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inoreuct · 7 months

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what if, and hear me out: sanji one day grabs zoro's hand so they could run together away from some bad guy and zoro develops a dreadfully deep seated longing to hold sanji's hand (when he's not cooking ofc). it drives him insane. he cant sleep. sanji's hand is so Soft. Why??? Why does he want to feel it again??? he wants to yell into the sunset

they're sprinting through the streets, skidding into random alleyways and falling over each other as they try to outrun whoever's chasing them and sanji's laughing, head thrown back and eyes blue as the damn sky, his hair in absolute disarray. he's beautiful and his hand is warm and slim and strong around zoro's and it hits zoro like a fucking bullet to the heart.

the memory haunts him like a particularly persistent ghost. he closes his eyes and all he can think about is sanji's fingers laced with his, lightly calloused, nails filed down to a perfect glossy sheen and skin butter-smooth from the hand cream that the cook is so adamant about using. his laugh rings in zoro's ears like the echo of a bell, merry, taunting— the swordsman is half-sure he’s losing his mind. he is one more restless night away from climbing to the top of the main mast and hollering until he scares seagulls up into the air.

as it turns out, he does not go seagull scaring. he carries on and keeps an iron grip on his self-control and acts like nothing’s wrong, because nothing’s wrong! it’s all fine! it’s all fine, who, him? peachy fuckin’ keen.

…yeah, right.

sanji’s fingertips brush his and he nearly drops the plate he’s just taken. the cook hip-checks him out of the way and he damn near chokes on a breath. they spar and he almost dies, not just because of everything, but also because sanji gets his thighs around zoro’s neck in a chokehold and zoro just gives up. throws in the proverbial towel. he doesn’t even try to get out of it.

strong, slender fingers drag him by the ear back to the men’s cabin to pick up your fucking clothes, marimo, what is this? a pigsty? because it looks like one and it smells like one, do you really expect me to— and sanji cuts himself off, because zoro’s. picking up his clothes. he looks so bewildered at the lack of protest that zoro almost laughs, and he hides it by bending down to snag a pair of pants peeking out from under his bunk. (he decidedly does not laugh, because it has suddenly hit him that he’d probably do just about anything sanji asked him to. he might complain, sure, but he’d do it—

and that is a terrifying thought to entertain.)

the days carry on, and it doesn’t get any better; hell, zoro would say it gets so much worse. his heart seems to recognise every touch of sanji’s skin as cause to go absolutely fucking bonkers; chopper literally asks him if he has a family history of arrhythmia. it’s that bad. he tries to go to sleep and imagines sanji, one bunk up, in his bunk instead, his fingers tangled in flaxen hair, his free hand laced with sanji’s. he eats dinner and gets hit with a pang of desire to help with the dishes so strong that he almost stabs himself in the face with his fork. there is something wrong with him, he thinks profoundly, a familiar sense of gloomy dread spreading in his sternum as he rests his chin in his hand, like an oil spill marbled through with potent fondness.

they’re forced to get their shit together in the end but only because luffy manages to get them locked in the galley while franky is “too occupied” to get them out. (he isn’t. he’s sunbathing on the damn deck and absolutely in on the plan.)

zoro’s barely breathing as he goes up to sanji, eyes wild, and as soon as the cook looks at him he smacks a big fat kiss on his mouth and yells OKAY BYE. he’s seriously considering jumping out the porthole window but someone snags his collar and yanks him back, pinning him in against the countertop.

“and where do you think you’re going?” sanji purrs, but it’s breathless. his eyes are sea-sky-sapphire blue, like the heart of a flame, and zoro is the stupid little moth that was too damn dumb to fly away when he could and now he’s in the thick of it and he’s burning up, smoke drifting like it does from the tip of sanji’s cigarette.

the edge of the counter digs into his back. “nowhere,” he breathes, and it’s a lie and too much of the truth all at once. anywhere away from here. nowhere away from you. nowhere i can’t find you. nowhere you can’t follow.

sanji sucks in a trembling breath, electric eyes searching for something in zoro’s face, and he must find it because the next moment zoro’s being kissed within an inch of his life and the only thought in his head is yes, yes, yes. finally. yes.

they walk out red-faced, hair mussed, clothes twisted, avoiding all eye contact and immediately darting off to opposite ends of the ship with mumbled excuses.

zoro’s mouth is kiss-bruised and his head is spinning. his hip aches where he’d banged into the edge of the table. his heart aches where he’s finally let go of the wound he’d been holding shut for ages because now it’s bleeding afresh and sanji hasn’t stitched it up yet.

(but that night, as he lays awake heavy-limbed and staring at the bottom of a bunk, long legs swing over the side. sanji drops down, angling himself to land on zoro with a soft oof.

they talk. it is easier, somehow, when they cannot see each other— but zoro knows those blue, blue eyes are on him. he feels them slip shut, lashes dragging against the pad of his thumb as he tilts sanji’s face for another kiss; softer, this time. gentle. a banked flame flickering in the hearth, warmth and not destruction.

they fit together like their hands do, puzzle-piece natural, and it feels like coming home. zoro hasn’t known home in a very, very long time.

he buries his face in silky, sweet-smelling hair and falls asleep with sanji’s pulse thrumming beneath his palm.

come morning, he wakes to find the sheets twisted around them, a dull ache blooming across his shin— sanji’s a kicker. being privy to this information delights him an unreasonable amount.

the cook stretches with a loud yawn, arms falling to rest around zoro’s neck as he rubs his socked feet together. “come make breakfast with me,” he mumbles, the words muffled against zoro’s shoulder—

and zoro finally lets himself laugh, lets it bubble out of him like champagne, a rumble in his chest. “sure, curly. five more minutes.”

he feels impossibly light. five minutes turn into ten, and ten into twenty. they both fall back asleep. their captain will have to settle breakfast himself for the day; their cook’s hands are, unfortunately, otherwise occupied.)

#it’s… 3am again…#zosan #one piece zosan #op zosan #roronoa zoro #zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece #ino’s ask box #ino writes

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hishoukoku · 4 months

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I am always so unfathomably overwhelmed by the look in Hua Cheng's eyes when he gazes at Xie Lian; always full of love, worship, affection and adoration.

The look only given to the one who saved his life,

the one who shielded him from pain,

the one who healed his wounds and protected him,

the one who believed in him when everyone resented him,

the one he died for and always would,

but also the one who became his entire meaning in life and for whom he continues to live, forever!

#it's 3am #and I have thoughts #I was writing a fic #but this felt more appropriate to post because this gaze is worth ten thousand words #also #he is SO BREATHTAKINGLY BEAUTIFUL #and I needed a reason to look at him repeatedly (over and over and over again)#to make this post.for science #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #花怜 #花城 #谢怜 #天官赐福 #tgcf #heaven official's blessing

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youphoriaot7 · 8 months

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This is it. This is the end. They've fucked things up for the last time, and Cellbit is going to be furious.

Pac clutches his hands to his ears, breathing shallow and quick as he presses himself back against the tree trunk. Panic is seeping into every pore of his body, fingers trembling beyond his control. He screws his eyes shut, begging this to stop, for him to wake up, have this all just be a bad dream, a bad dream—it can't be real. It can't be. Forever's okay, Richas is here, Mike is safe, and Cellbit—

Cellbit isn't angry.

He's mumbling under his breath, now; soft words even he himself doesn't understand. The wood of the tree trunk behind him jabs painfully into his spine, but he doesn't care. It's the only thing keeping him even somewhat sane right now: he can live with a few scrapes.

"Pac?"

That voice again, calling out to him. He shakes his head, pressing his hands tighter over his ears, elbows folding in an effort to hide himself from view. There's a quiet conversation from in front of him—Cellbit's voice is nearer than Antoine's; in fact, it sounds like he's right in front of him—

"Pac."

There's a gentle touch on his arm and Pac jerks upright, throwing his back roughly against the tree trunk once again. Cellbit yanks his arm back, expression equally surprised as he stares back at Pac. A moment of silence passes, the only noise between either of them being Pac's frantic breathing. Then, Cellbit slowly lets his arm down as he crouches nearby.

"Breathe, moço. It's okay."

His voice is calm despite the audible wobbling, hands placating despite the way they tremble. The crouch is purposefully careful; as non-preditorial as possible. So he's guessed the issue. It's not really a surprise. (He always was smarter than them.)

Pac forces himself to look up at the other man, heart thunking against the inside of his rib cage as if it's going to burst out and run away.

There's no malice in his gaze. Only concern, and worry—some directed towards Forever, Pac is sure, but most of it is directed at him. This is...not an easy realization for Pac to come to.

He's not mad.

"We're going to figure this out, okay?" Cellbit continues, eyes still focused on Pac's own. "We're going to get Forever back. And then we're going to find Richas, and Mike, and then we're going to get the hell off of this fucking island." He takes a deep breath, immediately schooling the slight flicker of anger that flashes across his face.

But Pac sees it. He can't help it; at this point, it's almost like a sixth sense he's become aware of—always watching, always alert. Stay on guard. Eyes always open—if he wanted to use the other man's own words against him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, shaking his head as he manages to tear his gaze away from Cellbit's. "I'm sorry, Cell. I'm so, so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Cellbit's eyebrows furrow together as he scoots a half-step closer. He doesn't reach out a hand, though. Not again. "Pac, this isn't your fault. None of this is any of our faults." There's a small flinch, something that says he doesn't quite believe the words he's saying. "Well...I have no one but myself to blame, for some of it—but you didn't do anything. Okay?"

The words have to roll around in Pac's head for a moment before he can manage a small nod. He glances up to see the other man offering his hands out, trying to help Pac to his feet. There's no trace of anger, no trace of fear. Only despair.

Slowly, hesitantly, Pac accepts.

When they're standing once more, Cellbit carefully lays his hands on either one of Pac's shoulders. It's a position Pac wasn't expecting, and he can't do anything but blink as he stares back at the other man. "We're getting out of this," Cellbit repeats firmly, gaze snapping—not with anger, but with determination. "I promise you."

Pac struggles to swallow, simply nodding in response. Cellbit nods as well, removing his grip. He turns to return to the warpstone, and it's all Pac can do to get his wobbling knees to follow.

He knows Cellbit isn't the same. He knows he's trying so hard to be different, be better. He's heard the other man apologize a hundred times, and accepted them every time—because he's trying, and thats more than Pac can say for some people.

But it doesn't change the way his eyes zero in on Cellbit's clenched fist as they walk back to the waystone. The way his gaze catches on the knife sheath hanging from Cellbit's belt—a fairly new addition to his typical outfit. The way he's prepared for the other man to explode at any minute.

But he doesn't. The calm air carries over as they warp back to the main square, meeting up with Antoine.

"I...I can't do this anymore," Pac murmurs moments later, interrupting Cellbit and Antoine's conversation. Both of them glance over in surprise.

Cellbit reacts first, nodding. He reaches a hand out, setting it on Pac's shoulder. "Get some rest." His voice is so much more gentle than the harsh tone Pac is subconsciously expecting that it's nearly jarring. "I'm going to look around a bit more."

Pac just nods, already reaching for the warpstone at his belt. But something catches his left hand and he glances up to see Cellbit's fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. Startled, his gaze shoots up to the other man's face, but Cellbit's piercing eyes won't meet his own.

"...be careful out there, Pac." His voice is low, but not dangerous. More...exhausted.

Pac nods, carefully squeezing the other man's fingers in return. "I will," he whispers, removing his hand from the fierce grip in order to rub it across his warp stone.

He collapses into a heap on the floor of Chume Labs the moment he arrives.

#qsmp #qsmp cellbit #qsmp pac #qsmp tazercraft #qsmp fic #qsmp drabble #pl;fuga #couldn't stop thinking about the pure IRONY of cellbit being the one to calm pac down yesterday #woke up at 3am to write this then conked out again lmao #ev;perfection

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herlondonboy · 1 year

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Begin Again

pairings: Taylor Swift x gn!reader

summary: just listen to Begin Again (Taylor’s Version).

warnings: none, it’s just fluff.

word count: 1.0k

A/N: for my friend that read the last TS oneshot and complained about how sad it was. Hope this fills up the ever-present hole in your heart like the Wanda smut did, emo boy xx

It was Wednesday.

Probably your least favourite day of the week. It consisted of standing behind the till of a small coffee shop and making coffee for obnoxious customers that don’t understand that ‘we don’t have any more soya milk’ means that you’re out of soya milk.

You stood up with a heavy sigh when you heard the bell above the door ring and looked up. When you met eyes with the blonde that was walking over to you, you held your breath.

Her sunglasses blocked her eyes, but her smile was obviously genuine as she appeared at the counter.

You stammered to greet her, scratching your forehead as your cheeks and ears warmed up dramatically.

The blonde across chuckled at your nerves, assuming that you were trepidatious because she was her, “Hi!” She grinned, half expecting you to ask for a signature or photo because that’s what most people do when they see a celebrity, right?

You gave a nervous laugh, and you cleared your throat, “Uh, hey! What can I get for you?” You bit your lip, trying your hardest not to shamelessly check her out.

Keyword, ‘tried’.

“You’re staring at my chest,” Taylor said with a grin, making your eyes snap up to her, “I think you’re intending to admire my necklace, but it’s coming off as you staring at my chest,” She bit her lip.

Your eyes brightened at the reference, “Oh! Rose to Derek in season 4,” You pointed at her, making her laugh and nod. You smiled before shaking your head and glancing down for a second, “So, what can I get you?”

The blonde’s eyes widened in remembrance, “Uh, a tall, black coffee, please,” She asked sweetly.

“I’d ask for your name, but you’re the only one in here, so,” You chuckled, typing her order into the cash register as she handed you the money to put in the drawer.

Taylor frowned in realisation before smiling brightly and shaking her head, walking over to sit down. You smiled and turned to make her drink, which was probably the simplest one to make.

When you handed Taylor her drink, she thanked you and you went back. Sitting back behind the counter, you kept on glancing up at the blonde who was typing away on her laptop. When she was done, she walked back over to the counter with a cherry smile.

You glanced up and smiled politely, giving a simple goodbye, before looking back down. “It’s Taylor,” The singer said.

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“My name. You said you wouldn’t need it, but I want you to have it, so… It’s Taylor.”

Your eyes lit up and you stood, “I’m Y/N,” You shook her hand, “Same time next week?” You joked.

The blonde laughed and nodded, “of course.” She left, but not before dropping a hefty tip in the tip jar.

Taylor didn’t come the next week, much to your dismay, but she did the week after. Apologies were thrown at you, but you shook them all off, making her a drink. She sat down and you repeated the same process from the first time, only this time when Taylor came to tip you, you didn’t exchange names.

When Taylor walked over to you with her mug, you felt your cheeks warm up once more, “Uh, I know we don’t really know each other that well, but I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat?”

“Like a date?” Taylor asked, making you look down. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Y/N.”

You grinned, blushing, “Do you, uh, do you want my number?”

Taylor nodded and pulled out her phone, typing each number that you said and texting you so that you had her number, too. She liked you, a lot. It was nice being friends with someone who had a normal, balanced life, that didn’t know her as Taylor Swift, but just Taylor.

On Friday that week, you sat, anxiously tapping away on your table. It was bordering on 7 pm, the time that you and Taylor had agreed on, and you were half expecting Taylor not to turn up. When the door opened, you saw Taylor and stood up as she walked over to you. She got to the table and you pulled out her chair, allowing her to sit, before pushing her in.

You didn’t know how nice that action was, but she did.

The dinner went smoothly, and before you knew it, you were organising another date. Wednesdays quickly began your favourite day, as Taylor would try and make it to the little coffee shop every week at a similar time.

Taylor: I’m sorry, I can’t make it today. Something came up, I’ll be there next Wednesday. I promise

Y/N: Don’t worry about it!

Y/N: I was actually wondering if you wanted to catch a movie on Saturday? They’re playing Zookeeper at the theatre.

Taylor: I’d love to!

Saturday rolled around and after the movie, the two of you chuckled together, walking hand in hand to Taylor’s car. It went silent, and Taylor thought she had to say something so she spoke up, “You know, my bo-“

“You know, my pa-“ you spoke at the same time, making you grin. Taylor motioned for you to speak first and you nodded, “My parents actually bought that movie theatre back in the eighties. A few years before I was born. What were you gonna say?”

Taylor shook her head, ridding all thoughts of her ex-boyfriend, and smiled up at you, “This has been a great few weeks, you know?” She asked, “It was really nice meeting you, Y/N.”

She went to slip into her car when you called her name, making her turn back to you, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

The blonde grinned and nodded, “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

You looked up at the sky to hide your smile before looking down at the ground, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please do,” Taylor whispered and you leaned forward, connecting your lips with hers, completely oblivious to the camera flashes around you.

#Taylor swift #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift imagine #Taylor swift oneshot #taylors version #red taylor’s version #red taylor swift #red tv #begin again #fluff #fearless taylor’s version #fearless #midnights #midnights 3am edition #elijah writes

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cyan-6-ide · 8 months

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simon saying he wants to be become ice king again is so in character it’s agonising. he wore the crown again and again to begin with so he could save a girl, even if it meant the horror of losing himself and driving away every last person he cared about. he spent over a thousand years in that state, practically lost and replaced. almost nobody knew who he used to be, not even him. the new world wasn’t jarring, because this was how it had always been for ice king, for a thousand years, for the forever that he could process. he had his place in the system and he wasn’t *happy*, but he slid into the chaos of ooo as his state of mind deteriorated.

then he’s cognisant again. but the love of his life is dead. and it truly sinks in that even though he is back, the ice king would never give back the time he took from him. the world he knew slipped away while he forgot it, and he’s left as an outsider who can’t even find solace in his own species, one that moved on without him. he has to sit with everything ice king did. everything that took from him. every way that hurt others. every moment of sickening confusion and loss and pain. and those who could never feel the gravity tell him again and again that he was so much cooler and fun back then! that he’s just some lame old guy now, such a downer! always on about some girl, or staring off sadly! who would want to mope with him at a bar rather than party with the ice king, right?

marcaline doesn’t even rely on him anymore. grown and independent now. grown when he wasn’t there to see it. it’s not like anybody else needs him either, and what does he have to give now, anyway? he tries and tries to bring his girlfriend back and every time he’s smacked in the face. he’s so tired. he’s so, so tired. he wouldn’t half mind being the ice king again, because even with the pain of that, at least he wouldn’t be capable of thinking about these things anymore. he would have powers that could help people again. he would be fun and charismatic and free from being cognisant. even better than dying, he could make people happy this way too. two birds with one stone, in his eyes. at least the ice king has a reason to be alive.

it becomes a third bird when fionna *needs* this. it’s not the only plausible solution, but it’s a damn clean one. her problems will be fixed, fixed with the crown the way that simon used to fix every problem all those years ago. the most reliable shortcut. he’ll be free from life, and the world will get their *beloved* ice king back. the events of 1000 years ago can repeat, but this time he’ll never seek a cure.

of course this is a flawed view, and i can’t remotely see this being the endgame for his arc, and it could *never* be portrayed as the right course of action. falling into that old pattern and life would be a monumental act of self harm in an attempt to escape himself, and it would leave marcaline in pieces to see him relapse and lose himself all over again in that last ditch effort. it’s genuinely a simultaneous act of relapse and suicide, and though it’s so clear why he’s reached this point, i do NOT believe this series will end with him re-becoming the ice king. and if it does, it will be a horrifying event, not a happy culmination of his character arc.

#suicide tw #relapse tw #i’m probably missing something because it’s 3am #(around the time i write all my character analysis)#but fuck it man #i’ve got simon petrikov on the brain #my favourite part about tv-14 fionna and cake isn’t the swearing or blood #(even if it’s a fun bonus)#it’s the fact that they’re going head first into tackling such heavy themes #and they are going to TOWN with it #fionna and cake #adventure time #fionna and cake spoilers #also this is all just My Interpretation #again it’s 3am so if anything’s off the mark then sue me ig <3

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grizzersmamma · 1 year

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One Surprise, Two Surprise | König x F!Reader

Summary: König has been away for months and is eager to get back home to you, only you have a couple of surprises for him.

Notes: @lethalchiralium and their Happiness AU has me out here acting like a broody hen 😭 I’m also a sucker for the trope of “partner goes away for an extended period and comes back to a whole ass baby having been born”, so this is inspired by that too. Absolutely recommend their fics, so go read them if you haven’t already! My family has the twin gene quite prominently, so König gets two babies for the price of one 👉👉

Pairing: König x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy Implied, Infants.

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Next: Here

It’s been almost ten months since König has last been home. His deployment with KorTac had been keeping him constantly on the move, constantly taking mission after mission with little to no reprieve. To make matters worse, there had been a strict no-contact rule in place for the entire duration of his deployment thanks to the sensitivity of the missions.

Ten months, only two short of a whole year without seeing you. Without holding you in his arms. Without so much as hearing your voice.

It was agonising, knowing that he could have been curled up in your shared bed together rather than trudging from safe house to safe house. He had never known a true longing for home until he’d met you – normally he couldn’t wait to be sent off to some godforsaken forest or desert in the middle of who-knows-where, enjoying the isolation – but now, his skin had begun to feel like it was crawling, searching out the gentle touch you always offered.

Sleeping was difficult on a good day, never quite feeling safe enough to lower his guard. After spending so much time with you, however, he found his arms automatically trying to seek out your body in his sleep, needing to know you were there for his brain to calm. Sadly, he was only ever met with cold sheets at best, and at worst he would end up grabbing at poor Horangi when they were forced to share a bunk.

Fortunately, Horangi didn’t seem to care too much, simply slapping at whatever offending limb had slid into his personal space and going back to sleep again. That didn’t stop König from apologising in the morning, relieved when his squad mate would just lazily wave him off.

But finally, he’d arrived back on Austrian soil, able to take in a deep breath of frigid air the moment he stepped off the plane. It was early afternoon, the sun hitting the snow at just the right angle for it to sparkle. Within a few weeks the ice would all be gone and spring would be in full swing, bringing with it some much needed warmth.

König pulls his jacket a little tighter in response to the chill, deciding that he’s admired the view long enough and refocusing on getting home.

He collects his personal items from the locker where they’re housed during deployment, switching on his phone. It’s an old Nokia, used purely for receiving texts and phone calls while working, while his personal one is kept safe at home with you. It takes a while to finally boot up, clinging on with a measly 3% of its battery, but it’s enough for it to load the few messages he’d missed while abroad.

There are the usual messages, generally wishing him luck, telling him that he was in your thoughts, simple ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s scattered throughout randomly. The second to last, however, is different from the rest, a request for König to call you as soon as possible.

His brain is quick to offer up a handful of the worst-case scenarios – maybe you'd gotten hurt while he was away, or perhaps you’d grown tired of his lack of presence and decided to call it quits – but after glancing at the next message he finds himself calming again. The last text was sent just over two months ago, telling him to disregard the previous message and to meet you at his oma’s home when he returned, that you had some sort of surprise for him.

Odd that you would choose for him to go there rather than the small home the two of you occupied, but König refused to let his worries spiral. You got on well with his oma, much to König’s delight, and she had been a huge help, considering you had no close family living nearby. The moment he had introduced you to his grandmother, the woman immediately decided you were perfect, taking you under her wing as one of her own. She was absolutely delighted to finally have a granddaughter to dote on and pass all of her family knowledge to.

König had attempted to stop his grandmother from smothering you completely, lest his girlfriend be scared off after only the first meeting, but to his relief you’d told him you already adored the older woman and looked forward to seeing her again. His heart turns into mush every time he sees his two favourite women spending time together. Even if that time is spent with his oma telling you all sorts of embarrassing stories from König’s youth.

The drive to his grandmother’s house is fortunately rather short, and within an hour of touching down on the runway he’s already arriving. König ensures to remove the simple balaclava he’d been wearing on base, knowing from experience that his oma doesn’t appreciate him “looking like he’s about the rob the place” when he arrives.

After gathering up his belongings, König gently raps on the glass of his grandmother’s front door. He could hear soft voices inside, but they quiet the moment his knocking rings out, leaving him stood in silence while he waits for someone to answer.

It’s his oma who opens the door, gasping out his name joyfully, before wrapping her arms around his middle in a bone crushing hug. It’s impressive, really, that a woman of her stature and age is somehow still strong enough to hold him tight enough that all the wind is driven from his lungs. “Hallo, oma,” he smiles, giving her a gentle squeeze in return.

“Mien lieber Enkle, wo bist du gewesen?!” She demands, pulling back from König, only to grab his hand and begin dragging him into the warm house.

“Ich war arbeiten,” he mumbles back, but is ignored as his grandmother deposits him in the living room.

König’s eyes zero in on you in mere moments, unable to resist the soft look that crosses his face, nor the way his shoulders droop. It’s as though a massive weight has been pulled from his shoulders, even more so when you near enough throw yourself into his arms, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck so you can pull him down toward you.

He meets you in a tender peck which quickly devolves into a more desperate kiss, eager to make up for lost time. It’s only the awareness of where the two of you are that stops König from escalating from loving smooches and taking you right then and there. “I missed you, mein Vögelchen,” he breathes, nosing at the side of your face.

“I missed you too, mein König,” the grin you give him is nothing short of playful, but that doesn’t hide the clear signs of exhaustion on your face.

König’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, gently encouraging you to release your hold on him so he can look at you more closely. “Are you alright?” he asks, his gloved thumbs softly caressing your cheeks as he takes in the large bags under your eyes.

“Your surprise kept me awake,” you laugh, taking König’s hands into your own.

“Surprise?” He had almost forgotten about the surprise you had mentioned in your text, blinking in confusion, “what kind of surprise would-” He cuts himself off when his oma comes back into the room – he hadn��t even noticed her leaving, too focused on you – his voice flees him at the sight. A tiny little creature is nuzzled into the older woman’s chest. A baby, his brain belatedly supplies for him.

“Where- Who- Wha-” König blinks once again, unable to process what he was looking at for a long moment. “A baby?” he whispers, breathlessly, his heart racing as he turns to look at you.

You laugh again at his stunned reaction, gently guiding him closer to the tiny boy. “Say hello to your son,” you smile, watching as he reaches out a hand to caress the infant’s face. His hand is huge compared to the baby and it’s amazing to him that he could ever create something so small and fragile. He’s spilled enough blood in his life that he was certain he’d been stained by it, yet here this child is, completely untainted by the horrors of the world. “His name is Lukas. I remember you saying you thought it would be a cute name,” you add softly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He reaches for Lukas, his oma helping him to lift the child from her, showing him exactly how to hold the infant so his head is properly supported. His arms are shaking, despite how light the baby feels, the weight of this new responsibility, this whole new person who is relying on him, leaving him feeling weak at the knees.

“Hallo, Lukas,” König murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of his son’s forehead. The infant’s little face screws up at the disturbance, eyes blinking open to gaze at his father with the exact same pair of blue eyes. There’s a grumpy pout on the child’s face, but it’s smoothed away with an impressively large yawn only moments later.

“He’s perfect.” König can feel his throat tightening up, eyes threatening to fill with tears. He supposes that meeting his son for the first time is an understandable reason for crying – there's no need to keep up any appearances here, surrounded only by family – he's more than happy to shed a few tears while he presses feather-light kisses to Lukas’ face.

Lukas reaches out, placing his tiny hands against König’s cheeks with a curious little coo. He seems to be entirely unphased by his father’s shaking breaths and damp eyes, too focused on the smile he was being offered.

“I’m glad you liked your surprise,” you say, curling into König’s side and gazing down at your son, “are you ready for your next one?”

König’s head shoots up, staring at you wide-eyed. “My next one?” he chokes out, “y-you don’t mean...”

He sees you biting down on your bottom lip to try and keep the grin from completely taking over your features, unsure if he should be horrified or excited when you turn around and wander into one of the spare bedrooms. “Schatz, no,” he gasps, only able to stand there, gaping like an idiot when you return moments later with a second child in your arms.

"Keine Chance! There are two of them?!” König’s voice has taken a slightly higher pitch, gripping at the sofa beside him to keep himself from toppling right over. His outburst startles Lukas enough for the baby to whimper, bottom lip poking out and wabbling dangerously. “Ah, sorry, mein leiber,” he quickly shushes, swaying to try and calm his child.

“Here’s your little girl, Anna,” you coo, bringing the second baby close enough for König to see.

“Anna...” he repeats, staring down at his daughter in amazement, looking at her pretty eyes, exactly the same as her mother’s. “We have two children, mein Vögelchen,” he wheezes, slowly slipping down to sit on the couch, his legs no longer able to hold him. He knows he told you he hoped to have a family one day, a couple of children and some dogs or cats, but to have two children in one go?

The realisation hits him like a slap to the face. You had been here alone, carrying not one but two children, and then had to give birth to them. His oma was here for you, of course, but there’s only so much one elderly woman can do to help.

König should’ve been there to help you throughout the entire process. He should’ve been there when you found out you were pregnant, when you went in for scans, when you found out there would be two of them, and when you found out there would be both a little boy and a little girl entering the world. Instead, he had been overseas, fighting enemies, while you were taking on your own battle by yourself.

With his free hand, König reaches out to take one of yours, giving it a soft squeeze. “Liebling, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he breathes, pressing your hand to his forehead as he seeks your forgiveness. He would be on his knees, grovelling, if it weren’t for the tiny child currently attempting to reach for his face again.

“No, none of that,” you shake your head, removing your hand from his grip and instead cupping the side of König’s face, “you didn’t know, there’s no way you could have.” You sit yourself down beside him on the sofa, crowding in nice and close so the two of you can be pressed together.

He wants to argue, entirely convinced you should be angry at the very least, but now isn’t the time for it, not when this should be a perfect movement between the two of you and your children. So instead, he says, “thank you, mein süßer Vogel,” placing a kiss against Lukas’ head, allowing the boy to hold his finger as he then leans over to kiss Anna. “I love you,” he breathes, finally offering you a kiss.

“I love you too,” you hum back, staring into his eyes.

A moment later, Lukas lets out an upset wail, breaking you both from your interlocked gaze. His loud shrieking causes his sister to whimper, awoken from her slumber and most displeased about it.

“Time for these two to be fed,” you huff, briefly letting the exhaustion catch back up to you.

König quickly stands, holding out his hand to pull you to your feet. “You can show me how to feed them so I can help, ja?” he asks, eager to take at least some of the work from you. He’s only just returned from months abroad and is tired beyond belief, but this is his responsibility now, and it’s one he is more than happy to take on. He’s already missed almost two months of his children’s lives and he has a lifetime of making it up to you for being away so long.

No doubt you will disagree with him.

You walk to the kitchen together, König wrapping his free arm around your waist to keep you close.

He needs to discuss what the two of you are going to do going forward, especially regarding his work now that he more important things to concern himself with. There’s no way he’s going to leave for another deployment, not for a good while after this. All he wants to focus on is spending time with his son, his daughter and the love of his life.

Translations

“Mien lieber Enkle, wo bist du gewesen?!” | “My dear grandson, where have you been?!”

“Ich war arbeiten,” | “I was working,”

“I missed you, mein Vögelchen,” | “I missed you, my littlie bird,”

“I missed you too, mein König,” | “I missed you too, my king,”

“Schatz, no,” | “Treasure/Darling, no,”

"Keine Chance! There are two of them?!” | “No way! There are two of them?!”

“Ah, sorry, mein leiber,” | “Ah, sorry, my dear,”

“We have two children, mein Vögelchen,” | We have two children, my little bird,”

“thank you, mein süßer Vogel,” | “thank you, my sweet bird,”

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #könig call of duty #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig x you #the best time for posting fic is 3am #so here we are again

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writeouswriter · 1 year

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*Sighs dreamily* Writing dialogue, my beloved.

*Hisses with intense malice* Writing all the dialogue tags and actions between dialogue, my beloathed.

#writing #writeblr #writing humour #writer things #relatable #textpost #my characters sure do look at each other a lot huh #the actions of today’s fic brought to you by our sponsors:#looking ; staring ; glancing ; gazing ; looking again but in a different direction ; etc #also for your promotional consideration: leaning forward ; snapping ; looking again ; shouting ; leaning back ; tilting head ;staring again #only one eyebrow raise though ☝️#writing humor #dialogue #yes it’s almost 3am again leave me be #i wrote so much dialogue

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meepmeep19 · 2 months

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The First Time Tetchou placed Jouno above Justice:

The Airport Scene TM is so significant for SGK cuz it marks the first major instance of Tetchou placing something above justice (Jouno). And while it is a 🤌 of a scene, I actually think this was the SECOND time Tetchou prioritized Jouno instead of justice.

When was the first time? It was during the first couple years after Jouno joined.

As much I absolutely LOVE current Tetchou’s unyielding devotion to Jouno, I honestly don’t think that’s how he’s always felt. In fact, I think that he originally hated him and that these two were actually enemies to lovers. This gradual shift marked the first time Tetchou placed Jouno above justice. Lemme explain.

Jouno was literally everything Tetchou stood against when he first joined. An unfeeling, murderous criminal who was allowed to basically get away with it all scot free. Not even JUST getting away with it, no, this filthy criminal actually got REWARDED with actual Hunting Dog status. In other words Jouno literally escaped justice. Ofc, Tetchou was gonna absolutely hate his guts. He swore he would never see this murderer as a Hunting Dog. In his mind, the only way this injustice would be righted is when Jouno finally paid for his crimes and faced capital punishment.

But then something insane happens; the ex-mafioso actually changes. Tetchou starts to see him casually risking his own life to save innocent civilians. He starts to notice the very faint, slightly flustered (and cute) smile on Jouno’s face whenever said civilians would thank him for rescuing them. In just a year, Jouno’s dedication to the HD manages to rival even that of his own. And that’s when Tetchou realizes he was wrong about Jouno and that somehow, this man has actually started to grow on him. (Don’t get me wrong; Jouno does still have his sadistic side that occasionally riles up Tetchou, but it’s rly more of a minor annoyance rather than anything serious anymore.)

But that’s when reality hits him. Jouno’s recent change in behaviour still does not erase his crimes. At the end of the day, he should still be on death row. Nothing about this situation has changed; in the eyes of justice, Jouno is still a criminal. Tetchou should still hate him. It shouldn’t matter that Jouno feels just so fun to be around despite because of his cattiness or that he has an utterly adorable smile, or that he never hesitates to protect the weak, or that he’s just become so stupidly endearing to Tetchou that it’s honestly overwhelming at times.

And yet… it DOES matter. Somehow the thought of Jouno dying has gone from something jubilating to utterly terrifying for Tetchou. Try as he might, he just can’t see Jouno as a criminal anymore; all he sees is a Hunting Dog; a hero. But again, he knows he can’t like Jouno and still claim to be a follower of justice.

And so, Tetchou decides to make an exception to his justice philosophy. Realizing that he just can’t hate Jouno anymore (and rly, doesn’t ever want to) Tetchou Suehiro, CHOOSES to place his love for his beloved partner above his love for justice, for the first (but definitely not last) time.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #tetchou suehiro #jouno saigiku #hunting dogs bsd #suegiku #god we are literally STARVED of SGK content #it’s honestly just so unfair lol #I also had like a little side note I was gonna add but that got so stupidly big i decided to make it its own post rather than make u guys #suffer even more lol #I’ll hopefully be posting that ‘side note’ soon (maybe)#I’m writing about SGK at 3am again…#what. a. surprise.#I love Suegiku #Enemies-to-lovers SGK my beloved #(even tho I’m not even that big of a fan of Enemies-to-Lovers tbh lol #it just ✨works✨ here for some reason #I absolutely NEED more SGK backstory-

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hamartia-grander · 1 month

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Starting to slowly realise I'm really not doing well mentally and it's. concerning. I feel like I should take a break from tumblr bc it takes some of what little energy I have but it's also my source of joy with friends so idk what to do, like I'd miss y'all more than I'd feel good about being away. But if you notice me talking less/not responding in days it's bc I just cannot. I leave your message notifs up so I don't forget tho <3

#Personal #Feeling dreadful bc so many friends have shared with me things they wrote that I SO GENUINELY AM EXCITED TO READ #I've just had literally no time nor energy for ANYTHING I enjoy in like a month #And I'm also literally not sleeping. I'm either not sleeping or I have recurring nightmares that wake me up. It's god-awful #Therapy isn't helping either cause atp I already know everything they're advising me about it's just not working #Nothing's changed either which ofc makes me feel worse. No meds changed no habits changed nothing crazy happened #I'm just suddenly worse than I've been in years which is Not Good #I feel awful for not being able to read my friends' things if I could let y'all see my mind you'd know I want to read what you write so bad #I just can't right now. I'm sorry #Not to mention work and school have been especially more demanding recently and I literally get home after 8 every single night #Don't even eat dinner til past 10pm #Doing hw until 3am etc etc #It's like high-school all over again but I'm an adult with more responsibilities than ever

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amethysts-prompts · 2 years

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Prompt #217

Don’t wake up.

Hero’s eyes almost blinked open, with the sound of Villain’s voice ringing in their ears like a nightmare.

You’re in danger.

“Am I dreaming?”

Yes, Villain said in the confines of Hero’s mind, and I need you to keep dreaming.

#prompts by dee #prompt #prompts #writing prompt #writing prompts #hero #villain #heroes and villains #hero x villain #hero x villain prompt #lucid dreaming #I keep having lucid dreams so I thought of this. It’s not much but it’s a start. that’s why it’s a prompt :)#Also I was scrolling through TikTok- ran into a weird video. it like…glitched…then said ‘don’t wake up’…and disappeared.#Couldn’t find it again :)) page didn’t refresh and it scrolled away on its own. needless to say I was spooked for a little while after.#this is the third or fourth night in which I have stayed up past 3am #this could have been written a thousand times better but I’m tired #and I’m depending on talented writers to fix which I have prompted.#I could have written it myself but I’m lazy and have twenty other WIPS that need finished. so. have at it.

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crescentfool · 1 year

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i love ryomina

no but seriously. even when i’m thinking about other things that captivate my interest, i find myself coming back to them and feeling like i fell down three whole flights of staircases every time i do. they are one of my favorite pairs in media and are very special to me.

it’s the way that ryoji and minato’s lives are inevitably intertwined with each other due to the circumstances 10 years ago on the moonlight bridge. without no minato, there is no ryoji. minato as he is today is because of ryoji. they have irreparably affected each other’s lives that you cannot discuss one without bringing up the other one.

ryoji mochizuki, who is death, pharos, thanatos, nyx avatar, the man of many names and identities, is the perfect summation of p3′s messages and themes.

minato arisato, the wildcard and protagonist, who has boundless kindness in his actions despite the unfortunate cards handed to him.

the two of them complement each other and tell a beautiful story from start to finish.

minato’s personas capture this perfectly. he awakens to orpheus, who’s flames burns bright, is snuffed out by thanatos during the encounter against the arcana magician. a visual precursor of the idea that ryoji stole from the life that minato could have had.

it’s the way that over the course of the game as minato interacts with pharos, talking throughout the dark hour, forging a bond that cannot be broken, that allows ryoji to exist. minato humanizes death.

november. the bells toll, calling the appriser. and yet, it’s peaceful... quiet, and full of life. ryoji, who breaks free from death’s chains, refusing his role, is given the chance to live for a month. to make the most of the humanity that minato has given him over those ten years. and what a life he lived. ryoji’s life is a reflection of what minato’s life could have been like in another universe.

it is the way the two of them are reflections of each other. ryoji with his hair down is just like minato. they are both stubbornly committed to choosing to be kind, to love life, yet are chained down by the cards the narrative dealt them with. they finish each other’s sentences, knowing each other intimately in a way no one else does.

how is that, a boy who lived for only one month, profoundly changes the course of the narrative? he is simultaneously relevant and irrelevant. blink, and you miss it, the beautiful life that he led.

ryoji is horrified at the revelations of being the appriser. he who so desperately wished to forget that his existence was meant to bring the end to all life, was unable to escape the inevitability of death. in a non-human way, of course. he becomes remorseful. a shadow of his brief time as a human who was enamored by the small beautiful things that life had to offer.

he is swallowed by grief. grief knowing that his very existence will take away not only minato’s life, but everyone else’s. the very thing that ryoji loved- life, fundamentally went against the role he was born for- to be the harbinger of death. and unable to grapple with this sadness he believes that the best thing for minato to do is to kill him, so that SEES can live in bliss not knowing about their inevitable end.

SEES is left rattled, calling into question what the meaning of life is and what they do when faced against the inevitability of death.

and!!! minato chooses!! for ryoji to live!! even in spite of what ryoji is MEANT to embody, minato still stubbornly chooses to defy death itself! and if that’s not cool i don’t know what is!! minato wants everyone to have the chance to live!!

so he climbs. he ascends tartarus, to meet ryoji, again, who is now the nyx avatar. and i just think there’s something so so beautiful about being able to use messiah, minato’s ultimate persona, against nyx avatar.

messiah, being the fusion of orpheus and thanatos is peak ryomina to me. because ryoji and minato have established an unbreakable bond from having been entwined for 10 years, minato still has a piece of death with him, and by proxy!! ryoji is able to defy and rebel against nyx trying to bring the fall! and i think that’s fucking cool shit if you ask me!

even when all of the arcanas have been gone through, it’s still not enough to stop the fall. and yet. minato knows. in the way that ryoji was sealed in minato 10 years ago by aigis... minato becomes the great seal so that everyone can live. it comes full circle.

march rolls around. he fulfills his promise to SEES on graduation day. minato dies from exhaustion. but goddamn does his sacrifice make me weep- he’s had such, such a tiring journey. he’s been through so many things because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. but at the end of it all, he’s reunited with ryoji in death.

and i think this is why ryomina continues to evoke so much emotions for me, to this day. the relationship that they have embodies so much of persona 3′s messages and themes that it makes me feel like a microwave with nothing running in it.

p3′s message is very hopeful, for me. my favorite takeaway from it is that even if death is inevitable, appreciating the life that we were given and choosing to live as best as we can with kindness (even if we can’t feasibly do everything), is just? really nice? and you see this manifest in both ryoji and minato’s personalities and what they do for the other characters.

ryomina just feels so distinct to me, the flavor that their relationship ties back to my favorite takeaways from this game and im just!! god!! i love you minato arisato! i love you ryoji mochizuki! im so glad that i could meet them! i’m happy that they changed my life! they made me want to appreciate the connections in life even if they were fleeting! they made me!! want to pay attention to the good moments in life and cherish them!

i love ryomina so much!!! i’m so glad that these two could bring so much joy into my life! and i hope that others can have this joy too! 💛💙

#lizzy speaks #persona 3 #ryomina #ryoji mochizuki #minato arisato #meta #long post #(literally)#HI SO UM YESTERDAY I COULDN'T FUCKING SLEEP so to cope i was like 'i will talk out loud about anything and everything'#and somehow that turned into me talking about ryomina out loud and something about verbalizing my thoughts made me feel crazy about these-#two again. i mean for the record i continue to love them always very dearly but like my p3 braincells sometimes go into hibernation bc-#ive been on a really huge splatoon kick. but anyway my voice was like cracking at 3am because i was tearing up #i was like 'THE!! IM! SO NORMAL ABT WHAT ORPHEUS AND THANATOS AND MESSIAH SYMBOLIZE' etc etc etc #so i kinda just went to sleep like 'ok well you GOTTA type it out. everyone needs to know about this.'#and um i didnt mean to make 1069 words! sorry! not really! but i love them!!! even if im very quiet these days!#ohhh how lucky i am to have had the chance to experience ryomina they are such a gem. they make me so goddamn emotional #they really mean a lot to me because of well. (gestures at the entire post) but also they came at a really good point of my life and FUCK!!#im so so grateful to them!!! i love them!!!! the themes that their relationship and characters convey just !! IM SO NORMAL ABOUT IT!!!#they've affected me so profoundly and deeply and i wish i could make better art to get this across. but its ok. one day i can. one day #they make me so fucking talkative like actually but um. i had a lot of fun writing this! i dont think ive had like. a proper appreciation-#post for them that articulates why i like them so much (unless you count the essays i write in my art tags) so it was nice to make this.#admittedly theres a lot abt p3 that im rusty on since its been a goodwhile since ive interacted with the source material #and in a way you could say that like. i need to renew my p3 license LMAOOO but god some parts of p3 still have such a huge death grip on me #and what i mean by that is that the big Fucking Events have such!! clarity!! in my mind!! i recall them and i wilt on the spot!!#oh god i cant fucking shut up. the tags are probably 500 words long. enjoy my ramble. i wish every ryomina enjoyer a Good Life <3 #actually no. i hope that EVERYONE on the dash today has something that sparks joy for them the way ryomina does for me.#everyone deserves 2 have something that makes their brain do a little excited dance that makes them blow up and explode. its good for u!#BYE FOR REAL this is why i have to post my thoughts very spread out otherwise yall would have so many WORDS on ur dash pls help i have so #many emotions and i am so tiny i cannot possibly fit all the feelings i have about ryomina and other things inside my tiny little body

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inoreuct · 7 months

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zosan caretaking fluff feat. hair washing, banter and very soft vibes. dinner is served.

Sanji sighed, sliding down until the back of his head pressed against the lip of the bathtub. The water was toeing the line between too hot and just right and he'd poured in enough lavender emulsion to coat it with dense, heady bubbles; they tickled his chin as he let his eyes slip shut.

It had been such a long day.

He'd been rudely woken up by the sound of a cannonball crashing through their hull, tossed out of his bunk a second later when the enemy ship rammed into their side; having to fight moments after being startled awake had already put him in a horrid mood, and then he'd realised that the galley had taken damage and he would have to restock more than half of everything he'd had in there. The fridge had lost power too so he'd had to cook all the meat that had thawed (which, to be fair, was never a problem with Luffy around) but then his whole crew had scattered during their supply run and he'd lugged a shit-ton of food back to the Sunny himself and now his brain was buzzing and his everything was aching and he was pretty sure he had gunpowder in his hair.

The steam filled his lungs when he breathed in, damp and dense and warm, settling heavy as he trailed his fingers through the milky water. His neck hurt from staring down at goods all day and he could feel the beginning of a tension headache behind his eyeballs. It was a small blessing that he had the bathroom to himself—

The door creaked open.

Goddammit. Sanji sucked down a fortifying breath before he looked up— and relaxed, because thankfully, the one possible person he might be able to tolerate at the moment was sliding inside with one arm behind his back.

Zoro pushed the door shut with his heel, loose pants wrapped low around his hips and hair already darkening from the humidity. "Hi."

"Hello, marimo," Sanji sighed, tilting his head to the side. He watched as Zoro trudged over and stuck his free hand into the water before yanking it back with a muffled hiss.

"That's hot."

"Nearly enough to boil a lobster," the cook agreed mildly, eyebrows flashing up as he turned his head to track Zoro pulling up a stool, lazy and languid. "Now did you need anything, or are you just here to kill off more of my brain cells?"

Zoro gave him a dry look.

A heavy exhale slipped from Sanji's nose before he reached behind him, fingers brushing Zoro's elbow and sliding down to take his hand. He spread the swordsman's fingers out, tracing over hard-earned callouses with featherlight swirls. "I'm sorry, mon chou," he sighed, letting his temple fall against Zoro's knuckles. "Just... tired, is all."

"I know." Zoro flipped his palm, rubbing a thumb over Sanji's cheekbone before pulling away. "Brought you something."

Sanji heard the sound of glass being picked up and nearly turned before he was presented with a dark, stout bottle, the labelling font reminiscent of chalk on a blackboard. "Pirate Blend," he read, huffing a chuckle. Fitting. "No glass?"

"As if you won't finish the whole thing."

He let out a faux-indignant gasp, reaching out to whack the back of his hand against Zoro's bare chest. "Ass."

"That was my tit, cook. Think the steam's getting to your head."

The laugh that peeled its way out of Sanji's throat was sticky with exhaustion, steeped through with lavender suds and underpinned by the ache in his muscles as he popped the cork with his teeth and took a swig. "...Where did you get this?"

"There was a tasting booth in the market. Thought you'd like this one."

"You thought right," Sanji admitted, lifting the bottle to his mouth again and letting the wine coat his tongue; a red by the taste of it, with a nearly savoury spiced vanilla and dark, syrupy cacao, a rich core of sweet berry, an almost silky hint of dry tannin. He held out the bottle, but Zoro shook his head with a soft quirk of his mouth.

"Got it for you, swirly."

The cook smirked. "Suit yourself. So that's where you ran off to while poor little me was stuck doing all the heavy lifting," he lamented, sighing and emphasising it with an exaggerated sip.

"Not just that."

He heard twine sliding across waxed paper, packaging rustling as it was unfolded—

The water sloshed as Sanji set his bottle down and turned around, holding onto the edge of the tub as Zoro pulled the last bit of paper away to reveal the set of soaps in his lap.

The cook's breath caught. Each of the five bars clearly had a different scent, and a design to match; the one with green and cream swirls was matcha, surely, and the translucent one with rose petals was obviously rose. One more was oat and honey, and the one with a herb sprig on top was definitely rosemary mint— But the last one was plain brown, mild enough that his nose couldn't pick out what it was supposed to be. "Marimo."

"Hm?"

"How much did these cost?"

Zoro shot him a smug grin. "Just a couple of logs that needed chopping... And some charm."

"You." The cook blinked, stretching out like a cat to rest his chin on his hands, lips twitching as he tried to hide his awed smile. "Charm."

"Oi! I can be charming when I want to be!" The swordsman scowled at Sanji's fond, disbelieving scoff. "I charmed you, didn't I?"

"Yes, well—" Sanji felt a little breathless, buoyant, like if he let go of the tub he'd float with no effort at all. "Yes, I suppose you did." He held still, heart fluttering in the hollow of his throat as Zoro's face softened, leaning forward to poke at something in his hair.

"You've got gunpowder in your bangs."

"I— Ugh, I know!" he complained, rolling over with a dramatic sigh.

"Well, hurry up and pick one, then!"

"Pick one?" Sanji lurched up again, bubbles sloshing everywhere, eyes flicking between Zoro and the soaps. "I can't just pick one, they all smell so good and they're too pretty to—"

"Oh, for the love of— Curly, can you just pick one and let me wash your hair?" Zoro deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest and completely oblivious to the way he'd just made Sanji's entire system freeze, the inconsiderate moss-headed bastard.

If a cannonball crashed into their ship again, Sanji wouldn't have noticed. If the Sunny was sinking, he wouldn't have cared. He was much too preoccupied with staring at the man sitting in front of him, skin flushed with the warmth, green hair mussed as it always was, soaps that he'd bought for Sanji on a whim in his lap. The cook's fingers dug into the edge of the tub and gripped until ceramic squeaked. Zoro wanted to wash his hair.

Zoro's throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly fighting the urge to look away. "Look, if you don't want—"

"No!" Sanji yelped, startling himself enough that he nearly clapped his hands over his own mouth. "No, I— This one," he breathed, reaching for the plain brown bar and pressing it into Zoro's palm. "This one." He knew that he probably looked nearly shocked, eyes so wide it must have been unsettling, but his chest ached something fierce when he breathed in deep down all the way to his gut and he couldn't help it. His water must have been getting cold by now but he didn't feel it at all.

Zoro's lashes fluttered as he shifted in his seat, carefully wrapping the rest of the soaps up and placing them aside. "Okay, then. Turn around."

Sanji flipped, sitting still as Zoro gently pulled the tie from his hair and slipped it around his own wrist, holding back a shiver when calloused hands cupped his face to guide him nearer the running tap. The water seemed warm, but not warmer than Zoro himself; the swordsman always seemed to run ridiculously hot and Sanji—

"Relax," Zoro murmured, his hand broad and steady against the back of Sanji's head. "I've got you, cook. Lean back."

And Sanji was slowly coming to realise that he was loathe to deny Zoro anything, so he did. He let his weight sink back against Zoro's hand, trusting the swordsman to hold him up, letting his eyes close as Zoro carefully poured water over his scalp until his curls were soaked. He didn't open them even as he was pushed back up, settling comfortably in the tub as Zoro lathered the soap in his hands. What remaining suds left in the tub lapped at his collarbones; the water was a soothing pressure all around his torso, and he didn't bother hiding his soft sigh when Zoro's fingers slid into his hair.

"S'getting long." Firm fingertips started scrubbing at his scalp, kneading into spots of tension Sanji didn't even know he had. "You gonna cut it?"

"Mm? No," he sighed, shuddering when Zoro dragged his thumbs up from his nape. "Think I w'na grow it out."

Zoro hummed at that, tipping the cook's head to the side. "You'll look pretty."

"I know I will. And you'll tell me every day."

"Oh, will I, now?"

"Mhm."

The swordsman scoffed without any bite, doing something with his fingers that made Sanji melt. "You're so cocky."

"Mhm," Sanji mumbled again, not even bothering to find out what he was agreeing to. He had better things to focus on. "Just... keep doing that."

He heard Zoro chuckle and then pretty much zoned out completely, tension bleeding from his muscles, letting Zoro move his head this way and that. His bathwater was tepid at this point; he didn't care. Zoro's hands were big and warm and as the bubbles drifted down to his shoulders, he finally realised what this bar was scented with.

Sandalwood suffused his senses, a deep creamy sweetness with an undercurrent of leather and earth. With what little wherewithal he had left, Sanji decided that it suited Zoro more than it did him. Maybe he'd try to convince the mosshead to take it for himself. A few kisses should be bribery enough. Fingertips dug beneath the bones just behind his ears, working until the ache dissipated, and Sanji felt his shoulders slump because God, that felt good.

He didn't know how long he sat there, drifting blissfully between sleep and Zoro's fingers scrubbing at his crown, gingerly detangling his hair, but if you had to ask him his answer would be not long enough. His eyes fluttered open when Zoro tapped his cheek, and he squinted at the light. "Wh—"

"Wake up, baby. Gotta rinse."

The pet name made something tucked inside his ribcage pull tight like a gasp, but Sanji just closed his eyes again. "Just a while longer..."

Zoro chuckled as Sanji's head lolled in his palm. "We should get you to bed."

"Noooooo." Was he whining? This was ridiculous. He really didn't care.

"You're a spoiled prince," Zoro said matter-of-factly.

"Your fault." Sanji discreetly cracked one eye open to gauge the swordsman's reaction and immediately closed it when he saw Zoro's expression, sucking in a hitched breath.

That was enough devotion in a glance to kill a man, and it tore through Sanji like a fucking bullet. Right through the ribs, in and out faster than he could stop it, so quick that he didn't even realise until his love was bleeding out of him, all over his hands, filling his mouth, colouring his teeth, honeyed at the back of his throat and finally he'd be able to see how much of it his heart held. He didn't mind. He didn't think he ever would, actually; he'd fill this bathtub with red if it meant that Zoro would see. If it meant that he would understand how every time he looked at Sanji like that it felt like he had Sanji's heart in his fist, his lungs in a vice, his goddamn life under his thumb.

Sanji had come to terms with it long ago. He put his soul in these battle-scarred hands every day and he trusted them to be gentle because he knew that they could, they would be, for him. Even now, Zoro took his weight easily, one palm at his nape and the other stopping suds from getting into his eyes and it meant far too much for something so simple, but that was just how it worked, wasn't it?

The cook swallowed hard, allowing himself one more moment before pushing up so Zoro wouldn't accidentally waterboard him. It would possibly be hilarious but he might also very possibly just die, considering how low his guard was. The thought made him laugh a little, strained with how his head was tipped back; he saw Zoro give him a weird look upside-down and decided that he was either more tired than he'd thought or he'd had more of the wine than he'd realised.

Zoro rinsed his hair quickly, but he was no less meticulous than he had been at the beginning. It was something that Sanji had refused to admit he admired at first, that single-minded intensity regarding the things Zoro cared about, and oh, wasn't that a thought? That he belonged within that distinction now. Sanji pulled his knees to his chest when the swordsman leaned over to grab the towel he had set out, scrunching the cook's hair dry as best he could and then dropping the fluffy white cloth over his head just to make him laugh.

The bottle of wine was relatively full when Sanji picked it up, holding it up to the light as Zoro dried his hair. "Guess I didn't finish it after all."

"Yeah, well." Zoro shrugged as he took it from him to put aside and tugged gently on a stray curl. "Nobody's gonna want it now that it has your spit in it."

Sanji scoffed. "You'd still drink it. You'd drink any booze."

"...Yeah, I would."

Zoro's eyes were a soft grey as he stood up. Sanji had a feeling that he could have left out the second part of that statement and the answer would still be the same.

He let Zoro pull him up out of the tub, wrap him in the towel and hold open the pair of briefs he'd left for him to step into. He held his arms up as Zoro pulled his soft sleep shirt over his head, brazen as if he didn't know full well the shirt was Zoro's to begin with. If it were any other time he might have protested against being helped to dress like a child— but for now he'd just refuse to admit that he enjoyed it, enjoyed being cared for, even in minute ways like this. Plausible deniability and all that.

Sanji didn't resist as the swordsman took his hand, leading him back to the men's quarters and tugging the covers up for him, patting them into place around his shoulders as he settled. The bed dipped by his hip where Zoro sat, and Sanji sighed as his damp bangs were brushed away from his face. Zoro liked seeing both his eyes, he'd noticed. Maybe he'd start wearing his hair back more often.

"Goodnight, cook," Zoro whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sanji's temple.

Sanji's brain was full of cotton and sandalwood suds. He squeezed over underneath the blankets, cupping Zoro's face in his palms. "Stay."

The swordsman laughed under his breath. "Haven't showered."

Sanji considered letting him in anyway, but yep, nope, guess his brain wasn't that full of cotton. "Make it quick," he ordered, the effect broken by the massive yawn that interrupted his last word. Pulling Zoro down for a proper kiss was easier than breathing, the press of their lips just enough to wrap warmth over his skin like a blanket. "And use the soap from just now."

Zoro huffed at the words murmured against his mouth. "Spoiled."

"Your fault," Sanji yawned again, jabbing a finger into Zoro's chest before waving him away.

He heard his boyfriend's rumble of a laugh, smiled into his pillow as Zoro's acquiescence was brushed over his cheek, before the lamp was turned down and the door opened and shut. He'd been serious about Zoro being quick; they both slept better when they shared a bunk, and today had been more than enough of a shitshow for them to have earned a good night's rest.

Sanji snuggled down, fully intent on waiting.

He was asleep between one breath and the next.

(And if he woke briefly to curl closer when Zoro slid half-asleep into bed behind him, clean and warm and smelling of sandalwood, well. Neither of them would remember it in the morning.)

thank you for reading! part 2 where sanji takes care of zoro is already in the works, so keep your eyes peeled if you're interested :)

#wishing i was sanji rn #i'm telling you that man is fussy about his drinks but zoro knows his preference down to the last flavour note #that l.a.s. vino pirate blend is a real thing btw and it's absolutely delicious #zosan #zosan fanfic #one piece zosan #op zosan #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #zoro #one piece zoro #one piece #ino writes #it has been SUCH a long day it's 3am again #but writing this was like a balm to my soul

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dragoninahumancostume · 2 months

Text

I want to see art of Tumblr as a physical space. It's a building. The popular blogs are sitting on their thrones. The hall of fame is the reception of it because departamental building. You know when you got to a building and there are sofas on one side the receptionist in front fo the door? Imagine he sofa side is incredibly big but it's actually a library, because everyone here seems to love libraries, and each book is a famous post, but they're all disorganized entirely so they randomly appear on a table of the library and someone grabs it and says "hey look at this!" and then continue to share it; sometimes they don't share it and instead put it back in the shelf but soon it appears on a table again. Each apartment is a person and each room in them is a blog they have, and if you only have one blog? Worry not! Slider curtains or magical walls, so it's technically one room but it's made perfectly to fit you. The apartment has all accommodations needed for the person (wheel chair, painkillers, pads, tampons, you name it and it's there.) and you can have your pronouns and your name written on the door and next to it a list of the things you love the most and want to talk about with people. There are pride flags inside and outside if you want to have them. Your wardrobe is whatever you want to wear for the day; Cozy pajama? Sure! Wizard robe! There you go! Victorian outfit? Lovely! Beetlejuice cosplay? Neat!

The dash is the halls. We wander around the building whenever we leave the room. When you post something, you're just saying out loud your thoughts, and if you get notes, that's just people wandering near your apartment who happen to have heard you. Likes are people literally leaving heart shaped stickers —with the paper still on— under your door with a little note saying "I heard you saying this and I liked it". Reblogs are people hearing you, then going back to their rooms and saying "Hey I heard this and I want all of you to hear it too! Also, I may have something to add to it!". Your neighbors are your mutuals, because they can hear you more easily.

In the main hall there are, like, papers hanging on one VERY big wall. The wall has written at the very top of it "POLLS" in big font. The wall is divided in "FINISHED" and "AVAILABLE". The papers on the available side come with a pen so you can vote, but no one sees you while doing so and no one will know what you said except for you.

The asks are people sending you letters under your door. Your door is uh magical so you can say if people have to sign it or if it's okay to put it anonymous. You then proceed to read the letter out loud for everyone who passes by to hear and you answer.

The drafts is you having a thought but instead of saying it out loud you write it down, and put it on a shelf with the other drafts. Every apartment has a shelf, as high or as low as the person wants it, the color and the shape and everything is to appeal the owner of the apartment.

And uh.. I think that's it for now I can't think for much else except uh

@hellsite-detective has two types of asks. The simples ones like "Hey can you find this?" "I love what you do!" are the usual letters, the other type is the people who prefer to go ask for help themselves. They knock on the door and present the evidence for the case, trusting our dear detective.

There's so many people in here... Tumblr is pretty much a city with how many buildings there are... People can go on to other buildings and wander around too and participate if they want.

The gimmick blogs have different wardrobes in their rooms. There's the main one where they go as themselves, and there's the other where they can put on costumes and change their names.

There's also a more secluded part of the city... That's where the misfits live. Bigots, transphobes, homophobes... People who we don't want to be around, so they hide in their little corner of the city. Most know better than to interact. Those who are curious put on a custom to not be seen when they wander around, and they try not to engage.

I want to continue talking about this but I don't have any more ideas right now so please continue this if you want! :)

#is this something #how do i even tag this #I want people yo see this tbh #I've been feeling terrible lately and this hellsite (affectionate) is my escape #It literally feels like a physical place and it's so nice #When I feel bad I just come here and distract myself #i love this #hellsite #I'm sorry this is mainly just me rambling and it's 3am and I'm tired but I wanted to share #This is probably poorly written I'm sorry #long post #It was actually 2am when I wrote this but I missclicked and I don't want to write it again #i'm hungry #tumblr

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