𝓣𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓪𝔂 15: 𝓣𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮 𝓕𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽
Closest gif I could get of the two together 😭😭
Happy tkember and almost tkcember, chat!
I am loving one piece so far and I’m gonna make it everyone’s problem.
I’m listening to Ado rn :)
I had to throw in a little bit of ler Zoro bc have you seen him.
—This do have tickles below the cut ngl—
Tags: @chrimsss @trrickytickle @trans-ace-lee @giggly-squiggily @switch-writer
“I’m boooooooooored!” Luffy whined, hanging upside down on the bow of the ship. “Someone come play a game with me.”
“Busy,” the long-nosed pirate murmured, tinkering with some kind of device.
“But Usoooooooopp!” The captain moaned in agony.
How was he supposed to survive in these conditions? God gives his toughest battles to his silliest soldiers…
A glint of joy sparkled in his eye in a moment’s notice. “Hey! Wanna have a tickle fight?!”
The gunner visibly tensed, clamping his arms down to his sides. “No way! I’m- I’m working on something!”
“But you’re so fun to play games with! And I have to know if you’re ticklish!!”
Growing more flustered and frustrated, Usopp barked out an absentminded response. “Come over and make me then!”
“Hehe, okay,” Luffy replied with a Cheshire grin. He stretched his arm out to grab the pole next to his crewmate, letting his body cling to said position.
A small squeak left the gunner as his eyes widened. “Uh… h-hi.”
“Hi!” The stretchy boy cooed, “betcha’ forgot I could do that, huh?”
Usopp did not like the menacing look that was glinting in his captain’s eyes. He shifted apprehensively as he slowly tried to step back. He looked for an exit, eyes darting drastically around the ship. He locked onto Sanji serving some kind of snack to Zoro and Nami, opting to break into a full sprint toward the three.
“SAVE MEEEE! SAAAAAVE MEEEE!!!!!”
Six concerned eyes snapped to the frantic Usopp, who was running from a sadistically smiling Luffy. The three relaxed, realizing that Usopp wasn’t actually in any real danger.
“Well, what did you do to piss him off?” Zoro asked as the curly-haired male jumped onto him. “H-Hey! What are you-“ Instinctively, his arms closed securely around his shipmate.
“Zoroooo, he’s gonna kill me!” Usopp cried, drastically hugging the burly man holding him.
“NUH UH!” The captain called after them, making his way over, “I told you, I just wanted to have a tickle fight!”
“And I said I was- HYEAH!”
The long-nosed pirate was cut off by sudden, repeated pinches to his hips, jumping a bit in the swordsman’s tight hold. “H-Hey- EEP! S-Stahap Zoro!”
“What? I’m not doin’ nothin’… Jeez…”
“B-Buhut you a-ahare!”
“Hey! No fair! I was supposed to tickle him!!” Luffy whined, pouting with his arms crossed.
“Oh yeah? Well-“ Zoro hooked his arms under the gunner’s biceps, causing the latter to kick his feet in defense. “Go for it, Captain.”
That glint of joy and menace found its way back, with Luffy settling in front of his shipmates and reaching up to wiggle his fingers at their gunner.
“Waitwaitwaitwait! Can’t we talk about this?!?! I’m sure we can make some kind of ar-ahahahangemehehent! Nohohoho!”
The captain giggled along with Usopp as he spidered his fingers along the long-nosed pirate’s sides.
“Luhuhuffyhyhy! Zohohohoro! Stahahap!”
“Stop? Already? But this is supposed to be a tickle fight!” Luffy cooed, squishing the soft torso of their gunner.
“Yohohou’rehehe uhuhunfahahair! Luhuhuhuffyhyhy!”
“Unfair?! You can get me back anytime you want; I’ll even tell you that I’m most ticklish on my ribs! Hey… speaking of which…”
Usopp’s eyes shot open as he felt Luffy’s fingers worm up onto his ribcage. He kicked his feet drastically, accidentally slamming his ankle down on his captain’s shoulder. “LUHUHUFFYHYHY! HYEAHAHAHAHA!”
“Yeowch… No need to get so violent with him, Usopp.” Zoro quipped, clamping his own arms to his sides and trapping the latter’s there. He spidered his fingers under both of the gunner’s arms, cracking an evil smile.
“NGHAHAHAHA! GUHUHUHUYS!” The curly-haired pirate squealed as he threw his head back onto Zoro’s shoulder.
“This tickle fight seems pretty one-sided to me,” Nami quipped, casually chewing on a piece of cheese.
“Just glad it isn’t me,” Sanji retorted quickly, shifting a bit.
The two locked eyes… oh shit.
“MEHEHEHRCYHYHY!! I CAHAHAHANT TAHAHAKE IHIHIHIT! TOO MUHUHUHUCH!!” Usopp cried, head unmoving from Zoro’s shoulder.
Zoro ceased his attack, freeing the long-nosed pirate’s arms.
“LUHUHUHUFFYHYHY PLEHEHEHEASE! M’GOHOHONNA DIHIHIHIE!”
“Hey, enough kid.” Zoro scooped up the winded Usopp, whisking him away to safety.
“Oh man! I didn’t know that you were so ticklish, Usopp! That was fun!”
“F-for YOU! I thought I was gonna die you motherf-“
Sanji whizzed past the three of them, Nami hot on their heels. “NAMI NO- WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS!”
“You’d think with such long legs that you’d be able to outrun me, Sanji!” The orange-haired girl chimed as she tackled the chef, her fingers finding refuge squeezing at the blonde’s thighs.
“Heh, get his ass Nami!” Zoro called, still absentmindedly cradling Usopp in a safe embrace.
—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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