have the faintest idea as to why he's on Tantiss but I'm very nervous about it. I hope he isn't being brainwashed again or [arguably] even worse, becoming the prototype of a dark trooper. Istfg If this happens, You’ll be hearing from my therapist and my lawyer, Filoni. For the love of all things decent in this world, please let him go home to his family.

This episode, once again, cements exactly why I love Crosshair's character so much. Truly a terribly tragic character and I ate that shit up. I'm shellshocked.

20/10. Feelings have been hurt.

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blackcatruse · 6 months ago

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𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: you have a plan, and a job to do. the haitanis put a wrench in things. loose lips sink ships, after all word count: ~3.2k chapter cw(s): swearing, possible ooc, more physical violence against reader, hints of misogyny, implied abuse, suggestive flirting with ran, drug mention, prostitution mention a/n: because this story is super self-indulgent, i did very little research. please pardon any inaccuracies. i'm just writing to get the idea out

You fell to the floor with an ungraceful thud and rubbed your jaw. People really weren’t pulling punches with you this week. You propped yourself up with your other elbow and with one eye open, looked at Suzaku standing above you. His face was a horrid shade of red and you swore you could see steam coming from both his ears and his nose. His fists were clenched tightly by his sides.

Yeah, you fucked up, but what else is new?

“What the hell do you mean the deal is off?” Suzaku was trying his hardest not to lose his composure. He couldn’t look bad in front of the other Four Symbols.

You didn’t bother to get up. “I’m telling you, it was going to be a trap. Someone’s trying to overthrow the Three Deities and they were starting with us. We’re quite valuable to Brahman, after all.”

“You took his word for it?” Seiryu stared at you with his unnerving eyes. His body and face gave away nothing, but his eyes were burning.

Biting your tongue was never your strong suit, but you had to in this case. Standing before the Four Symbols of Wuxing was not a place to mouth off. You knew that you couldn’t argue about these kids getting roped into it. They didn’t give a shit how old someone was, if you fucked around and found out it, you dealt with it yourself. Wuxing wasn’t inclined to help out a bunch of high schoolers, but you could try to frame it another way.

Were you about to dig your grave? Probably. But again, what else is new? You sat up, but didn’t dare get to your feet. Suzaku would just knock you down again, and you were tired of having your face hit. You looked up, just past Suzaku, to where Seiryu, Genbu, and Byakko sat on empty shipping containers. You swallowed thickly, trying not to let Byakko’s predatory stare intimidate you. You hated how your hands trembled and the nausea that wormed its way into your gut. But you had to try to salvage this. You had to.

“Aren’t you interested at all about who’s out for us?” you asked.

“It’s not like it isn’t anything we can handle,” Seiryu spoke coolly. “We shouldn’t concern ourselves with rumors.”

“You should really just give her back to me, Suzaku,” Byakko all but purred.

Never mind. If it came to that, you would kill yourself then and there.

Of the Four Symbols, Suzaku was arguably the kindest. He didn’t like the way his other three counterparts operated, especially Byakko, but Suzaku wasn’t a pushover. “No,” he said, turning to glare at Byakko. “You’re not getting your hands on her.”

“Yet,” Byakko chided.

You wished you could shrink and disappear.

“It might be worth it to look into it,” Suzaku said.

“You’re too soft,” Genbu sneered. “Nobody has threatened us and lived to tell the tale. If they’re unknown, we shouldn’t bother with it.”

“We can still run the goods,” you piped up. “If we continue as normal, we could unearth who’s working in the shadows. And if you guys are right and it’s nothing, then nothing to worry about.”

“You said the deal was off,” Seiryu said flatly.

“It is, but someone decided to punch me before I could elaborate and now I have to argue with the jury,” you spat.

You could feel Suzaku’s resentment pouring off him in waves. He just sighed. “Lotus, what are we going to do with you?”

You shrugged. “You guys are the ones who wanted to make me pay off my brother’s debt. You could have easily just killed me. That offer is still on the table.” You propped your elbow on your knees and rested your chin in your hand. “Anyway, the only part of this that won’t involve Suzaku’s division is the questioning. Genbu, you like dealing with that don’t you?” You smiled a little too wide at him.

Genbu sniffed. “If there’s anyone to interrogate.”

“Let me just talk to my boss. This is all I’ve got to report anyway.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” Byakko growled. “You’re still the bottom of the barrel.”

They really liked to demean you, and you had learned to ignore it for the most part. You didn’t particularly care about what they said because you knew you were irreplaceable to them. Your inherited debt was also so significant they couldn’t just kill you. They lost a lot of money because of your brother, and you were barely making a dent in the sum after four—or was it five?—years. You didn’t have any other family to pass the debt onto, except maybe your father? You had no idea where the man was since he’d walked out before you could form memories. Wuxing wanted their money and the glory that came with it.

You had half a mind to let them walk into the trap, but there was too much uncertainty if Wuxing was brought down. Would you be claimed by another gang? Would Wuxing even give you up? Maybe... just maybe if you could pull through and appear loyal, it would make it easier for Rokuhara Tandai to negotiate your release. Perhaps you were letting yourself dream too far ahead, but you weren’t about to lose sight of it.

Suzaku dismissed the other Four Symbols and they grumbled as they left the warehouse. You wondered if Suzaku was going to still kick your ass, all signs pointed to yes, but he didn’t move once the others were gone. You didn’t speak. There were times for you to be hot-headed, but now wasn’t one of them. You would stay quiet. Don’t speak unless spoken to. You didn’t move either.

“Lotus,” Suzaku said. “You’re the best runner I have. I know that you’re clever. What are you thinking of doing?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” you beamed. “Here’s the plan.”

Payphones always felt like a petri dish to you, but you weren’t about to contact Kichiro from any of your devices. It’d be better that way. You didn’t have a guarantee that he’d pick up, but because you said you’d get in touch with him, you hoped he’d answer from an unknown number. You could leave a voicemail if all else fails, but you weren’t about to leave any sort of evidence trail if you could help it.

You tapped your foot as you kept the phone trapped between your ear and shoulder. You were quietly urging Kichiro to pick up, but it’s fine. Maybe just leave a message that tells him to pick up next time or within the next hour when you’d be done with your current errand. It was important to get the plan rolling, because Suzaku’s patience was wearing very thin with you. No matter how good of a runner you were, you could only push the boundaries so far.

Hands tucked in your jacket pocket, you fiddled with the envelopes of money you were supposed to be running to Kabukicho. The crowd you were working with there was one of your first successful jobs. They liked you, and you liked them, which was really just tolerance. They were dependable and loyal clients, and you tried to return the favor by being timely and responsive. Despite the area’s reputation as a red-light district, you knew you would be safe there because of the valuable deals you had made.

Of course Kichiro didn’t pick up. So you left a short, sharp voicemail telling him to pick the fuck up the next time he gets a call from an unknown number because it’s probably you. You tried to be as vague as possible without mentioning the likely stolen goods and how you were going to try to get him and his friend out of the sticky situation they were in. Sighing, you put the phone back on the hook and leaned back against the wall of the booth. You had to get a hold of him fast because Suzaku had only given you a week to arrange the expedient. Once that time was up, you’d be in deep shit and should probably consider death as an option.

As much as dying tickled your brain and filled your waking dreams, you didn’t exactly want to die at the hands of Wuxing. You were always at odds with yourself. Dying was the easy way out for you, and you leaned into that suicidal persona as much as you could. There was something about taking the pleasure away from murderers and torturers that was deeply satisfying to you. Maybe it was because those situations were where you felt you had any sort of power.

Sighing, you exited the booth and headed to your first stop. It was a simple office that served to lease buildings in the area. Byakko ran his brothels through these leases, and you were always the one sent to deliver the monthly rent. You wondered why the bastard couldn’t do it himself, but you figured he was trying to get a rise out of you. Byakko was an absolute jackass with his power plays.

“Ah, there’s my favorite customer!” You heard the cheery voice of the portly man as you entered. “I was worried you weren’t gonna show up today.”

The smile you gave him wasn’t forced. “You know I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that, Masaru,” you teased. “Got the rent for the three buildings we’re leasing.” You put the thick envelopes on the counter.

Masaru grinned. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”

If the man knew about what the facilities and spaces were used for, he never said anything. He was located in Kabukicho after all. Anything you dealt with here and in any other red-light districts were very obviously don’t ask, don’t tell. Business never went beyond short pleasantries and the handoff of a little too much yen. Sometimes you thought about not paying just to give Byakko some trouble, but the consequences were likely not worth it.

You bid Masaru a genuine goodbye before leaving and heading to your other stop for the day. A small town gang in the area struck a bargain deal with you to run their supply of drugs to your dealers. They always had quality products, even if you hadn’t tried it yourself. You never wanted to risk being high or drunk while on the job, but you’d seen colleagues forgo their sobriety on multiple occasions.

The classic meeting spot was a dank alleyway out of sight and very sparsely populated. Daytime usually fared better, since at night the place would be crawling with cops. Officers didn’t think people were stupid enough to do deals in broad daylight, so they very rarely sent patrols out this far.

Subtly glancing at your surroundings, you darted behind a broken down brick building and navigated through the winding alleys. You kept your ears and eyes open for any sign you were being followed. Occasionally you glanced up to see if someone was perched on top of these derelict buildings. When you arrived at the designated rendezvous point, you scanned your environment before knocking three times on the rusted door.

You heard the familiar squeak of the sliding peephole and immediately said, “It’s Lotus. Here for the weekly pickup.” You kept it short. They knew you. You knew them.

The door creaked open and you slid into the musty old room. You were sure the dust in this place belonged to the formation of the actual universe itself, and the fraying strings on the naked dull yellow lightbulbs did little to help the place appear nicer. A thin haze of smoke crept into your lungs and you coughed. God, none of these assholes had the decency to smoke anywhere else.

Not wanting to stay longer than you had to, you approached the squat table where your contact was. He was lazing about, not really paying you any mind. You dropped the last envelope you had on the table. “Your cut from last month’s deals,” you said.

The tattooed man leaned back in a chair, feet propped up on the table, took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew out a puff of smoke. “Seems thinner than last time,” he said. His reedy voice didn’t match his outward appearance, and frankly, it got on your nerves.

You shrugged. “That’s what Suzaku gave me to give you. Bring it up with him if you got a problem.”

The man raised a pierced eyebrow. “You seem a little pissed off, Lotus. Need to relax a bit?” He patted the dirty chair next to him and you held back a scoff.

“Nah, I’m just here to do my job. If you wanna talk business, we’ll arrange another meeting.”

“Places to go?”

“Yeah,” you lied. “Suzaku’s been keeping me busy. Plus if I want to get the dealers restocked I should head out soon. Is the bag where it usually is?”

“Same place as always. If the cuts are still thin by the next time you come around, we may need to renegotiate.”

“I’ll bring it up with Suzaku,” you said. “Thanks for your business.”

Without saying much you left, grabbing the dirty messenger bag on the floor near the door. The burly man who had let you in opened the door and stood silently as you left. His eyes followed your movements, but you didn’t give him anything to look at. Slinging the bag over the shoulder you entered the alleyway again and made your way back to one of the main roads. While carrying a bag of drugs, you were usually hyper-vigilant, but for some reason you let your concentration slip just a little when you got out of the labyrinth of alleys.

You slammed into somebody. Solid arms instinctively steadied you. There was a grunt and you nearly barked at the idiot to watch where they were going until you looked up. Twin pairs of violet eyes met yours. “Oh goddammit,” you swore.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Ran said with a grin.

“Haitanis,” you said coolly. “What brings you out here?” You looked them over. They weren’t wearing their uniforms, so it likely wasn’t gang business. “Pleasure?” you asked. “Roppongi can’t sate your appetites anymore?”

Ran chuckled. Rindou looked annoyed. It was only then that you realized it was Rindou you had run into and you immediately pushed him away. Well, you tried to. You were the one who ended up stumbling back. Stupid guy was built and didn’t stagger at all. He just glared at you like you killed a puppy or something.

You dusted yourself off and adjusted the messenger bag on your shoulder. Only looking up when Ran spoke again, “We’re actually here on business. Most red-light districts are fair game for anyone, after all.”

He wasn’t wrong. For the most part, these places were where local gangs would strike up contracts with bigger gangs for whatever they needed. No major gangs truly owned the red-light districts (with few exceptions), so seeing multiple business deals with different big names wasn’t surprising. It was irritating that deals could be swiped from you if another gang offered your locals something better, but for the most part, if you kept your word and negotiated agreeable terms, you didn’t have to worry about losing their business.

“I know that,” you snorted. “Anyway, looking for something in particular? I know some good whore houses you could go to.”

You would not be directing them to any of Byakko’s establishments in the area.

“Nah, not interested in that right now,” Ran said. “Why would we tell you anyway?”

“I just think it’d be a wonderful beginning to our blossoming friendship,” you said, over exaggerating the faux sweetness in your tone. “We could do stuff like talking about our crushes, painting our nails, braiding each other’s hair, snorting cocaine. Just girly things, y’know?”

Ran barked out a laugh and you swear you saw Rindou’s soul leaving his body. He rolled his eyes so far back you wondered if he’d find a brain back there.

“I love that mouth of yours, Lotus,” Ran said, wiping an eye.

“Don’t go saying stupid shit. At least take me to dinner first, ” you retorted.

The elder Haitani looked like he was considering it. “I could always take a tongue lashing from you.”

“Ugh, just gag me,” Rindou muttered.

You turned your focus onto him. “Is that something you’re into?”

You could see the neurons firing in his brain, but he merely responded with, “Fuck off.” You almost missed the red dusting his cheeks.

For a moment too long you considered giving Rindou more shit, but in a move to likely save his younger brother the embarrassment, Ran piped up. “We got a couple of phony deals we’re investigating.”

Now that caught your attention.

The words slipped out before you could stop them. “We’ve gotten word on similar things too,” you said. “We caught one and they said that someone’s out to usurp the Three Deities.”

Why the fuck were you telling them this? A few weeks ago these assholes were beating the shit out of you and now you’re giving them some kind of warning? Maybe you’d been knocked around too much. You made a mental note to tell Suzaku to aim for your legs next time he needed to beat you over something.

Ran raised a blond eyebrow and even Rindou looked like his interest was piqued. “Oh? That’s the first I’ve heard,” Ran said. “Hmm, we’ll look into it as well. Maybe we’ll come up with something.”

“Bro, you aren’t seriously going to tell her what you find out?” Rindou stared at Ran like he’d just knelt before you and asked for your hand in marriage.

Ran shrugged nonchalantly. “If she gave us the heads up, I only think it’s fair. Just one piece of information though. Can’t put all my cards on the table yet, but I could reconsider after being wined and dined.”

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Wuxing barely pays me to survive. The only wining and dining you’ll get is cup noodles and grape juice.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Oi, oi, we’ve got shit to do. Stop flirting with everything that has a pulse,” Rindou snapped.

You clicked your tongue and tilted your head. “Aww, don’t let me hold you up any longer,” you cooed. You looked at your nonexistent watch. “I’ve got places to be too. See you around, Haitanis.” You offered them a short wave as you turned and walked off.

Ran’s mention of phony deals kept echoing through your head. There was definitely something going on, but you weren’t about to tell Suzaku that you’d run into the Haitani brothers and had given away information that could hurt Brahman. Though, if phony deals were being made with two of the Three Deities, it wasn’t likely that the information would help with much. They could just as easily partner with the person or group in the shadows without knowing they were already targeting you. You really just wanted to take it easy, but life never did that for you.

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune & @/firefly-graphics

#ruse’s ashes #x reader fanfic #rindou haitani x reader #reader insert #tokyo revengers reader insert #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers ocs #rindou x reader

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riirhythms · 7 months ago

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BLOG ENTRY #1 Dilaw: A Colorful Journey of Love and Loss

"When you came into my life, it was like a burst of sunshine on a cloudy day, filling everything with warmth and brightness. But now that you're gone, I'm left with a mark of your presence that won't go away, like a stain that stays no matter how hard I try to scrub it."

Maki's newly released music video for "Dilaw" is a visual and emotional masterpiece that takes the audience on a poignant journey through the highs and lows of love. The narrative encapsulated through clever color symbolism, leaves a lasting impression that is both heartwarming and heart-wrenching.

The Color Transition: From Monotony to Vitality

At the start, it's all in black and white, like old photographs. It feels boring like nothing is exciting happening. That's how the music video begins, showing a dull life. But then, something changes. The colors start to shift, and suddenly, there's yellow everywhere! It's like someone turned on a big, bright light. Yellow represents warmth and energy, and it's like a burst of sunshine in the video. This change shows us how having someone important in our lives can make everything feel more alive and colorful.

The Yellow Stain: A Mark of Unforgettable Impact One of the most memorable parts of the video is when Maki accidentally leaves a yellow mark on Maloi's uniform. It's not just a simple stain; it's like a little piece of sunshine that Maki leaves behind. This stain represents how someone can leave a mark on our lives, even after they're gone. It's like a reminder of all the happiness they brought us, but it also reminds us of the sadness when they're not around anymore. The stain is like a symbol of the deep impressions that the people we love leave on us. It's a mix of happy memories and sad feelings, all wrapped up in one little mark.

The Bittersweet Reality of Relationships The main idea behind "Dilaw" is the mixed feelings we experience in relationships. The video does a great job of showing how much someone can affect us, blending moments of happiness with moments of sadness. It's like a true-to-life look at love, where we feel both joy and sorrow. By the end, we realize how much relationships can change us, leaving us different from how we started.

The Enduring Impact of Love and Loss One of the most touching parts of the music video comes at the end when Maloi starts crying. Up until that moment, the colors in the video are kind of dull and muted, matching her sadness. But then, something changes. Maloi picks up a yellow object, and it's like a switch flips. Suddenly, the whole scene becomes brighter and warmer. It's as if she's finding a little piece of happiness again. This moment is really powerful because it shows how love and loss can still affect us, even after someone is gone. It's like their presence lingers on, shaping our feelings and experiences long after they've left.

A Visually and Emotionally Rich Experience Maki's "Dilaw" is not just a song; it's an experience that resonates deeply with anyone who has ever loved and lost. The clever use of color transitions and symbolism in the music video adds layers of meaning to the lyrics, making it a visually and emotionally rich narrative. It reminds us that while people may come and go, their influence, whether it brought us joy or sorrow, remains with us, coloring our world in unforgettable ways. In essence, "Dilaw" is a testament to the enduring power of love and the inevitable intertwining of happiness and heartache in our lives. It's a music video that will stay with you long after it ends, much like the yellow stain—an indelible mark of unforgettable impact.

Ratings for "Dilaw" by Maki💛 Lyrics: The words in "Dilaw" are beautiful and really capture the ups and downs of love. They're like a painting, full of emotion and meaning. (Rating: 4.5/5) Vocal: Maki sings the song really well, and you can feel the emotions in their voice. Sometimes they sound vulnerable, other times strong, but it all fits the song perfectly. (Rating: 4/5) Emotional Impact: This song really hits you in the heart. It's so relatable, especially if you've ever been in love or gone through a breakup. It makes you feel things deeply. (Rating: 5/5) Production: The music in "Dilaw" sounds really good. Everything sounds clear and well put-together, which makes the song even better. (Rating: 4.5/5) Replay Value: You'll want to listen to this song over and over again. It's just so good and has a timeless feel to it that keeps you coming back. (Rating: 4/5) Overall Rating: "Dilaw" is an amazing song in every way. From the lyrics to the music to how it makes you feel, it's just really well done. (Overall Rating: 4.5/5)

#music #dilaw #yellow #myyellow #maki #bini_maloi #blog #spotify #youtube

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mellyssageversee · 7 months ago

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Noble Hearts - Chapter 5

ZoSan Royal AU - AO3 Link

Summary: The threat of famine looms over the Kuraigana Kingdom as resources dwindle. Suspicion grips the royal Mihawk family when the prosperous Germa Kingdom offers aid by means of a transactional alliance. As tensions rise, the unforeseen connection between two princes may decide the fate of their kingdoms.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

In the sanctuary of his private quarters, Zoro found himself enveloped by Sanji’s embrace, the warmth of their closeness comforting in the dimly lit room. Sanji gasped, running his hands through Zoro’s green hair. Zoro didn’t know why Sanji suddenly decided to barge into his room with that determined look in his eye, but he didn’t question it, choosing to relish in the intimacy of the moment. Unable to get enough, Zoro buried his face into Sanji’s neck, nipping at the soft tender flesh. He felt Sanji shudder at the touch. All was silent around them, save for the soft panting of Sanji’s breath. No one else existed in the world but them.

Sanji’s grip on his hair tightened, the cook softly moaned, “Zoro…”

“Zoro… Zoro!” The voice shifted, morphing into an urgent hiss, pulling Zoro from the depths of his slumber.

Confusion clouded Zoro’s mind when he felt a gentle shake on his shoulders, the sensation pulling him further from the remnants of his dream. Wrenching his eyes open, he was met with the sight of Sanji looming above him, his features obscured by shadows. It took a moment for Zoro to orient himself, to remember that he was in bed and that the warmth of Sanji’s embrace had been nothing more than a fleeting dream. Disappointment settled in his chest.

“Damn, you are hard to wake up.” Sanji’s whisper cut through the silence. He settled on the edge of Zoro’s bed, causing it to dip under his weight. In the darkness, Sanji’s form was barely discernible to Zoro’s bleary eyes.

“Yeah well, you kept me out pretty late.” Zoro grumbled, his voice rough with sleep as he sat up, the rustling of the sheets accompanying his movements. He cast a glance towards the window, noting the lingering presence of stars in the sky. “What time is it?”

“It’s early. The sun should be rising soon.” Sanji replied.

“Why the hell are you waking me up this early?” Zoro feigned irritation, though beneath his facade, he welcomed the company. The dream he had been enjoying had been replaced by the reality of Sanji’s presence in his room, igniting a spark of anticipation within him. After their heartfelt conversation the night before, Zoro couldn’t help but wonder if Sanji had come to finally address the unspoken connection between them.

Zoro sensed Sanji shared his affection but recognized the cook’s hesitance to express it fully. Respecting Sanji’s pace, Zoro had resigned himself to patience, willing to wait for the moment when Sanji felt ready to open up.

“You said you wanted to see what I do with all my free time. I’m going to show you. But first you have to get your lazy ass out of bed.”

Sanji’s declaration jolted Zoro out of his drowsy state, his curiosity piqued by the promise of discovering what secrets the cook had been keeping. As Sanji rose from the bed, Zoro couldn’t help but notice the difference between his usual form fitting royal-attire and the loose clothing Sanji now wore.

The ensemble was a far cry from the regal outfits Zoro had grown accustomed to seeing Sanji in. Instead, he wore what looked like the garb of a common villager. The long-sleeved shirt, well-worn and oversized, seemed to swallow Sanji’s lean frame, the fabric billowing around him. Tucked into his pants, the shirt was cinched at the waist by a flimsy rope that wrapped around his narrow hips three times to keep everything in place.

Gone was the signature red cape, a symbol of his noble status. In its place, a hooded cloak hung over his shoulders, its muted color seemed better suited for blending into the surroundings of a village.

Observing Zoro’s scrutiny, Sanji anticipated his unspoken question and offered an explanation.

“I brought you similar clothing so you don’t stick out.” Sanji skillfully kicked up a bag, catching him off guard as it collided with his face. Blinking away the surprise, he removed the bag just in time to catch sight of Sanji yawning. Only now did Zoro notice the faint purple smudges beneath Sanji’s eyes, as if he hadn’t slept.

“Did you even get any sleep?” Zoro inquired, rising from the bed and feeling the chill of the stone floor beneath his feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of the covers he had just left behind.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Sanji brushed off Zoro’s concern with a dismissive wave of his hand, his fatigue evident in his weary movements. He strode purposefully towards the door, “Now don’t doddle. I’ll be waiting outside your door while you get changed. If you’re not out within 5 minutes then I’m leaving without you.”

“What? Hey wait-“ Zoro didn’t get to ask Sanji what he was talking about. Sanji had already stepped out the door and closed it behind him, leaving Zoro with many unanswered questions.

Zoro scrambled to catch up, excitement thrumming through his veins at Sanji’s cryptic words. He hastily changed into the clothes provided by Sanji, a sense of determination fueling his actions. He couldn’t be left behind. He refused to be left behind, especially when Sanji seemed to be leading him into something intriguing.

Zoro emerged from his room to find Sanji waiting in the hallway, his blue eyes peering nervously up and down the corridor as if someone else might appear at any moment. When his gaze landed on Zoro, Sanji beckoned the swordsman to follow with a wave of his hand.

They crept through silent corridors and staircases, pausing at every corner to ensure the coast was clear. The amount of caution Sanji took navigating his own home was perplexing to Zoro. Sanji was alert to every sound, his eyes scrutinized every dancing shadow as if it threatened to reveal their presence.

When the chatter of two guards caught their attention, Sanji stiffened and immediately pulled Zoro into the shadows behind a stone pillar. They were pressed so close together in the small space that Zoro could feel Sanji’s short panicked breaths in the rapid rise and fall of his chest against his own.

Zoro opened his mouth to question why they were hiding from the very people whose duty was to protect them, but Sanji’s warm fingertips rose to cover his lips, causing the words to catch in his throat.

The guards were next to them by this point. Their voices seemed to amplify tenfold in the empty corridor.

Neither Zoro nor Sanji dared to move.

Once the guards had passed, and their conversation faded into the distance, Sanji breathed out a relieved sigh. He let his hand fall from Zoro’s lips, but the warmth they had provided still lingered.

Zoro opened his mouth once more to question Sanji about all of this sneaking around.

“Why-“

“I’ll explain everything later.” Sanji interrupted in an urgent whisper. “For now, stay quiet and keep close. Unless you want to turn back?”

Zoro stood straighter, feeling challenged by Sanji’s suggestion. He was never one to quit, and he didn’t come this far just to leave without any of his questions answered.

“Lead the way.”

The two set off once more, Zoro being sure to stay just as vigilant and cautious as Sanji.

The chill of the early morning air greeted them when they stepped outside, prompting Sanji to pull up his hood and he gestured for Zoro to do the same.

In the distance, a simple horse-drawn wagon awaited them. They approached, causing the horse tethered to a post to grow restless, but Sanji was quick to run a soothing hand across it’s neck. The touch quickly pacified the animal.

Zoro observed with keen interest as Sanji untethered the horse and casually hefted himself onto the wagon, settling comfortably into the bench, then patted the empty space next to him for Zoro to join, but the swordsman’s mind buzzed with more questions.

“Do you have permission to take this?” Zoro questioned. He lifted himself into the wagon, settling in the seat beside Sanji.

“I gave myself permission,” Sanji replied, his grip firm on the reins as he signaled the horse to move forward. There was a spark of defiance in his eyes as he added, “It belongs to the Vinsmoke family, and I am a Vinsmoke.”

Zoro couldn’t help but chuckle at Sanji’s brazen response, but his curiosity only deepened.

“Stealing vases and now stealing a wagon full of…” Zoro trailed off as he attempted to lift the sheet covering the wagon’s cargo, only to have his hand swatted away by Sanji. “Of some mystery item. I think I’m seeing a pattern here.”

Sanji’s curly brow quirked upward. “And what pattern might that be?”

“You’re a bit of a rebel.”

Sanji’s smile became skewed, as if Zoro’s newest label had caused him discomfort. The almost pained expression made Zoro wonder: was Sanji fearful of the repercussions he would face if others found out he was breaking rules?

Sanji guided them through the Germa Kingdom. Zoro took in the beautiful sights, marveling at the rolling hills and vibrant greenery that stretched out before them. The distant scent of the salty ocean breeze mingled with the earthy fragrance of the countryside. Yet, amidst its natural beauty, Zoro couldn’t help but notice the gradual decline in the condition of the homes they passed. Many showed signs of neglect, with cracks that ran along the walls like veins and peeling paint marring their faces. The uneven terrain of the unkempt roads made the wagon sway uncomfortably as they traversed further from the Vinsmoke home.

Despite the early hour, the silence was almost eerie, a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere Zoro was used to in the Kuraigana Kingdom. It made him long for his own home, where villagers eagerly greeted his family, knowing their rulers were trustworthy and dedicated to their well-being. In Kuraigana, the cobblestone streets were meticulously maintained, and the sturdy structures reflected the care and pride the kingdom took in providing for its citizens. Zoro’s family had always ensured that their people felt secure and valued, fostering a sense of community and mutual respect.

Zoro peered back towards the castle, watching until the tall towers were nothing but a haze in the distance. He thought about how odd it was to see something that felt so strong and imposing slowly become small and quiet from the run down village. How could a kingdom that boasts of such wealth leave its citizens in such conditions?

The sun began to cast its golden rays across the fields just as Sanji brought the wagon to a halt outside a modest-looking home. It was more put together than others with the obvious signs of repairs being made; cracks filled in with binding and window shutters correctly in place.

Eager anticipation danced across Sanji’s eyes as he leaped out of the wagon, leaving Zoro behind. The blonde raced excitedly to the door, and knocked fervently.

Zoro descended from the wagon, his gaze remained fixed on the door, wondering who could possibly evoke such a response from the cook.

A moment later, it swung open on its squeaky hinges to reveal a large older gentleman with a lengthy braided mustache that pulled on the man’s features, accentuating his stern glare and deepened his present frown. Yet, as soon as his eyes landed on Sanji, a warmth spread across the man’s face, his smile defying the severity of his mustache’s frown.

"Ah, look who’s back to wreak havoc in my kitchen." the man greeted, his tone gruff yet laced with a hint of fondness as he fixed his gaze on Sanji. Despite his rough exterior, there was a warmth in his eyes that spoke of genuine affection.

“Good to see you too, old man.” Sanji fired back with a smirk, evoking a hearty chuckle from the man. Their banter was familiar, filled with a shared history that softened the edges of their exchanges.

However, as soon as the man's gaze shifted to Zoro, his expression turned stern. He folded his arms in front of him in an authoritative manner. The stance wasn’t one that was threatening, but it demanded respect.

“And it seems you’ve brought company. That’s a first.” the man remarked, his eyes squinting as he scrutinized Zoro, scanning him as if trying to detect any fault.

“Zeff, this moss head is Zoro, a prince from the Kuraigana Kingdom.” Sanji introduced Zoro proudly.

Zeff’s frown seemed to deepen at the mention of Zoro being a royal. But Sanji missed this as he fully turned his attention back to the swordsman.

“Zoro, this is Zeff.” Sanji introduced Zeff with a grin. ”He used to work as a chef in our castle before his retirement.”

“Pft, more like forced retirement,” Zeff grumbled, his voice gruff, but Zoro noticed a hint of pride behind those words with the way Zeff stuck his chin up.

“Forced?” Zoro asked, lifting a brow.

“I talked back a few too many times with Judge,” Zeff explained. “Said the only reason why I got to retire instead of being banished from Germa completely was because I helped train Sanji.”

Now both of Zoro’s eyebrows rose in surprise, processing the unexpected information. This older man didn't seem like he'd be strong enough to train Sanji to what he was capable of.

“So what brings you down this way?” Zeff inquired, then he noticed the wagon. Recognition immediately sparked in his eyes, his stern demeanor giving way to warmth once more. “My little eggplant came with more charitable gifts.”

“Eggplant?” Zoro glanced at Sanji, who flushed slightly at the nickname. He made a mental note to tease him about it later.

Zeff moved past them towards the wagon, a rhythmic clunk accompanying every other step. It was only then that Zoro noticed the absence of one of Zeff’s limbs, a peg leg in its place. Zeff lifted the cloth covering the contents to reveal packaged food.

Zoro’s gaze darted back to Sanji in surprise. Had Sanji spent the night working alone in the kitchens to prepare all this?

“This is so much more than what you usually bring.” Zeff remarked, impressed by the abundance of food.

“There was a large banquet last night,” Sanji explained with a casual shrug. “You know how Judge likes to show off. Most of it didn’t even get to the party.”

Zeff shook his head in disappointment.

“Well, his prideful choices this time around will be very beneficial to others.” Zeff covered the wagon and motioned for the two to follow him inside. “Come on now. Let’s not just stand around wasting daylight. We have work to do.”

Entering Zeff’s home felt like stepping into a world of rustic charm. Despite its evident need for repairs, there was a cozy ambiance that enveloped the space. Paintings of various fish adorned the walls of the small living area, giving it a distinct maritime feel that Zoro found oddly comforting. In the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living area, were herbs and copper pots hanging from the rafter above the stove.

Zeff retrieved a large book from a shelf and placed it on the dining table, where Sanji immediately joined him, flipping through its pages.

“How is the Kurozumi family faring?” Sanji inquired.

“Not that well. Their little one caught a nasty bug, and they had to scrape together some funds for her medical bills,” Zeff replied. “The doctor mentioned her malnutrition is making her more susceptible to illness.”

Sanji looked pained by the news. His mouth turning into a grimace.

“Let’s ensure they have enough to tide them over until their next payment period,” Sanji noted in the book, his voice firm as he jotted down a reminder.

Zoro observed the two, intrigued by the obvious bond between them. The way they discussed the distribution of food amongst the villagers reminded him of the strategic planning sessions he had with Mihawk to safeguard their people. Each decision seemed meticulously calculated, with a clear focus on the welfare of others. A sense of admiration washed over Zoro as he witnessed Sanji’s selfless actions. Despite lacking formal royal responsibilities, Sanji had taken it upon himself to provide for those in need, embodying the true essence of nobility through his deeds.

Although Zoro found himself captivated by Sanji’s presence, feeling drawn to the cook in a way he couldn’t quite explain, he couldn’t help but wonder why Sanji had to do this all in secret. Why wasn’t Judge caring for his own people?

As Zoro continued to watch, lost in his thoughts, he suddenly noticed that Zeff was now casting a suspicious glare his way.

“And what will your role be in all of this, Moss Head?” Zeff's tone was harsh and probing.

Zoro raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by Zeff's demeanor. It seemed that Sanji's nickname for him had caught on, but Zeff's use of the name was icy and sharp; a cutting insult showing his mocking distrust of the newcomer.

“Sanji seems to think I'm good at carrying things when instructed,” Zoro replied evenly, exchanging a glance with Sanji, who flashed him a grin in return.

“Well then, I suppose we’ll put your strength to good use. I have plenty of crates we can use to organize the distribution,” Zeff stated gruffly. Zoro nodded, eager to assist in any way he could. Zeff redirected his attention to Sanji. “You go ahead and show him where those are stored. I’ll be out to help in a bit.”

Sanji led Zoro out the back door, where the swordsman’s gaze fell upon a stack of sturdy crates that were likely crafted by Zeff's skilled hands.

“So you’ve been secretly aiding your own people?” Zoro inquired once the door closed behind them.

Sanji nodded, looking thoughtful as he sorted through the crates they would be using.

“Why would Judge offer aid to our kingdom when he’s struggling to support his own?” Zoro questioned.

Sanji froze, crate in hand. His brows furrowed, as if he was struggling to find the words to explain the contradiction Zoro had pointed out. After a long pause, Sanji set down the crate he had been holding, his posture shifting so he could lean against the wall. The cook slid his hands into his pockets, a gesture that Zoro took as Sanji subconsciously betraying his unease, even if he tried to maintain a calm facade.

“Our kingdom isn’t struggling,” Sanji began. “With the negotiations going on, I was hesitant to share but then last night…” Sanji’s voice faltered, a fleeting shadow of that hollow sadness crossed his features briefly before he recovered, “I think you have a right to know where Judge’s priorities are.”

Zoro approached Sanji, his gaze remaining fixed on the other. He stopped before the cook, silently encouraging Sanji to continue.

“It was actually my fault Zeff was made to leave in the first place," Sanji confessed, he let his gaze drift down to the floor, unable to look Zoro in the eye when he voiced his guilt. "Judge kept telling me to stay away from the kitchens, but I wouldn’t listen, so Zeff was the one who was punished for my disobedience."

Zoro listened in solemn silence, his brow furrowing with concern as Sanji continued.

"It took me a while to track him down, but I found him here. He was just like everyone else in this village: struggling to put food on the table. At the time, none of this made any sense to me. Judge is always boasting about our Kingdom’s riches, so why were our people starving?"

Sanji's breathing wavered, as if trembling with suppressed fury.

“I tried to convince Judge to help, but he didn’t care. He said that this village doesn’t pay their taxes, therefore they have not earned the privilege of our aid." Sanji lifted his gaze to meet Zoro’s, revealing the anguish he tried to hide.

Zoro watched entranced, a silent witness to the fire that burned within Sanji's soul.

"We have a duty to help our people. I want Judge to understand that basic necessities like food and health aren’t a privilege, they are a basic human right!”

Sanji’s declaration struck Zoro like a bolt of lightning, his heart pulsing something electric through his veins that left him feeling breathless. Zoro knew from the beginning that he was drawn to Sanji, but now, he was sure that he was undeniably, and helplessly, in love with him.

The unwavering dedication and compassion that Sanji exhibited towards his people was truly admirable, and although every fiber of his being yearned to draw closer to Sanji, to offer comfort and support, Zoro knew he had to hold strong. He had to respect Sanji's boundaries even if his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

Instead, he chose to focus on the matter at hand. His mind dwelled on the horrible conditions the citizens of Germa were being left in. There was no doubt in his mind that Mihawk would be furious to learn of the Germa people suffering while Judge, fully capable of easing their grief, chose to do nothing.

"When Mihawk hears of this, he may refuse proceeding with the alliance." Zoro confessed with a heavy sigh.

Sanji crossed his arms over himself, his expression softening with understanding.

"I was afraid you might say that," Sanji replied, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I’m going to miss seeing that Moss Head of yours wandering lost around our castle."

The realization of what Sanji's words meant caused a painful ache to settle in his chest. Zoro hadn't considered the possibility of not seeing Sanji again if the alliance fell through.

Instinctively, Zoro reached out, his hand clutching onto Sanji’s. Surprise flickered across Sanji's face at the gesture.

"You know you are welcome to visit Kuraigana whenever you like." Zoro said firmly.

“I’m not sure Judge would allow that.” Sanji admitted reluctantly.

“Then I’ll come visit you.” Zoro insisted, his intense gaze locking with Sanji’s as he tightened his grasp on the cook’s hand, drawing him closer.

Sanji returned the squeeze, his smile tuning bittersweet. There was an unspoken statement in that simple gesture: Judge wouldn’t allow that either.

Zoro stiffened, hating that his fears were being recognized and solidified as an undeniable reality. He really would never see Sanji again if things fell through. It was like having ice poured through his veins, and it chilled him to his core; it was such a horrid thing to have affirmed, especially with how important and dear the other prince had already become to him.

They were just as close as they had been in the kitchen, and like that time, Sanji didn’t pull away. Although Zoro tried to be patient, a sudden urgency swept over him, a need to seize the moment with Sanji before it slipped away forever.

Zoro boldly placed his free hand on Sanji’s hip, the other still clasped onto Sanji’s hand tightly. Sanji’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, but he didn’t retreat, meeting Zoro’s gaze with anticipation.

Zoro found himself lost in the depths of Sanji’s blue eyes, drawn to them like the relentless pull of the ocean's tides, threatening to consume him. They held a power over him, pulling him closer with each passing moment. There was nothing more than a breath between their mouths, Zoro felt the pull of the inevitable, ready to succumb to the tide that threatened to engulf him.

Before their lips could meet, the door swung open, shattering the moment like glass. Sanji seemed to instinctively push Zoro away with a forceful shove, creating a distance between them. It was a familiar pattern, one they had experienced before; a moment of intimacy interrupted by the outside world, and Sanji’s instinctive reaction to shield their intimacy from prying eyes.

Zoro didn’t bother hiding his disappointment as he let his hands fall limply to his sides. He turned to face the intruder, Zeff, and was taken aback by the intensity of the older man’s gaze.

Unlike Patty’s obliviousness the day before, Zeff seemed acutely aware of the situation between Zoro and Sanji. His eyes bore into Zoro with a sternness that reminded him of Mihawk’s protective glare, the same one that had silenced the castle guard upon their arrival. It was a gaze that spoke volumes without uttering a word, a silent warning against impending danger.

“I’m not interrupting something, am I?” Zeff questioned darkly. He stepped closer, looming over them, and Zoro couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being scrutinized, as if Zeff was trying to decipher the nature of their relationship.

“No. We were just having a conversation.” Sanji replied, though he wasn’t making eye contact with either Zeff or Zoro. Instead, he chose to turn his attention back to the pile of crates.

Zeff’s eyes narrowed further, making Zoro feel uncomfortable.

“Really? Because that ‘conversation’ looked a bit too intimate-“

“You really need to get your eyes checked if you think anything else was happening, old man!” Sanji snapped back defensively, angrily snatching up crates to accentuate his point. However, the blush that had now taken over the entire of Sanji’s face made him unconvincing, “Weren’t you the one saying there is a lot of work to be done? Stop wasting time!”

Sanji hurriedly made his way towards the side of the house, brushing past Zeff in frustration.

Zoro could feel the tension radiating off of Zeff, thickening in the air. He awkwardly gathered crates in his arms and attempted to follow Sanji’s lead. However, Zeff intercepted him, blocking his path with a firm arm. Zoro met the older man’s gaze that bore into his own.

“Don’t think for a moment that I’m too old to understand where ‘conversations’ lead,” Zeff warned, his tone laden with a weighty implication. Zoro frowned, unsure of what Zeff was getting at, but before he could inquire further, Zeff continued, “We may have a job to do, but later on we will be having our own conversation about your intentions.”

The statement was obviously a threat, one that Zoro had no response for. While Zeff may not wield the same authority as Judge, his protective stance towards Sanji exuded an intimidating aura that unnerved Zoro more than the crooked king ever could.

Zeff finally lowered his arm, allowing Zoro to pass, but Zeff’s watchful gaze never wavered.

Throughout their task of packaging food and preparing for distribution, Zeff maintained a vigilant eye on the duo. His imposing figure seemed to materialize whenever Zoro edged too close to Sanji, a silent reminder of his earlier threat.

They soon ventured into the heart of the village with the wagon, Sanji taking the lead, carrying a crate towards the first house. Zoro moved to follow suit, only to be halted by Zeff’s restraining hand grabbing onto a fistful of Zoro’s cloak.

“It’ll take too long if we all go one house at a time. Sanji, you go ahead, and I’ll instruct this one on how he can help.” Zeff directed. Sanji cast a skeptical glance at Zeff but with a reluctant nod, Sanji proceeded, leaving Zoro behind.

Once Sanji was out of sight, Zeff thrust a crate into Zoro’s arms with a force that left him wondering if he'd have bruises where the sharp corners dug into his arms.

“Take this to the third house on your left. She’ll likely refuse at first, but don’t return until she accepts.” Zeff commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Suppressing his frustration, Zoro clenched his jaw tightly, refusing to engage in a verbal exchange. With a nod, he accepted the task and headed towards the designated house.

“Your other left!” Zeff snapped, prompting Zoro to correct his course with an inward grimace.

Arriving at the correct door, Zoro knocked firmly, his resolve unwavering as he prepared to fulfill his task.

The door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman, the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes deepened behind her thick glasses as her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Her graying hair was wound in a tight bun, giving Zoro the impression that she was a harsh woman.

“What do you want?” she grumbled, gruff and unwelcoming.

Although his expression remained stoic, Zoro felt on edge. Interacting with his own citizens was never a strong suit for him, so he didn’t know how to interact with Sanji’s. Knowing his own limitations with words, Zoro lifted the crate, silently conveying the purpose of his visit.

The woman scowled as she scrutinized the box, clearly unimpressed by its contents. Her eyes flicked back towards Zoro.

“Where’s the other boy?” she snapped.

“I’m helping him today,” Zoro responded, offering the crate once more. The woman's expression remained unchanged. Zoro pressed on, attempting to bridge the gap of understanding. “He prepared this himself, especially for you.”

“I don’t want your charity. If he really wants me to accept then tell him to come and bring it himself.” the woman snapped unyieldingly.

Zoro felt his frustration growing at her stubbornness.

“He’s busy with other deliveries.” Zoro replied as evenly as he could, trying to reason with her.

But the woman remained resolute.

“I won’t accept it unless he comes himself.”

Zoro's brow furrowed. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Zeff sent him here thinking he would fail. The thought fueled a simmering anger within him, and he tightened his grip on the crate. If Zeff expected him to fail, Zoro was determined to prove him wrong. This was no longer just about delivering food; it was a personal challenge, and Zoro was ready to face it head-on.

Zoro stood his ground, his resolve unwavering. "If you don't take it, I'll just leave it on the doorstep," he insisted firmly, holding the crate steady.

The woman's reaction was immediate. She gasped, her face contorting with offense. "You'll just attract rodents that way, you brat!" Her voice rose in anger, and she made to slam the door shut.

Refusing to be deterred, Zoro pressed forward, using his strength to keep the door from closing completely. With a determined push, he managed to enter the woman's home, ignoring her protests.

Inside, the woman continued to voice her displeasure, sputtering in shock at Zoro's audacity. She followed closely behind him, swatting at him with her frail hands in a futile attempt to stop him.

"If you won’t accept for yourself, at least accept for the cook’s sake," Zoro asserted firmly, blocking her hands that continued to swat at him. "If you have any care for the work he does for you and the rest of your village, you will accept."

The old woman halted her attack, her expression souring into a frown as she dropped her hands to her side. Avoiding Zoro's gaze, she muttered begrudgingly, "Fine. Just leave it."

Zoro hesitated, feeling unsettled by the bitterness in her tone. It didn’t sit right with him to leave when she was still clearly upset. How would Sanji have handled this situation?

The realization slowly dawned upon Zoro. Neither he nor the old woman had mentioned Sanji by name. Did she, like Zoro, hide her respect for the cook’s work behind a facade of indifference? Living alone, she must have yearned for the company Sanji often provided, concealing her disappointment that he wasn’t the one bringing her food.

“If you like, I can let the cook know to still stop by and pay you a visit.” Zoro offered, hoping to ease the tension lingering between them.

The hard lines of the woman’s face softened ever so slightly at the offer, a fleeting hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Taking the subtle shift as a small victory, Zoro began to make his way towards the door. However, he was caught off guard when the woman's hand shot out with surprising speed to latch onto his arm.

“If he’s too busy, at least tell him I said thank you,” she grumbled, her voice carrying a touch of reluctant gratitude.

Zoro nodded, giving the woman's hand a reassuring pat before stepping outside. He couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment for navigating the interaction successfully, a small victory in his ongoing struggle with social interactions.

As he approached the wagon, Zoro noticed Sanji and Zeff engaged in a heated argument. Their voices carried, but they seemed oblivious to his presence.

“You sent him to Semana’s house?!” Sanji's voice crackled with frustration, his tone sharp as he confronted Zeff, who avoided making eye contact.

“He wanted to help,” Zeff responded, his attention fixed on rearranging the contents of one of the crates.

“Yeah, help! Not get accosted!” Sanji's anger flared as he closed the distance between them. “He's the first friend I've introduced you to, and you treat him like shit! I want you both to get along, so stop whatever power play you're pulling and go help him!”

“Was that supposed to be a difficult task?”

Zoro’s voice caused Zeff to abruptly lift his head at the unexpected interruption, his gaze meeting Zoro's with a hint of surprise.

“You’re back already?” Sanji's eyes widened comically, mouth agape as his mind tried to process Zoro's swift return. Zoro simply nodded, leaning casually against the wagon.

“She isn’t as tough as you make her out to be. But she did ask for you to swing by if you get the chance.” Zoro remarked.

Sanji continued to study Zoro, as if searching for any hint of deception. Even Zeff seemed impressed by Zoro's efficiency, evident by his straight back posture and steady gaze. Zoro directed his attention fully to Zeff, silently challenging him with his eyes.

“Any more 'challenging' tasks for me, old man?” Zoro's tone carried a hint of defiance as he addressed Zeff. The two locked eyes in a silent standoff until Zeff relented with a smirk.

“You're just as stubborn as Sanji, aren't you?” Zeff chuckled, his tone softened. Zoro returned the smile, interpreting Zeff's reaction as a sign of acceptance.

As the day progressed, Zoro found himself seamlessly integrated into the village's rhythm. Gone were Zeff's attempts to assign him to the "difficult" tasks. Instead, Zoro worked alongside Sanji and Zeff, their efforts welcomed warmly by the grateful families they visited. Children clung to Sanji’s cloak, their laughter echoing the joy of receiving aid. Zoro admired Sanji's natural ability to connect with each person, addressing them by name and ensuring their needs were met with genuine care.

As promised, the trio stopped by Semana’s house, the old woman looked much happier upon seeing Sanji on her doorstep, and pulled him into a deep conversation, leaving Zoro alone with Zeff.

"In all my years of knowing Sanji, he's never brought anyone to meet me before." Zeff remarked, his tone carrying a hint of fatherly concern reminiscent of Mihawk's protectiveness over Zoro and Perona. "You must be very important for him to bring you here, to include you in something he has kept secret from Judge."

The weight behind his words resonated deeply with Zoro. He mulled over the implications behind them, feeling a swell of gratitude that Sanji valued their connection enough to involve him in such significant endeavors.

"I hope I continue to be that important in his life." Zoro replied earnestly.

Zeff's stern demeanor softened, replaced by a look of gratitude. However, the look was gone in an instant, replaced by his same stern gaze as before.

"I'm glad to hear, since a lot of other monarchs seem to give him grief. Just be mindful of Judge. That man is very particular about who gets to be a part of his children's lives." Zeff replied, his voice laced with caution. “He always expected them to be perfect obedient soldiers.”

Zoro's gaze lingered on Sanji, his thoughts clouded with concern. The memory of Judge's firm grip on Sanji's shoulder flashed in his mind, causing his stomach to twist uneasily inside him. He couldn't shake the feeling that Judge's influence loomed over every aspect of Sanji's life, casting a shadow of control that Zoro found unsettling.

Zoro was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed Sanji returning, the cook’s lips pursed as if he was concealing amusement.

“No longer at each other’s throats I see.” Sanji remarked, his eyes flicking between Zoro and Zeff.

“Just giving my approval.” Zeff replied unexpectedly. Crossing his arms to emphasize the weight of his statement.

“Approval?” Sanji questioned with a tilt of his head, mirroring Zoro’s own inner confusion.

Zeff nodded solemnly, his expression serious and contemplative, adding to Zoro's growing sense of apprehension.

“But don’t think that gets either of you out of a lecture.” Zeff added gruffly as he turned and hoisted himself into the wagon.

Zoro exchanged a puzzled glance with Sanji, both equally bewildered by Zeff's cryptic behavior. Their confusion only deepened as they climbed into the wagon, sitting side by side with Sanji sandwiched between them.

The meaning behind Zeff's words soon became painfully clear as he launched into an unexpected lecture directed at Sanji.

“I don’t know what sort of talks Judge has had with you, but you have got to learn some self-control,” Zeff admonished, his voice stern. “You have to remember, relationships can be similar to cooking-”

Sanji’s reaction was priceless, a strangled sound escaping him that bordered on disbelief. Zoro bit his lip to stifle his laughter, fighting to maintain his stoic face as Zeff continued his culinary analogy.

“Sometimes, when you’re impatient, you’ll be tempted to turn up the heat to get things cooking faster. But that’ll just cause things to boil over. It’s important to be patient, take things slow, lower the heat, and let things simmer.”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?!” Sanji exclaimed, eyes wide in mortification.

Zoro struggled to contain his amusement. Despite his best efforts, Zoro’s shoulders trembled with suppressed laughter.

Sanji, ever perceptive, shot him a warning glare, his voice a menacing whisper, “Keep laughing and I’ll shove my foot up your-”

“Careful now,” Zoro countered with a sly grin, matching Sanji's low pitch, “You wouldn’t want your temper to boil over.”

Sanji retaliated by stomping his heel onto Zoro’s foot and twisting it painfully.

“Hey! Are you two even listening to me?!”

Zeff’s ‘lecture’ seemed to stretch on endlessly during the ride back to his home. Sanji appeared utterly mortified, burying his face in his hands as if he wished he could disappear into thin air. However, for Zoro, the lecture brought a strange sense of reassurance. It wasn't just his imagination; Zeff also recognized the bond between them. And Sanji’s lack of denial spoke volumes, confirming what Zoro had sensed all along.

Back at Zeff’s, time seemed to slip away as the two princes lingered longer than intended. Zeff insisted on preparing a meal that Sanji helped prepare. Zoro sat back watching the two move about the kitchen, amused by the way Sanji and Zeff argued over the ingredients to put into the seafood risotto. Despite their differences, their collaboration resulted in one of the most delicious meals Zoro had ever tasted, rivaling even the one Sanji had cooked the previous night.

With their stomachs satisfied and hearts lighter, Sanji and Zoro bid farewell to Zeff as the sun dipped low into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and violet. The sea breeze carried a chill, but the warmth of their companionship kept them comfortable. A serene silence enveloped them, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the shore and the distant cries of seabirds.

It was Sanji who finally spoke, breaking the tranquil moment with a soft smile, “Looks like negotiations will have to wait another day.”

“Mihawk will understand.” Zoro reassured Sanji, his voice steady and unwavering. He didn’t need to elaborate further; they both knew the information Zoro possessed would weigh heavily on the decisions of the Kuraigana kingdom.

Silence settled between them once more, broken only by the rhythmic beat of the horse’s hooves against the earth and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Zoro found himself lost in his thoughts, reflecting on the day’s events.

"Your people truly seem to care for you and the work you do." Zoro remarked thoughtfully, but was surprised by the flicker of uncertainty on Sanji's face. The subtle way Sanji gripped the reins did not escape Zoro's notice.

"I just wish I could do more for them." Sanji confessed, his voice heavy with regret.

Zoro's brows furrowed, upset over the way Sanji doubted his own goodness.

“You’re already doing a lot,” Zoro insisted firmly, the gruffness in his voice betraying his frustration over the situation. “This shouldn’t even be your responsibility. It’s Judge’s.”

Sanji fell silent. The mention of Judge cast a shadow over his expression, his eyes clouded with sadness.

Zoro’s stomach churned with unease at the sight. Once again, he couldn’t help but question Judge’s parenting.

“Has it always been this bad with him?” Zoro asked, genuinely concerned.

Sanji stiffened at Zoro's question, a guarded edge creeping into his demeanor.

"What do you mean?" Sanji’s eyes narrowed defensively.

Zoro took a moment to choose his words carefully.

"Zeff mentioned that Judge always expected you and your siblings to be perfect soldiers," he explained. "He doesn’t even like you going to the kitchens, so I wondered if he ever gave you a chance to be yourself."

"We are royals. We are expected to live our lives by our obligations and responsibilities," Sanji replied. Yet, his expression softened slightly, a flicker of warmth returning to his eyes as if he was recalling a distant memory. "But, my mother was the one who used to encourage us to strive more for our dreams."

Zoro sat a little straighter at the mention of the Germa Queen. It was the first time Sanji had mentioned her, and Zoro now realized how little he knew about her. Her tragic passing in a Dracon attack had been known as the first of many, but her influence on Sanji's upbringing was a mystery until now.

"She encouraged your cooking?" Zoro probed, intrigued to learn more.

Sanji paused, lost in thought. "Not only that," he continued after a moment, "there were other things she was supportive of. Things that most others would mock or would make Judge upset. Like, when I was a kid, I used to dream about finding the All Blue." His tone was hesitant, almost cautious, as if he expected Zoro to ridicule him. But Zoro's expression remained earnest, encouraging Sanji to open up.

"And what’s that?" Zoro asked, nudging Sanji gently.

Sanji’s cheek hollowed slightly, as if he was nervously biting down on it. After a moment of hesitation, his gaze finally met Zoro’s, revealing a subtle shine of excitement.

"It’s a place where all four seas meet," Sanji began, his eyes alight with a passion that drew Zoro in. "Despite all obstacles, the fish from every sea converge together in this one place. It's a place where barriers between different worlds dissolve, and where this impossible feat becomes reality.” With each word, Sanji's excitement grew, his gestures becoming more animated as he painted a vivid picture of his dream. “In my mind, I see it like a shimmering horizon of colorful fish waiting to be discovered. Imagine all the recipes I could create with them. All the endless possibilities and-"

As Sanji continued to speak, Zoro couldn't help but feel swept away by his vision. He watched in awe as Sanji's face lit up with pure joy, his enthusiasm contagious. In that moment, Zoro understood why Sanji's mother had been encouraging of something that brought him so much happiness.

The sparkle in Sanji's eyes seemed to reflect the shimmering sea he described, and Zoro found himself completely entranced by the beauty of Sanji's dream. It was as if he could see it too, the vibrant colors and boundless potential that Sanji envisioned.

But then Sanji's smile turned shy, the expression tugged at Zoro’s heartstrings.

"Anyways, people don’t really believe it exists." Sanji shrugged, his tone becoming more subdued as he awkwardly turned his face away.

"Why not?" Zoro asked gently.

Sanji's brow arched in surprise, caught off guard by Zoro's inquiry. "It’s a legend?" he replied tentatively, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

"But you don’t believe it is," Zoro stated calmly, prompting Sanji to fully turn his attention back to the swordsman. "I can tell by the way you talk about it."

Sanji's brows furrowed slightly, intrigued by Zoro's astute observation.

"Don’t you think that if a place like the All Blue existed, then it would be more well known?" Sanji challenged.

“Not really.”

Sanji's skepticism wavered, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. He motioned for Zoro to continue, eager to hear more of his perspective on the matter.

"An entire sea that’s sole existence is based on the fact that it can defy the impossible is sure to have obstacles and rough waters to prevent people from finding it," Zoro began. He found himself speaking with a depth of emotion that surprised even him, as if the allure of Sanji’s All Blue had stirred something within. "Breaking boundaries, like the All Blue does, is not an easy task. It would make sense that only those with enough determination would be able to find it."

Zoro paused, he couldn't help but keep his gaze locked with Sanji, he thought he saw something flicker through Sanji, like sunlight rippling through water. It was a fleeting moment, yet it held a captivating allure. In that moment, it felt as though they shared an unspoken connection, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges they had faced together and the ones they were yet to overcome.

"But only the most courageous know that something so beautiful is worth the challenge." Zoro concluded, subtly hinting at the bond that was forming between them, a bond as rare and precious as the fabled All Blue itself.

Sanji leaned in, resting his forehead against Zoro’s. A longing look clouding his eye that made Zoro’s blood feel molten.

In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Zoro felt the familiar tug of desire, urging him to bridge the gap between them. The promise of something more lingering so tantalizingly close that he could feel the anticipation thrumming through his bones, but amidst the softness and tenderness of their connection, Zoro hesitated.

There was a nagging worry gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, a shadow that loomed over him. For days, he had respected Sanji's privacy, holding back the questions that threatened to spill from his lips. But now, with their time together feeling increasingly fragile and uncertain, Zoro knew he couldn't keep silent any longer.

Zoro reluctantly pulled away, causing Sanji to frown.

“Listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” Zoro began, attempting to keep his voice gentle despite his sense of urgency. “I’ve noticed something since I got here, but it’s a touchy subject, so I’ve been holding back.”

Sanji’s brows furrowed in confusion with the way Zoro treaded carefully with his words.

“You’re a completely different person around your family. Your brothers stir up trouble or just ignore you altogether. And Judge-” Zoro’s voice trailed off, his thoughts flickering to the memory of Judge and his oppressive grip on Sanji’s shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Zoro fought to quell the anger rising within him as he asked the question that had been stirring in his mind, “Are you safe?”

Sanji’s initial surprise gave way to a composed response.

“It's complicated, but I can handle it. I’ve been dealing with them for a long time now.” Sanji answered simply.

“That’s not what I asked.” Zoro pressed, keeping his tone firm, refusing to let his concern be brushed aside. He noticed Sanji’s subtle tensing. Switching tactics, Zoro broached a different topic. “Yonji called you a coward. Did something happen to cause the tension between you two?”

Sanji leaned back in his seat, one hand sliding into his pocket while the other maintained a firm grip on the reins. Despite his attempt to appear at ease, the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his nervousness.

“He wasn’t wrong.” Sanji confessed so softly that Zoro almost thought he had imagined it.

Zoro’s protective instincts surged within him, propelling him to reach out to Sanji. He carefully pried Sanji’s hand from his pocket, intertwining their fingers.

“Don’t say that,” Zoro urged sternly, holding Sanji’s hand in a tight grip. “Nothing you have done has ever given me that impression. You even risk facing Judge’s anger by constantly supporting the people he deems unworthy of assistance.” Leaning closer, Zoro’s gaze bore into Sanji, earnestly trying to convey his sincerity. “What happened to make you think you’re a coward?”

Sanji’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his struggle to conceal the tears betraying the deep sadness within him. Sensing his distress, Zoro maintained a supportive silence, offering a reassuring presence in the face of Sanji’s vulnerability.

With a wavering breath, Sanji gathered the courage to speak, his voice trembling.

“You shared your past with me.” Sanji began. “I think it’s time that I share mine.”

Zoro tightened his grip on Sanji’s hand, silently gesturing his encouragement.

“It happened years ago,” Sanji continued, his voice wavering. “My mother was comforting me after a confrontation with my brothers…”

Sanji’s words unveiled layers of pain and suffering that stabbed at Zoro like a cold knife that twisted deeper and deeper. The painful ache spread, anger stirring his blood, making his pulse pound loudly in his ears. With every detail of Sanji’s past abuse and loneliness, Zoro’s fists clenched tighter, his jaw locking with his restrained fury. The depth of Sanji’s suffering left him reeling, his mind racing to comprehend the extent of the injustice inflicted upon him. He wanted to ease the anguish Sanji felt but was at a loss on how he could help.

The pain reached a point where Zoro could no longer bear it. The sorrow and anger and longing gathered, forming a painful dam in his chest, ready to break.

Zoro acted on instinct, pulling Sanji tightly against his chest. Holding him there. Zoro felt the tension coil in Sanji’s body, felt his sharp inhale as if Zoro had pierced his chest, but an instant later, Sanji melted into the comforting embrace, burying his face into Zoro’s neck, his hands splayed against Zoro’s back. Sanji’s body was warm and firm against his own, and a sense of calm settled over them both. It was a small reassurance, it told Zoro that Sanji was safe there.

Zoro lifted his gaze over Sanji’s shoulder. His eyes casting a piercing glare at the castle in the distance. In that moment, a steely resolve hardened within him.

Judge would answer for all the suffering he had caused.

(Next Chapter)

#zosan #sanzo #zosan fic rec #zosan fic #sanzo fic

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bookwyrm35 · 1 year ago

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The insomnia demons have been growing in strength recently but the good side of sleepless nights is that it gives me more time to consume Lockwood and Co. fan media! This week's fascination has been edits. I'm sure we all know this already but there are some superb ones out there. Now, while I know nothing of editing and have none of the skills to create such masterpieces, I'd kill (joking) to see someone make and edit to Black Out Days by Phantogram. I mean, we already have their song Cruel World in the actual show (and that's how I found this gem), but Black Out Days is so Lockwood and Co. coded sometimes it physically hurts. To illustrate:

Jessica's room anymone? Lockwood does literally has a black out curtain in there.

The sunglasses has to wear anytime he's in her room?!

Listening in general but it brings to mind the Red Room or even the Winkman's warehouse.

Lucy basically speaking a different language when it comes to communicating with the Skull.

We'll get to these lyrics again later but for now I think footage of a good Locklyle moment would be good foreshadowing.

All the symbolism and instances they used mirrors for filming is just begging to be showcased.

I know we don't have footage of it (yet) but "stay away" is basically Lucy's entire exsistsnce/mantra/what have you in the fourth book.

Graves in general come to mind, but especially Bickerstaff's

Flares anyone?

That whole Bickerstaff rising moment would be awesome with this poetic language I think.

Okay, it doesn't translate very well in text but the way it's sung it sounds like the word "Stay" is just being elongated. The flare scene, "We need you Lucy. Please stay." would go perfectly here.

It literally says haunting and it's perfect for when Lucy's Listening.

So you know when encountered that last line earlier? Well I think it would be perfectly heart wrenching if it's now mirrored with either the start of episode 8 where both Lockwood and Lucy are still soaked from their dip in the Thames or that moment after the rescue from Winkmans where Lockwood decides not to open up and a part of Lucy gives up on him. (What would be even more perfect is that scene in Creeping Shadow when Lockwood comes knocking on her door but we don't have that on screen. Yet 🤞)

Anyway, that's just me. Thanks for sticking around for my ramblings if you made it this far. If anyone ever does or already has made a Lockwood and Co edit to this song someone PLEASE tell me, I'd love you forever.

#PortlandRowPlaylist #save lockwood and co #bring back lockwood and co #renew lockwood and co #lockwood and co show #lockwood and co books #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #george cubbins #locknation

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kayssweetdreams · 8 months ago

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The Perfect Finale Ch22

A few moments earlier, With Yin...

The Banished Maestro gave a raging yell. Not only did those brats manage to get the Bruno descendant, AND take some of his files and maps, but they had also escaped with the theater, and maestros in tow as well. He was SO CLOSE to getting back into the theater, and those HUMANS ruined it!

"Those stupid brats! I'll destroy them first once I find that theater again...They'll make good tests for Project X." He muttered. However...there was some good to the situation. Thanks to Prim being close to him when it happened, part of his seals broke from his eyes, revealing angry glowing red eyes from their seals, and allowing...some of his power to return. Sure he couldn't manipulate reality, or summon negative energy, but he could at least fly, and sense where the theater was now.

The kids may have thrown a monkey wrench in his plans, That didn't mean he could make it work to his advantage. He knew where those pathetic replacements of his had taken the theater...but he still needed to know where Wonderworld's heart was, or eons of plotting revenge would have been for nothing. But first things first: Getting Back into the Theater.

"Prim dear. Change in plans. We're going to pay some 'friends' of yours a visit." He said in a sickly sweet voice. The woman didn't respond as Yin uncaringly hoisted her over his shoulder, and the two of them shot towards the artic. The snow made it challenging to see, but then again...it wasn't that easy to hide a large and rather gaudy theater with glowing lights. He gave a Grin as he saw the theater in all its "glory"...the same place that Banished him long ago...

He landed at the door and almost instantly, he felt a painful shock that flowed through his body, as the seals reappeared. He sat Prim by his side before he put his palm on her's and began chanting. Now, the Catatonic woman couldn't very much understand what he was saying, but could feel a violent burn in her heart as Yin continued chanting. To the ears of a human, it sounded like gibberish, but to those who lived in Wonderworld...

"To the Wonderworld who Banished me. Who stole my power, and hid the Wonderworld that belonged to me. I come to say my lesson is learned, my grand welcome back is earned. For many years, I have roamed the earth, looking for someone of Yang's Worth. At last I find one, compatible for me, to break my seals and set me free. To the words to the Wonderworld Spoken, I remove my banishment, my seals now Broken. For time itself will stop its toll, I bind my new Yang to my soul.

As Yin chanted, a golden strand that connected his heart to Wonderworld rose out of his body, and connected itself to Prim. She couldn't tell now, but she began to change. She began to look less human, and more like a human/maestro fusion. She still retained her human skin, but her body stretched, as it grew taller and thinner, the simple dress that Yin put her in melted away into one fit for a performer. Golden swirls and fine fabrics clothed her as the Wonderworld Symbols were seen appearing on her body.

At the same time, Yin's own seals from his eyes began to break, each chip giving form to glowing angry red eyes, and his power slowly coming back to him. The wear and tear of his clothes reforming to become brand new as his feet left the floor. Once the last part of the chant was said, the last part of the seal had broken and Prim was now a maestro. Yin then began breaking down the wooden doors, as years of inhuman strength and power returned to him

Yin gave one powerful punch to the theater doors, the fine crafted doors cracking and breaking as Yin was grinning with madness as he saw the inside

The Banished Maestro had Truly Returned...

#Balan Wonderworld

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daz4i · 2 years ago

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the new op is making me insane so i’m gonna try to overanalyze its visuals, what i think the symbolism means, how it connects to this season and the manga arcs coming after it. all of it is my interpretation ofc, feel free to disagree and i encourage you to add your own takes!

i’m not gonna go over every single detail, either because i have nothing to say about it or i’m not sure what it could mean, which is another reason i encourage you to add your own analysis in a reblog if you want to :3

warning for major spoilers for the manga under the cut, as well as unholy amounts of reaching lol

first thing i wanna look at is uh. that one fyodor shot, and specifically the second before it

the number of hands is a little odd to me. at first i noticed 4 sets of hand so my immediate thought was “oh, one set for every doa member, minus bram since he doesn’t have any” but noticing that 9th one coming alongside his face threw a wrench in that. so, assuming this number is purposeful, i have a few ideas:

1. it’s not just the doa involved, but the rats as well. both organizations have 5 members we know of. fyodor is in both organizations, meaning that combined, we have 9 people, and a hand for each one

2. it IS just the doa, and 2 hands for each member (bram included), except for fyodor who is both a hand and a head. he is the strategist and planner, thus he is the head, while the others are more like the ones who execute his plans, so they merely get to be hands (not sure how much i love this theory considering at the end of the day he is not their leader, but if you stretch it you could say that in this season we have no reason to assume he isn’t the doa leader so there’s no reason to imply otherwise? or a future implication that he’s letting fukuchi think he’s the leader but is actually manipulating him? yeah i dunno)

3. another one i don’t particularly love, but: it’s less about the number of hands, and rather about the finger highlighting the number 5, since this is going to be a key thing this season

okay, on to a more obvious one:

tachihara has his back to us, as to not reveal his identity yet

he is looking upon a purple background, a color we see in some mafia members’ abilities, hinting at him belonging in the mafia

once again, tachihara has his back to us. aside from him, all of the hunting dogs are revealed to the audience and looking forward (even if not 100%), except for fukuchi who is looking to the side, and is behind the pillar, making him visually separated from the rest of the group, since he belongs in the doa rather than the hunting dogs

couple of things you might be able to get from this:

1. sigma looking to the side, his back to nikolai and bram. he is not willingly in the doa or supports their goals, more dragged along for the ride. he is a part of the group, but has his eyes shut and his back turned to them, some sort of buffer to imply his separation from them

2. the main thing we see of nikolai is his overcoat. ngl i’m not sure what the symbolism in this could mean but it feels important so i wanna point it out for maybe other people to connect the dots i can’t. possibly, this shot is to highlight the tools at the doa’s disposal, aka sigma and bram as themselves, but nikolai mainly used for his ability...?

so. first of all. they’re and red and blue, opposites of each other in color and in direction as well

but the interesting thing to me is that they’re each others’ colors - with the ada usually presented in blue and the mafia in red, here we have it backwards. possibly to imply their (partial) role reversal in the eyes of the public, the ada now being demonized and hunted by the law while the mafia gets to lay low and offer assistance

possibly, you could stretch it to say their role reversal is in part about how fukuzawa would have to sacrifice a member for his organization in order to get what he needs, a thing that’s mori-like to do

speaking of blue to symbolize the ada, ango is clad in a blue light, implying his upcoming alliance with the ada

we see fukuchi using shintō amenogozen in his battle with atsushi and akutagawa

i’ve seen people say this part of the op implies their battle will be in this season and i’m ngl, i don’t think there’s any chance of that. it’s way too much story to cram into this season. i think this part is, for now, just to imply the ada and pm working together against the hunting dogs, and him using this sword and fighting them at the same time is just a nod to sharp eyed manga readers (same with the bram cameos)

that being said. i want you to pay attention to the color of his ability in this frame (it’s a surprise tool that’ll help us later!)

yosano and the butterfly, and we specifically see her from the side, with her butterfly hairpin shining, putting emphasis on her upcoming backstory

okay, now we’re getting into the character face closeups, and here i’m gonna use these handy posts from @/dazaistabletop for reference, bless your soul for getting all of them fr 🙏

the main thing i want to get from it is the colors. tldr: the ada is a teal-ish blue, the mafia is red and purple (depending on their abilities), the guild is yellow, the hunting dogs is white, the special division is brownish-orange, the doa are the same dark blue from fukuchi’s ability earlier. this does match the general color of the members’ abilities through every group as well.

when it comes to the order of the frames, i think it’s mostly random (tho, with key characters coming early, and more minor characters we barely even really see this season if at all showing up near the end) except for a few pairs:

dazai and fyodor are the first 2 frames, the key foils of this season

fukuchi and fukuzawa are one after the other because they are divorcing each other

akutagawa and atsushi are the ones to close this section and the opening as a whole, as they often do as the key foils of the entire series

a few frames i want to highlight in particular:

tachihara’s purple is lighter than the other mafia members’ purple (added gin for comparison), implying his belonging to the hunting dogs

mushi is brown too?? not sure what that implies ngl. mostly pointing it out as a request for anyone to chip in with their own take on that

despite not working for the guild anymore (and given that he’s without his glasses we have to assume this is him working for fyodor), nathaniel is still in yellow. like with mushi, i’m not sure what that could mean. maybe they just didn’t want to figure out a color for the rats for 2 frames i dunno. again if you have your own take, hit me

poe is fully colored the same color as the ada 🥺 he’s fully part of the team by now (ok now do lucy next.)

the text appears for just two frames, nikolai and akutagawa. for akutagawa, it blends with his red background, but for nikolai it actively stands out and covers his already covered eye. unfortunately i can’t read japanese, so i would love that if someone who does sees this could tell me what the text says to see if that means something as well 🙏

edit: according to my friend @/almightyrozenidiot apparently it says rashomon! and i’d guess it’s in red because this is the color of this ability, after all. i still think its placement on nikolai’s covered eye is interesting, esp given how much it stands out (the other ability names flashing on screen in that sequence are written in white, i barely even noticed they were there), and i wonder if this might imply some future thing asagiri’s planning between them.

okay, so you were probably wondering why i skipped the fyodor flowers moment, and this is why

so. i tried figuring out what at least some of the flowers are to maybe see if there’s meaning there and either couldn’t, or the ones i did recognize did not align with anything meaning wise, so i figured the colors stand more for the colors of abilities we’ve seen so far, and mainly the ada and port mafia

the faces frames in the end of the op establish the special division’s color as orange, hence the two small orange flowers (and their yellow center could be for the guild). they definitely stand out less, as for now they are a smaller pawn in the plan. the ada - marked with the blue flowers and green leaves - are the biggest target of the current phase of the plan, and that’s why they’re closest to his face and make the most of the flowers, size wise

the only purely white ability we’ve seen so far is natsume’s. as the mediator between the three main organizations in yokohama, it makes sense for him to be in the middle of all these colors. the same white flowers are also on the outside (as seen below), since he is mainly watching things unfold from the side.

will also add that at times, no longer human appears as white or grey as well (tho usually - but not always - with a slight blue tint). this also makes sense given that dazai was in both the mafia and ada, and serves as a mediator or communicator between them at times, hence put in the middle as well.

unfortunately, i can’t tell what the pink flowers are meant to be. the only ability i can think of that’s pink is lucy’s (i don’t recall ever seeing the colored circles when she activates it, but given what anne’s room looks like it seems like a fair assumption), but it’s weird she’d get such a big part of this frame just for herself. maybe it’s because of how big her role is in helping the ada this season? again, if you have your own take please go ahead and share it!!

the flowers then stop growing and start withering as the white flowers take over

could not for the life of me find what these flowers are unfortunately, but, white flowers in general usually mean some form of purity and innocence. this does align with fyodor’s ultimate plan - to purify the world of abilities. white flowers often symbolize holiness as well, since his plan is, to him, the will of god

notice that the flowers have 5 petals as well, a repeating number of this arc and in many of the doa’s plans

edit 2: @/larathia pointed out in the comments that these flowers are japanese snake gourds! and apparently, in hanakotoba they mean “hatred of men”. yeah that checks out with fyodor lol

and... i think that’s all i have for you today! i hope you liked it! once again encouraging you to reblog with your own additions on things i might’ve missed or your own take on things, and i hope you all have a lovely day 🙏🖤

#bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #bungo stray dogs season 4 #bsd s4 #bsd spoilers #bsd fyodor #bsd fukuchi #bsd fukuzawa #bsd tachihara #bc those 4 are the main repeating characters here hehe #this took like 3 hours to write so i'd really appreciate reblogs if possible 🥺#apologizing for any typos or english errors btw heh. i did type most of this out in a slight frenzy bc this op makes me very excited :P #dan rambles #edit: added some stuff!! hope this doesn't make the post be hidden in search results omg

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