#love these character studies :D

[maomango-doodle]

Playing around with the color wheel WEEE

[eastbluecrewed]

ARE YOU PIRATES OF PIRATES OF PIRATES OF PIRATES?

i love this movie so much everyone should go watch baron omatsuri and the secret island right now its on the internet archive i promise its worth the hour and a half its so beautiful and good and unsettling

reference frame below the cut !!

[autisticaradiamegido]

thoughts on dave and aradia (<>)?

day 356

BIG fan tbh. in this house we love and respect timerails

truly yall read this log and tell me theyre not cute

[cupophrogs]

Hey DD. How have you been. You’ve been quiet.

“Thankfully, most of the vending machines are intact and full, so we won’t be starving while Cherub’s leg heals. Thing has caught him trying to sneak out far too many times.”

[buff-muffin]

Y’all ever really think about how Luffy’s dream of being a pirate really developed over time? Like everyone sort of thinks he always wanted to find the one piece but I really don’t think that’s the case. I do think Luffy always wanted to be a pirate, but what that meant changed as he grew up.

Before Shanks, Luffy probably just liked the idea of being a pirate since the only other option offered in his life was the one forced upon him. To be a marine. From a very young age Luffy probably figured out he didn’t want to be a marine. Whether simply because he was a D and wanted to choose for himself or because he just hated rules that much. The logic, If I’m not a marine then I’m a pirate. Was probably what started this idea. At first being a pirate meant choice. To mot follow the boring life planned for him.

Then when he met Shanks, a real pirate, hearing tales from the sea, seeing how they acted, hearing how they lived. Becoming a pirate meant he could go on adventures. His child like understanding of the dangers plus not having to follow marine rules? That’s a dream come true for a chaotic 7yo.

But when Shanks left, this dream changed again… or well grew a new layer. While yes being a pirate meant adventure, he would also become a pirate to find the one piece to prove himself to Shanks. To show he can be a great pirate and to give the hat back. But only once he was strong enough.

Then he met his brothers. He learned the importance of freedom. What it meant to have it and what it meant to have it taken away. And obtaining the one piece no longer was just to prove himself. Because if he became king of the pirates. He would be the freest ever. It meant he didn’t have to follow marine rules. It meant he could go on adventures. It meant he could be the strongest person ever. Because he had the freedom to choose it.

And soon meeting his crew, I think being pirate king meant helping them achieve their dreams too.

[sapphicrow]

His Better.

(A lil Lady D drabble looking at her past)

———————————

Dear Diary,

Today is the anniversary of his death. Of his complete and total departure from my world. Those who remember him perhaps view this day as a day of mourning, though I must confess I feel no such grief. A buzz of vibrant elation hums in my chest. His portrait sits in the main hall once more for today, but if not for Mother Miranda’s command for it to be in such an honorable place it would be fueling the hearth that warms my feet as I indulge in sapphic erotica, plentiful goblets of wine, maybe even a maiden or four on their knees begging for an opportunity to breathe the same air as I. He would call me a heathen and a whore. I shall call him, with phony tears in my eyes, a victim of times of political unrest. Patricide may be the more precise term, but alas, I shan’t spoil my lovely day with scandal. Mother does not wish for the truth to be spoken. I suppose it is a fair wish. I may not speak it, but I find myself needing to release this memory from my head, lest it rot in there and I begin to feel sorry for the bitch.

My father was not a good man. He was barely a man. He was a nincompoop who took advantage of his station, and his staff, and his abundant liquor collection. He was not kind. It is not for this reason I resent him, for I can hardly claim to be kind either. I resent him for his failure as a count, and his confidence in his incompetence. I remember watching his fat, clumsy fingers struggle to button his lavishly crafted waist coat with contempt. I knew from a young age that I was a far better leader than he. That my own hands, nimble and steady from years of the pointless needlework noble girls were expected to do, were suited for the control he fumbled about with so terribly. For holding the throne. I remember being fifteen years of age, watching him bumble about his office in a suit lined with silk he did not deserve the softness of. The war had threatened to touch his territory. Even then I knew that securing assets would be a vital defense for the empire he wished to construct. He did no such thing. He simply ran around like a chicken with its head severed and defiled more maids in his stress. The only measure he took was of how many drinks he could fit in his bulbous stomach. I couldn’t fathom being so irresponsible. If his land in the Carpathian Mountains was threatened, was it not clear as day that he should be worried about finding other means to protect his legacy? I recall creeping into his office in the dead of night to look over the correspondences surrounding the war and his rule and the financials that were spread carelessly about the big oak desk, my heist backed by the erratic growl of his snores. I felt as if I had forged his signature hundreds of times, even if it was my very first act of blatant treachery. It still felt so natural to use his name for my own game. It wasn’t as if he was using it for anything useful. That night he wrote a very fine letter to the duchies nearby asking for an alliance through these trying times, though the recipients would question the flair to his cursive, as well as the fact that there seemed to be a scribbled out A before his signature. I would not let this incompetent fool ruin my holdings. I would have the power that was my birthright.

For years, I would conduct similar such maneuvers. It became a performance of sorts. The key ring would leap from his belt loop to my gloved hand, landing with a graceful turn into the lock of his office. My slippered feet would dance through the slimmest crack of the door so as not to let light from the open curtains spill into the other room. My night gown would sway with me, it became synonymous with the robes of a queen in my mind. I’d Chassé from the doorway to his desk, all too eager to begin my work. The moon and I became partners in this secretive dance, for she was the subtle light I remained loyal to, granting me sight of the papers I now held under my midnight authority. And so began the unofficial, unnoticed rule of the new Dimitrescu, though the old one was oblivious to how he’d been replaced. Thankfully the old fool was a drunkard and simply believed he had managed to make all of these lucrative decisions in his intoxicated stupor.

As if.

Looking back, I cannot help but laugh heartily at how bold I was. I am much too good. But a large amount of my amusement is pointed at the pure egocentrism of the man who named himself my father. How humorous the thought of a drunk man taking the time to send out the decrees I painstakingly assembler was. There was a time when this did not entertain me, however. It was no laughing matter when my father took all the credit for my success. I had heard so much praise on the account of his wise conduct of the county. Barons and dukes and alike bowed to him, preening in his presence as if he exuded some holy power.

I grew bitter.

I was the one making these decisions! I was the one keeping him together! I had created this man’s legacy in the dead of night and neither he nor his adoring fans knew this. It infuriated me. Dear Diary, I am ashamed to admit that even now I’ve cracked the stem of my glass reminiscing upon it. For lack of a more eloquent response to this situation, it just wasn’t fair! Surely if they knew the raven haired girl with his nose and ten times his wit trailing behind him was the one truly in charge, they wouldn’t grovel to him the same way. He would be forgotten like the sorry bastard he was while everyone kissed the ground I walked upon. But they didn’t know. And so I was just his daughter. A material object he constantly strove to rid himself of. It was infuriating, I tell you, infuriating! I could only feed off of second hand acknowledgement for so long.

And so, a plot came to be. Or rather, a hastily conceived idea. I did not spend fortnights planning his death. I did not weave a technical tale of coverups and falsehoods. There was no subtlety. I was sick of hiding. You call it a risk, I called it a need. A need for his blood coating my hands as soon as possible. It was the eve of a grand event- which one it was escapes my memory for there was simply no end to the monotonous parties I was dragged along to - but all I knew was that I couldn’t stand to see him grin so smugly with the acclaim he hadn’t truly earned even one more time.

This night was not a ballet. I did not dance on light feet through the halls. I near slammed the door of my chambers as I tore through the corridors. The moon could not illumine me tonight. She would take no pleasure in seeing him torn to pieces, though I certainly would. I was near frothing at the mouth. One could paint my likeness as the lycans that now hunger in the shadows of the village.

I opened his door and closed it behind me without an ounce of gentleness. Let them hear. My nightgown billowed around me like the dark cloaks death was usually depicted wearing. The old man could not hear me over his snores. I clutched the previously ornamental dagger in my hand and snarled at the sight of his peaceful sleep. I was not going to allow him to slumber through this. In my rage I punched through the glass of his window (I dimly acknowledged it would be a good alibi for the later accusation of assassins, but mostly I just yearned for his terror) to the sound of which he shot up. He looked around frantically and saw the face of his daughter as the blade plunged into him without the courtesy of a warning. It was a wet, nasty slide of flesh around the metal of my blade. It was the sickest form of penetration. It was my finest act of political assistance to his county. I grin now at the memory of his shock. His greedy mouth parted in disbelief. He croaked my name into the night and I twisted the blade deeper. I only remember the sound from me being something between a growl and a triumphant laugh. He tried to cry out and I pulled the dagger from his side and forced it down his throat the same way I knew he had forced his foul chode down the throats of unwilling maidens. His lips curved around it and I looked down at him as his fat body flailed in agony. He deserved this, I had thought as I shoved my hand past his teeth and drug the blade along the walls of his esophagus, he deserves to die. I am greater at thirty than he ever was at fifty. I am not his daughter, I am his better. That was my mantra as I pulled horrific noises from this man. It was the most pleasurable thing I’d ever done. I had expected at least some remorse, but seeing him bloodied and dying brought me nothing but glee. I watched death tear him from his hideous form and I did not relent. I stabbed again and again until I felt calm. I had three decades of pent up anger to get out, so he was long dead before then. He looked like an oversized meatball when I was done, limp in the bed he spent most of his lazy fucking life in.

My white slip was dyed red with vengeance. This was my coronation long before I ever received the crown. I still keep that gown as a momento, though it is now far too small.

Today I contemplate that garment with all its dried blood and crusted on innards. Perhaps I have a wardrobe filled with fine dresses, but none is as fine as that one.

Can a normal dress be stained with the moment you gained independence? Can it tell the story of the rise of House Dimitrescu? Since that day we have done nothing but prosper. Even a century later I do not regret it.

Dear Diary, I am Alcina Dimitrescu. I am a cruel woman. I am power. I am not his daughter. I am forever his better.

[suddencolds]

Purely Instinctive | Ki//ller Pet//er

Extremely competent assassin who handles every difficult situation inventively and with ease? What if he fell ill... 😭 (4.2k words)

This is a little different from what I usually write, but I've been reading Ki//ller Pe//ter on Webt//oon (link), and... um, this fic practically wrote itself. This might be the most self-indulgent thing I've written this year. Let's not talk about it 😭

For the sake of the fic, all characters are in their early twenties (aside from Peter, who is obviously a lot older). If you haven't read the series, they're all assassins who work for an organization called the Gl//ory Club. That's pretty much all you need to know :)

—

Here's Peter (under his current identity, Sun-Gu Kim) and Yuna:

—

The drive to the warehouse is unusually quiet.

The mission is simple—find an international spy, currently en route to escape via a ship which departs from the harbor at 6am, holding onto highly classified documents which he’s not supposed to have. The moment he steps foot off of Korean land, he will become much more difficult to apprehend—the ship the target is planning to take is a large cargo ship, its whereabouts easily tracked, but the Glory Club bounty has specified that the target will most likely part ways from the cargo ship on a small rowboat. There’s no telling at what point he’ll split off from the cargo ship, or where he’ll be headed next, which means:

They have only two hours to apprehend the subject before he becomes substantially harder to track down.

Yuna reaches up with a hand to rub her eyes. Of course, serving as part of Glory is no 9-5 job—she hadn’t expected volunteer missions to always take place at predictable times. But they’d gotten assigned to this particular mission on short notice, which meant that she’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, tops, before having to drag herself out of bed for this.

They’d been whisked out on Sun-Gu’s motorcycle—the St. Petrus V4, she recalls. Somehow, Sun-Gu had known exactly where to head. How he’d known, with the entire city laid out in front of him, Yuna isn’t entirely sure. But he’d explained that the target’s trajectory would probably not be a straight line to the harbor—that would be too easy to intercept, and Sun-Gu had assured the target would be aware there would be someone on his trail. He’d probably avoid main roads, then, where there would be a higher chance of getting stopped by the police. Then, out of all the remaining routes from his last tracked location, it would only be feasible to get to the dock on time through six of them.

The rest had been intuition. Sun-Gu’s familiarity with the city is impressive. He barely glances at the street signs as he drives, the night warm and stagnant, his motorcycle dialed to silent, and not for the first time, Yuna wonders how he seems to know all of this.

Speaking of Sun-Gu—

Something is different about him tonight. Yuna probably would not have noticed, had she not spent the entirety of the motorcycle ride sitting behind him. He’s incredibly subtle about it. But it’s there, nonetheless—a slight change to his demeanor. Something nearly imperceptible, something she can’t quite pin down.

Had Yuna not known better, she might have attributed it to tiredness. But in the couple months she’s known Sun-Gu, she’s never seen him tired. He sleeps, like the rest of them, of course—he is only human—but for him, the transition between sleep and wakefulness seems like more of a formality. That is to say, he wakes up immediately alert, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him tired.

It makes her wonder, a little, if there’s a reason to it. If there was ever anything in his life which mandated being a light sleeper, that required him to be up at a moment’s notice. Either way, it’s not the reason why he’s—off isn’t the right word. Different is more suitable. Typically, he’s in better spirits. But Yuna has seen him pissed off, and this isn’t it, either.

Sun-Gu parks the motorcycle just outside of the warehouse, unclips his helmet in one swift motion, and—after Yuna gets off—takes her helmet from her and stashes them both under the motorcycle seat, which Glory has designed to be self-locking. Then, without waiting to see if they’ll follow, he makes a lap around the periphery of the warehouse.

The Dokgo brothers have tagged along too—they’re being quiet, now, which perhaps is mercy enough. Probably Sun-Gu had given them a challenge to shut up, and they’ve taken it in good faith. Now, even when they have something to comment, they keep their voices to a whisper.

“What do you think he’s off doing?” Biggie says.

Junior shrugs. “Maybe taking a walk, to relieve some stress.”

“He’s looking for signs of entry,” Yuna tells them. Then, because she can’t help it, and because she’ll be a little pissed off if they’re the ones who end up jeopardizing the mission—“Remember what he said about being quiet?”

“Ah, shit,” Biggie says. “I am quiet. Maybe you should be quiet. Have you considered that?”

She ignores the both of them and heads over to the spot where Sun-Gu stands, now, his eyebrows furrowed. A slat that’s out of place. He pushes it, and it budges.

Underground, the ground rumbles underneath them, and then settles to reveal a trap door. 

Sun-Gu beckons for them to follow him, but he doesn’t wait up for them. Yuna quickens her pace to keep up. The trap door leads them down, down. The air underground is much cooler—Yuna finds herself wishing that she’d brought a thicker jacket.

Ahead of her, Sun-Gu—

Takes in a sharp breath. But no, it’s not just a breath. As she watches him, he lifts a hand, pinches it to the bridge of his nose. His shoulders jerk forward, though only slightly; his back muscles tense. All in all, the entire display is soundless.

Yuna’s feels her eyebrows creep up. 

This is certainly… new for him. But she doesn’t have time to think on it right now.

When they get to the bottom of the steps, the stairway opens out into a deserted hallway: cement walls, cement floors. It’s dark, and cavernous. This whole place feels empty. It’s a little creepy, really. Why Sun-Gu suspects that their target is hiding out here, Yuna isn’t sure. It seems counterproductive to hide out somewhere like this when, according to their intel, the subject has limited time already to make it out to the harbor.

That is, unless Sun-Gu suspects the intel that they were given might be wrong.

Sun-Gu switches on a flashlight he’s carrying and heads deeper in. It’s not until he stops, looking down the hallway to survey his surroundings that he hesitates, only for a moment. He lifts the collar of his shirt over his face, his shoulders tensing.

“Hh’—nKTtt-!”

The sneeze is practically soundless. That makes two times in one night. Something is definitely up, then. Yuna looks around. Perhaps the underground space is dusty, or perhaps it’s not well-ventilated and it’s grown mold, and he’s allergic. Except, the air down here feels remarkably dry—not the sort of environment mold would thrive under—and the floors look suspiciously well-maintained. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be something else, either—some other universal irritant. Sun-Gu is the only one here who’s sneezing. 

Yuna isn’t sure she’s ever heard him sneeze before, out of the months that she’s known him. Could it be some existing condition, then—not a product of their environment, but something from earlier?

“Man,” Junior mouths, from somewhere. “How much longer are we going to have to head down these hallways? They all look the same.”

Yuna turns to glare at him, puts her finger to her lips. “Longer if you aren’t quiet about it.”

“I don’t like this,” Biggie mutters. “When can we get to the fighting? All the lead-up is boring. It feels like we’re in some kind of horror movie.” Yuna squeezes her eyes shut, prays that they’re far enough from Sun-Gu—and, by extension, the target—that they can’t be heard. 

Sun-Gu stops, abruptly. He holds a hand up behind him, as if to say, stay back.

Yuna doesn’t know what he’s noticed, at first. But a moment later, she hears it—the click of a latch being undone, somewhere overhead.

Above them, a small trap door opens, and then pulls shut. A cylinder drops from the ceiling, leeching violet plumes of smoke. On instinct, Yuna pulls her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth.

Tear gas, she realizes—or something chemically similar. It’s some sort of aerosolized compound, meant to render them both less capable of seeing and—partly by extension—less capable of fighting. Her eyes tear up almost immediately, so much that she can barely keep them open. Her lungs burn in protest as she takes in a breath.

They’re in a long corridor. There’s a finite amount of smoke coming from the canister—if they wait it out, it will inevitably thin out. So this was more just a distraction, then. A flashy entry. Just enough time for whoever they’re up against to—

It takes her a few seconds to spot the figure through the smoke. 

She thinks back to the files on the subject. Medium, reddish brown hair, pale blue eyes. 182 cm. Trained in combat. The stranger in the hallway has their face obscured by a gas mask, their hair hidden under a hood, but she can tell by the musculature of their exposed arms that they appear to be well-trained. In their right hand, they are carrying a long, slender weapon. From one end—attached to a metal chain—is a sphere, lined with spikes, each of them carved down to a sharp point.

It must weigh half a ton, from the way it drags the chain down, but the figure wields it easily, as if it weighs absolutely nothing.

“That’s our guy!” Junior yells, at the same time as Biggie shouts, “Stop right there!”

Both of them charge forwards. It all happens in a split second. The figure adjusts their grip on the weapon to turn the wooden handle of it outwards. Then, before either of the brothers have a chance to react, they’re swung outwards by the sheer momentum of the rod. Biggie hits the ceiling with enough force that the concrete above them rumbles, the impact spiderwebbing the ceiling above them. Slabs of concrete rain down from the point of contact. The figure drives Junior straight into one of the walls at an awkward angle which renders him almost immediately unconscious.

Yuna can feel her own heart pounding in her ears. She slinks back into the darkness, pressing herself to the ground so that hopefully, the stranger will forget that she is there—or that she is even a threat to begin with. Seeing what they’re capable of, she isn’t sure she could do much in this situation to begin with.

How long has it been since the last time the path split off into multiple routes? When Yuna turns to look, the hallway before them and after them seems to stretch on and on. An endless concrete tunnel, with the white, sterile lighting of a laboratory space. Nothing to shield themselves with, and nowhere to hide. It’s a strange location to pick a fight in. What exactly was this place built for? 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the figure says to Sun-Gu, grinning. Half of their teeth have been replaced with gold tooth crowns. When they grin, the gold catches the light, winking. “Thirty seconds, huh? Your teammates couldn’t even hold their own for that long? It’s a damn shame. I didn’t even get to use the weapon as it’s intended to be used.” They tilt their head, staring down at Sun-Gu with a look of contempt. “I guess you could thank me for being merciful. But if I’m honest…”

Their smile darkens into something sharper, something hungry. “I just didn’t want to stain a flail of this quality with anyone’s blood but yours.”

Was this entire mission a setup, to get Sun-Gu into one place? Is the subject really in possession of any classified documents at all?

Sun-Gu twists away—not to evade, or not in preparation to attack. His shoulders hunch forward, his expression twisting. He coughs, roughly, down towards the ground. It’s the kind of cough that suggests that he’s been coughing like this for some time now—harsh and throat-scraping. 

That’s when it registers for Yuna.

He’s ill. It seems painfully obvious, in hindsight, now that she’s realized it. 

During the motorcycle ride here, he’d been careful not to touch her, Yuna realizes. Sun-Gu is always careful with his own space—he has an awareness of it, even outside of combat, that she thinks would be unusual for most. Even with small things—the ways he gestures, the way he holds himself—she gets the feeling that none of it is accidental. 

When she looks at him now, she notices—a slight, near-imperceptible flush to his features. He’s breathing a little more heavily than normal. Instincts he can hide. Instincts he can cover for. But there are some things which no amount of physical awareness can hide.

He has a fever, then. That’s probably why he hadn’t wanted her to touch him. He’d known that if she’d made contact with his skin, she would’ve felt it, and she thinks he probably hadn’t wanted to raise any concern.

Sun-Gu is here, on a mission, fighting a well-trained stranger on his own, equipped with nothing but a pocket knife, with no armor and no with no reinforcements. On any normal occasion, Yuna might trust him to be able to hold his own—she’s seen what he’s done, alone against a crowd of hundreds—but this time, it’s different, because Sun-Gu is unwell.

The figure looks surprised, at this. “Ah,” they say. Yuna can’t help but think they look like a predator, honing in on their prey, only to find that said prey is already bloodied and limping. Like someone surprised—but pleased—to find their job already done for them. “Don’t tell me you’re already not in tip-top shape? That’s a shame.”

Sun-Gu coughs, again, his chest shaking. Yuna feels a pang of worry in her chest. He really does look unwell—and he hasn’t said as much of a word to deny it, which is telling. She looks around for anything to help him with— If she were to call for reinforcements, she thinks it would take too long for them to find them all here, underground, in the elaborate array of tunnels.

The weapon they’re holding is heavy, which affects its maneuverability, and to some degree, its speed. But Sun-Gu’s knife is much more of a close-range weapon, which means that while Sun-Gu will have to get up close to them to even make a mark, the stranger would be theoretically able to fatally wound him while standing a meter away.

The figure presses forward. With the swing of one hand, the metal ball and the chain arc outwards neatly, directly towards Sun-Gu. For such a heavy weapon, Yuna is surprised to find that this person wields it with impressive speed. It’s nearly too fast for her eyes to track. Sun-Gu evades, easily, but the figure swings again, and again, and again. At this speed, it almost looks as though they’re slicing the air into shreds.

If Sun-Gu were to be hit, his body would stop all of the momentum at once, and the spikes would easily puncture skin, drive themselves into tissue and skin and bone. Worse, Yuna realizes, if the weapon makes it to Sun-Gu’s body—even if it’s lodged in a relatively nonfatal area—the figure will easily be able to drive it directly into a vital organ. That means that if Sun-Gu fails to dodge cleanly on just one occasion, this fight will be over.

That’s another thing, too. Sun-Gu’s radius of attack is limited by the length of his own arm. But the figure can stand in one place and swing the weapon anywhere that the length of their arm, the long rod, the chain, all put together, can reach.

“If I had a little more patience, I might even have waited for you to get back to full health, so that this could be a more memorable fight,” the figure says.

Sun-Gu’s breath hitches. His opponent is not kind enough to pretend not to notice. They drive forward, intending to use the moment of temporary weakness to their benefit, just as Sun-Gu jerks forward with a forceful, “hHh’EEZschHH-uH!”

Sun-Gu evades, but only barely. How he is able to predict the trajectory of the metal ball, even distracted, even with his eyes closed, Yuna isn’t sure. But it’s clear that he isn’t done, and by the time his eyes are already falling shut for another. He’s afforded a sharp, desperate breath, before his shoulders jerk forward again. “hH’nGKt-! Hh… hh-IIIH’DZSshH!”

He coughs, after, as if the sneezes have somehow irritated his throat further.  

The stranger grins. “...But I suppose having your head as a prize would be consolation enough.”

They sweep the chain in a wide arc, directly for Sun-Gu’s neck. Sun-Gu crouches for a moment, then takes a running leap up into the air, righting his trajectory with one foot to the wall to land behind them. He’s put his knife away, Yuna realizes. But there is nothing here—no props, no furniture—for him to repurpose into a weapon.

“Sorry,” Sun-Gu says. The expression on his face is not one of remorse. It’s one of clear, bitter irritation. He’s annoyed, she realizes. “You’re right. I’m not feeling my best today.”

It’s an admission, loud and clear, but the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like an admission of weakness. Up until now, he has been observing, Yuna realizes, as he’s done before—passively taking in the stranger’s fighting style, their handling of their weapon, their habits, their tells. 

“So,” Sun-Gu says, flatly. When the stranger swings again, Sun-Gu snags hold of the chain while it’s in mid-air, and—as if it’s weightless—yanks the stranger towards him. He takes hold of the chain with his other hand, testing its weight. The smile on his face is utterly cold. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

—

Afterwards, when they leave the warehouse, the sun is starting to rise. Yuna finds a text from Glory Club on her phone from an hour ago, presumably from the chairman. It’s curt: Do not proceed. We have reason to doubt the motives of the group which supplied the intel. Ironically, there was not enough reception underground for their warning to reach them in time, but she thinks that Sun-Gu must’ve realized much earlier. 

Biggie and Junior are a little worse for the wear, but other than that, neither of them is concerningly injured. Biggie claims that he doesn’t have a concussion, but he doesn’t put up too much of a fight when Yuna insists that when they get back, their first stop will be to the medical ward to get fixed up. 

Speaking of Sun-Gu: he is quiet, which is not unusual. Sun-Gu has never been the most talkative person, but Yuna suspects that today, there’s more to it. 

“I can take us back,” Yuna says, trying not to make it sound pointed. It’s usually Sun-Gu who steers, but Yuna has enough experience with the St. Petrus V4 to handle a forty minute trip on paved roads, and enough experience too to know how to speed just enough to stay in control of it.

“It’s fine,” Sun-Gu says, flashing her a distracted smile. “It will be faster if I drive, because I won’t have to navigate.” He retrieves his own helmet from the seat compartment. Yuna spends a moment to watch him. He isn’t injured, nor does he look any less alert—he’d gotten out of the battle without so much as a scratch to show for.

But there are little hints, here and there, to exhaustion. The way he clears his throat before speaking, so quietly she can’t tell except for the slight bob of his throat, the slight furrow of his eyebrows. The way he pauses to clip his helmet, shielding his face with one hand from the gleam of the rising sun, as if his head is already hurting. The way he looks relieved to be sitting down, the way his hand lingers, a little shaky, on the motorcycle handles before he steadies it, looking faintly annoyed. 

Of course, for someone like Sun-Gu, where—on the battlefield—any sort of slight miscalculation could be the difference between life and death, where trusting his body to function exactly as he’s used to is crucial for his success, Yuna isn’t surprised that any sort of bodily inefficiency would be an annoyance, even more so for Sun-Gu than for most.

At the same time, as she stares at him, she has to wonder—just how long has he been unwell? Had she not been awake during the battle—had she been unconscious, then, like the other two—would she even have noticed? How many times in his life has he been ill and just proceeded? Yuna doesn’t know what his relationship to Peter is—whether he’s a long lost cousin, or someone who trained under him before, or something else. But she knows, from the way he fights, that he must’ve had years of combat experience even before he joined Glory. No one is born with that amount of expertise, that level of near-inhuman intuition.

In the past, when Sun-Gu found himself in life-or-death situations, had he proceeded like he is now—as though everything were normal? As though any affliction he was suffering through privately was not even worth the attention of his own team? It makes sense, she thinks—that he wouldn’t broadcast any weakness openly, especially for any potential adversaries to listen in on. But if he’d been so careful to hide it from all of them, how would he take it if she acknowledged it out loud?

“Is something wrong?” Sun-Gu asks, watching her now. 

“No, nothing at all!” Yuna says, quickly. Think, she tells herself. She returns his smile, a little sheepishly. “I was just thinking… I’m a little hungry. Do you think we could stop at a convenience store on the way back?”

Sun-Gu blinks, a little surprised. But then he nods. “Of course,” he says. 

She fiddles with her own helmet until it’s securely on. Then she gets onto the motorcycle, behind him, and waits for him to take off.

—

True to his word, Sun-Gu stops at a 24/7 convenience store on the way back. But when Yuna asks him if he wants anything to eat, he waves her off with another smile. “Not enough time has passed after that fight,” he says. “I’m still too worked up to eat something.”

Bullshit, she thinks, but she steps inside the store nonetheless. Inside, it’s heavily air-conditioned, pleasantly cool. She picks out a sandwich from the fridge for herself, and one for Sun-Gu, while Biggie and Dokgo—who have followed them here on their scooters—load up on containers of cup ramen and ready-made hot fried chicken. Yuna snags a bottle of water from the fridge. Then she’s sure no one is looking, she takes a blister pack of aspirin off the shelves, along with a travel pack of tissues, and pays for it through the self-checkout station.

Biggie and Junior are still inside by the time she’s done shopping, so she heads outside, the plastic bag in hand.

She finds him still seated on the motorcycle, his helmet still on. He’s sitting ramrod-straight, his shoulders stiff, his head ducked slightly to avoid the sun. To anyone else, he might look alert—perhaps even nervous—but Yuna knows better. It looks as if he is doing everything in his power not to fall asleep.

His breath hitches. He gasps, his body jerking forward with a loud, “hHHD’TSHhh-Uh!”, which seems ridiculously unrelieving for how loud it is, and sighs, tenderly massaging the bridge of his temples. So the headache from earlier hasn’t gotten any better, then. 

She watches him for a moment longer—watches him duck forward into his arm with another ticklish sneeze, and emerge with a liquid sniffle—and wonders when this had all started to feel like second nature.

Caring about him, that is.

When he hears her coming, he looks up to her. “Done with breakfast already?” 

“Not yet,” she says. “But I got you a sandwich.

“Ah, thanks,” he says. “Though, didn’t I say—”

“You’re not hungry right now, I recall,” Yuna says. “You can save it for later. But I have something else for you too.” 

She hands him the aspirin and the bottle of water. Sun-Gu stares down at them for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I am not injured,” he says, at last.

“I know,” Yuna says, casually. “The aspirin is for your headache. That’s been bothering you all morning, right? It might help with your fever, too, but I think the best antidote for that would be some proper bedrest.”

For a moment, Sun-Gu just stares at her, his eyes a little wide. Then he laughs. “You really don’t let anything past you, do you, Yuna?”

“That’s right,” she says, crossing her arms. “So you were trying to hide it.”

“Not exactly,” Sun-Gu says. “I just didn’t deem it worth mentioning.”

“Three to five days of bedrest, and lots of warm fluids!” Yuna says, jabbing a finger into his chest, accusingly. “That’s what people recommend for illnesses like this. Not a killer mission first thing in the morning!”

“You are very prudent,” Sun-Gu says, looking mildly amused.

“You don’t think it might’ve helped to mention your illness to someone you trust? The chairman, or even me?”

“I fail to see how that would’ve made any difference. It’s not as though the mission could have waited.”

“Fine, then.” Yuna says. “You might not agree to take it easy. But I’ll keep noticing as long as you keep being irresponsible.” She means it as a threat—that in the future, if he ever dares to be so reckless, she’ll be the first to notice. And if Yuna thinks he should be resting, instead of on a mission, she’s not going to keep her mouth shut about it. 

But when she looks over at Sun-Gu, he is smiling. 

[luwkade]

So, in live action we clearly see how much sanji adores luffy, even though they literally know each other for 1 or 2 days. I think that's because despite all the people around sanji, who insult his cooking, all luffy has for him is love towards his food, personality and fighting ability.

Sanji feels loved around luffy (not in a romantic way, this is not a ship post), that's why throughout the series sanji goes out of his way (so many times) to help him.

[mars-is-me7]

man, i have so many thoughts about qfoolish. he's just a silly little goofy guy but then when you peel away the first layer that you see of him and realize that he's rather a complex character. I feel like he's such a different type of character than what is usually shown. (and honestly, it's something that brings me a lot of comfort as i relate quite heavily to his very laid back nature that people will sometimes take as being unserious or even uncaring) Warning, this gets long (like 2.2k long to be exact) lol and i ramble a lot- also, disclaimer for my own sanity: this is an analysis of the characters! i adore any of the creatures mentioned here so please don't take any of this as a negative view on them! :D

Foolish's motivations are just very different than what typically motivates a character forward and in some sense it's really easy to skew what you think about him. As in, it's really easy to misinterpret his character i think. He express himself in a different way than i think most people are used to. He laughs in serious situations and is constantly just joking around. I think this causes people to think he cant/wont ever be serious, but the thing is that he's perfectly capable of being serious when he needs to be. For example, if he thinks that he and Leo are going into a serious situation, then he tells her to put her armor on. Really, just anything involving Leo he makes sure to be serious if the situation calls for it. Or like, fighting in dungeons only if he deems it dangerous enough to take seriously. but like, if he doesn't think a situation calls for it, then he just continues to be his goofy self. And sometimes when the situation calls for it, he is just in between those two points in a way that others aren't. He's just not afraid to joke around even when the situation seems dire (cellbit's kidnapping and rescue comes to mind. like, he played such a large role with his symmetry wand, but despite all the serious moments going on,, he was still just a goofy guy).

And one thing about him being so silly all the time is that even the other members on the island sometimes get a misconstrued picture of what they think foolish's goal and wants are. I think in some sense it's true to say that what motivates his wants is what the value of something he perceives is. For example, the sunbird he only wanted because of how cool it sounded and how rare it was. The cloud he wants because its something unique and useful. He wants Cucurucho's friendship because that's something no one else has and Cucurucho has access to items and is powerful.

But these wants aren't the most necessarily the most important things to him. Their something he has interest in, yes, but they're not more important than say his friends and family. Which, i feel like some people might not recognize about him. After all, he is constantly talking about wanting a cloud or how he'd have no issue in killing Bad (and holy shit is landduo and their relation something i could go on about for a whole more hour cuz there's so much there)

Because one vital thing that's so *so* important to recognize is that Foolish is very possibly one of the most loyal people on the island. And despite all of his flaws, he would never really want to truly hurt those he cares about. He is loyal to the people he cares about to an absurd amount. I think it's very clear to see his devotion for Vegetta and his adoration for Leo, but his loyalty also applies to his friends on the island. He would never *intentionally* want to harm anyone he cares about. I don't think some people understand that Mr. Mustard fell under that category as someone he cared about. The entire reason Cucurucho was able to lure him into accepting the mission It gave him is because it brought Mr. Mustard's name into the mix. It told Foolish that Pac and Mike were the ones responsible, and with nothing better to do, Foolish set out to complete this task.

To talk more about the recent events with him arresting Tazercraft: he would never truly want to harm or hurt them. However, when you're looking at the grand scheme of how things went down, he was manipulated and really had no other choice. Sure, he seemed to enjoy arresting them at first, but the thing is I don't think he really processed or even thought about how this action would be received by others. To him, arresting Pac and Mike sounded like enough fun, and it was coming from Cucurucho (who he's wanting to be friends with for actual months now, and Cucurucho literally called him friend in the book it handed to him) and being arrested sounded like something he'd enjoy. Again, like something *he'd* enjoy and that he therefore thought Pac and Mike would enjoy.

You have to realize, Foolish doesn't have the same perspective on these serious situations as some others do. And the thing is that he judges how others react based on how he would react to them. So, in that sense, he views being kidnapped/arrested as a good and fun thing! he even said today on stream, "apparently when you arrest someone, others won't find it funny". it might have just been one line, but in my eyes this gives a really clear insight into his character. To him, arresting Pac and Mike was only a positive thing because it would help him find his friend and it could be a fun event for them. His friend that he was told, by cucurucho, that had disappeared because of Pac and Mike. Foolish doesn't hold any ill intent, but that doesn't necessarily come across in others view of him. Although it might not be clear, he cares about Pac and Mike. Today he even expressed worries about them and said that he still considers them his friends (even though he's aware that they might not share those feelings about him anymore). He doesn't know about their past traumas, to him this was just a fun little event that would be fun for both them and him. When first accepting Cucurucho's mission to him, I'd say he doesn't realize the consequences his actions would have. That by arresting Pac and Mike, it'd leave the other members of the server doubting him and mistrusting him. That others would be angry at him for something that he hadn't realized the gravity of.

(just random thing i want to say here: honestly, if Foolish had any malicious intent towards Tazercraft, he could have easily made their arrest go unnoticed for at least a few days. just think about it: if he had said that the surprise he had was just for the two of them. if Jaiden hadn't accompanied them as a witness. people wouldn't of known then what happened to them, but the thing is that he wasn't thinking in this way because he would never seriously want to harm them. he even wanted Jaiden there as a witness)

I think he realized the backlash of his actions in the Favela when everyone seemed to swarm him and then when he got interrogated. In which, he never really lied. All things considered, Foolish is a rather honest guy. I'd even say that he almost never lies. Like, if he's trying to hide the truth about something, he often times will find a way to skirt around the question without lying. Like, just looking at the mess that was the interrogation yesterday (/lh) you can see that he doesn't ever actually lie. He just blabbers a bunch of nonsense and skirts around the issue without ever revealing anything. The issue arises when you look at the lie he did tell.

for those that don't know, Foolish gave Jaiden a rundown of what happened before arresting Tazercraft. and in this he tells her that Cucurucho gave him the option to either 'arrest Pac and Mike' or to 'kill Richarlyson'. Not even going to lie, when he said this is took me (and i think all of stream) off guard. because Foolish practically never lies in that way and so blatantly. because this was just 100% untrue. However, it makes sense why he did it. At that point, he realized that people were going to keep badgering him on why he arrested Pac and Mike, but at the same time he knew they wouldn't take him telling the truth seriously. He may care about Mr. Mustard but the truth is that the other members don't hold those same thoughts towards most the Capybaras in general. Like, just look at Fit's interaction with him today. Foolish literally reiterated the truth of why he did it over and over again, but Fit didn't believe him even slightly. Foolish didn't lie once about his motivations and yet he was just not believed.

I think he realized at some point soon after arresting Pac and Mike that people weren't going to trust the truth. Not from his mouth at least. So he lied to Jaiden because it's a lie that people will easily understand. it's a choice they'd stop questioning him about. Again, he doesn't do this out of malicious intent but because it's something easier for people to understand and relate to. It's something they're not going to hound him about, not like they will when he tells them the truth. This lie is more easily digestible for the island members and it also brings Foolish less stress if they take this and believe it. Everyone is willing to make sacrifices in order to protect the eggs. And he had to of realized that Jaiden was going to tell other people. The islanders almost always spread these types of details to each other, that's just how it goes. Telling this lie to her in secret makes it all that more believable when she goes and tells some of the others about it later cuz it's something Foolish told her in confidentiality. To the other members, it paints foolish only in a good light. Of course he wouldn't have actually wanted to arrest Pac and Mike, he did it to protect Richas! and that's all it takes to stop them from getting angry at him. All things considered, it's a smart move to pull. Although, I do have to wonder how this will come to bite foolish in the butt. Because i can only imagine that it will be revealed eventually, some way or another.

From what i understood, Cellbit immediately dropped his anger on Foolish once he was told it was to protect Richarlyson. When Jaiden tells him this information he doesn't even thing to consider that Foolish could have lied. After all, why reason would anyone have to lie about that? In my mind, i can only imagine that the lie will protect him for now and in the short term, but once revealed that it's a lie, i think there will be some repercussions against Foolish for sure. Like, even Jaiden doesn't know that he's lied. Jaiden, whom he's been telling everything about. Jaiden who is only one (aside from Leo) who now knows of Foolish's secret detective role. Jaiden, whose the one he's told almost the entire truth to.

An interesting thing to note though, is that I think Foolish's decision to lie to Jaiden was still rather spontaneous. like, it's not something he thought too much about. it's a fib that makes his life a little bit easier (a little bit less lonely) and right now it doesn't seem to hold any repercussions. the interesting thing, though, is that he hasn't repeated the lie at any point in time. and like, he also hasn't done any lying to reinforce the lie he's told. it'd be so easy to paint a story that he's being blackmailed, but he just *doesn't* even though it's a lie he's made himself.

Foolish, all in all, is someone that just acts or speaks before really thinking too much about what he's doing. About the possible side affects of his actions. He just *does* them.

I think it also plays in very well with the idea that he's lived for thousands of years. the things that affect the typical mortal just don't phase him in the same way, not when he's viewing everything as an adventure or an element that is fun. i think that also taking into consideration that he's lived for such a long time, it's rather surprising how easy he is to manipulate. Because that is what Cucucrucho is doing, when looking at the whole picture. cucurucho holds a lot of power and we all know that it easily could have arrested Pac and Mike without the intervention of Foolish. So why make him do it anyways?

Well we don't know that for sure, but we can make some guesses. To sow distrust between the members. To see how far Foolish was actually able and willing to go for the Federation. To place blame on someone aside from itself. All possibilities.

Regardless, Foolish has played right into their hands. He's a silly guy that's gotten himself into a serious situation. One in which he might end up having to navigate alone because even though he has Jaiden he's still lied to her, and even though he has Leo, he would never want to put his daughter into harms way. He said something at the end of the stream about how this might just end up being a lonely road he's taking and i couldn't agree more.

Anyways, that's all i got for tonight as it's late and idk what im getting at here, i just think Foolish is really neat and wanted to attempt to put that into words. :D

[supermarine-silvally]

Could I pretty pretty please ask for 💗 for my beloved Portada, Hadley love? 💜

Here you go, my dear Dolly!! <3 tysm for the request; it got long af but I always underestimate how much I enjoy writing Ace Angst heheh

No direct spoilers, but written in such a way that anyone who Knows can read between the lines lol hope you enjoy!! <3

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft

Ace hated Loguetown. 

It wasn’t the shops; those were objectively fine. Maybe a bit pricey at times, but there were enough of them around that he could easily take his business elsewhere if he felt he was getting a raw deal. Nor was it the pubs (well, save for one notable exception), nor the tourists, nor even the occasional increased presence of Marines. No, what he hated about Loguetown was that he couldn’t exactly tell anyone that he hated Loguetown. 

Because that would always lead to the follow-up question he really didn’t want to answer: Why?

And sure, he could lie, and blame it on pricey shops or low-quality pubs or loud, annoying tourists or having to outrun a determined Marine captain once in a while. But anyone who knew Ace knew that he didn’t have a problem with any of those things on any other island they ever visited. Which would lead him back to the infernal question of why. Why Loguetown? What could possibly be there that turned an otherwise cheerful, fun-loving guy into a broody, angry young man?

There were three people in the entirety of Whitebeard’s fleet who knew Ace’s secret. The first to find out was Deuce, his vice-captain from his Spade Pirates days and who now served on Whitebeard’s massive medical division. The masked man had learned of it back when the two had found themselves stranded on Sixis Island at the same time. Ace hadn’t admitted it so much as Deuce had sort of managed to guess it. His initial negative reaction had been what Ace always feared, but Deuce had fortunately come around shortly before luck would bestow them with the Mera Mera no Mi, and Ace had gained the powers he would become infamous for.

The second who knew was Whitebeard. What sort of ‘son’ would Ace be if he kept such a massive secret from the man he called Pops? Ace had feared the worst when the words left his lips, but Whitebeard had merely chuckled in response. “We are all children of the sea,” he had said, and Ace had felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, if only for a moment.

And the third, of course, was Yara. His Yara; Yara who had shared her secret in turn, removing her eyepatch to reveal the most beautiful heterochromatic eyes he had ever seen-- and boy, did he want to punch anyone who had ever made her feel otherwise. He could have kissed her that night, underneath the stars, but it would take him much, much longer before he finally surrendered to a love he had no chance of ever winning against. As far as Ace was concerned, those were the three people who would ever get to know. Even his other closest friends would have to be kept in the dark. It was better that way. 

All of those things floated around Ace’s mind as he returned to the small ship Whitebeard had ordered him to take for his mission. It was a simple enough task; all he had to do was meet with a supplier who had promised the Whitebeard Pirates a new supply line running from the East Blue into the Grand Line. Fairly standard pirate stuff, especially for an Emperor’s crew. Usually it would be something that First Division would handle, but Marco was away dealing with a distress call from an allied fleet who had encountered an unknown illness and required the support of a skilled doctor. So Ace, as Second Division Commander, gladly stepped up to the plate. 

Until he heard that the site of his mission was fucking Loguetown. And by then, it was too late to back out. 

So he had gone to Loguetown with his men, and he had hated every second of it, determinedly keeping his eyes on anything but the town square and the ghastly tourist attraction located there. He had done his best to keep up with the jokes and the good humour that he was known for, but by the end of the day, he was exhausted and absolutely determined to go somewhere he wouldn’t be reminded of that man. The navigators, however, had decided against trying to tackle Reverse Mountain in the dark, meaning that he had to wait until daybreak before he could finally be out of there. It was such a pain. 

The port they were anchored in was fortunately far enough from the main town that Ace at least wasn’t confronted with too many reminders of the answer as to why he hated Loguetown so much. He could try his best to forget about it for a few hours, at least. 

Or that’s what he hoped, anyways.

Sighing, he leaned against the edge of the anchored ship, staring out at the open ocean, the tiny glints of stars reflecting off the water’s calm surface. Everyone he had met in town had been so pleasant. He thought of the old lady who had given him a discount on three bags of rice to take on their journey back to the Grand Line because he was just ‘such a nice young man.’ Would she still say the same thing if she knew about the blood that flowed through his veins? 

Do I deserve to be alive?

Ace had asked himself that question many times before. It was only fitting it would return to the forefront of his mind in this place, of all places. And it was all the fault of that man. 

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” a familiar voice spoke.

Ace sighed again. “Am I really that obvious?”

“To me, you are.” Yara perched herself on the gunwale. She was wearing the new sundress that she had purchased for herself back in town, her long violet hair swept over her shoulder in a loose ponytail. “I should’ve insisted Pops find someone else for this mission. It wasn’t fair to send you.”

“Eh, I can cope.” He tried to shrug it off. “And besides, you look gorgeous in that dress, so it was worth it in the end.”

Yara frowned. She clearly wasn’t buying it. “Alright, now tell me how you really feel.”

“I said I’m--”

“Ace. Please. Don’t bullshit me.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze resting on a buoy that bobbed a few metres away from their ship. “I hate it here. Everywhere I looked, it was like he was tormenting me from beyond the grave. Him and his damn legacy.” 

The look in Yara’s eyes was sympathetic as she reached out, smoothing a strand of raven hair behind his ear. She kept silent, allowing him to continue rambling.

“I know it’s bad to say, but I wish I could torch this whole place to the ground. Then maybe the world could move on.” Maybe I could finally find a shred of peace from it all. 

“You know the World Government would never let that happen, Loguetown or no Loguetown.” She laughed bitterly. “They certainly love their bogeymen.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I know. It’s never gonna end. I’m just… cursed forever, doomed for the entire world to hate me because of him and his stupid treasure. Maybe there’s no way out, except…”

Yara gently tilted his head, bringing their eyes to meet. “Now you listen to me, Portgas D. Ace.” She cupped her hands around his face, thumbs brushing tenderly against his freckled cheeks. “You are not your father. None of his deeds are your deeds. None of his sins are your sins. Anyone who can’t see that is an idiot of the highest order, blinded by World Government propaganda or their own ignorant grudges.”

Ace blinked, feeling the conviction behind her words. Yara leaned closer to him, her breath ghosting against his face as she pressed her forehead to his. Ace’s arms wrapped protectively around her waist, his fingers tracing the zipper at the back of her dress.

“You are the most wonderful man in the world, and the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she whispered, her lips hovering only centimetres away from his. “Fuck your father. Fuck Loguetown. Fuck the world. You deserve to be alive, and you deserve to be loved.”

He swallowed, emotion gathering as a hot lump in his throat. “Yara…”

She pressed her lips to his with such adamant tenderness that it stole the air from his lungs. He kissed her back with the devotion of a prayer whispered in an empty cathedral, the softness between them melding together in slow, careful movements. Ace’s tension ebbed away, leaving him with the sensation of floating among a sea of stars, anchored to Earth only by the honeyed taste of Yara’s lips. 

“I love you,” she breathed as she pulled away ever so slightly, fingers stroking the side of his face. “Never forget that.” 

“You really don’t think he was a monster, huh?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “The biggest monsters in my life have all carried the World Government’s flag. I can’t see how a man who opposed that could be so evil.”

Ace stared at her for a moment before letting out a small laugh. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Luffy. I have a feeling the two of you are gonna get along great.”

Yara smiled as she slid down from the gunwale. “I’m very much looking forward to meeting your brother someday.”

“Just to warn you, he’s a handful.”

“So are you, my dearest fireboy.”

Pulling her close, Ace pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “…Thank you, Yara. I shouldn’t think too much about my old man; not when I have the perfect family right here. You, Luffy, Pops… You’re everything I could ever want.” Everything I never dreamed I could have.

“C’mon.” She offered him a hand, and he took it. “Let’s get some rest before we depart.”

Nodding in agreement, Ace allowed her to lead him towards the captain’s quarters. Soon, Loguetown would be behind him. And while he could never truly escape his bloodline, he could at least take solace in those who loved him despite it.

One Piece OC friends taglist: @auxiliarydetective @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @box-of-bats @starcrossedjedis

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

baddddddd. he's giving pomme first pick of their dungeon loot rn. he's so NICE. not just to the eggs but in general (i am always thinking of those elegant letters). but the eggs are the only ones who he will quickly and easily show vulnerability to. with everyone else it's like there's a layer there, a wall of silliness he keeps up on purpose, but it just. isn't there with the eggs.

there's something about the way that he cares that I can't put into words. like he cares so much. so fucking intensely. look at dapper. look how kitted out that egg is. look at how much time bbh has spent with the eggs, and look at how much time and effort he puts into figuring out how to keep them safe. he goes HAM when it comes to caring for the eggs, but it comes so naturally to him. it feels like caring for people with his whole entire soul is his default, but he doesn't want it to be. or, maybe want play a part in it- maybe it's too dangerous to care so much so quickly. maybe that puts other people he loves at risk. maybe it scares people. but that wall between him and other people is one that he built, and it's bbh, so he built it strong, so even when he's surrounded by people who have proven over and over that they care for him (that they care for the eggs, that they will not hurt them), he can't fully believe it.

im just. bad knows foolish so well. he knows that man wouldnt on purpose kill any eggs. but pomme killed foolish and bbh, dying of laughter, having the time of his life, told her to "put your armour on. just in case."

[bigdaddydaemon]

is daemon a romantic? yes.

would he ever admit it? hell no.

[dbphantom]

maybe i should have gone into practical effects instead of computer science...

[e77y]

hey there! just wanted to say I love your writing very much, and you seem like a very kind, genuine person. I’m currently studying English (creative writing) at university, as well, and I so admire your writing style. Silver Linings is, to me, a masterclass in character study, and I’m utterly obsessed with it. I hope you have a lovely day! I’d be thrilled to talk with you more, if you ever want to. My messages and inbox are open! :D

This is so sweet omg :') !!! So glad you enjoy my writing. I LOVE writing character studies and want to do a lot more in the future ^_^

My major is less on the literature side of things and more about tech comm, but creative writing is definitely where my heart is at! Wish I had gotten to major in it, too lol. I haven't taken any creative writing classes, actually, so fanfic is my main outlet for that at the moment :D

PS: I'm still kind of Tumblr newbie, so idk if it's common practice to post these kinds of asks or not? T_T Lmk if you want it taken down and I will ofc. But thank you so much for the kind message! And my DMs/inbox are always open, too :3

[magnus-rhymes-with-swagness]

THEATRE ‼️ 💛 💥🔥✨🧡⚡️

[dolokhoded]

i need to go to sleep right now but i've got zimon in the brain and i know i won't be able to sleep until i do something to get him out of the brain but i can't get up to draw right now and i sure as hell can't get up to write that would take me around 11 years so i'll just sit here and rotate him in my mind like a burnt chicken