#long-train-runnin

[bluefunkymamma]

Doobie Brothers(banda)

Doobie Brothers(banda) Una de las bandas de pop / rock más populares de California de los años 70, Doobie Brothers pasó de ser una banda de boogie suave después de los hippies

Una de las bandas de pop / rock más populares de California de los años 70, Doobie Brothers pasó de ser una banda de boogie suave después de los hippies a convertirse en una banda de pop / rock  con influencias de soul a finales de la década. En el camino, el grupo acumuló una serie de álbumes de oro y platino en los Estados Unidos, junto con varios éxitos de radio como “Listen to the Music”,…

[jt1674]

[aboutoriginality]

Long Train Runnin'

[for-the-love-of-music]

Long Train Runnin'

[musiconspotify]

#Shinyribs Bitch Better have My Money / Long Train Runnin'

[temporaryorbit]

Vintage USA

zep diner

[owensthoughts]

This has been the soundtrack to my thoughts today for some reason

[krispyweiss]

Book Review: “Long Train Runnin’ Our Story of the Doobie Brothers” by Tom Johnston and Pat Simmons with Chris Epting

Music journalist Chris Epting should have used a heavier hand in working with Tom Johnston and Pat Simmons on “Long Train Runnin’ Our Story of the Doobie Brothers.”

The otherwise-compelling book about the band - with sections also written by producer Ted Templeton, longtime band members Tiran Porter, Michael McDonald and John McFee and honorary Doobie Bill Payne of Little Feat - suffers from redundant storytelling and Johnston’s fondness for exclamation points. It’s as if he’s yelling at the reader the entire time!

A sort-of first-person oral biography, “Long Train Runnin’”’s major revelation is the Doobies’ connection to Moby Grape. Not only was virtually every Doobie a big Grape fan, it was Skip Spence who introduced Simmons to Johnston and drummer John Hartman.

Unlike so many band books, this one settles no scores. The closest thing to kvetching comes when Johnston and Simmons both say Jeff “Skunk” Baxter could be a difficult bandmate and when Johnston and Porter disagree on who wrote the chorus of “Listen to the Music.”

Johnston, in particular, comes off as a mensch, graceful to the core, even saying “I get it” when arguing Porter is simply misremembering history from the deep past.

Later, when ill health forced Johnston to bow out of the Stampede tour, he harbored no ill will toward the band he founded for bringing in McDonald and jumping musical tracks toward soul and jazz. Even after leaving for good after Takin’ it to the Streets, Johnston, who returned for the group’s jukebox era, was proud of his former group and the success it achieved.

Classy all the way!

Templeton was skeptical of McDonald’s songwriting chops when Simmons brought him in to the studio to preview “Streets.” But after the singer began - You don’t know me but I’m your brother, he sang at the piano - Simmons remembers the producer standing behind McDonald mouthing the words, Oh. My. God.

It’s the little stories like these that make “Long Train” an enjoyable ride. It could’ve been so much better with some editing!

Grade card: “Long Train Runnin’: Our Story of the Doobie Brothers” by Tom Johnston and Pat Simmons with Chris Epting - C+

6/28/22

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: You guys remember that thing I wrote the other day saying I didn't have an explanation for it? Well, I don't have one for this either. But I nearly cried when I wrote the last line. Deadass real tears. Almost.

C/W ::: Stupid sweet. Dad!Katsuki (27 yrs old, married to F.reader).

WC ::: Less than 530

Thinking about Katsuki hanging out in the living room with his baby after she had a bad dream.

It's 1:19 in the morning and he's awakened by the sound of his baby girl crying. You had begun to shuffle in your sleep at the sounds she was making, but he got up first, careful not to disturb you (like that would ever disturb you).

He quietly padded his way down the hallway to her dimly lit room and he peeked through the open crack in the door to see if she was ok before he walked in. She'd apparently heard someone coming to her because she stopped fussing just long enough for him to open the door the rest of the way and walk in to her.

His voice was calm, low and gravelly. But soft. A kind of softness that he reserves only for his little girl.

"Hey stinker, whats'a matter? Y'have a bad dream or somethin'? C'mere, ohhh yes, shh shh shh shh shh. Come on, up ya go. Wanna go for a walk with me, hah? Let's go. Jus' you 'n me. Let's hit the road, hah, Jack?" He picks her up without any effort at all. Her little 17 pound body is no match for the great Katsuki Bakugou. Though regardless - and because - of how small she is, he holds her closer than anything else in the whole world.

He holds her tightly with one arm and puts the other one on the handrail to make his way down the stairs, talking to her the whole way. "So, what'd ya dream 'bout? Yer mama runnin' outta milk?" She coos and smiles at him. He laughs, too, but he knows, realistically, there's no way in hell she could know what he's saying to her. But that won't stop him from telling everyone at the agency that his baby is a certified genius.

"Yeah, that'd be scary as hell. But really, when'r ya gonna start talkin', hah? I need someone normal to talk to sometimes. And," he senses you behind him and stops talking. Turning around, he sees you standing behind the couch, smiling, with your hand over your heart. "B'tween you 'n me? Your mama is a full-time passenger on the crazy train. She might even be the conductor one of these days." He winks at you and waves you off with his hand to go back bed. "I got 'er. 'L be up soon, ma."

You nod and hover for just a second to brush her soft little blonde hairs from her forehead. You kiss him on the cheek and walk back to bed.

He swipes the hair you brushed back to the way it was and gives her a long kiss on the crown on her head, sneaking a sniff of that baby smell. She smells like a combination of you and him: Vanilla and burnt honey.

"See what'm sayin'? Yer ma don't know how to do hair t' save her life. Tch. Bah! I love her anyway." The baby began to fuss a little again. "Hey! I didn't say I loved 'er more than you, baby boom.

@arlerts-angel @viburnt @darkstarlight82

[trulyhblue]

Communication

Kyra Cooney-Cross x Dutch! Reader Blurb

Warnings: fluff, REALLY bad translated Dutch, language barrier.

Masterlist

___________________

Moving from your childhood club AFC Ajax was the hardest change of your life, but the easiest choice of your career.

You signed your first professional contract with them when you were fifteen, making your club debut in the same year. After six months of fitting into the squad, and having the opportunity to play in the Champions League as a substitute, you were asked to play for your first international camp against New Zealand, where you came away with a 2-1 win. From then, you have continued to be chosen for the National Team’s 23-player squad, continuously representing them as both a starter and a sub.

You were known for your agility, speed, and footwork, both on the ball and against both attacking and defending players. Being a midfielder, your job to maintain possession and create chances felt like a breeze to you, and your pure, sheer talent landed you with many of the most assists for the past three years.

Despite the friends you made at Ajax, you knew that opportunities to strengthen your player profile and widen your skills across the world were a dream of yours. You were a huge fan of Arsenal growing up, your parents taking you to games when they could.

When the opportunity arose to represent your country at the 2023 Women’s World Cup, you don't remember doing anything but crying for the days following your selection. You played your heart out that whole tournament. And while you didn't make it to the Semis, you walked away with a once-in-a-lifetime experience, with clubs worldwide wanting you as a part of their team.

Moving to Arsenal was a no-brainer. Not only were you a massive fan of the name itself, but they were among the best players in the world. You knew Victoria and Viv from the Oranje Leeuwinnens, and you had been told that you’d move in with Vic for the first couple of months upon your arrival, so the weight of the move felt lighter than many anticipated. You were roommates with Vic during Camps. But, in contrast to your Netherlands teammates, you didn't know an inch of English.

Well, other than the obvious words like Hello, Good Morning, and Goodbye, you were hopeless.

So, when you arrived on your first day of training alongside Victoria, you couldn't help but cringe at what was about to unfold.

“Ze weten dat je geen Engels spreekt, y/n.” They know you don't speak English. She spoke, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders, squeezing you into her chest. “Ze zijn allemaal erg aardig.” They are all very nice.

You didn't reply, choosing to keep your arm around Victoria’s waist, your eyes filtering over each of the girls.

“Ah, hier is ze!” Ah, here she is. Viv said, walking out from beside Beth Mead, jogging towards you, eloping you into a crushing hug.

“Ik heb je gemist, y/n, hoe gaat het met je?” I’ve missed you, y/n. How have you been? She asked, holding onto your shoulders as she kissed the top of your head. The London chill meant that you were wearing a black long-sleeve under your shirt, its hem being detained in your hands. The chill of the air nipped your cheeks. The Netherlands were cold, but so was London.

“Hetzelfde. Ik ben goed.” Same. I'm good. You let out meekly, noticing a bouncy Beth Mead waddle over to the three of you, holding her hand out for you to shake. You had played against Beth before, and of course, you knew her from Viv, so you made sure to look her in the eye when you shook her hand.

“Hi!” She sounded cheerfully, keeping a ball at her feet. “I’m Beth!”

“Y/n.” You replied, trying to reciprocate her delight with a small smile. “I'm Y/n.”

Your eyes widened slightly when a ball came flying at the four of you, causing you all to yelp out and duck before it hit anyone. Everyone looked in the direction the ball had come from, a strong, Irish and Australian accent on cue to yell out.

“Sorry!” The duo cringed, running over to retrieve the ball with a grimace.

“Katie kicked it.” The Australian one said, but you didn't understand. You saw the pained expression on her face, and how the Irish woman, who you knew as Katie, glared at her in shock.

“It was a joint effort, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, fuck off, no it wasn't—”

“Ze vechten.” They’re fighting. Victoria muttered to you, making you laugh.

“Ik dacht.” I figured.

The two girls were silenced after another woman came marching up to the growing group, looking at you with a stern expression before softening the crease between her eyebrows. You knew she was Kim Little by her motherly stare.

Next to her was Jennifer Beattie, an Arsenal Defender. She had her arms crossed around her chest, shaking her head in false disapproval before strolling over to you, calling out to Jonas, whom you had met when you discussed your contract.

You felt like crawling into a hole and dying, the whole occasion of being introduced to everyone made your skin crawl. Of course, no one necessarily made you feel out of place, but you refused to let Victoria’s arm go throughout the whole ordeal. You knew most of the players due to their prominence in women’s football. Most of these women set the scene for how the sport is seen today, and the mere thought of them knowing who you were was surreal.

The two girls that were arguing before, Caitlin Foord and Katie McCabe were the first to come up to you. Victoria told you they were sorry, and you shook your head and brushed the apology off, not really knowing how to say the right words in English.

Steph Catley and Leah Williamson came up to you next, saying very few yet simple words before hugging you and wishing you luck. Alessia Russo was next, and you couldn't help but giggle as her cheeks went red as she started to speak.

“Erm— sorry, hold on.” The striker looked at Pelova, who prodded her on with her hands. Russo looked back at you, trying hard to remember what she wanted to say.

“Leuk… Leuk je te ontmoeten. Erm- sorry. Ik hoop… Ik hoop dat je geniet… van… Londen.” It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy London. You knew from her strained expression that she was well aware of how much she butchered the language with her English accent, but you pursed your lips together and smiled gratefully. The thought was genuine.

“Thank you.” You muttered, your slim vocabulary in English coming in handy. “It’s… nice to meet you, too.”

Alessia looked to be most accomplished with herself, asking Victoria a question before she was cut off by Jonas’ booming voice.

You waited, trying your hardest to latch onto an idea of what he was saying, but gave up when you felt someone behind you pulling you away from Vic’s side, leading towards the other end of the pitch.

When you faced the girl in front of you, she must've realised that she had startled you, since her eyes widened at your expression.

She was short, but your height, with a scrunchie in her hair and a training jumper over her Jersey. You couldn't count the hundreds of freckles that patterned her face, her doe-like Brown eyes looking at you with a mix of shock and awe.

“Hello, my name’s Kyra. Steph told me your name is Y/n… Jonas said that we are partners, so you can start if you want.”

You didn't say anything. You wish you could, but the words that left her lips were foreign. You felt a flush run across your face, humiliation at your lack of words hitching your breath. You must've looked so stupid since the girl waited for you to reply. Everyone was set off into pairs, a ball adorned between each of them.

The girl in front of you had the ball, picking it up and fidgeting with it in her hands. You stared at each other in silence, neither of you particularly knowing what to do. It wasn't until the girl put the ball to her feet, kicking it towards you, that you communicated in some way.

Instead of talking, the girl showed you the drills, pretending to be Jonas by overexaggerating her actions by marching around, waving her hands vigorously, and using the ball to make you laugh at her ridiculous impression of your Manager.

Her number was thirty-two, yours was thirty-three, and somehow it made you feel more of a connection with her. She was very patient if you didn't understand what you were doing the first time around, and you began to wonder if number thirty-two was trying hard not to talk just for the fun of it.

She never made you feel as if you were annoying her with the lack of audible contact, in fact, she looked to find it a fun game between the pair of you.

No one chose to interrupt or try and sever the consecutive numbers, finding Kyra’s unusual silence amicable in contrast to her typical outgoing self. Both Viv and Vic were eyeing you from where they stood with their respective partners, hesitant about the choice of Kyra as your partner, as you two were very different personalities. But after a while, the two Dutch women stopped looking to see if you were okay, hearing your faint giggles from the view of a giddy Kyra enough to reassure them.

Because of this, training went by quickly for everyone. Today was a pretty easy session, similar to the ones you knew from back home. You knew you were wrapping up when Kyra started juggling the ball, singing a loud tune before passing it over to you.

You moved your feet up and down as you juggled the ball from one foot to the other. Kyra giggled when she missed the ball you passed to her, tripping over her own feet and rolling around on the floor, clutching her stomach in laughter. You did this for a while, before Kyra dragged you across the field and to the stack of drink bottles.

You didn't really know where you were going, so you let Kyra take your hand and lead the way, walking behind her as you passed the bike rack and towards the indoor fields.

You didn't begin to doubt Kyra until you had pretty much walked the length of the training centre, where you had long discarded the fields you were once training on.

“Kyra.” You ushered, making the Australian stop in her tracks at the sound of your voice. She pivoted on her heel, staring at you absolutely gobsmacked.

You looked around, trying to find the words to get across what you wanted to say.

“Say it in Dutch,” Kyra answered, catching a glimpse of your reticence.

You thought to yourself for a second before nodding. “Waar gaan we heen?”

Kyra’s eyes widened, obviously not comprehending a word you said. She looked around, trying to find a solution.

She grabbed your hand again and led you down another corridor, pushing past a few doors, weaving through the never-ending maze of rooms before finally making your way back to the locker rooms, where Vic had taken you to drop off your possessions before training.

Kyra rushed to pick up her phone, waddling over to you, typing away vigorously and smiling up at you when a voice rang from the device.

“Ik kom uit Australië.” I'm from Australia. The voice spoke.

You laughed, taking the phone from the girl’s hands and writing down a reply.

“I know. I can tell by your funny accent.”

Kyra gasped, snatching the phone off you and furiously writing down a retort. You couldn't help but gape at her fondly, biting your lip at the sight of her concentration.

“Mijn accent is niet grappig, mijn grappen wel.” My accent is not funny, my jokes are. The phone sounded.

Before you could type out your own reply, Kyra went back to typing, but instead of letting the audio play, she squinted down at the translated sentence.

“Ik zou je… veel grappen kunnen… vertellen, weet je? Zou je ze graag… willen… horen?” I could tell you heaps of jokes, you know? Would you like to hear them?

For some reason, the Dutch that left the Australian’s lips left you gushing, nodding your head up and down as you grabbed her phone.

When you translated the sentence you had written down, looking down at the words in utter confusion, you sighed. Kyra was definitely no expert in your language, but you were just downright pathetic in hers.

She must've noticed your dismay since she looked over your shoulder, pointing at the first word. “Yes… but do you… have time... to tell… them all?”

She waited for you to sound out each word, humming and nodding in recognition when you repeated the sounds.

She smiled at you, taking her phone. You waited for the audio to play back to you. Kyra’s smirk only grew when she handed her phone back to you, the Contact App up on her phone — your name typed in and phone number blank.

You laughed, and she did too.

You could get use to this communication.

(just pretend it's you)

arsenalwfc : Cooney-Cross showing Y/L/N the ropes before our big clash on Sunday!

Comments:

kyracooneyx — best partner‼️ Laten we gaan gunners (let's go)

^ yourusername — 💗💗

^ user2 — THE DUTCH 😭😭😭

^ user3 — sleeping on the highway tonight, they're so cute 💔

User7 — the eyes chica 😍😍

katie_mccabe11 — quietest training session yet LOVE YOU Y/N

^ kyracooneyx — um rude 😡

vivannemiedema — Where did you two go after training?!

^ kyracooneyx — um, home? 🥰

^ victoriapelova — HAHAHAHA

kimlittle10 — welcome Y/N ❤️

^ yourusername — 💗

User1 — the duo we never knew we needed 🙌🏼🙌🏼

*liked by kyracooneyx

bethmead_ — happy to have you here Y/n!!!!

^ yourusername — Thank you ❤️

^ kyracooneyx — what about me?

^ caitlinfoord — what about you? 🤣

^ user4 — HAVSJDVSJSHSJS I'm dying

User5 — Y/n doesn't speak English, how did they even talk? Lol

^ user6 — Viv and Vic are there. I'm sure she was fine.

User7 — she's not even that good, at this point they're just getting anyone.

^ kyracooneyx — womp womp

* liked by yourusername

_____________

Number Thirty-Three 💗

You : what does ‘womp womp’ mean?

Ky : Niets, net als het. Xx Nothing, just like it. Xx

__________

[peachesofteal]

Ghoap x reader zombie apocalypse AU? 👀 just gonna leave that here...

Ooh anon you got me with this. Thought about it all night. A full fic of this dynamic in an apocalypse setting would be so good. Sadly, I don't have it in me to write an entire fic for this but I scratched it out as a dead disco au down below on my phone (I took bits and pieces of zombie media and smashed them together as I like):

18+ MDNI / angst, death

It was an accident.

All you had wanted to do was try to find some mushrooms. You knew this part of the woods usually had a fair amount to forage, and you were pretty good at distinguishing the good ones from the not so good ones. You hadn't meant to get distracted.

You knelt down to the forest floor, picking at a piece of bark on a downed log when you heard the rustling, the suspect sound of something moving through the brush near you.

You expected one of the slow ones. The ones that usually found themselves this far from the city, wandering aimlessly, looking for the next meal. Decaying and rotting flesh hanging from their limbs, a sign they had been long infected, the decomposition marking them as something easily escapable.

You did not expect a runner.

You screamed- a huge no no, as Simon had been drilling into your head- when you saw it, far too late, tripping over yourself to try to get away, your hunting knife pressed into the palm of your hand.

You stood little chance against a runner. They were fresh, muscles still intact, lactic acid burning through their bodies, movements fast and sharp, able to take down an entire human in one fell swoop. They even looked like you, still holding their pallor, their posture, their fine motor skills.

Only their minds were gone. Addled by the infection, brains turned to hot mush inside their skulls.

They had one objective.

Eat.

You managed to clear the log, sprinting as fast as you possibly could, trying to take long, deep breaths through your nose just as Johnny taught you.

"More oxygen that way, love. It'll help your endurance, keep you runnin' longer."

They were always doing that now, equipping you for survival. Trying to train you like a solider, teaching you the finer points they thought you should know.

"We're gonna make it, together." Simon had said, the morning they showed up in the middle being away for work, clad in full tactical gear, guns in hand. "As a family."

"Ye have to listen to everything we say, alright darling? Everything's goin' to be okay." Johnny promised at the same time as you tried to pack some essentials into your backpack with trembling fingers.

They were obsessed with trying to instill as much of their knowledge into as possible, trying to prepare you, help you, listing off rules they thought were key, ensuring you knew to follow them.

One being: don't get distracted.

You curse yourself, feet flying underneath your body and heart thrumming in your chest with panic. You're too slow, and you can hear it behind you, sprinting just as fast as you are, preparing to launch and take down it's next meal.

You don't see the snare of brambles until you're in them, nearly slamming to a stop, thorns scratching against your skin as you fight against the thicket. It's too dense, slowing your ability to get away... and the runner is still hot on your heels, working its way through the mess, snapping its jaw like a shark.

Simon comes out of nowhere. One second you're hacking away at the branches and the next, there's a massive, solid warmth at your back, standing between you and the snarling monster. He's facing away from you, brandishing a knife, engaged in a full fight with the runner, taking it to the ground in an attempt to get the blade into its temple. You watch mouth wide, frozen, holding your breath until the job is done, and Simon is hauling himself upwards, pulling you into his arms before stepping back to look you over.

You burst into tears. You've always told them, you're not for this kind of world. You're too gentle, too sensitive. You're a painter, for fucks sake. Not a killer. You're too soft to survive.

They say it doesn't matter. That you can be as soft as you want, because you have them, and they'll be the killers. They'll be the hard ones.

"Did it get you? Let me see, c'mon-" He checks your arms, your neck, the tear on your shirt but finds nothing. "Alright, you're alright." He's telling you, and himself, relief exhaling from his body with each syllable. "You're alright, darling. I've got ya. Come here." He holds you tight, rubbing your back, kissing your cheek, your forehead until you're calm, breathing deeply and wiping your face.

You believe the worst has passed, until you blink up at him, and see the blood on his neck.

The bite.

"We need to make a plan."

"We're nae makin' a bloody plan." Johnny hisses, and Simon closes his eyes like he's tired. "We keep goin'. We'll make it to the rendezvous with Price and they'll have a solution. We dinnae even know how fast it spreads."

Simon lets loose a sigh, heavy with exhaustion. With the toll that this life has become. With the weight, of everything. He tucks you into his body, wrapping his other arm around Johnny, and holds the two of you close. Tightly. Tighter than he ever has before.

"Alright."

The next morning, everything is different.

You woke up last, fire still barely smoldering, little energy bar on the ground next to you. The guys sleeping bags were already rolled up, stacked neatly with Simon's pack, and the long gun that Johnny carries.

But they were nowhere to be found.

Confused, you slid free, stretching with a silent groan, scanning your surroundings until you spot them on the edge of the woods, locked together on their feet, Johnny's face mashed against Simon's neck, strong arms holding him close.

"What's going on?" The question comes out confused when you get close, and Johnny pulls away with wet eyes, hands shaking. What's happening? Why are they both crying? Fear screams through your body, red alert systems firing up as your brain struggles to put all the pieces together.

"Simon-" Johnny begins, but stops abruptly, eyes slamming shut, lips pressed together in agony.

"'m not feelin' too well." Simon explains gently. "You and Johnny are gon’ start on ahead, and 'm gonna stay here for a while." Something, something logical, something smart, is shouting at you from the back of your mind but you shove it away, opting for delusion instead.

"Okay, you're going to catch up though, right? You said. We'll find-" You frowned, looking from him to Johnny as a sick feeling grew in your stomach. "Johnny?"

“Look at me.” Simon combs through your hair with trembling fingers, unsteady for the first time in your entire existence. “I love you, darling. I love you so, so much.”

“S-stop, we're supposed to stay together, you- you said-“

“You have to go with Johnny now, okay? He’s gonna take care of you.” He jerks you forward, closed mouth pressing against your forehead. "I love you."

“No, Si.” You sob, fingers curled in his vest. “You have to come with us. You have to, we’ll fi-find a cure, they’ll be help, somewhere.”

“Johnny.” He chokes, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, Johnny’s heavy, tearful breathing echoing just above your ear. Someone works your fingers free, pulling your hand away but not letting go, holding onto you like a lifeline.

You look up between him, to his face, to Simon’s and realize. They’ve already said goodbye.

Simon strokes the back of his fingers down Johnny’s cheek, tears dripping down his own.

“I love you both, more than anything. More than life.” He squeezes your hand, rubbing a thumb over the back of your knuckles, and then steps away, pulling the handgun from the holster on his thigh. "Take care of each other."

"NO!" you scream, but Johnny is dragging you backwards like a rag doll, away from where Simon stands in clearing, gaze never breaking from the two of you, face wet with tears. "Johnny!"

"Darling-" he chokes out amidst a sob. "Shhh, please. Please." He begs you to be quiet, to hush, but you can't, you can't stop screaming, or fighting him, trying to get back to Simon, to reunite your family, to stay together. You scream and scream until Johnny’s hand claps over your mouth, his own words clogged by his cries, pleading and begging until he's cutting off your oxygen with a desperate apology and lifting you over his shoulder like dead weight.

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is the sound of a gunshot.

[rineptune]

differently.

summary: angel dust catches the attention of an esteemed monarch from lust ring.

warnings: explicit dialogue and description, foul language, references to drugs, sex, and alcohol, please be mindful of the content you consume.

a/n: this is how my oc (yve) meets angel dust after ep 8, but you could imagine this as yn bcs it isn’t too detailed aside from the fact that yn (reader) is a hybrid between a scorpion and dragon demon. if this gets a certain amount of notes i might make a part 2 idk

“what got dollface runnin’ around like a headless goose so early in the morning?”

“oh! a friend of hers is visiting, and i heard he’s the baddest boy,” niffty giggles, tracing her finger on a freshly honed kitchen knife she got from the kitchen. distracted by the enthusiasm for the arrival of the “baddest boy,” angel dust took the opening to discreetly pry the utensil from her hand and placed it by the shelf.

angel dust yawns, taking a seat on the lounge chair. “charlie’s friend’s comin’?”

“not just my friend, you guys!” charlie tells them in a haste, “my bestest friend— we go way back; ever since we were in diapers.”

“bestest isn’t really word used, babe.”

angel dust passively shrugged, turning to vaggie. “and have you ever met charlie’s ‘bestest friend’ before?”

“no, but he does call and listen to her ramblings weekly,” vaggie answered. “and i heard he helped fund the hotel’s initial renovations when charlie inherited the mansion from her parents.”

“oh? we talkin’ rich sugar daddy here?”

“is money the only thing that you heard?”

“mm, maybe,” angel dust replied.

•

it’s not until later, past lunchtime, that their show-and-tell activity was disrupted by the new guest.

“oh, yeah~ daddy!”

“and this is my favorite episode of my ‘interrogation turned ravage session’ series because it’s the last one we had to do for the whole franchise,” angel dust shared with a toothy grin. “my co-star’s dick was average at best, but he did the stamina, which made up for his lackin’ technique.”

“that’s a very nice insight, angel,” charlie smiles awkwardly, cowering behind the decorative pillow.

“can we, uhm, have the next presenter, please?”

“can’t we just turn the tv off?” vaggie rolls her eyes.

“hm. ‘interrogation turned ravage session?’ that series won an award for longest screentime per episode, if i recall,” a new voice says, eliciting a surprised scream from charlie as she jumped into her girlfriend’s arms.

“who the fuck are you?” husk rose from his seat.

there you stood, indifferent to their semi-shocked and confused gasps and murmurs.

“my apologies for suddenly entering your hotel without notice, lie-lie—” you bowed slightly. “you weren’t answering your phone nor heard our knocking on your front door.”

your eyes met his, though they didn’t linger too long because charlie almost tackled you to the ground.

angel dust is left stunned.

satan, who is this?

“yn! you’re late; we thought you weren’t coming!”

“the train got delayed at the border, but all is well as i’m already here, hm?”

introductions went like a breeze, and now it was angel dust’s turn to be greeted by you. he had to admit that you had the sex appeal. it’s only natural that he had to flirt with you.

“and this is angel dust! one of our guests,” charlie says.

“nice to meet you, handsome,” angel dust greets, imitating a claw with his hands as he lets out a soft, seductive growl.

“i’m thrilled to meet you in person, angel dust.”

you took his hand—delicately and with absolute care, if he may add—placing a soft kiss on his knuckles. the gesture sends a flurry of butterflies coursing throughout his whole body, rendering him speechless and flabbergasted for seconds.

“i— uh, yeah, nice to meet ya. fan of my work?” angel dust recalls how you mentioned his series won an award— and not just any reward— the lust-stringed award that was usually reserved for media made from lust ring.

he just so happened to win the award because of the landslide of votes this year.

you chuckle, shaking your head. “if i were to be honest, i had no clue what your name was until now, but i only heard of your published shows through my secretary.”

“oh,” angel dust smiled awkwardly. “shame.”

“ah, my apologies if this puts an awkward tension between us.”

“it’s fine, not everyone recognizes a star from this side of the pentagram,” he tells you, relaxing back on the couch.

charlie and the others were gone by now, possibly giving the two a moment as they went to their separate businesses.

“what’re you doin’ here anyways?”

“i just wanted to pay lie-lie a visit,” you answered. “she was insistent that i travel from divine downtown to pentagram to meet you.”

“me?” angel dust perks up a bit.

“all of you here in the hotel, i’m sorry if i didn’t make it clear.”

embarrassment creeps at the back of the conversation, and angel dust wishes that it wasn’t this awkward because dear satan, this demon was hot as fuck, but he’s far too polite and nonchalant to have come from lust ring.

but he thinks something is about to come of this.

something new.

something different.

someone tell me how to continue this bcs i only have a vague idea in my head lol

[proseover-bros]

FOR THE ONES WE LOVE | CH. 1

FANDOM: The Walking Dead

SERIES: For the Ones We Love

STATUS: Ongoing

ERA: Prison

PAIRING: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Female Reader (No Use of “Y/N”)

CHAPTER ONE: Backseat Driver

WORD COUNT: 2k

SUMMARY: Daryl Dixon gets much more than he bargained for when his motorcycle breaks down while out on a run. Miles from the prison, he has no other choice but to hot-wire a car he comes across on the side of the road, only to discover that he wasn’t the first person to get there.

RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Language, Mention of Attempted Sexual Assault, Symptoms of PTSD

SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: While I’m not new to writing fanfic, this is my first attempt at Tumblr fanfic, which is somewhat different than what I’m used to. I have a whole backstory dreamed up for this character (she’s a nursing student who escaped from Grady Memorial after it was overtaken by Dawn and Gorman), but I know from what I’ve read of Tumblr fanfic, self-insert fics are preferred. This is my first attempt at that, so any constructive criticism is welcome. Please let me know your thoughts on the story as well. I have several chapters already written, just trying to decide what format to proceed with/if there’s an audience for it.

“Wow, thanks for that.”

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice coming from behind him, Daryl Dixon’s eyes flew to the rearview mirror as you sat up from where you’d been lying in the backseat of the car he’d just hot-wired. The all too familiar noise of a hammer clicking into place sounded as you lifted your arms, aiming a revolver directly at the back of his head.

With the way you trained the gun on him, combined with the intense gaze in your eyes, he knew that you’d shot it before.

Of course you had.

A woman, alone in this world?

There was no way in hell you could’ve survived as long as you had not knowing how to use a gun.

Daryl cut the engine and raised his hands. “This your car?”

You shrugged. “No, but I was here first.”

“I got it runnin’, that makes it more mine than yours.”

“I was getting to that.” You said defensively.

“Bullshit.” Daryl scoffed. “Ya don’t know how to hot-wire a car.”

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause ya ain’t that kinda girl.”

The stranger’s assumption pissed you off, but what pissed you off even more was the fact that he was right. Before he came along, you’d been close to having a full-on meltdown when finding the car just a few minutes earlier, only to discover that the keys were missing from the ignition. There’d been a hell of a lot of abandoned cars that you’d passed during your travels over the past couple of weeks, because apparently even after a goddamn apocalypse, nobody left their keys behind.

And who was he to pass judgement on you? With his Harley Davidson vest, greasy hair and the ability to steal a car in the first place, this guy was lucky you’d given him any warning at all. Although you hadn’t spoken to another human being since escaping the hospital, and were beginning to think you were missing even the most trivial of conversations, you had quickly come to the conclusion that human interaction was entirely overrated.

Especially with this particular human.

“How the hell do you know what kind of girl I am?” You practically growled.

Daryl hesitated, knowing that he ought to tread lightly, yet somehow his mouth decided to run off anyway. “Just do.”

Your eyes widened as you lunged forward to press the barrel of the gun to the back of his skull. “You don’t fucking know me.”

Dumbass, Daryl scolded himself.

What was he thinking, arguing with someone who was pressing a loaded gun to his head? After all this time spent fighting to survive, did he have a death wish all of a sudden?

With his hands still raised, Daryl nodded, his senses finally returning to him. “We can change that. I’m Daryl.”

Suddenly, a memory of your mother warning you not to talk to strangers appeared as the man introduced himself, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. After a few seconds, you lowered your gun and laughed out loud, no longer able to keep it inside.

The entire situation was absurd. You were running on zero sleep, hadn’t eaten anything in days, and hadn’t spoken to another soul since you’d left Atlanta. It was the most inappropriate thing in the world to be laughing in your current situation, and yet you couldn’t stop.

Daryl hesitated. He thought he might be okay at handling a pissed off woman — but a crazy, pissed off woman?

Might as well shoot myself now.

“Ya crazy or somethin’?” Daryl found himself asking.

You laughed harder at his question, leaning against the backseat as your sides started to ache. “Or something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ya gotta name or not?”

Once regaining your composure, you peered over the passenger seat and noticed the large crossbow that he’d laid down while working on getting the car started. You also noted the backpack slung over his shoulder with several arrows sticking out through the flap. “Give me your arrows and any other weapons you have. Maybe I’ll tell you then.”

“Don’t wanna know that bad.”

“Hah.” You rolled your eyes, aiming the revolver at his head once more. “Wasn’t asking.”

With an irritated grumble, Daryl shrugged off his bag and handed it over. There was a brief pause while he rummaged around in his pants and pulled out a pistol, extending it to you handle first.

“No knife?” You asked suspiciously. 

He cursed under his breath, but a few seconds later you had a hunting knife to add to your collection as well. Finally satisfied, you met his eyes in the rearview mirror and told him your name.

“You alone?”

“Looks like it.”

The silence between the two of you clung in the air like smoke. Daryl kept his eyes glued to you now that you had all of his weapons, minus his crossbow, which was useless without the bolts. 

He didn’t pride himself on much, but one of the few things that he’d always felt he excelled at was being a good judge of character. The woman in front of him was young, probably mid-twenties, and pretty. In Daryl’s experience, pretty women were absolute bitches, but not necessarily dangerous. Even so, he couldn’t brand you with that particular title just for pulling a gun on him. You were only protecting yourself.

“Mind lowerin’ that thing? I did give ya all my weapons.” Daryl reasoned.

You paused, but reluctantly lowered your gun, your eyes locked on his as you sat it down on your lap.

“How’s that?” You asked.

“Depends, can I turn around without havin’ to worry ‘bout ya blowin’ my head off?”

You stilled at his words but found yourself slowly nodding your head in agreement.

When Daryl turned all the way around to face you, you held your breath. The last time you’d been this close to a man, it was Gorman, and he had tried to assault you.

The world had been a dangerous place for women far longer than it had been for men. Men may have recently had to learn what it was like to fear strangers now that the world had ended, but it had aways been something to fear for women, which made it twice as frightening these days.

As you studied Daryl, you noticed that he had lighter facial hair than that on his head, and pale blue eyes. With his intense gaze and bare biceps, he had a rugged air about him that you had a feeling he’d always possessed. He seemed like the kind of man who didn’t need an apocalypse to know how to fight for his life.

The two of you remained as you were, staring at each other for a tense moment, sizing each other up and down as you both tried to decide whether or not the other was a threat.

“Lay down.” Daryl grunted.

“What?” You blanched, your hand moving towards the revolver once more.

“Down!” He hissed.

Jumping over the partition dividing the front and back sections of the car, Daryl slid to his knees, tucking himself in the floor space behind the passenger seat, his hands clutching you by the elbows as he pulled you down, tugging your body flush against the backseat cushions.

When Daryl grabbed you, your first thought was a vile one, but your grip around the gun relaxed ever so slightly when he landed beneath you rather than on top of you.

“What the fu—” You cried as you both lurched forward, a series of bangs sounding at the rear of the car. Rather than finish your crude sentence, you cut yourself off when Daryl’s hand covered your mouth. Feeling your jaw tense against his palm, he raised a finger to his lips when his eyes met yours, slowly easing his hand away as a horde of walkers appeared from a clearing in the woods by the side of the road.

You both remained that way for what truly could have been hours, the only sound being your heavy breathing and the groans of the horde as they trudged along either side of the car like cattle. When the noise finally died down some time later, Daryl held a hand out to signal for you to wait, then eased up on his haunches ever so slightly, peering out the front windshield to find that the horde had wandered off up the road.

Once given the all clear, you slowly lifted your body from the backseat, your hand instantly going to the side of your neck as you attempted to work out the kink that had formed there from laying in such an awkward position. 

“Jesus.” You muttered.

Remaining where he was for fear that you’d think he might try something now that he was in close proximity of his weapons, Daryl kept his eyes on you for a few silent seconds.

“Look, I know all about wantin’ to be alone, but no one can make it alone now. You can keep my weapons, even hold your damn gun on me while I drive, but I have a camp a few miles back. My bike broke down, s’why I was lookin’ for a ride, but I can take ya someplace secure. I’m with a group of people back at a prison.”

“A prison? Really?” You asked curiously.

Christ. Was that actual hope in your voice? Had the last year not completely crushed you of that?

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “There’s eight of us. Men, women, a boy, and a baby.” Nodding towards his backpack, he continued. “Open it.”

Cautiously moving your hand to his backpack, you unsnapped the top and drew back the flap to reveal several tins of powdered baby formula. Running your fingers over the lids, you hesitated, your eyes slowly returning to Daryl. If this was some kind of trick to get you to come along, it was pretty elaborate.

“I just gotta ask ya three questions first.” He said.

With your curiosity getting the better of you, you shrugged your shoulders. “Go for it.”

“How many walkers ya killed?”

“Walkers? You mean, the living dead freaks that have taken over the world?”

Daryl nodded.

“I don’t know. Who keeps track of that shit?”

Daryl had to admit, at least to himself, you had a point. But it was one of the questions that Rick insisted on asking newcomers, and he wasn’t about to start breaking his rules for anyone.

Seeing that Daryl wasn’t willing to budge on the question, you sighed as you thought about it. “A dozen, at least.”

“How many people ya killed?”

Your mind instantly went to the lifeless eyes of Gorman and Dawn. 

“Two.” You answered, without a hint of remorse.

“Why?” He asked.

You stared at him, expressionless. “I’m a woman and I’ve pretty much been on my own since the world ended. Why do you think?”

Daryl stared right back at you, and in his fierce blue gaze, you knew that he understood you completely. 

“All right, let’s go.”

“That’s it? I passed?” You asked, surprised.

“Looks like it.” He grunted, using your choice of words from earlier and earning a small smile from you because of it.

“Okay.” You agreed. “I’ll ride back here, and I won’t hold my gun on you . . . unless you drive too slow.”

“Pfft.” Daryl scoffed as he climbed back over to the driver’s side and began to work on restarting the car. “Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that.”

CHAPTER TWO

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU

Had some ideas about the boys as modern day NASA astronauts (and Air Force pilots). Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is back-up commander and CAPCOM on the ground at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Here is a part 1. See end notes for some term definitions.

---

September 8, 2025 Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX

Despite the crew’s best efforts, the alarm sounds. In another universe, the spacecraft is most likely meeting a violent but silent death as they fail to dock with the Starship lunar lander. Much of the outer hull may be destroyed, maybe a fuel tank or two, making the crew sitting ducks at the mercy of the vacuum of space with nothing but their OCS suits to keep them alive. They’d have 6 days of life support to somehow find a way home.

In this universe, Bucky mutters an angry “dammit” as he smacks the console in front of his face with the palm of his hand. No need to don the survival suit today. All four crew members are instead in everyday blue NASA flight suits, oxygen and pressure down here on Earth perfectly nominal. They’ve been working through this mission simulation for far too long.

Artemis 3 is going to leave human footprints on the moon for the first time in decades, and launch is in just over two months. This crew needs to be perfect, and they only have a handful of weeks to get themselves there. Major John Egan will not accept sub-par performance in this simulator from any member of his crew, including himself. The stakes may be low down here where they can breathe easy and try again, but up there, if this kind of thing happens, the stakes will be higher than ever. No second tries. No mercy.

“Hey, ya gotta be kind to her,” Curt admonishes from the next seat over. “Ya own bloody fault anyway. Tryin’ to dock with a busted thruster.”

Bucky looks over at him, though it’s not a particularly easy feat, laying flat on their backs in the Orion crew capsule mock-up. Bucky and Curt are next to each other, staring up at the consoles, the crew capsule’s control center. Alex and Rosie are in the seats in front of them, or rather, in their reclined orientation, more like below them. “Rather I just let us drift into space for all eternity?” Bucky asks.

Curt puts up his hands defensively. “Just sayin’. If we gotta die this ain’t a bad way to go.”

“Starvation or suffocation, you pick, Curt.” Bucky says crossly. “Or why don’t I just open the hatch door and see what happens.”

“It ain’t Egan’s fault,” Rosie chips in. “Blame the guys runnin’ the sim for givin’ us an impossible situation.”

“Not impossible,” Gale pipes in over coms from the control center outside the Orion mock-up, where he, as back-up commander and CAPCOM, had been observing their training simulation. “And you wouldn’t be saying that if this were a real mission.”

“If this were a real mission we’d be dead,” Curt responds unhelpfully. Bucky can’t say he disagrees. But he’s not willing to accept that right now. Failure Is Not An Option – that was the poster he’d hung over his bed in college. It may not be the healthiest motto if you truly value your mental health and sense of self worth, but when had Bucky ever? He’d worked damn hard to get to NASA, to fly on the ISS, to be assigned this groundbreaking mission. Those words from Gene Kranz had guided him his whole life and he is not about to let go of them now.

He is not about to let Artemis 3 become the new Apollo 13, not if he can help it.

“Let’s run it again boys,” Bucky says. He doesn’t, in truth, know what time it is or how long they’ve been strapped into this thing. He also doesn’t care.

“Bucky,” Alex groans. “We’ve been at it for hours. Maybe we should call it a day.”

Bucky scoffs. “Oh yeah? Well we’ll stay at it for hours until we stop lookin’ like a bunch of little boys playin’ astronauts.” He lifts a hand and spins a finger around in the air. “Let’s go, set it up.” The flight controllers outside collectively groan but ready the sim to go again. This close to a mission, they know not to fight with the astronauts about when it’s time to stop. If the mission commander says go again, they go again.

The next attempt doesn’t end any better. No matter how hard Bucky and Curt try, they can’t beat out this scenario. They’re Air Force test pilots and experienced astronauts; they should be able to handle this with little issue. Two of the best pilots NASA has ever seen, my ass, Bucky thinks. And usually he’s quite a cocky son of a bitch, so he knows it’s been a long day. He groans, banging his head back on his seat over and over.

“Bucky,” Rosie tries. “We’ve managed every other curve ball they’ve thrown at us. We’ve logged hundreds of hours in this thing. We can revisit tomorrow if you want but we’re not gettin’ anywhere tonight.” Crew physician, always trying to keep the peace.

Gale’s voice pipes in from the outside. “It’s your birthday, John. Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

Bucky grins as he stares up at his console. “You gonna drink with me tonight, Buck?”

“Not a chance.”

“Come on, baby. Just one to celebrate the fact that I’m not dead yet.” He can practically hear Gale rolling his eyes.

“No wonder you’re crashing your ship, you don’t have your head on straight.”

“I’ll drink with ya Bucky,” Curt butts in.

Bucky raises his fist for Curt to fist bump. “Curt loves me more than you,” he tells Gale. “Maybe I oughta marry him instead.”

Curt shakes his head, making a face. “You ain’t my type, Egan.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him and presses a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded. You’re uninvited to my birthday.”

“You’ll be down a drinking buddy.”

Suddenly, just about every alarm inside the Orion simulator – pressure low, oxygen low, carbon dioxide high, hull breach, smoke detected, and the list goes on – is flashing bright red and blaring at the astronauts inside, making them all look around in confusion. Good thing they aren’t actually in space; that kind of half-assed reaction to a catastrophic emergency would likely get them killed faster than their inability to work through this sim.

“Oh noooo,” Gale says mockingly from where he’s taken over control of the simulator. The other present flight controllers can be heard laughing in the background, all too happy to let Major Cleven fuck around with the console if it means getting these astronauts out of their hair for the night. It’s nearly 7:30. Personal life is, naturally, often sacrificed in the space program, but people do still have families to get home to. “All your alarms are going off,” Gale states with a mixture of sass and monotone that only he can manage – the voice of someone who is unequivocally done with this. “You’re all gonna die. Again. Cause you can’t get your fucking shit together.”

“Uh oh, Saint Cleven’s losing it.” Bucky smirks, working to turn off the various alarms flashing in his face. “Good job boys, we’ve pushed Gale over the edge. He’s finally up and killed us.”

“You’ve got a big mouth, John,” Gale says.

“You gonna come in here and shut me up?”

Alex gags from his seat in front of him. “Gross guys, get a room.”

“Just be glad they’re not on the same mission,” Rosie teases. Yes, everyone is glad of that, even the men in question. Well, Gale is at least.

A year ago, when Buck and Bucky first got engaged, Marge – the Artemis program’s public affairs officer and Gale’s long time best friend – informed them of some jokes going around the NASA offices that the two astronauts should be put on the same Artemis mission so they could be married on the moon. Make a big media affair out of it. None of the higher ups took it seriously, of course, but Marge thought the boys would get a kick out of it.

Bucky had enthusiastically yelled “YES!” at the same time Gale, mortified, cried “NO!” Marge hadn’t been able to stop laughing, having to sit down for a minute and catch her breath while Bucky tried to convince Gale why this was a fantastic idea. Gale wasn’t having it, wouldn’t even look at his fiancé for entertaining such absurdity. When Bucky wouldn’t relent, Gale finally spun around and declared, “John I DO NOT want to be worried about using up too much fucking oxygen on my wedding day!” And Bucky dropped it.

Instead, they’ll be getting married in just about four weeks, a nice, classy October wedding – on Earth – a month before Bucky flies to the moon, with about a few hundred of their closest friends in attendance. Gale was worried it would be too big, too much, but he’d been outvoted. A bit of a media spectacle after all. Astronauts are not subtle, and they do not miss a chance to have a good party.

Speaking of parties. They’ve really gotta get going.

The hatch of the Orion simulator swings open and Gale pokes his head in. This late in the day, he’d loosened his black tie and popped open the top button of his neat white dress shirt. His hair gel has started to give up due to running his hands through it too many times — this crew has always been and always will be the death of him — leaving his hair messier than is generally befitting of a NASA employee, indispensable astronaut or no. Bucky fans himself dramatically with one hand as he ogles Gale. “Goddamn boys, there’s life on the moon and it’s hot.”

Gale rolls his eyes, as does the whole crew. “Alright fellas. Let’s get this show on the road.” He nods to them, but before stepping out of the way, he adds, “Marge asked me to keep y’all from getting too out of hand for the public image and all, but just don’t burn any buildings down and we’ll call it good.”

The crew makes various noises of assent as they maneuver themselves out of their seats. With a groan, working out the stiffness in his lower body, Rosie pulls himself towards and through the hatch, giving Gale a fist bump on the way out. He’s followed by Alex, who pats the outside of the simulator and claps Gale on the shoulder. When Bucky pops his head through, he beams at Gale. Exiting the capsule and straightening himself to his full towering height, he swiftly grabs Gale by the tie and pulls him close, planting a kiss right on his mouth in front of the hatch. Behind him, Curt gags as he exits the capsule.

“You taste like coffee,” Bucky tells Gale as they stand in front of each other, faces just inches apart.

“Well, I had to stay functional somehow.” Gale tilts his head and looks pointedly at Bucky. “Some stubborn commander kept us working for hours after we were scheduled to be done for the day.”

“Well who could that be?” Bucky asks sweetly.

“You, you ass,” Curt says. He shoves in between them, pushing them apart with his arms like some kind of divine ruler. “Now save room for Jesus and let’s get outta here. I wanna get DRUNK!”

Gale laughs as Curt walks away, joining Alex and Rosie as they head off to change out of their flight suits and get ready for the night’s festivities. “You better go shower and change,” he tells Bucky. “I’ll meet you at the bar.”

As Bucky jogs away to catch up with the others, he glances back at Gale, who is still standing by the capsule going over some of the notes from their training exercise with one of the other flight controllers. “Buck!” He calls. Gale looks up, the end of his pencil resting thoughtfully on his lower lip and damn Bucky loves that. “Wear something cute, will ya?”

Gale blushes and shakes his head, looking back down at his clipboard.

---

---

Part 2

Terms: Orion = the crew capsule for Artemis missions

OCS = Orion Crew Survival suits; worn in the Orion spacecraft in emergency situations and during critical mission phases such as launch and reentry; connects to Orion to provide life support for up to 6 days

CAPCOM = Capsule Communicator; the person in Mission Control, typically another astronaut, who handles all direct communication with the crew during a mission

ISS = International Space Station

Gene Kranz = NASA chief flight director during the Apollo missions

[loganwritesprobably]

First Meeting With.. P2 (One Piece Edition)

Part one with Ace, Law and Sanji Part three with Crocodile, Mihawk and Buggy

A tumblr exclusive collection of little reader insert drabbles - these won't be going on my AO3, these are just for the feral people of this wonderful hellscape

Requests are open for x reader things! I will write basically ANY kind of reader - male, female, non-binary, gender neutral, trans, disabled, black, white, latino, asian, neurodivergent, etc

Here is another three lovely characters for you to meet: Zoro, Robin and Luffy! All readers are gender neutral, so everyone is welcome to enjoy. No Y/N is used!

He seemed a little different to the average guy that you saw around town. He was incredibly well built, and his strength showed not only in his physique but also how steady he was as he swung his swords. He was training, you assumed, though you couldn't guess what for. He turned as he swung another blade, and you caught sight of a previous injury that he'd sustained, taking away the use of his second eye. You wondered if he'd gotten it in a fight, and you found yourself hoping that he'd won.

You slipped away quickly, hoping that he'd still be there when you returned. You arrived home and grabbed a bottle, then filled it with cold water, before rushing back to where you'd previously seen the man. Thankfully, you'd managed to avoid your best friend who you lived with, who would've undoubtably asked questions about what you were doing and where you were going.

The man was there when you returned, now doing push ups. He was strong and steady, and for a moment you just stood there watching him. It didn't last for long though, as the man called out, apparently aware that you were there. "You're staring." It startled you slightly, as he hadn't once stopped doing his push ups nor turned to look at you. "Sorry. I uh- brought you some water. Thought you might need it." You replied, closing the distance between you with a slow approach, the cool bottle of water in hand. He stopped with his exercising after a few final pushes and stood, taking the bottle from you. He didn't speak for a long while, finishing the bottle at once then handing it back to you empty. "Thanks." He grunted, apparently not intending to say much more.

Unwilling to be stopped so easily, you introduced yourself. "I'm Zoro." He told you, and in that moment some awareness began to stir. "Like the strawhat?" "That's me." He confirmed, taking a few steps away from you to begin doing another exercise you weren't sure of the name of. What was he doing here alone? Or in your town at all? "That explains why you're so strong." You said instead of asking, because you figured it was probably none of your business and frankly you didn't want to know the answer. The strawhats seemed to do good, but they still caused chaos wherever they went. "Enjoying the view?" The swordsman asked with a smug grin after you began to stare again. You shook your head to distract yourself and softly laughed, a warm flush crossing your face. "Sorry." You apologised, because no matter how attractive he was, it was considered rude to stare. "No don't worry, you can stare as long as you want, pretty thing."

So you sat down, empty bottle still in hand, and you spent the afternoon mostly staring, but also occasionally exchanging some brief conversation. You weren't a complete animal after all.

You'd seen some beautiful women in your life, but this woman was another level. She was refined, elegant and gorgeous. You were both in the library, browsing the book collection, at least initially. After a few minutes of being in the same space, you abandoned your search for a book in favour of passively observing the gorgeous woman a few rows away from you.

A hand popped up from the floor beside you, initially unseen, and another from the shelf beside you. At the same time, they both reached out, taking your mouth and a leg in their hold to prevent you making a sound and stop you from running. The woman turned to face you with a raised brow and a dangerous glint in her eye. Perfect.

She approached you slowly, casually, still looking at books on the shelves as she passed. She picked one up with ease, every movement delicate, and then she was beside you. "You've been looking a little too long. What do you want?" She asked, her voice soft but a threatening tone underlying her words. "You're stunning." You replied once the hand covering your mouth was moved. The woman faltered, and you introduced yourself. She looked at you for a long moment, suspicious, then released your ankle too. "Robin." She said, and you took that was her name. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." You said, though Robin didn't react. "Charming." She said however, as if she wasn't still glaring at you just a little. That was okay, you liked it when a woman you were interested in was a little bit mean.

She leaned in close to you, making you swallow harshly, only to take a book from behind you with a playful smirk and walk away. You had to see her again, and if you were lucky maybe she'd allow you to take her on a date.

The guy couldn't have been too different in age to you, and he'd rushed into the restaurant like a tornado, knocking over a few chairs and almost a table, before taking a seat nearest to the counter. He talked animatedly with his companion - who looked like some sort of animal - talking loudly of food, mainly meat. You approached with an exasperated expression, but you remained professional. You introduced yourself, then asked what they'd like to eat. "I'm Monkey D. Luffy and I'm going to be the Pirate King!" The guy introduced, and you nodded sagely, wisely keeping your mouth closed. Though, he seemed to radiate the purest kind of joy and you figured there were worse candidates for the next pirate king. He ordered effectively one of everything, and you went away to tell the chef.

You returned to the counter, perching on a stool behind it to get off your sore feet, and did some people watching. That was the best part of your job. The Luffy guy was the most lively adult you'd ever encountered, everything he did was done with more energy than strictly needed but his companion seemed entirely unphased by it, likely used to his friend's behaviour. He was so interesting to watch, and you couldn't help it. His little friend was cute too. You slipped away to collect his food once it started coming out, delivering it to his small table in rounds.

Luffy had no trouble eating everything that was delivered to him, his companion having stopped after the one plate of food that he'd ordered for himself. You watched, though didn't neglect any other customers who needed food or arrived. One man who arrived was just a little too personal with you. He came in sometimes, not quite regularly but enough that you knew his face and name, and he liked to get just slightly too close, to be just a little too familiar, to touch just a little more than needed. You ignored it as best as you could, trying to remain as professional as possible.

Luffy seemed to notice, and he did not like it. You passed him on your way to the kitchen to put in the man's order, and when you left you had another round of food for Luffy. "Who's that guy?" He asked, entirely tactless, even pointing at the guy who'd just come in. "Just another customer." You said, setting plates down on his table gently, while his companion, who you'd discovered was named Chopper, stacked dirty ones so you could easily take them away. "I don't like him, and I don't like that you don't like him either." Luffy declared, and for a moment you just stared. You shook your head to dismiss your confusion, and then scooped up the dirty plates Chopper had stacked for you. "It's fine, honestly. He always pays." Because that was the main concern of your boss - if he pays for his food, nothing else matters.

When you returned from the kitchen again, having apologised to the kitchen porter for all the plates, the guy was at the counter rather than his table. "Hey gorgeous, still nobody at home keeping your bed home?" He asked, leaning just a little further over the counter than he needed to, just to get into your space. "Hey!" Luffy yelled, his arm stretching unnaturally to wrap around the guy's body and pull him away. The guy stumbled and almost fell, but just managed to stay steady. The two dissolved into an argument, and you could do nothing but watch. "He didn't like how the guy was treating you." Chopper explained after seeing your bewildered, and slightly alarmed, expression. You nodded mutely, turning to grab more plates of food when you needed to.

Luffy was done when you returned, and the man had gone back to his own table, bruised and face thunderous. You set down the fresh plates of food for Luffy, and he beamed at you. "He won't bother you anymore."

[throwing-in-the-towel]

pre-show song playlist!

i listed the songs the theater plays before the show starts to set the tone for the show! this is an immersive part of the entire show experience imo that i don’t see a lot of people talking about, but thought some of you may appreciate it!

- jesus was a cross maker by judee sill

- spanish pipedream by john prine

- overtime by zach bryan

- long train runnin by the doobie brothers

- boy hood by jon batiste

- running away by jon batiste