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queen0fm0nsterz · 5 months

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thinking about the Lady again and she actually is the Character Ever.

Starting off with her design. How ridiculously simple it is, right? Her yukata is plain brown and has a single layer, her wig (and yes, I am positive what she wears is not her hair but a wig soley because of how easily it comes undone... that kind of hairstyle is meant to STICK when done with actual hair) has no decorations befitting a woman of her powerful status and her mask is nothing but... empty. You could mistake her for a mannequin and you wouldn't even be wrong. It's by design, after all: she is as insanely important, as a figure, as she is anonymous as a person.

But then, it's with amusement that you note that that boring, unexpressive mask is called the "Rascal's mask" when unlocked. It's such an oddly affectionate nickname stemming from a person so utterly despicable. And then you notice her hair. Her long, black hair that should be hidden under her wig, as the hairstyle goes, but are instead hanging out freely. Not very traditional at all, right? You could almost read it as a small act of defiance of... something. Now, what that thing is, I doubt even she knows. Maybe it's just her way to seek individuality without having to step into zones she does not want to touch.

And then, of course, the lack of shoes. It's not uncommon for people to wear slippers in the house - especially for the Japanese - but she just... doesn't. In that small, small way, she is similar to Six - and every other child in the Maw running around barefoot. Except she's above running, of course. She's got the privilege of floating like a ghost so that she may never touch the ground.

(The only time when this rule is broken is when she fights Six, poetically enough. You can see her visibly step back.)

These strange little things are the first things that push you to wonder about her as a person. Not the title, not the Lady of the Maw: the individual behind the mask. Who is that person? What is she like? Is there a way to answer these questions? I think yes, if you know where to look - but is it worth to ask these questions considering what she does?

That depends on you. Me personally, I think there is narrative worth to be found in what she has to hide. Her foil, Six, finds value in the aspects of herself she does not hide: she is very unapologetic in her selfhood. The Lady isn't, for the most part.

(I wonder if that would make her envious of her younger counterpart in a different context?)

Frankly, looking back on her choice of attire, the fact that her personal bedroom is barely decorated is not surprising. She only has the essentials: a bed, the vase with the key, a few pictures of importance (of people long forgotten, herself included no doubt) and... an ungodly amount of misplaced clothes all over her quarters. All the same yukata, repeated over and over, maniacally folded and arranged in towers, but never where they're supposed to be.

A bedroom is the reflection of yourself. Of your inner world. The fact hers looks so barebones is quite telling about who she is. Or isn't. She herself may have some trouble trying to figure that one out.

I think that, in a vacuum, it's easy to assume that the reason she's so displeased by her reflection is soley out of vanity. That is definitely part of it, but I don't think that's all there is. Because after seeing the mannequins that all look just like her, the four women in the picture who also wear her same exact clothes... and that hidden quote.

This quote, which is from Alice in Wonderland. Specifically from a conversation in which Alice expresses how she doesn't recognise herself anymore because of how many times she grew big and small during the course of the day. She is not the same person she was before entering Wonderland.

I find the way she clings to the dolls and the music box to be much more... sombre when keeping this in mind. In a way, that scene is reminiscent of Monster Six clinging to her music box in the chaos of the Tower; an attempt to attach to something safe. For the Lady, it's even more personal. Those are her toys. Her song. No one can take them from her and claim them as theirs. These materialistic tomes are physical proof of her identity. She likes dolls, and she likes to sing that song from her music box. Surely, that much is something.

But a ceramic toy and an old music box are not really enough to placate the inner turmoil. Hence the broken mirrors, the hidden statues... the hung down portraits with their eyes scratched out - from times of the past. There is a person looking back in the mirror which she does not recognise. That can't be her, right?

It isn't. The reflection is but a faux image of her outward appearence. The inside, however... much like this concept art shows, she is melting away. Rapidly decaying no matter how much she tries to stick to her youth.

Because at the end of the day, that's what she's doing, no? The toys, the music box, her appearence... all of it, just to cling a bit more to the person she used to be. Point being that I doubt even she remembers what she used to be.

You'd think a person like this would be inclined to feel at least some sympathy for all the lost children wandering the Nowhere. A sense of kinship, perhaps, or even just... basic human compassion. She has proved to have very human emotions, after all. This is where she proves you wrong. Whenever you think she's stepped the lowest, she always goes lower.

In her humanity, she is brutal. Relentless, ruthless. She offers no sympathy to anyone and has no empathy to spare either. She is very much aware of what's going on under her roof: she not only allows the Maw to continue being the way it is in spite of having the power to change things, but she actively engages in its despicable practices. She has petrified children in her quarters, as well as their ashes - of which the use is unclear - and then she is responsible for the Nome population and exploitation being so large and so eerily heavy. She's twisted necks, broken bones, murdered innocents.

The Shadow Children are, to me, one her greatest offenses. I don't think they serve any particular purpose other than... being there because she wanted to make them. Children ripped away from their life because of her whims. Not even in death can they rest because she can get her hands on their souls. They're nameless, forgotten shadows with blank masks: they're just like their creator, in that way. Ripped of all individuality and devoid of everything.

Everything she sees, the Lady devours. Not a creature is safe from her shadows and her wrath, especially if they come and actively intrude in her activities. She's twice as aggressive if the Maw is at stake.

The Lady's personal bedroom has another motif piece which I did not previously mention: the Maw wallpaper. While Roger and the Chefs have wallpapers that portray them with her, the Lady... does not. She only has the Maw. She's not part of that picture.

The Lady can't let the Maw change its ways. She is the Maw. The Maw must survive: so must she. To change the Maw would mean challenging herself enough to bring about a change; to her, who does nothing but lament what she lost, that would be too much effort. Too outside of the comfortable zone where she can survive in peace. Miserable, but unbothered.

... For the most part. Until Six comes around.

#the lady #carols.txt #ln meta #{dude i dont even know where i was going with this #if it seems like this post comes from a place of love it does #not at her as a person but like as a character. i find her so interesting and i feel oddly tender about her writing #usually when this happens its because i see pieces of the person i could have been in a character (like scaramouche for example)#but this time its from the completely opposite perspective #i am a person with a very clear idea of who i am. i know what my identity is and i am not afraid to express it #so witnessing a character with such a confused identity is both alien and fascinating to me #i wanted to focus more on her atrocities and how capitalism is what changes a person but its... 2 am and i am sick rn #i spent an hour literally vomiting my ramblings on this post #as a person and what she stands for i despise her. as a character i wish to put her in a security blanket and see how she gets out #this post feels terribly personal for some reason. like whatever . shes not even allat #im lying she literally IS allat #idk i love well written female characters who feel like people and dont fit in a specific convenctional box. sue me #< goes for six too #not opening *that* can of worms rn but. yeah}#little nightmares

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jamesbukkakebarnes · 7 months

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🦔

#yall i start night shift tonight :S which is whatever but since the days are flipped for me now im having Late Night Thoughts rn at 7 am #and like. its been a year since i cut my hair short (i cut it once more in like march? and then after that i let it grow to my shoulders)#and i so badly want to cut it again tbh but im also v afraid??#bc having long hair is such a bitch to maintain and also its starting to shed more and more #and besides not wanting to have another breakdown over hair loss (i literally was getting bald spots last year bc stress)#plus my curls have p much disappeared w the length. and will probably not show up again until it grows way longer idk why #like depending on the length its either super curly at the front or just plain frizzy and rn its just frizzy and gross #but anyway im afraid to cut it bc its kind of been a security blanket of sorts? like when i had short hair i felt like ppl #treat u differently (and not in a good way)#but at least w long~ hair literally no one pays attention to me (which i enjoy)#idk its just hard. i just want to look handsome again 😭😭 or at least my own version of handsome #i keep telling myself once i get more fit i'll chop it off again but idk if i can wait that long :(#ignore me

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lucysarah-c · 5 months

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Your fingertips calmly run through his dark locks, so softly that it's almost a ghostly touch. His head rests on your shoulder. It isn't unusual for Levi to snore very softly when he's deep asleep, his mouth hanging slightly open as his breathing becomes labored, allowing the bottom of his white teeth to peek through his dried lips. Your left hand soothes him, while the right one holds your phone as you scroll through TikTok disinterestedly. What is unusual is for Levi to be sleeping at 13:00 on a Tuesday, buried under the thick winter duvet.

He had taken a day off from work due to the flu, and you knew that if Levi let you know the night before that he was taking the day off, it was because he truly felt terrible. So, you took the day off too to be there for him. The fever rose at night, lowered after he took medicine, but rose again in the midmorning, and he had fallen asleep, exhausted once more.

Your thumb moves up and down repeatedly, passing one short video after another until something catches your attention. An influencer explains new poses to use for sending nudes, and with Christmas around the corner, any information that could secure you a better gift is considered good. She explains in detail how to lower yourself on your knees, placing a blanket on the floor because it's cold, legs parted, weight shifted to the front of your legs as you arch your back. Your back should be facing a mirror that reaches the floor, softly turning to the side and taking a photo of the reflection.

"That one is nice," Levi's hoarse voice comes from your left as his half-lidded eyes admire the explanation. "But the one over the shoulder to the ass is better."

First, you slightly jump, surprised by his voice breaking the silence, then you click your tongue. "Too bad, it's meant to be a surprise, so now it's not happening." You fake a strict tone as Levi's arms grip your body, trying to find a more comfortable position, coughing a few times in the process.

"Well, if you send it, I promise to act surprised," he comments as his voice loses its initial sleepiness, and his hands run over your body, squeezing your waist playfully. "You know what would make me feel better?" he suggests, and you swear you can feel the smirk on his lips against your skin.

"The chicken soup that I made you," you reply while rising from the bed now that he seems to be finally awake. His hands refuse to withdraw as you part from his frame, groaning annoyed. "You can barely breathe, and you're thinking about that?"

"Well, one head is filled with shitty mucus, so the other is doing the thinking," Levi says as he moves to lie flat on the mattress, coughing a couple of times and reaching for the napkins to blow his nose.

Despite it all, his sense of humor seems intact, making you chuckle as you move to the door. Two steps outside the room, and you hear his congested voice, "You know, that picture would look very good with the set I gifted you. I'm dying; conceive me one last gift."

Rolling your eyes so big that you must have almost torn a muscle, 'Men… they get a cold and act as if they are writing their testament.'

If he was in a cocky mood, therefore you were too. Peeking over the door's frame to look back at him laying on the bed enveloping himself as a burrito with the duvet and said, "Who said the photo was for you?"

The anger appearing in his face slowly doesn't match his red nose and mouth hanging, making you chuckle as you descend the stairs to the kitchen.

"You're lucky I'm dying—cough, cough, or I would put you in your place, brat"

Tags!: @nmlkys @jimoonbeau @fictiondrunk @notgoodforlife @nube55 @justkon @i-literally-cant-with-this @darkstarlight82 @thoreeo @quillinhand @humanitys-strongest-bamf @levisbrat25 @angelofthorr @aomi04 Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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biggameplayertrentaa · 3 months

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Trippin' Fallin:' But Just the Smut

Warning: No plot, just smut; this is literally just a grab from pt.ii of this series. I just feel bad that I didn't give y'all anything nasty in the final part lol.

“Thank you for this.” You say when the two of you are finally seated directly beside each other on the makeshift picnic blanket, knees and shoulders grazing and bumping due to the lack of distance between the two of you. “Thank me fa’ what?” Jude murmurs, index finger reaching out to draw lazy patterns on the skin just above your knee. Your eyes follow his finger’s movement. “For all this,” you gesture to the romantic setup of his living room, “and for taking care of me.” You add quietly, looking down timidly as you pick at some of the lint on the fabric of the blanket. Though your actions indicated otherwise, you did appreciate Jude’s efforts, especially this past week when you had practically no time for anything besides work. Jude cups your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. The fake flickering flames of the plastic candles cast a soft orange glow that accented his brown skin, only further contributing to the radiance of beauty that was already there. He looked so cozy, staring at you with a soft gaze and a smile that, though lazy, was still prominent enough to meet and illuminate his eyes.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss him or run out of his house and never speak to him again.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He says, eyes flickering from yours to your slightly pouted lips. “I was serious when I said I wanted to be with you, now I have to be serious about making you feel secure with me.”

The words are only half registered when Jude finally bends down and smashes his lips to yours. Your body immediately goes rigid, but before you allow your mind to whip you back into your disciplined ways, you throw your arms around Jude’s neck and sigh into the kiss. You did agree to humor him. You also would be lying if you said the night was not weakening you at the knees. Smiling against you, Jude takes a nip at your bottom lip, thrusting his tongue in your mouth once you grant him the slightest opening. His tongue finds yours, lapping at it as he moves to sit you on his lap.

“Was this your plan all along, Mr. Bellingham?” You tease breathlessly as his fingers begin to work at the buttons of your blouse.

“Getting you naked is always a part of my plan.”

Jude nudges the article of clothing past your shoulders once it’s unbuttoned, lips immediately making their way to your neck. He places wet, open-mouthed kisses along its length, occasionally nipping at the exposed skin before soothing it with the tip of his tongue. He places a kiss on your shoulder, right where your bra strap is, as his fingers work to unfasten its clips. With his attack on your neck never seizing, Jude manages to expertly rid you of your bra, leaving your top half completely nude.

When he finally detaches his lip from yours, his eyes fall to your exposed breasts. Taking your nipple between his index and thumb, Jude rolls the hardened bud softly. You’re holding your breath, arms still thrown lazily over his shoulder as the steady heartbeat between your thighs begins to intensify and make itself known. Jude’s eyes flicker to you. He bends down slightly

until his parted lips are hovering only inches away from the nipple he was toying with. Without breaking his piercing glare, he takes it into his warm mouth, “Jude.” You whimper, throwing your head back.

“Hmmm?” He hums, eyes still trained on you, tongue still working its magic.

You tug at the bottom of his tank top, hinting at your desire for its removal. Jude reluctantly pulls away, quickly ridding himself of the top. Once it is discarded, the two of you stare at each other wordlessly, heaving chest pressed to heaving chest. You feel as though your entire body is on fire, but your mind is devoid of any thoughts that didn’t concern him or his dick.

“Strip fa’ me.” Jude’s accent is thick, heavy, and dripping in lust. Its tone and cadence rip you from your thoughts, dazed.

“Huh-”

“Strip.” He emphasizes his point by forcefully tugging at the sides of your pencil skirt. Without another word, you rise to your feet. Under the belittling intensity of his fiery gaze, you slowly shimmy out of the material, the only thing you’re left in now is your pantyhose. Jude kneels in front of you before you have the chance to even attempt to take them off. He bunches up the flimsy material around your thighs, shoving it down with so much force that you hear a loud tear. Before you can chastise him, his mouth is over your clothed core. “You’re already so wet.” Jude sounds more pleased than anything. He speaks his praises into the growing wet patch that already decorated your panties. The vibration of his voice makes you buck your hip and throw your head back.

“I know, just for you.” You say honestly.

“Just fa’ me?” His smile is cheeky, his eyes now displaying a prideful glint.

You just nod, creating enough distance so you can drop to your knees and be leveled with him. Jude pulls you into him, positioning the two of you so that you are seated on his lap again, his already-hardened cock pressing tenderly between your slippery folds. You instinctively rock your hips forwards, causing both you and Jude to suck in a harsh breath. Your pussy is slick, you slide your clit up and down his length with ease.Wanting more, you take his glistening cock in your hand and lift yourself slightly until his oozing tip is aligned with your dripping hole.

“Oh fuck.” You whimper, still tight from the lack of proper foreplay. Jude’s bottom lip is tucked between his front teeth, thick brows knitted together in pleasure, as he begins to softly massage the flesh of your stilled hips. “You can take it.” He encourages, peppering feather-light kisses

along your collarbones as you attempt to adjust to his size. You’re grimacing in a mix of pleasure and pain, but you still nod at Jude’s words, slowly sinking down onto him until you feel that familiar burn in your stomach.

“That’s it,” Jude coos, fingers now massaging pressured circles up the length of your back, “That’s my good girl.” His words ignite something in you.

You raise up until just the very tip of his cock is against your opening, practically on your tiptoes now. Ignoring the burning in your knees, you begin to bounce on him. The claps of your ass cheeks, Jude’s groans, and your screams are echoing loudly through the living room. His hands are still on your back to keep you steady, but Jude allows you to fuck him, yielding complete power to you as you selfishly and desperately sought your orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum fa’ me baby?” He questions though he has already taken note of your quivering thighs and short intakes of breaths. “I know you are, baby, just let go fa’ me.” His fingers find your clit, wasting no time in rubbing tight circles against it. “Just let go fa’ me, you deserve it.”

This is exactly what you need to hear to push you over the edge. You cum around him, shaking and sputtering a mess of incoherent phrases you nor Jude can make sense of. As you attempt to come back down to earth, completely delirious from your orgasm, Jude positions you to lay on your stomach in front of him. He caresses your ass, placing a stinging slap on its surface before following it up with a tender kiss. Spreading your cheeks apart, he spits on your exposed, already-wet pussy. He backs you into his face and then licks a teasing swipe along your slit. You are completely thrown, naturally arching your back and moaning into the blanket as he begins to devour you in a similar way you devoured your fried rice.

He moans into you, driving your hips back until his face is so close to your core, that you are sure he can’t breathe. Jude is relentless and determined though, refusing to loosen his grip, even slapping the side of your thigh warningly when you try a create some space between his face and your pussy. Your vision is blurred with tears, fingers gripping desperately at the disheveled blanket underneath you. You feel Jude insert two fingers inside of you, scissoring them as he pushed them in and out of you, tongue still lapping at you faithfully.

“I’m about to-” You begin, your entire body now shaking from the pleasure you were experiencing, but before you can finish the warning, he completely withdraws himself from you. “Jude.” You pathetically whine, lifting your head so that you can turn to look at him. He had his cock in his hands, pumping it slowly as he took you in with hooded eyes.

“Hmm?” He sings, his movement never once seizing. “Do something.” Is all you can get out and he chuckles. You watch him lean over you, lips slightly parted as he teasingly brushes them against the skin of your back. You shudder when you feel his tongue flat against your skin, licking up its length in a way that makes you see stars. As he continues to lick and kiss, you can feel the tip of his cock graze against your opening. You push against and Jude immediately catches the hint, burying a couple of his delicious inches past your moist, silky walls. He keeps his movement controlled, and measured, seemingly reveling in the feeling of having you molded so perfectly around him. When he finally bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, the two of you sigh in relief. Jude rocks his hip forward, body leaning against you completely as he builds a slow, deep rhythm. You can feel his labored breaths against the shell of your ear and the thudding of his heart against your back but all you can focus on is how you can feel him in your tummy.

“You feel so good.”

The two of you groan out simultaneously, causing both of you to burst into a fit of laughter. The wholesome pause was short-lived, as Jude cut it short with a harsh slap on your ass and assertive thrust. You turn to look at him, a devilish smirk playing on your lips as you push your hips back against his to meet his movements. His actions stutter only slightly, his brows quirk in a slight mixture of curiosity and anticipation as he looks down at you. You hold his gaze as you expertly throw your ass back against him, hips whining in a half circle as you confidently took him. He only lets you have your fun for a moment, taking back control with a particularly hard thrust that lurches you forward. You are almost flat on your tummy now, Jude lying almost entirely on top of you as he pounds into you. You were hearing colors and seeing sound with this new angle, his cock was now hitting your deepest crevices.

“I’m convinced your pussy meant to be wrapped around my cock.” Jude groans through gritted teeth.

You’re close again and you know he is too, as his thrusts are now faltering and his breath is even more hoarse and rigid than it already was. The words are spoken against your ear lowly and though you only half-hear them, you nod profusely. Jude lets out a breathless laugh, hips now grinding into you as he wraps one of his arms around your neck, while the other supports his weight,

“Tell me it’s mine,” He says, the arm around your neck tightening as the pleasure infused tears spilled past the barriers of your eyelids and onto the picnic blanket.

“It’s yours!” You scream with no hesitancy, the words feeling familiar and natural on your tongue.

“What’s mine?” Jude’s pace had increased subtly, but his movements were still disciplined “This pussy.” You say, not missing a single beat. He groans against your ear and nods in enthused agreeance, “That’s right. And me,” he delves into you even deeper, his tip now grazing an area inside of you that you weren’t aware existed, “I belong to you.” The sound you let out is animalistic and embarrassing but you are having a hard time caring about anything else except the man on top of you.

“Tell me it’s yours.” Jude urges, bringing your head up and tilting it to the side so you are looking at him. “Tell me this cock is yours.” He demands firmly, his gaze intense and piercing but not intimidating enough for you to comply with his request. The words tumble past your lips as naturally as the moans that followed did, sending you into your second earth-shattering orgasm of the night and Jude into his first. As he fills you, he’s holding you firmly to his chest, spewing a mix of sweet nothings and pure admiration for you.

#jude bellingham #jude:)#jude bellingham smut

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the-kr8tor · 6 months

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I don’t know if you’re still taking asks for fluffy Friday but could you do a fic of the Hobie x reader twin AU, where the reader goes into labor and has the twins and their reactions during and after the twins are born!! Your recent one of them seeing the ultrasound was so cute!! But now I kinda wanna see the chaos and the cute that follows lol!! I feel like the doctors would low key be intimidated by Hobie cause he’d taking care of reader but also be staring them down 😂 to the point they’re ask him to leave but he doesn’t of course!! Sorry for the long ask!! Your last fic was just to AMAZING 🤩 !!

Ahhh another twin au request! Thank you for sending this one ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood mention, Billie and Ramona AU, twin AU.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You were in an unimaginable pain, the kind you would never wish on anyone, your voice is hoarse from all the screaming and cussing out whoever was unfortunate enough to slightly annoy you. Too bad for Hobie, your annoyance and anger were mostly thrown at him. You had him in an iron grip, he's sure his hand would be aching for days to come. He's been a great help in alleviating the pain, patting your sweaty face dry, feeding you ice chips, whispering words of encouragement and the occasional glare at the doctor who arrived fashionably late to the party.

The epidural was your best friend that you've never thought you'd even befriend. You were sure that you wouldn't need it but after what must've been the umpteenth contraction, you were more than happy to accept its friendship.

After twenty hours of labor, all the literal blood, sweat and tears were all worth it. From the first cry of the older twin came a sudden elation, then the younger came only after five minutes apart from her sister with a loud energetic cry. You were in pain, now everything you're currently feeling is extreme happiness, and also fatigue you've never experienced before.

Following all the ‘good jobs’ from the hospital staff and numerous tearful kisses from Hobie, it's safe to say you're officially a parent to the most beautiful pair of twins. Your girls, the light of your life.

With both babies cleaned and you wiped from all the fluids, they're properly swaddled and checked by the doctor and nurses, you lay almost half asleep with your babies on your bare chest. Hands securing them atop their tiny torsos. They gurgle, making the cutest sound you've ever heard whilst Hobie takes hundreds of pictures with his digital camera. He still can't believe his eyes at the little family he now has.

“Hobie,” you say hoarsely, eyes watery from all the happy sobbing and tiredness. “I think you've got all their angles covered.”

He lifts the camera off his eye, greeting you with a genuine grin. “Alright, let me have a turn at them so you can sleep”

You scoot over, giving him space to sit right next to your hip. Hobie takes the oldest first in his arm with slight trepidation and oh so careful like he's handling the finest china.

“Hi, dad's got you” Hobie looks down at his daughter staring up at him with curious eyes, he doesn't miss the fact that she mirrors your own, almost a copy of yours. With a quick peck on top of her forehead, he moves to take the youngest and smallest from your arms. You help him by cradling the back of her head. “And I've got you too”

She answers with her lips wobbling, looking like she's about to cry her little heart out. Hobie bounces her lightly, making cooing sounds that he would always make when the twins were particularly rowdy in your belly. It works, she still frowns up at her dad but the tears don't fall.

“My brave girl, huh? Just like mum” he leans down slightly, juggling his girls whilst he lifts up the blanket to cover your bare chest. “You did amazingly, love” Hobie tells you for the tenth time just in case you forgot.

You hum in reply, heart tender at the sight in front of you. Hands cupping both his elbows, your way of helping him carry the bundles of joy.

“Did you at least make me look good in the photos?” You gesture to the digital camera on the side table. “I must look horrible in all of them after all that”

Hobie shakes his head, “you're as beautiful as the day I met you, and it's impossible for you to look horrible in pictures”

“Even after almost pooping while I was pushing them out?”

“Especially then” you laugh softly, winching at the soreness.

“You alright?” Hobie scooches closer to you, sharing his warmth, taking a quick glimpse at his girls already sleeping. He's not jealous at all.

“I'm okay, promise” you drop your hands from his elbows down to his thighs, too tired to lift them for a second more. “How are they?”

“Sleeping, you should be too” he observes you closely, your eyebrows slightly knitted, hands limp over his thighs.

“We haven't even decided names for them yet” you whisper.

“We've got plenty of time for that. Sleep, they'll be here when you wake up, yeah?”

“I don't think I want to, I just wanna stare at them forever” you fight an oncoming yawn.

“Sleep or I'll name them B one and B two” he jokes.

“You wouldn't” you do your best glare despite the sleep slowly enveloping you.

“You wanna bet? On second thought Bert and Ernie sounds better”

You surrender, “alright, alright, I'll sleep” your eyes threaten to close. “I really like the first one you suggested, it's Ramona, right?”

“Love” he says sternly with hints of fondness.

You giggle, “okay, love you. All three of you” giving them one last look over, you finally succumb to sleep.

“We love you too”

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whole-circus · 11 months

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Fun summer activities with creepypasta boys! x gn.reader!

➥ with Homicidal Liu, Jeff The Killer, Masky, Ben Drowned, "Ticci" Toby, Laughing Jack English is not my first language so i can make silly mistakes! >:)

.•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•.

☆ Homicidal Liu - gardening

Okay okay.. but he totally gives off this "plant mom" vibes!!

Just imagine you two planting flowers (eg. Hibiscuses, Marigolds, Daises, Asters, Salvias) or berries (oh god, and later making jam of them..!). Taking care of plants alternately! Because they are your babies and you need to take care of them, right? Almost like parents simulator. Going together to this big markets with plants and spending there literally hours..! Choosing these fancy pots.. OR! Making competition and planting the same plant, see which one grows prettier and faster! And what winners get? Silly question..kissess of course! Also sitting on chairs, having the view on your pretty work and just chatting or drinking tea/coffee and snuggling! Nights would be also cozy..just saying! You two sitting on a blanket, holdings hands or cuddling..dunno man, there is some warm and proud feeling when looking at your plants. Its almost like you watch your kids grown..

„Oh look at them grow! Im so proud of us Y/N” he says with the brightest smile, as his eyes almost shine!

☆ Jeff the Killer - forest hiking

Wild men in wilds? What can be better than that?

Listen, I am sure that Jeff knows forest like the back of his hand. Just you holding hands and walking around forest. You could also do a little competition on picking berries or looking for pretty rocks for eachother (what is more romantic than that??). Also! Maybe animal tracking? That sounds like a fun activity..! On really warms days the bathing in the stream (or just soaking legs if you are constantly cold) - he would definitely push you into water tho, so good luck. If you are behaving well enough, maybe you could even try carvings in wood? And after long, tiring day of having fun? Just laying on the blanket and stargazing, holding hands..

,,I actually had fun today, you know? I love being around you...” he looks into your eyes and gently kisses your hand.

Just remember to be careful and look for ticks after that!..maybe on eachothers body..? (just kidding..or am i?)

☆ Masky - campfire

Im sorry..but I would totally make him a nice marshmallow!

A bit of a dad on barbecue vibe?? Sorry, kidding. Just imagine a nice, warm night and you both sitting on tree trunk, snuggling under a blanket! What will you roast? Anything you want, veggies, meat or marshmallow..just not each other please! I bet he could play something on guitar, and what is more hot than a man that can do that? You singing along to campfire songs or..or whatever he could play. We slowly turning your silly little date to some slasher movie..so why not tell some scary stories or urban legends? You could jump together at the tiniest sounds (it sounds like a good reason to hold hands..just for security ofc). After all, everything is terrifyng in the dark. Oh, just you spending a warm night eating and cuddling..just you two together!..and maybe his bad dad-jokes..and mosquitos..anyways, good luck!

,,Only two of us..I could get used to living like that, you know sweetheart?” he says as he caress your cheek ad look into your eyes, smiling.

☆Ben Drowned - trampoline sleepover

I know its not 2020 anymore..but come on!

First of all..making the trampoline all nice and cozy..many, many blankets, lights and pillows (definitely a pillow fight in the meantime)! When the trampoline-fort is ready? Get snacks and come in! All kinds of junk food are welcome - popcorn, chips, jelly, candies..! Just not the healthy things..okay, maybe strawberries are invited but thats it! What will you guys do? No worries, Ben is definitely a funny fellow (so are you!) so you won't be bored. Playing games on Nintendo? Watching some movies? Playing board games? Just cuddling and laughing at the silly things? Its all up to you! ..Just be careful with scary stories..I dont want you guys to have a heart-attack! And after a night full of cuddling and laughing? The best part of your sleepover - putting cream to help relieve itching on mosquito bites!!

,,Oh man..you are my favorite person in the whole world..you know that?” - Ben gently whispers, giggling, as you hold each other.

☆ "Ticci" Toby - Monopoly night

Good luck..i hope you will survive this devilish game!

You and Toby treating it completely serious.. you know, getting all dressed up into elegant clothes and having the night of your life..or maybe even longer..Hey, you are serious investors! Monopoly deserves to be approach with respect! The other funny idea is just creating the background of character you will play as and trying not to come out of it! Anyways..you sitting opposite and playing against each other. If he is in a good mood, he will let you win just to see your pretty smile! ..well and maybe to finally end your endless game..

,,Ah you got me..you are the best Y/N, arent you? Now..what do you want as a reward?~” - he chuckles softly (if his pupils could turn into the hearts, they totally would!) as you enjoy your victory.

☆ Laughing Jack - making homemade ice creams

Yeah right..what is better than spending time with someone you love and make sweets at the same time??

I think that the whole making process would be way funnier than eating..but hey, how can you ever be bored with Jack? On the nice warm day, you go into kitchen and come up with this brillant idea - its ice cream time. You would definitely wear this silly aprons (you guys look so cute in them!). And even if you put nice music in the background, your laughs are way louder than it..the whole house fills with your happiness! Do I even have to say how much mess you made? The cooking turned into small food fight, the ingredients are anywhere but where they should be. No worries tho..after a long long process the ice creams turnet out great (you will not get poisoned, i promise)! Now you can enjoy your sweet meal AND your company!

,,You are so sweet doll..maybe instead of the ice-cream I should eat you?~” he chuckles and picks you up, giving you a gentle twirl in the air.

•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•

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taizi · 4 months

Text

a song to bring you home

one piece word count: 4k written for the its pirates server sake exchange ! my giftee was @portgas-d-aroace who wanted "anything asl" and gave me an excuse to write the most self indulgent fic of 2023

read on ao3

“Again?” Sabo whispers, trying to sound mad. Whether he sounds that way or not doesn’t actually matter, since he’s already lifting his blanket in silent invitation.

“Sorry, ‘Bo,” Luffy mumbles thickly. He wastes no time crawling onto Sabo’s thin mattress, and Sabo pulls the blanket back down around them both, tucking it tight to keep the chill away.

Luffy attaches himself to Sabo’s side like a barnacle, tiny fists curled in his brother’s shirt as if he’s afraid something is going to swoop down and try to wrench them apart. Sabo huffs out a breath that fogs in the air and lets him.

“Nightmare?” he asks after a moment. He keeps his voice quiet in case Ace is still asleep, even though his twin is the lightest sleeper on the planet.

Luffy nods once, face buried against Sabo’s shoulder. He’s not trembling, but the way he’s holding himself completely still and silent is its own red flag.

It’s easy to forget that Luffy is not actually as spoiled as he acts. He whines and cries and pouts like any other privileged little master, he’s bossy and clingy and demands to go where his brothers go even though they all know he won’t be able to keep up, and sometimes—oftentimes—it grates on Sabo’s very last nerve.

But holding someone like Stelly up to someone like Luffy is like holding an orange up to the sun. There’s literally no comparison.

If Ace were actually as annoyed by Luffy as he pretends to be, then he wouldn’t be the first one to roll his eyes and throw up his hands and stomp back to collect their youngest when he falls behind. If Sabo actually meant all the mean things he says when they have to waste precious daylight dealing with a stupid scrape on Luffy’s stupid knee, then he wouldn’t suggest the pilgrimage down to Makino’s bar because she has those colorful bandages that always make Luffy smile.

Luffy is as much an orphan as Ace is—as Sabo pretends to be—and he was so desperate not to be alone that he was willing to die for their reluctant, backhanded friendship. He would run after them until his arms and legs gave out, and then at that point he would probably crawl, just so they don’t leave him behind.

Stubborn, selfish, stupid Luffy. The unwanted little kid that Ace and Sabo have begun to shape all their days around.

Something in Sabo’s chest hurts to know that Luffy is afraid. He tips his head and adjusts his arms so that the smaller boy is tucked more securely under his chin. Stars pinwheel slowly across the sky, winter constellations that Sabo will teach his brothers how to find once they manage to get their hands on a halfway decent telescope. There are clouds forming to the east, low and gray, that promise snow.

“Sing,” Luffy mumbles petulantly.

“You’re such a brat,” Sabo complains. But he doesn’t make Luffy go away, and it’s only another moment before he starts humming.

Sabo doesn’t know a lot of music, having successfully dodged his piano tutor for the last two years straight, but there’s a song he overheard on the docks a few months ago that stuck. Some sailors were singing it while they worked. Sabo didn’t catch all the words, so he made up the rest.

He made the mistake of singing it within his little brother’s earshot only once, but once was enough. Now he may as well be a performing monkey, because for every birthday and campfire and boring afternoon and bad dream, Luffy requests the same thing.

“Now you've got the chance to travel oceans,” Sabo half-says, half-sings, letting it settle somewhere between a story and a lullaby. “I hope the world’s as wide as you were hoping…”

Luffy sighs, a slow, satisfied thing. The fear-frozen shape of him softens with every word. He’s asleep again within one verse. Sabo sings two more, just in case.

—

Two weeks and five escape attempts after he nearly died at sea, Sabo is finally allowed out of the infirmary. It’s slow going, and the doctor isn’t thrilled with him, but stepping into the fresh air out on deck is worth the man’s grumbling and sidelong looks.

The whole left side of Sabo’s body is pins and needles and every breath feels like it burns, like the fire that almost killed him is still ready to snatch him up if he’s not careful.

But it’s worth it. It’s so worth it to see the open ocean, stretching out forever under a sky vivid orange and blue with dusk. There’s enough sunlight left in the early evening that it cascades across the surface of the water so brightly Sabo can’t look at it for very long.

This is freedom. And it’s important, so important he’ll cling to it with tooth and nail. So important he would set out by himself in a barely-sea-worthy boat to claim it. He just doesn’t remember why .

Sabo knows his name. He knows he left something horrible behind—he dreams of running desperately through a place that glittered and gleamed to hide the rot underneath, of begging cold, lofty faces for help that never comes. He knows that he should be happy to escape whatever left that impression on his brain.

But there’s a pit in his chest. A gnawing emptiness where something important is supposed to live. Part of him is so desperate to go back to where he came from that he would swim there if he had to.

With time, that feeling would fade. He would overlook it so often that it would become second nature to pretend it wasn’t there. Time and distance would soften the frantic edges, years stacking on top one after the other until that little voice wailing I want to go home! was too muffled for Sabo to hear.

If it was important, he wouldn’t have forgotten in the first place, he would reason to himself. Right?

But today, Sabo wins the contest of wills with the doctor, and he steps out onto the deck, and there is someone by the bow humming a familiar song while they work, and the whole world stops.

“Hey,” the doctor says, alarmed, and a bracing hand lands on his shoulder, and that’s about when Sabo realizes he’s crying.

His damaged eye stings horribly, and he’s making a mess of the bandages on his face, and he can hardly get enough breath in his lungs to say, “Take me back where you found me. I have to go back.”

The concussion makes it difficult for him to form new memories right now—his brain was rattled pretty hard. So he thinks the faces that peer at him in confusion and concern are the same ones that have surrounded him since he woke up on this ship in the first place, but they all swim together. Names are impossible. He knows the doctor by the cross on his shirt, and he knows the broad, looming shape of the man who saved him, and he turns to those two in particular.

“I know that song,” he babbles, hysterical. “I made up the lyrics so I could sing it to my brothers. What if Luffy has a nightmare while I’m gone? Ace doesn’t know the words. I have to go back. Take me back.”

They take him back.

The air smells faintly of smoke and melted garbage and burned meat even as far out as the beach. It turns Sabo’s stomach. His brain is topsy-turvy and confused and he wobbles so badly that the doctor has a pinched, pissed-off look on his face that gets darker with every step Sabo takes.

But his feet know where to go. They’ve walked this coastline a thousand times. The sand gives way to grass, and he has to use his hands to make it up to the top of the hill, but finally he spills out on his back where the earth beneath him and the sky above him are utterly familiar and takes deep gulping sobs of air.

“I’m here,” he says nonsensically to the man who followed him. The man who stayed a step behind in case Sabo fell but otherwise let him fight his own way back to the place he needed to be. “I’m home.”

The man studies him without speaking, his tattooed face impossible to read. Sabo’s thoughts are all swimmy, but he hopes he remembers this guy. He hopes he can find him again someday. His vision greys a few times, and at some point the man isn’t there anymore, but there’s a strong wind blowing in from the sea—steady and unrelenting, just hard enough that the nearby tree boughs start to bend.

Someone says, “My hat!”

Someone else says, “You and your stupid fucking hat—hurry up, it flew this way!”

Sabo is humming to himself when they finally find him, and falls asleep somewhere in the middle of those voices shrieking his name.

Now he’s home.

—

“I can’t even look at him,” Ace grinds out, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “That reckless little asshole.”

“Mm-hmm,” Sabo replies mildly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, carding one hand through his little brother’s hair. “I wonder who he takes after more.”

“Shut up, ‘Bo! You’re just as bad as him!”

“If you children can’t get along, I’ll separate you,” Luffy’s friend, the extremely unsettling Surgeon of Death, says in a tone that suggests that he has both the means to make good on his threat, and also the absence of any god-given good sense to try it.

Sabo, ever the peacekeeper, smiles at Trafalgar without teeth. “We’ll be on our best behavior. Thank you again for being there for my brother.”

The supernova cuts a sharp glance at him, dark eyes unreadable. His gaze travels to Ace for a long moment, and then finally drops to Luffy in the bed between them. There is something in his face—something more than the spite-and-caffeine-fueled monster of a man he would like the rest of the world to believe he is—something not quite so old, not quite so burdened, that looks down at Sabo’s little brother and sees someone who deserved to be saved.

But all Trafalgar says is, “Would’ve been too boring to let him die now.” He leaves the room after that, the door shutting behind him solidly.

“Didn’t Nami say that guy only met Luffy once?” Ace says, bewildered. “What the hell is he doing risking his neck for a stranger?”

“Sometimes that makes it easier,” Sabo says. “A stranger could be anyone.”

Ace wrinkles his brow, an uncomprehending twist to his mouth. He has come leaps and bounds from the hateful little boy he used to be, but he has always clutched his brothers closest and kept everyone else at arm’s length.

Since forming the Spade pirates, that tight-knit circle in his heart has inched wider. Ace thinks the world of Deuce, even if he will literally attack anyone who implies as much like a rabid coyote. Masked Deuce, who has actually referred to his captain as a rabid coyote on more than one occasion, within his earshot and to his face, would kill for Ace indiscriminately. The rest of the Spades are equally as long-suffering and entirely devoted.

Secretly, Sabo believes that Whitebeard is going to get through to him one of these days. The last time Marco and Thatch came around with a recruitment pitch, Ace only set them a little bit on fire.

Maybe some people would call it selfish to put you and yours first, but Sabo doesn’t think so. As long as Ace wants to live for his brothers and his crew, he wants to live. He’ll endure prison with gritted teeth, he’ll fight the guards every step of the way to the execution scaffold, he’ll never, ever go gently.

That’s all Sabo asks of him. Hang on for one more minute. Survive one second longer.

It was no grand fleet or sprawling armada that spread across the horizon to retrieve Fire Fist Ace from the hands of the World Government, but the Revolutionary Army was hardly going to stand by on this one. Not when it was their Chief of Staff’s beloved twin brother at stake. And so the war began long before the battle had a chance to start.

Half of the military forces meant to be stationed at Marineford never arrived, picked off ship by ship in the week leading up to the execution. All radio frequencies were jammed the day of, transmissions in and out of the island blocked universally, and the media blackout of what was promised to be a globally-televised event had people talking.

The only thing available on every channel was music—the tone dial recording of a skeleton musician bowing a familiar song on his violin. Looping on every station, every monitor, every snailphone. It drowned any attempt the soldiers made at communication, and more importantly it irritated the hell out of them, but it had a secret third purpose as well; if Ace heard it, he would know exactly who was coming for him.

(Ace heard it. The morning he was slated to be killed, a harried guard ran from one end of the cell block to the other with a malfunctioning den-den in hand, and the music echoed off the stone walls like it was trying to make a point.

It wasn’t his brother’s voice, but it was his song. Ace knew it like he knew his own name. Shackled as he was, he couldn’t reach his fire—but for the first time since he was captured, he didn’t feel cold.)

In another world, his execution was overseen by all three admirals and most of the warlords, the military rightly assuming that they would need to meet the full weight of Whitebeard’s infamous protection head-on.

But in this one, Ace is a powerful pirate captain of a relatively small crew, rising in fame and bounty, but attached to no great superpower. Still the demon spawn of the Pirate King, still an example waiting to be made, but there was no way Sengoku could have anticipated the battlefield Marineford would become.

The Spades, the Strawhats, the Revolutionaries and the handful of ships sailing in Whitebeard’s name to fight for that cocky young captain he was so fond of brought more than enough of a fight with them. The Red-Hair pirates’ fashionably late arrival was kind of an overkill.

Sabo made sure to say so.

“What, so I should just sit back and watch?” Shanks laughed as they made their retreat, one newly liberated prisoner folded safely into their ranks. “No way. I’d like to be able to look Roger and Rogue in the eye when I meet them in the afterlife, thanks.”

“Is there a reason you’re covering your eyes?” Ace asked hoarsely, sounding a little bit like he didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’m not allowed to meet Luffy again until he’s become a great pirate,” the man replied cheerfully, jogging down to the wharf blindly with his hand clamped over his face. Deuce, glued to Ace’s side for the foreseeable future, traded a long-suffering look with Benn Beckman.

After the clusterfuck that was Sabaody, Kuma sent the Strawhats safely to Baltigo one by one. When an RA mole within the Marines brought news of Ace’s execution, half of Luffy’s monsters went back to retrieve their ship, and the other half forged ahead with the rescue mission.

So it’s the Thousand Sunny they made their getaway with, the cheerful little lion ship an extra special fuck you to the Marines that made Sabo feel warm inside.

The team has since scattered, the Revolutionaries and Red-Hair pirates breaking off to lead the Marines on a very merry goose chase. The Whitebeard pirates don’t go away without first passing Ace along yet another offer to join their ranks—to their credit, they seem amused by the whole thing, as if Ace spitting sparks in sheer annoyance and the Spades’ prickly, proprietary offense are all part of the game. The Polar Tang is nesting abeam the Thousand Sunny while the Heart’s captain consults with the Strawhat’s very young doctor, something that seems to put the little reindeer at ease.

They’re in the aftermath. Sabo takes a deep breath for the first time in what feels like weeks.

Luffy collapsed the second his feet hit the grassy deck of his ship, his body crumpling beneath him like a puppet with its strings all cut. It would have been horrifying, if he hadn’t been snoring loud enough for Sanji to hear it from the galley and come out to investigate. Zoro scooped him up and Nami held the door open to the room she and Robin share, what would have been the captain’s quarters on any other ship, and Luffy was deposited carefully in a soft bed.

“He needs a bath,” Nami said, nose wrinkled in a way that did nothing to disguise her affection as she combed his dirty, sweaty hair away from his face with her fingers.

“It’s laundry day anyway,” Usopp replied, coming through the door with his arms full of someone’s well-loved blanket. Sabo smiled to see his spoiled little brother tucked in by his friends. Some things never changed.

“Glad you’re okay,” Sanji said to Ace, the last one to linger in the room, keeping the door propped open with his hip. “Ghost pepper chicken curry for dinner,” he added, which was Ace’s favorite food, and the final straw for Sabo’s twin brother. He sat there blinking wetly at his own hands, at the bruises the sea-stone manacles left on his wrists, finally letting himself feel the weight of what he had survived.

And now Sabo pats the bed beside him. Ace glares at nothing for a moment longer, before he gets up to join his brothers. It’s inevitable, like an act of gravity. The mattress gives beneath him and Luffy mumbles crossly in his sleep, turning toward them without waking.

“Brat,” Ace all but whispers. Then he says, just as quiet, “Thank you.”

Sabo says, “Nothing exists in this world that could have kept us away from you.”

Ace puts his head on Sabo’s shoulder, this wild young thing who doesn’t know how to want to live for himself yet. It’s okay. He’s figuring it out. He’s getting closer and closer. Someday soon he’ll understand that his siblings and his crew—his family—wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth for someone who wasn’t worth all their love. He’ll realize how deserving he is of all that. Until then, Sabo will believe it for him.

“I’m on your side and you can call me and just like that,” Sabo sings under his breath, “I’ll sing a song to bring you home.”

“Hey,” Ace protests when he stops, muffled against Sabo’s shoulder. “Keep going.”

So he does.

—

Sabo is twelve, almost but not quite thirteen, and he’s much too old to cry.

He had been sneaking through the market, ceramic festival mask on his face and hooded cloak hiding his hair, pockets full of those hot cinnamon candies his brothers love so much, when he glimpsed them.

His parents. They were strolling along the decorated streets, arm-in-arm. Stelly was walking at Outlook’s side, talking importantly and waving his hands. And on Didit’s side, holding her hand, was…

Sabo had to run away before he did something awful, like show weakness where one of the rich monsters might see it. He ducked into a side street and started running the second he was out of sight. His heart didn't settle until he was weaving through the familiar dingy corners of Edge Town and picking his way over heaps of trash in the Terminal.

Even when he makes it into the forest, and the trees shelter him on all sides and the owl monkeys make their racket in hello, even when he’s headed in a straight line toward the place he feels safest in the whole world, he still hurts.

They replaced him. Again. With a little girl this time. She had blond hair and brown eyes, as if her whole little person was spun from gold. Her pinafore dress was cookie-cutter perfect.

Sabo wonders which noble line they adopted her from. He wonders if they even told her Sabo’s name, or if Stelly is the only brother she’s aware of, or if she would care one way or the other. He wonders what kind of person she is—if she’ll fit in, or get eaten alive.

He doesn’t care what his parents think of him. He doesn’t. He is certain in his heart that they’re the worst sort of noble—they’re selfish and shallow and don’t know the first thing about what it really means to be a human person on this planet. He knows all that.

He was unbelievably lucky to fully escape his family, to be presumed dead in their eyes, and he’s never going back. An act of god couldn’t drag him back.

But there’s this awful pressure behind Sabo’s eyes and nose, and his face feels hot and prickly, like there are needles poking at him.

He doesn’t love them.

It’s stupid, so stupid, that there’s a tiny part of him that still wants to be loved by them.

Sabo climbs the ladder to the treehouse with numb hands, easing the trapdoor open carefully so the hinges don’t squeak.

The ancient camping heater Makino gave them glows a steady orange in the corner, clanging occasionally as it works against the December night air.

It’s early evening yet, but Ace has been pretty sick, and Luffy has subsequently been glued to his side. Even with the noisy fireworks down on the beach from the end of the year festival in Goa, they’re both sleeping soundly, curled up tight together like leopard cubs.

There’s a pile of quilts folded messily on the other mattress, waiting for Sabo when he comes home. The sight of them causes a sharp pain in his chest that he can’t explain.

He takes off the mask, climbs out of his boots and cloak, and drags the extra blankets over to his brothers. One by one he adds them to the nest, layering them neatly and tucking in the edges, and then worms his way in next to Luffy, because Ace doesn’t rest well if he feels stuck or boxed in.

Sabo’s parents replaced him for the second time, two years after he was, to the best of their knowledge, blown apart at sea by their precious Celestial Dragons. Had the ink on his death certificate even dried before they brought their new daughter home?

Sabo’s brothers saved him blankets, the best ones without any holes, even though they could have used them. Should have used them. Even when he wasn’t here, they were thinking of him. They didn’t want him to be cold.

The sob takes Sabo by surprise. He stuffs a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears. He sobs again, as quietly as he can.

He doesn’t notice when Luffy wakes up, but he feels it when clumsy fingers land in his hair, pawing through it as his baby brother hums a familiar tune. A well-meaning mimicry of every time Luffy’s older brothers have done this same thing for him.

“So you can keep me somewhere out of reach but if you need me,” Luffy’s voice warbles like a sweet little bird, “just hum these memories and you can feel me. I’m always standing by.”

If Sabo opened his eyes, he would see that Ace is wide-awake, scowling up at the sky; their tiny family’s stalwart protector, standing guard even when he has a fever and he’s buried under a small mountain of quilts.

And he would see Luffy’s sleepy, scarred face split in half by a smile, beaming like he was trying to put the sun out of a job.

But Sabo keeps his eyes shut, and buries his face a little further for good measure, that tiny part of him that wants to be loved crying I am! They do! It’s such a big feeling he doesn’t know how to hold it. He wants to just sit with it for a bit longer.

“Ace, sing,” Luffy breaks off to scold loudly.

“Don’t even dream of bossing me around, Lulu,” Ace snaps back.

Ace’s voice sounds hoarse and sore, but he joins in anyway. Of course he does. Only Luffy gets some of the words wrong in every verse, and it sparks a scathing argument each time—the two of them alternating singing together and shouting over each other, putting their rowdy owl monkey neighbors to shame.

It’s the best thing Sabo’s ever heard. He’s laughing too hard to cry anymore.

#one piece #opfic #asl bros #revolutionary sabo #portgas d ace #monkey d luffy #op #my writing #porgas-d-aroace

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whats-it-mean · 6 months

Note

hii may i request anything w john x reader. like literally anything imso sick for him

Scary guard dog privileges on movie night ☆

For @mizukiyama

Mikoto/john x reader during milgram movie night !

A/N - Tysm for the req!! and ofc ! we love john in this household. i hope its ok i went with a horror movie theme bc my brain is empty ahshdj,,, i hope you like it tho !! the mikoto/john brainrot is real. john would be such a guard dog in my mind wahskd we love a protective bf <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Horror movies weren’t exactly your forte- you could withstand them, and you wouldn’t be loosing sleep over some cheesy plotline- but in the moment, you knew full well you were weak to jumpscares. But tonight you were watching a movie with the other prisoners too, which meant you were ready to take every measure necessary in order to not make a fool of yourself in front of the others.

After at least 20 minutes of wasted time with everyone scrambling about to get settled under layered and fluffy blankets, most everyone seemed comfy and content with their spots, except for Amane, who had adamantly insisted that she would not be partaking in the movie. You yourself were covered in blanket upon blanket, so much so that it was almost hard to see you underneath them, next to Mikoto, who had a bowl of popcorn propped carefully on his legs. His eyes were narrow and harsh, and he was mostly silent, a general sign that it wasn’t exactly Mikoto, but rather… the other Mikoto.

You had discussed the topic of Mikoto’s… other versions with Es multiple times, but as close as they ever came to caving and giving you more information, they simply shook their head and muttered that they couldn’t help you. And you couldn’t blame them- as prison guard, it was no surprise they weren’t able to tell you the details of the situation.

You let out a quiet sigh as a hush fell over the other prisoners, the screen illuminating itself as the movie started up. It stayed mostly quiet throughout the room, save the occasional whine from Fuuta about how unrealistic the special effects were (despite the fact that he had a death grip on his blanket).

It was a basic horror movie plot, completely predictable, and, yes, the special effects were shitty- what you would expect from a movie night in prison, although you could still feel the way you got uneasy any time it fell too silent. Every now and then, it would go completely silent on screen, the protagonist walking into a trap so obvious it almost bothered you how stupid they were. An obvious setup for a jumpscare.

You knew it was coming, but at the same time, you were absolute shit at preparing yourself for it.

The moment you heard the noise, you jumped noticeably high, letting out a squeak that was thankfully hidden by Fuuta’s much louder yelp. Instinctively, you reached out to grab whatever was closest and most convenient, since usually, at home, this object would be your precious Ikea shark- but, alas, as fate had it, you did not end up wrapping your arms around a Blahaj, but Mikoto’s arm.

Shame that felt even worse than being jumpscared settled over your entire body, and you felt your face flush red as you prayed desperately that nobody else had noticed. You watched for any sort of reaction from the man beside you, but he didn’t flinch, or even let his gaze waver from the screen. Shakily, you turned your head back to the screen, although you felt it was far too awkward to try and move now. You felt your body slowly calming down, heart rate going back to normal as your racing mind slowed…

Until you felt a slight shift, and in some sort of response to the way you’d jumped onto him, Mikoto wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you up against him. He was subtle about it, making sure not to make any sudden movements in hopes of nobody realizing. Once you were secure against his chest, he placed a hand in your head and you leaned onto his shoulder a bit. Your nerves were going crazy from the sudden intimacy, but you couldn’t deny that it was nicer.

Part of you wanted to ask Mikoto what he did that for, but his mood was much more fickle when he was different like this, and you knew that if you brought attention to the two of you in a position like that, Mahiru would never let you hear the end of it.

You just stayed, sitting against him like that, practically overflowing with warmth, struggling to pay attention to the movie at all any more. You felt another jumpscare building up, but in the back of your mind, you couldn’t really react in time.

But he did.

His grip on you tightened the moment anything popped up on the screen, and as the night progressed, he continued to behave like this, glancing over at you every so often to make sure you weren’t too scared. The way he held you so carefully, you could almost mistake it as him wanting to protect you-

oh.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── end

#⤥ Mairu Writes !#milgram #milgram x reader #mikoto kayano #orekoto #john kayano #john milgram #mikoto kayano x reader #john kayano x reader #orekoto x reader #mikoto milgram

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inannasdream · 14 days

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i think the reason why i gravitate towards belos on a deeper level a lot more than any of the other characters in toh is bc my preference in characters and stories is in how they are affected by institutions and the messiness that results from understandable character flaws exacerbated by those institutions, whether they are the oppressed or are enabled to become the oppressor. belos is a mix of both in a way that i like — it's possible to read him as nd & left handed (both heavily stigmatized in his day and society) yet both are possible to hide. in the demon realm he yet again had a trait that made him a possible outcast, as he was a lowly human, yet he transformed himself into a magic user through painful mutilation of his skin all so that he could conform to that society, even when it was one he couldn't stand. his conformity in the demon realm supports the idea of him having to conform in the human realm. but because he was enabled for being a white man in the human realm and could reasonably hide anything that made him a nail to be hammered down, he clung to that power and dominion over others that it gave him for the rest of his life like a security blanket, represented literally with him lording his magical prowess over other witches and demons. it's a lot of layers that i think are very fun and i'm 90% sure are unintentional when put together into this cohesive of a picture for reasons i will state later.

compare that against almost every other character in toh (w maybe the exception of darius??) — every good guy has flaws that can reasonably be blamed on other people as a freudian excuse or that are downplayed by the narrative (eg. amity going from an active bully in her debut to a passive enabler of bullying in understanding willow). there's a dire lack of messiness in them all, from their appearance (all the witch kids could easily be mistaken for humans, fairly good looking ones at that, if it weren't for the ears), to how they deal with pain, etc. it gave me the impression that they really wanted only the villain to be allowed to be messy and ugly because those are traits for villains, when i think it's a lot nicer to see stigmatized traits (ugliness, childishness, hallucinations, mental illness, etc) in everyone. i really wanted the heroes to get in on that kind of action too.

another thing that drew me away from connecting with and trying to deeply understand most of the characters in toh is the lack of meaningful bigotry on the isles. i'm not criticizing the race-, queer-, and gender-blindness of the demon realm on an objective level bc the writers wanted to accomplish a v specific thing w that bit of world building and that's ok and it's a wonderful aspiration for usamerica. it's ok if it's not for Me and the world can't have a million yasuda sayos (i say with difficulty through tears). but because there is a lack of bigotry in what's supposed to be an oppressive society and there's no highlighted underclass in its place (covenless witches should theoretically be the underclass, but the show tends to undermine this aspect of its society, eg. letting wild witches like eda and luz roam perfectly free and having the government-funded school allow witches to study multiple covens without pushback from said government funding them), it becomes just another part of the show that makes it so much more squeaky clean and made me disinterested in a lot of the characters — i connect so much better with characters when i feel their pain and struggle against a world that can't find it in itself to care about them, witnessing all the ways they try to fight for their right to be happy frantically and imperfectly, and that is what makes their happiness so meaningful to me and makes me care abt them deeply.

contrast that w belos: i really love that he came from a society infamous for its conservatism and religious extremism grounded in the real world, and it's so thought provoking for me to think abt the layers of that society and how he interacted with it. which parts he rejected, conformed to, wanted to conform to, etc. that's a challenging character to understand (and then, after having fully understood them, condemn with so much more feeling) and i adore the idea of that being intentional if it wasn't for the fact that almost every other character in toh is boringly easy to understand because they lack enough material in the layers that can make them feel like real, messy people to challenge the viewer in a meaningful way. (side note: a lot of the layers created simply by belos being from colonial connecticut also disappear if you're solely looking at his background based on the text in the show, bc you're expected to fill in the gaps with, like, wikipedia basically lol. similar thing w luz where they show very little of her being bullied/outcasted bc of her adhd and you're mostly supposed to fill that in w your own experience & irl knowledge of adhd.) it results in the show being weirdly liberal about the bigotry/lack of bigotry certain characters have and only being able to halfheartedly say "idk some people are just evil i guess", instead of examining the material conditions that shape people to act the way they do. Bigot Phil vs Weirdgirl Luz could've been "these characters are shaped by their circumstances and have been encouraged to respectively become their worst/best selves through ideals instilled in them" but instead it's "some people are bad and we won't attempt to look at what made them 'bad' in the first place" and then pretending this is a groundbreaking message and not the laziest takeaway they could've possibly written.

basically i like my characters messy with hearts that you have to go out of your way to understand and sympathize with who come from understandable circumstances and i think all girls should be allowed to kill freely. i hope you can understand my position.

#chirp chirp!#this post got away from me. i swear at some point it was only two small paragraphs #what can i say i love mentally ill orphans (collection of ryukishi07 girls in basement)#anyway im going to pull my final trick and reveal my favorite character is actually eda #the characters i analyse and think about every day are usually top five but my favorite character is ALWAYS the wildin girl #(looks at sonozaki mion and shion. like im always thinking abt shion but mion is my number 1 freaking GIRL)#toh critical #bc i think i went a lil too hard in the later paragraphs. sry for blending together opinion and critique here #this was just meant to be a personal post don't come for me pls ajdkwjkfjc

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janasrdhr · 7 months

Text

Princess? - Simon “Ghost” Riley

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Warning(s): Slight NSFW, Explicit Language

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Hours away from their base, Task Force 141 embarked on a mission. Military trucks, brimming with soldiers, conveyed them to their destination. The mission unfolded smoothly until a critical misstep by one of your team members threw the entire operation into jeopardy, compelling an almost immediate retreat.

Amid the chaotic scramble to reach the trucks, you found yourself among the last to board, alongside Ghost. With no available seats left, you were left with no choice but to take refuge in the trunk. “Fuckin' hell,” Ghost muttered in frustration before leaping inside and tugging you onto his lap to make room.

“Ghost,” you grunt, murmuring sharply, “The hell you doin'?”

His eyes remained cold as he placed a finger on your lips, to shush you. “Shut it. Don’t draw suspicion,” he stated quietly.

“Fuck you mean, draw suspicion? I'm literally sitting on your lap, Lieutenant.”

“That’s what we want to avoid.” Ghost hissed quietly before bringing his lips against your ear, “Keep your voice down.”

You elbow him in the chest, grated. “Quit breathin' in my ear, goddamnit.”

With an exasperated sigh, his fingers trail down your lips, a hint of irritation in his touch, yet an undeniable allure in his intent. In a mix of frustration and desire, Simon pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a demanding kiss, “I said, keep your voice down.”

As the abrupt kiss from Simon leaves your senses tingling, a tidal wave of embarrassment rushes over you like a hot flush. Your cheeks ignite in a deep shade of crimson as if betraying the intensity of the moment you just shared with him. The tingling sensation on your lips lingers, a constant reminder of the passionate exchange.

With a graceful and almost delicate turn of your head, you shyly avert your gaze from Simon's conceited one, your eyes momentarily seeking solace in the surroundings.

You could feel his arms wrapped around you tightly, as he watched you squirm around. “Stop moving.” He spoke sternly, “You’ll only make this more difficult.”

You let out a sigh and lean back against his chest, your voice tinged with resignation. “Whatever,” you mutter.

You could hear his breathing calm as his arms remained around you tightly. “Now hold still.” He ordered, moving a strand of hair away from your face.

You nod in agreement, a soft hum escaping your lips.

Wrapped up in each other's arms, a comforting silence descends like a warm, familiar blanket. The soft rumble of the rusty truck's engine provides a gentle backdrop, its low, rhythmic sounds almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Your bodies are nestled closely together, and you can feel the reassuring beat of each other's hearts. The warmth of your entwined limbs adds to the cocoon of comfort, making it feel like nothing else exists beyond the truck's confines.

Until...

His gaze bore into you with an intense heat, his fingers sensually gliding through your hair. In a sultry, whispered tone, he asked, “You been a good girl, princess?”

“Lieutenant!?” You turn around in a startle, your eyes widening in surprise as you look at him.

He smirked, playing with your loose waves. “What? What’s wrong?” He chuckled, his hands still playing in your hair, seemingly unphased.

Your eyelids flicker rapidly, unable to hold back the reflexive motion of blinking. Your eyes widen in disbelief, and for a brief but intense second, your voice escapes you entirely.

His smirk grew as he turned your face to face his, his lips inches from yours as he stared at you deeply. “Is there somethin' wrong?” He asked as he caressed your cheek.

“Ghost," you murmur in hushed tones, your voice laced with a subtle urgency, “We're in public...” Your gaze momentarily darts towards his lips, your words carrying a hint of restraint and temptation.

In a sultry dance of desire, he leans in closer to your lips. His movements slow and deliberate, filled with a sensual magnetism that draws your lips nearer. The air between crackles with anticipation as breaths mingle, and the world seems to slow down, savouring the tantalizing moments before your lips meet.

“Who cares? No one can see us,” he hissed, almost like he was challenging you.

“God. Don't,” you whisper, holding back a burning need.

He chuckled quietly, pressing his lips against yours in an assertive kiss. His strong arms envelop you, pulling you close until there's barely any space between your bodies. You can feel the reassuring pressure of his hold, and it's as if the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in your own intimate universe. It's a sensation that radiates warmth, safety, and a profound sense of belonging, where his presence is your sanctuary, and every moment in his arms is a moment of cherished closeness.

A gentle, exploratory connection of lips, where your breaths mingle in a slow and sensual exchange.

As the kiss deepens, it's as if a hypnotic force pulls your mouths together with increased urgency. Your lips part slightly, allowing tongues to tentatively explore. The rhythm quickens and your bodies move closer, seeking a deeper connection.

Simon lets out a low groan, his tongue running along your bottom lip as he tastes and explores your mouth. He lifted you up higher onto his lap, his hands still cupping your face, his fingers tracing along your lips.

Your fingers glide tenderly into his hair, treating each strand with a gentle yet purposeful touch. Your touch conveys a delicate balance between firmness and tenderness. Fingertips caress his scalp, a sensual harmony that heightens the intimacy of the moment.

You pull away, breathless.

He fixed his gaze on you, a seductive grin playing on his lips, observing as you inhaled deeply. “Enjoyin' yourself?” he purred, his voice low and husky.

“Depends,” you smirk, leaning in closer to his lips. “Is there more where that came from?”

A heartbeat passes.

He lifts you off of him, and you can feel him shift in the tight confines of the trunk before he pulls you back down onto his lap. His hands trail up your shirt, his fingertips tracing the sensitive skin underneath. “You look like you have something that needs to be taken care of.” He whispered enticingly, teasing you.

“I could say the same about you,” you whisper with a wink.

“Maybe you could help me with that, princess” He hisses, his breath warm on your neck. “Or I could find out what you need help with.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse.

He sneered, as his fingers began to tug on the hemline of your shirt gently. “Maybe I could do more than just that.” He muttered, his fingers now tracing along your skin.

“The night's still young,” you say with a smile as you encircle your arms around his neck, drawing him closer to you.

“Then it’s going to be a long one.”

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masterlist - cod masterlist

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