shrimpybbq · 2 days ago
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a missed moment
synopsis: Rafe misses the moment Charlie takes his first steps and is harsh on himself as always.
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Charlie was the light of Rafe’s life: anything his son did made him so proud. Every little smile, giggle or ‘dada’ made Rafe grin so widely someone would think he had been possessed. But he wasn’t possessed, instead just so incredibly proud to have his sweet little boy happy and healthy and growing. The love he felt for his son wasn’t something Rafe had ever pictured or believed in, not considering his own father, but now that he had felt it, he never wished to let it go. Rafe did his best to be there for all his son’s milestones, even taking embarrassing photos for when he was older, but it was the one he missed that sent him into a spiral.
Rafe had been spending the day out in Guadeloupe, doing his best to sort out the shit for his dad and spending hours feeling his stress levels rising to a boiling point. All he wanted was to rest in his bed, relax and spend time with his family, and yet he was walking around the island talking about dividends and shares. He wasn’t pleased. Rafe walked through the front door, feeling the tension seep from his body, ready to lie down, only to see his son standing upright, little Charlie’s chunky arms clinging to the side of their couch.
Rafe’s eyes bulged as he watched Charlie turn to him, a large smile overtaking his identical features, the boy letting go of the couch as he took small steps towards his father.
Fuck. He was walking. Walking. He hadn’t been able to do that yesterday.
His girlfriend sat near Charlie, her soft voice encouraging him to ‘keep going to dada’. She gave small claps of encouragement as he moved closer, cheering him on.
Rafe felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest as his son began to reach his small, chubby arms out to his father, and he could only pick him up, encapsulating the small boy within his own larger arms.
"Good job, buddy," was all Rafe managed to utter, his mind racing at the new development. He turned to his girlfriend, asking quietly "When did he start walking?".
"He started trying yesterday, but this morning he tried to follow you out of the house," his girlfriend responded softly. It was clear to see how Rafe was feeling, him not even bothering to hide the sadness spreading across his features. Rafe had been trying to get Charlie to walk for weeks as his little body grew stronger, but to no avail. And now, he had missed it.
"I should've been here..." Rafe mumbled lowly, "not fucking around doing this shit for my dad." Charlie began to play with the collar on his father's shirt, not sensing the sullen mood of his father. His mother shuffled over towards him, softly stroking his hair as he rested his head against his father's chest. Rafe looked down at his girlfriend before averting his eyes - he felt like she could always see right through him.
"Hey - don't do that. You were doing that to make sure we're going to be safe and looked after. You said that yourself, so don't feel bad about this, ok? This is just one milestone in his life, and he is going to have so many more. You were there when he stood for the first time, and when he said his first word," his girlfriend reassured, her arms now wrapping around Rafe's waist. He let himself embrace her, Charlie joining the hug too.
"I-I know, but what if he remembers this shit and he hat-," Rafe began, only to be quickly cut off.
"Rafe, he's one. He's not going to remember any of this. All he knows is that his parent's love him more than anything, ok?"
Rafe remained tense for a moment longer, before a heaving exhale left his chest. With that, he resolved to let his worries go - his girlfriend was right. He knew his mind was confounding his worries, for he only wanted his son to know he loved him. Rafe never wanted Charlie to question his love for him. Caught up in his thoughts, Rafe didn't notice his girlfriend pulling away from him, her voice redirecting his attention suddenly.
"I need to get his dinner ready. Can you stay with him?"
The blonde nodded, receiving a quick peck on the lips in acknowledgement, before his attention turned to Charlie - his expression brightening as he looked down at his son. "We're gonna practice walking again, aren't we buddy?" he proclaimed, walking them over to the rug again. Rafe watched as his girlfriend laughed as she left the room, her disembodied voice telling them to have fun. Whilst she prepared his dinner, all she could hear were the giggles of a small child and the encouraging statements leaving Rafe. He became a whole new person when he was with his son, and the cheer he let out when Charlie managed to walk towards him again only made the young mother smile to herself, her heart swelling with happiness at the small family the pair had created.
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moonstruckme · 2 days ago
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Hi lovely!! I hope you’re having a superbly wonderful week so far! I’m absolutely obsessed with all your whimsical!reader works, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to write another with tasm!Peter? I just love the dynamic of someone as scientifically minded as him with someone more celestial-oriented and he never makes her feel dumb or silly or anything and supports her ugh they’re precious <3 you’re precious too <3
Thank you for requesting angel! You're the most precious <3
tasm!Peter Parker x whimsical!reader ♡ 539 words
“This is your life line.” The touch of your fingertip is light enough to tickle. Peter shivers, but you’re too focused to notice. “It doesn’t have any breaks in it, which means you’re dependable and you have strong, healthy genes.” 
Peter hums. “Do you think it’s accounting for the spider genes, or just mine?” 
You nod. “I think you had good genes before that, but it may have gotten deeper over time.” 
“Yeah?” Peter doesn’t doubt that the lines on his palm have changed over time. He thinks it’s for different reasons than you do, but that’s okay. 
“Mhm.” 
“Show me another one.” 
You smile, and it feels like sunlight shining down on his palm. “I was going to. You’re in such a rush.” 
“Well, I’m learning about my fate and everything.” He bumps the top of your head with his nose. “It’s urgent stuff.” 
“This,” your index finger tickles across the top of his palm, “is your heart line.” 
Peter peers at it. “It’s short.” 
“That’s okay. It’s going towards your middle finger, which means you’re passionate. That seems right.” 
“Does it?” 
You hear the smile in Peter’s voice and look up to give him one of your own. “I think so,” you say in that soft, easy way of yours. “You’re very romantic. And see, it breaks into two at the end, which means you put others before yourself. That sounds a lot like you.” 
Peter admires your concentration. Your lashes screen your eyes as you inspect his palm, your features relaxed but lips still curved with the echo of a smile. 
“It’s mostly straight,” you muse, “which I think indicates that you’re content in your relationships.” 
“You don’t say,” Peter hums. “I wonder why that might be.” 
You laugh as he grabs you around the middle, pulling you close and planting a firm kiss on the top of your head. 
“I don’t need my hand to tell me I’m happy, you weirdo.” 
“I’m just telling you what it says,” you defend yourself. 
“Let me see yours.” He sits you between his thighs, leaning over your shoulder. 
“You won’t know what it means, though.” 
“You can tell me. C’mon, gimme. ‘Nless you have something to hide, huh?” 
You relinquish your hand to him, letting him smooth his thumbs over the canvas of your palm. You lean your head into his. 
“Oh,” says Peter. “Hmm. I see. This is very good.” 
“Peter.” Your voice is warm with fondness. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
“I know it’s pretty. It’s a very, very nice line.” He brings it to his lips. “It probably says something about you being sweet, and romantic, and having an okay-looking boyfriend who loves you a lot.” 
You turn your face towards him, your nose to his cheek. “Those aren’t the sorts of things it tells you. And you’re more than okay-looking.” 
“Pretty sure I’m reading it loud and clear, sweetheart. You sure you’re the one who knows how to do this?” 
“I think so,” you say. Your lips part contentedly when Peter finds them with his own, soft and pliant to his touch. 
“Guess I just have natural instincts for it, then.” 
It’s his favorite feeling, your smile blooming against his. “Maybe so.” 
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pastelhikaru · 1 day ago
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dp x dc prompt's that live in my head space 2
☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚*✧・゚: *✧・゚:⋆·˚*・゚:⋆*・゚*✧・゚: *✧・゚:⋆·˚*・゚:⋆*・゚*✧・゚: *✧・゚:⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭
✧₊⁺ Damian reverse adopts himself into the Fenton family
✧₊⁺ Danny helps fuel the Riddler's obsession in a healthy way
✧₊⁺ De-aged Danny adopts Tim as his sibling
✧₊⁺ Danny makes a company so ghost have an outlet for their obsessions
✧₊⁺ Frightknight x Scarecrow prompt
✧₊⁺ Cat!Boy Streamer Danny
✧₊⁺ Ellie is destabilizing and to save her Danny freezes her to stop her from melting
✧₊⁺ Frostbite helps heal Mr.Freeze's wife
✧₊⁺ Danny's wayward attempts to deprogram the Talon's
✧₊⁺ Danny is an unexpected inventor for villains
✧₊⁺ Clone children Danny, Dani, and Jazz
✧₊⁺ Obligations of a rouge verses those of a parent masterlist
✧₊⁺ Firefighting Danny :O
✧₊⁺ Danny adopts Batman's clone subject 514A
✧₊⁺ Tim Drake is related to Princess Dorathea
✧₊⁺ Ghost are Dragons AU <333
✧₊⁺ THE BEDAZZLER AU. MY BELOVED
✧₊⁺ Everlasting Trio's life becomes the Batkids fav sitcom <3
✧₊⁺ Tim asks Danny to stage a kidnapping of the best Robin
✧₊⁺ Danny becomes a tech giant and the Batman tries to prove it's a front.
✧₊⁺ Battinson can't seem to stop adopting kids
✧₊⁺ Danny takes care of the Talons and they may believe he is their new leader
✧₊⁺ Team Phantom escape from the GIW, and try to safely sustain themselves in Gotham without drawing attention
✧₊⁺ In need of adoption au
✧₊⁺ Danny has a Boo-Tube channel :)
✧₊⁺ Danny is BruHarvy clone
✧₊⁺ Martha Wayne ghost is stuck in her pearl necklace, in which danny finds and helps said ghost find her pearl pieces to send it back where it belongs. And oh, does this good deed come to bite him in the ass. :3
✧₊⁺ SPACE WHALE DANNNY???!!!
✧₊⁺ DPxDCxBlue Exorcist prompt. Another DPxDCxBlue Exorcist prompt
✧₊⁺ Danny mistakenly calls Dick Tata
✧₊⁺ Danny is dealing with his death day when he accidently traumatizes Dick and the other Bats
✧₊⁺ Ghost act as Guardian Angels
✧₊⁺ Danny mentally adopts a deaged-Bruce/ Amity is a War Zone AU
✧₊⁺ Assumed rogue Danny is making a gift for Sam which is essentially ectoplasm that eats waste. However because he is an assumed mad scientist making clones the Bats bust in and ruin his perfectly contained experiment
✧₊⁺ Danny befriends the YJ in his civi's now vigilantes keep hanging out in his apartment and he has to hide his heroic past
✧₊⁺ Phantom of Love masterlist
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damien-thedoctor · 3 days ago
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Kraken was a bit busy , having to run about the lab using his tendrils because some idiots misplaced his tools and supplies around HQ
It was grinding his gears as he went to his dear husband's lab he was gonna say the usual loving phrases he does. But paused seeing his husband wasn't around.
With a soft sigh he walked into the lab and started to look for what he needed ....till his eyes caught something... a photo?
He carefully went over to see if his mind was playing tricks with him.
@fountian-of-youth
[The photo was one of damien and a...]
[Was that a child.]
[He looked like Damien if it wasn't for the very fluffy black imp tail he had and the warm amber eyes that glowed as brightly as the sun. Damien looked younger and happier, more healthy too.]
[How had Kraken never found out about something like this? What else was Damien hiding from him?]
[If kraken listened he could hear someone walking back into their lab humming slightly. The humming stopped. Kraken turned his head, slowly looking up from the photo and saw Damien standing there. Eyes wide as he stared down at the photo that Kraken held. no. No get your hands off that photo.]
"Give that back."
[He replied, tone almost robotic as he stared at Kraken, expression unreadable.]
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atimesfeeler · 2 days ago
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I loved @twilightkitkat 's post SO MUCH I just had to add to it. It reminded me of a fic I'm working on rn.
I especially liked the part with Vanessa because I don’t think she just left him because of the reason Wade thinks. She didn’t just want him to be a superhero or whatever- in the flash back, she’s begging him to open up to her, to be present, to let her help him and I don’t thinks Wade could do it.
He felt like, incorrectly, that he couldn’t burden her with it. He has so much baggage and pain and issues, and he can’t corrupt her with that. He had cancer and instead of spending his last days with her, he left her. And when he survived he avoided her until she was literally kidnapped.
Everyone thinks Logan runs but really Wade does. He doesn’t want the people he loves to know he’s in pain. At his birthday party, he’s obviously miserable but everybody’s together! And smiling! So he’s going to be happy and pretend he’s just fine. But he’s not even very good at hiding it bc, like mentioned before, it’s a little bitter. His jokes don’t land or they come out passive aggressive and tense. But nobody calls him out for it except Logan. Logan who tells him in the meanest way that he’s a clown but that he’s sad, pathetic, and attention starved. He’s not buying the clown act.
And when Logan moves in, I love the idea that he starts noticing Wade when his mask falls or he gets too tired to pretend.
I’m writing a fic where Wade deals with chronic pain in less healthy ways and, of course, he tries to hide it. It's more brief and censored on tumblr bc I don't want to get my account terminated again, but it will be more detailed on ao3.
He dealt with it in other ways. The pain.
After all, a little bit of death couldn’t hurt, right?
Treating himself gently only sometimes worked. If he did everything right, if he did all the steps then maybe, maybe it would ease up. Sleep well, wake up at the right time, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, draw a scalding bath, and take some hard hitting drugs.
Most days, Wade was much more impatient. Most days, Wade failed. It was too hard to take care of himself when waking up felt like dragging himself up from glacier water and pounding on the underside of the ice. Cooking was a nightmare he didn’t even want to consider tackling, and he was rarely patient enough to wait for the bath to fill or for sleep to take him as his body wracked with pain.
There were faster, easier, more instant ways of relieving the pain.
Any pain that didn’t stem from his own body was good.
With Vanessa, Wade had tried the healthy way. The three meals, ten hours of sleep, and taking his vitamins. The whole mile. There was this urge he constantly resisted that told him it would release the tension in his skull if he carved under his eye into his cheek where the migraine pulsed, like he was some sort of fucked up carpenter with voices in his head.
Vanessa didn’t understand it. If he was in pain, why would he want to be in more? She understood his masochistic tendencies in bed where they mixed pain and pleasure, but just pain? Just harm for the sake of being harmed? They got into a lot of fights about it.
He resisted the attempts. Hid them from her where he could. Sometimes he’d miscalculate, and she’d walk into the bathroom before he could heal and clean up his brain splattered on the bathroom tile. She hated it, and Wade hated that he was hurting her.
He reeled back any anger or snippy comments that stemmed from the sheer newness of having his body feel like it was dying all the time. It was so hard to interact when pain rippled through him like a feedback chamber. It made his fuse short and curt. His witty remarks turned snappish and bitchy. People asked stupid questions and made even stupider comments when he was having a Bad Pain Day, and everything felt a bit more raw and oozing. Wade didn’t have the energy to keep up the act and while his mind rarely stopped running, it shifted into something darker when pain was on his mind. His jokes fell flat, laced with a bitter ending. Sometimes, Wade didn’t even want to talk. He wanted to punch someone. Maybe even himself. And every time he snapped or said something he didn’t mean, he wanted to hurt himself even more.
Quickly, he grew exhausted putting on a brave face, and he had never been good at letting people help him. There was this awful clash of wanting to be comforted by the people he loved and hating that he needed comfort. It made him feel weak and pathetic, and Wade already hated so much about himself that he didn’t want anyone to see the twisted, fucked up parts of him. How ironic that he always had an audience anyway. He couldn’t hide it from you or whoever was watching him those days, but he could hide it from the people he loved. Shield them from it, almost.
On Bad Pain Days, Wade didn’t want anything to be different. He didn’t want to acknowledge the pain he dealt with, and seeing that pity on her face set his teeth on edge. It both hurt to be babied and, later, it hurt to be ignored when he stubbornly insisted he was fine.
Obviously, it didn’t work out.
It was better with Al.
Al tried to help. Once or twice. Her motherly instincts kicked in, maybe, Wade didn’t know. He shot himself once in front of her while they were watching the Bachelorette together, and she cursed him out and told him to stop and never do it again. Wade took his little attempts to the bathroom after that. He cleaned up after himself. He went out. Wade tended not to do the more dramatic methods that draw attention.
Wade had it down to a science. A decent chunk out of his frontal lobe sent Wade into a pleasant, almost subspace-like place. He would just… float and forget that his body hurt all that bad. It was good for Bad Brain DaysTM too when Wade’s thoughts were louder, faster than normal, and the voices stopped sounding like himself. When the fourth wall was a little too easy to see, and it got to him, being the doomed comic relief, when his head was trying to split his consciousness in two.
If his temporal lobe was nicked, then Wade would start hallucinating and hear a banger of a song while time, space, and movement sort of fucked up for a second. It felt like getting high, but he didn’t need an entire bag of cocaine and to hot box weed to get there.
If something happened to his parietal lobe, the pain wouldn’t know where to go. A bear could literally be eating his insides, but the pain signals couldn’t register if they had nowhere to go.
He did most of his questionable coping methods in the stereotypical bathroom spot. It was private, and Al got onto him for getting blood and bits all over the apartment. He once left his liver or his kidney in the kitchen sink, and Althea threatened to call the cops on him - her coke stash be damned. Now he’d drape himself in the empty tub, play music loudly, and expertly deal with the pain.
The system he had was fine. Regulated. It was working. It was fine. It wasn’t going to get any better.
Until Logan.
...
I haven't posted it on ao3 yet, but it will be apart of the series for my fic where Wade cries in the Honda instead of fighting.
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wholoveseggs · 2 days ago
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How I look camping ⛺️ your page everyday waiting for you to post… like your writing is so good and I’m so obsessed with it. 💜 But about Kol and I guess the other Mikaelson boys (minus Finn),, they’re all scary in their own ways.
With Klaus he’s scary because of his rage and his plans,, you can immediately tell when he’s angry because he makes it known through his throwing things and shouting.
For Elijah, he’s calm and collected and that’s what makes him scary, you don’t know how he’s truly feeling or going to react because he hides it so well. I don’t remember the exact scene but it was in the originals I believe where you could like see the rage on his rage and that too is scary because he’s so angry in that moment that he isn’t even attempting to hide that rage.
For Kol (my love), he’s a wild card, a loose cannon. He can be violent but he can also be gentle as seen with his relationship with Davina. I just think his personality is so fun and intriguing. There is absolutely no reason for a vampire, an original at that to be using a baseball to beat people but he does just because he can?? does this make me crazy?? maybe a bit?
a common misconception i see a lot is when Kol is undaggered and Klaus backs away from him. this is for two reasons… yes, i believe Klaus was nervous of Kol being awake again because he knows his brother is a loose cannon but also because it meant that the others were likely awake as well and perhaps he could fight one of them but he definitely couldn’t find all of them at once.
no matter though because both Kol and Klaus can admit that Elijah is the “scariest” so your love wins that contest~ 💜
Hello again darling camping anon! I have so much to say on this subject.... like SO MUCH. So buckle up.
I think the fundamental difference between the three of them is how they react to and experience control. It's simultaneously an emotion, a situation and a choice. And something that all three of them couldn't really have growing up.
They are all victims of domestic violence, and each one is dealing with it differently. (And not in a healthy way at allllllllll. They absolutely continue the cycle of abuse...)
First we have Klaus, (The iconic little shit that he is)
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He clings to control like a lifeline. Being the most helpless as a boy, he has always felt that if he was stronger, had more power, he could keep those around him safe. He believes that the only way he can feel safe is if he's in control. So, in his mind, any time someone takes that from him, they are actively trying to harm him. He will fight for control over everything and anything. His family, his city, his art and (most importantly) his life. His need to control the narrative around him and keep his secrets, is born out of the trauma and fear that his father instilled in him. His rage is born out of his own sense of helplessness.
Joseph Morgan does an excellent job of conveying that pain. Klaus is always a bundle of anxiety and panic and fear, no matter how he's acting. He's hyper vigilant and constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone or something to try and control him again. It's why he clings so desperately to control, because he never wants to be made a victim again.
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Second we have Elijah, born after the loss of Freya. I've always viewed him as a tragic character, who seems to be nobody's favorite in the family, but also the glue that holds them together. He's burdened with being the adult in the room. I can imagine that Esther's grief and guilt around losing Freya sort of imprinted on to him. She probably saw him as a replacement for the daughter she lost, putting all this pressure on him to be perfect, while simultaneously giving him no agency to be his own person. His entire childhood was spent either protecting his siblings or taking care of his mother's emotional needs. (This also applies to Finn, who i'll talk about later)
His relationship with control is nearly equal to Klaus'. He's always been a peacemaker, the level headed, calm brother. Always trying to bring harmony between his siblings. And while he has a much different way of expressing his feelings, he is a victim of the same violence that the rest are.
But, what makes him the scariest is the fact that his anger is silent. Elijah doesn't show his emotions, he represses them. And then when his control snaps, it's like a damn bursting. You don't see it coming, because he's so good at hiding his anger (& all of his other feelings). But when it's there, you feel it. And it's terrifying. Because his anger is fueled by pain and a lifetime of having to be strong. It's a glimpse at a deep well of pain that you realize he has been hiding all along.
Daniel Gillies absolutely nails this simmering rage with his eyes. Somehow that man can convey every single emotion without saying a word. When he looks at his family, or a person he cares for, there is this warmth and kindness. But when he looks at a person he is angry at, a person who has hurt someone he cares about, you can see the light almost dim, and his eyes will become cold and dark. You can feel the danger and rage in them. It's a delight to watch.
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Third we have Kol, who is a complicated and messy character. Kol was born into a family that already had a system and a hierarchy, and he was pushed aside and ignored. Nobody's favorite, nobody's first choice. He grew up angry and frustrated, feeling unloved and unheard. He looks to his older brothers and their relationship with control, and takes the proverbial baseball bat to it. If they couldn't love him the way he needed them to, then he would make sure that they would at least remember him. So he becomes the black sheep, the outcast. He's wild and chaotic, doing whatever he can to get attention. He doesn't really care about control, because he never had any growing up. I have always viewed his bloodlust as an allegory for addiction. His response to the violence of his youth is to numb the pain with the rush of adrenaline and power. To take from others what was taken away from him.
His rage is the loudest and the quickest to come to the surface. He's not one to stew, he's quick to fight and fast to burn. Which is why his relationship with Davina is so good for him. She loves him the way he needs, and rightfully calls out his bad behavior. As gross as it sounds, she's kind of the mother figure that his actual mother never was. (IM SORRY I KNOW ITS VERY FREUD OF ME .... BUT AM I WRONG????)
I'm not going to bash any acting... But I think Daniel Sharman captures Kol much better. His complicated relationship with death, control and magic is portrayed beautifully. Especially the scene where he is dancing with Davina before he dies. It shows real growth on his part, no longer the baby brother, no longer the victim and the victimizer. In that moment he's the protector, trying to shield his girl from grief. And it always makes me tear up ...
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(This scene always makes me laugh, I truly believe Elijah is the funniest character)
And last, we have Finn. Who I love to make the butt of the joke here on this blog. But I do have a few things to say about his character.... Which is.... He isn't really a character. But an object.
They drag the poor man out to show the audience what bad thing can happen to an original. First with his death in TVD, teaching everyone about the white oak stake and sirelines. Second in TOG with Lucians deadly bite. He's just... Not written to be liked.. and it's never really explained why they kept him daggered for 900 years.
And with Finn... there is no control or lack thereof, because he has no agency. And his rage comes from the fact that he is a man out of time, with no one who cares about him.. And it makes his character all the more sad and pathetic.
They make him this bitter, angry villain. Trying to kill his niece, and they never justify exactly why. I think fear of Dahlia is a piss poor excuse. I would rather he lean into revenge for being daggered than trying to hold onto his righteous nonsense.
(But lets be so real here... its because the writers didn't want to give him any depth. They didn't want us to get overly attached, so they could use him as a low-stakes original vampire that demonstrates the actual deadliness of a weapon or person)
But!!!! Yusuf Gatewood is the absolute GOAT and his portrayal of Finn and his rage is just delicious. He almost reminds me of like a rabid preacher, the way he spits out his hatred and bitterness. But it's so fun and I enjoy it every time.
Anyways.... Sorry to hijack your message lol.. I just love to psychoanalyze crazy fictional men!
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impval · 1 day ago
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i wanna ruin our friendship
Queen Maeve x fem! healer reader
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Blood, bones, organs, all of that. You could cut through a body without a second thought, and you do, because it was the only way to heal. Vought loves to market you as the shy healer who gets easily flustered, but behind closed doors, there is nothing shy about you.
You and Maeve had known each other for years. Ever since she had first been assigned to The Seven, you had been the one to tend to her injuries after missions. Her usual cynical humour mixed with your own just perfectly.
Healers is nice and humble? No. You'd confront idiots even if they were Supers. There were times when Maeve had to physically stop you from arguing with someone - a Supe, a human, even another member of the Seven. You were so brave, it almost made her jealous.
It's surprising, how caring Maeve can be.
She tries so hard to make you take care of yourself - bringing you healthy food, asking you to go to sleep, arguing with you because of your constant caffeine intake. Deep down, Maeve is the softest person you've ever met. She just doesn't show it to anyone else.
She was your friend. Your best friend.
The soft hum of conversations and light laughter filled the room, mixing with the sound of the musicians playing in the corner.
It was a typical Vought party, flashy and over the top, but also strangely artificial in a way. Everyone was dressed to impress, the elite of society all gathering together under the guise of celebrating some meaningless event.
It was a strange situation - here you were, a healer, someone who devoted whole life to saving and helping... drinking whiskey and surrounded by a egotistical assholes who didn't look twice at the collateral damage. The party was loud and obnoxious, and the two of you did best to stay out of it, hiding away in a secluded corner.
Maeve downs another mouthful, wiping a alcohol from her lips with her sleeve. She glances sideways at you, raising a hand to wave at a bartender. Maeve's mouth quirks a half-smile. "You know, you probably know more about everyone's bodies here than I do."
Maeve had a reputation: she'd sleep with pretty much anyone and discard them just as quickly.
She watches with an amused smile as you take the glass and throw it back like it was nothing. "Gross." you give her a smirk. "Even Starlight?"
You'd always like to tease her about the 'mentor and student' thing that she had with Starlight. Hell, you even joked about her motherly instincts kicking in. And you loved to read the fan fiction that the shippers made, laughing at just how close it got to reality sometimes.
The other Supers avoided the medical wing like the plague, but for Maeve it was like a second home, somewhere she could relax, and just be herself. Most of the time, she'd just lounge around, watching you work - sometimes helping you if you needed an extra pair of hands or support.
"Please stop reading that stuff. It's ridiculous." she'd mutters, shaking her head.
"Hey, hey, this is mercy compared to what I could tease you about," you'd joke, gesturing with your hands. "There's some crazy stuff on here about you and Starlight, you know."
Maeve saw how precise your hands were. How soft and careful they were. She thought about how, if you touched her - really touched her - what it would feel like. She'd spend hours in the medical room simply watching you work. Seeing the way you poured yourself into your work and she knew that your hands only ever gave. But all her touch ever did was take.
But Maeve soon diverts her attention back to the glass in her hand, taking a long, desperate swig of whiskey.
"All better than Homelander."
Well, fair.
The alcohol is beginning to have a noticeable effect on her; her eyes are a softer shade, her movements are a little more carefree, her tongue is a little looser.
When the bartender moves to pour her another drink, you shake your head. "I don't even want to look at your liver. And I definetly don't want to treat it either."
It was always a strange sensation to hear you use that commanding voice. You looked so soft and harmless, it was easy to forget how much power you actually had.
Maeve sighs, putting down her empty glass and watching as the bartender walks away. A part of her is tempted to reach out for the bottle and pour herself another, but she resists the urge. You're right, of course. You've seen the condition of her liver during check ups. You heal her all the time.
"Are you going to force me to be sober all night now then?" Maeve took out a cigarettes, lighting it with a practiced motion. It was almost hypnotic the way she smoked - a small moment of art in the midst of the conversation.
"I just don't want you to whine about Elena all night. Again." You didn't want to discuss Elena at all. If you had a masochistic side, you'd have joined the closed parties for Supes.
For fuck sake, you'd had your fair share of dealing with all kinds of injuries.
Maeve blew smoke right in your face, bitch. "I don't do it that often, don't be dramatic."
But the look on your face clearly indicates the bullshit you think that is. And she knows it. "Okay, okay, maybe I do it a little bit often. But it's just..." she sighed heavily.
Maeve's mind drifts to Elena, and how that relationship ended. Homelander's interference, her own emotional baggage. It was a painful memory.
Well, you could understand where Elena was coming from - Maeve was complex, guarded, and could be so fucking hard to reach at times. But a small, petty part of you couldn't help but think to yourself -
I could have treated Maeve better
"You know, maybe you should just try dating someone else." you posed the question half-jokingly, pretending as if it wasn't a big deal to you. Just a friendly teasing.
The music in the background playing a familiar tune that you recognized from TikTok.
You never made any moves, though. How could you? Maeve was built like a Greek statue. And let's not even talk about your athletic abilities. The last time you played sports was back in high school, and you spent most of your time on the bench because of your asthma. So, she was out of your league.
"Oh, yeah, like it's fucking easy," Maeve mutters, rolling her eyes. "And who, exactly, do you suggest I date then? You got any suggestions, matchmaker?"
Your's smirk only grows, oh, its so fun to tease Maeve. "What about Starlight?"
Maeve rolls her eyes once again, her expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.
"Starlight? You read way too much fanfics. She's more like a little sister to me." she says, shaking her head. "Besides, Homelander would throw a fit if I even suggested that."
Gods, day when this fucker die will be the best day in your life. Bonus, if you see it yourself. "Exactly. Just imagine look at his face!"
You can't help but grin as you picture Homelander's face in your mind - that twisted, angry look he gets whenever something doesn't go his way. It's almost satisfying to imagine, to see that childish look as he throws a tantrum like a manchild he is.
"Okay, maybe it's a little satisfying to imagine." Maeve smirks, extinguishing her cigarette in the ashtray. It's a familiar sight - that smile, the way she looks at you.
And as usual, it makes your heart flutter just a little bit faster.
It was fun to imagine, a little rebellious fantasy between the two of you. But it was just that - a fantasy. Maeve knew that she could never truly do something so reckless and put Starlight's life at risk like that.
She sighs, shaking her head. "Besides, I don't think Starlight would be interested anyway. She's too young for me and straight," she says, jokingly.
What a shame. You lean closer, all soft and playful. "Oh, so you thought about it. Did fanfics set you on the right path?"
Maeve opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it again, knowing that she's been caught. "Once," she says, her tone defensive. "I read it once."
She would never admit it, but Maeve's late nights were spent scrolling through her phone as she read countless fanfics about her and you. The ones that portrayed it like it was a cliché romance movie, where everything was perfect. She would berate herself afterwards, scolding herself and calling herself pathetic for even thinking such things. But Maeve found herself doing it again and again.
You throw your head back and laugh, and Maeve can't help but stare at you. She loves the sound of your voice, the way you laugh so freely and unashamedly. It's a beautiful sight.
Maeve knows that she can't have it all. She's too broken for that. Too damaged. Too much.
Homelander's presence is a constant reminder of that.
So she'll have to settle for these small, quiet moments. The evenings she spent in the medical wing, the conversations at the bar, the brief moments of warmth and laughter.
It's not enough, but it's all she thinks she deserves.
"Having a good time, lovebirds?"
Oh, for fuck sake, just die already..
Maeve stiffens at the sound of Homelander’s voice behind her, her eyes narrowing as he approaches with a fake smile plastered on his face.
Homelander can see the way that the both of you stiffen - both of you, but especially you, and he smirks at the reaction. It's a familiar one, and it never ceases to amuse him, but you? You're a little different.
He looks you up and down, tilting his head to one side as if he's examining you. "Hey, I've wanted to talk to you for ages now," he says, leaning against the bar on your right. "You're the healer, right?"
Maeve glances at you out of the corner of her eyes, watching your expression sour at the sound of his voice. She sympathises - she's seen you patch up his collateral damage up close and personal more than once. And she knows how much that psycho pisses you off.
A part of her would pay good money to see your reaction if Homelander ever showed up in your medical wing, begging for healing.
Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen. But if it does, you gladly let him die.
"You could have talked to me sooner if you had come to the medical wing at least once." you remain calm and composed. Cold, even.
That seems to take him off guard - not that he shows it - but you can tell by the way his eyes narrow that he wasn't expecting that response. "I don't need to go there," he says, leaning forward. "I'm invincible, remember? Nothing can hurt me."
But before you can open your mouth, the smug bastard interrupts you. "I've noticed that you two spend a lot of time together. Is there someone you're hiding from us, Maeve? A little girlfriend, maybe?"
Your eyes meet Maeve's for a brief moment, the look in them clear: don't rise to the bait.
Homelander's smirk only grows when he sees you look at each other, but Maeve's jaw tightens. She knows he's trying to get a reaction out of her, and it's taking all her willpower not to give it to him.
"So?" she replies, her tone nonchalant. "We're coworkers. We're allowed to be friends."
Homelander looks between the two of you once again, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He's caught onto the fact that the two of you spend a lot of time together, and he wants to know why.
"A coworkers?" he repeats, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're telling me… that there's nothing going on between the two of you?"
"Are you a shipper or something?" you bare your teath at smile.
The music changes, transitioning to a more romantic tune that's more fitting for couples. Couples that are twirling and fucking dancing.
Homelander made sure that Maeve remained alone. A supe as strong as her? The Queen Maeve? There was no way he'd allow her to be with someone he wasn't in complete control of. You hated him.
"I just want what's best for her," a sickly-sweet smile on his face, but eyes narrow again as he sees your lips twitch.
He has no clue that you're scaning him with your power right now. You get a glimpse of his internal structure, noticing how he's built entirely differently from regular humans, even from others Supes. His organs. His muscles. He's been built to be as durable as possible. And then you notice...
Enlarged prostate. Not fatal, sadly, but still, someone gets old? You struggle to hold your amused smirk in check as you see it, a small little imperfection in his perfect form.
You weren't afraid of Homelander. Fuck, you wouldn't bat an eye at facing him. The only reason why you hadn't really seen him in all this time was because Maeve had begged you to stay away. She knew better than anyone that your sharp tongue would get you killed, and so you'd remained out of the way.
But now Maeve can see the look on your face, she's witnessed it many times before. She knows you're on the verge of saying something you probably shouldn't, something snarky, and stupid.
Homelander opens his mouth again to speak, but Maeve beats him to it.
"May I have this dance?"
The music is loud, and the whole room is watching as Maeve holds her hand out to you, asking you a question that you never thought she'd ask.
Everything stops.
Your eyes widen in shock - the Queen Maeve, wanting to dance? It's rare enough to see her interacting with someone else outside her little group, but dancing? With you, of all people?
She looks so bold, so confident that, for a moment, you find yourself frozen. Even her hand trembles, giving away her anxiety, but she keeps her hand extended in invitation to you.
Homelander looks dumbfounded, his arrogant smirk faltering as Maeve stands up. He wasn't expecting that response; he'd thought she'd been drinking too much, or that she'd simply roll her eyes and tell him to get lost.
But she didn't.
Even Maeve is surprised by her own boldness. She's always been impulsive and spontaneous, especially when it comes to you, but dancing? At a Vought party, right in front of Homelander, no less?
For once, you're stunned into silence. You were used to danger - you'd healed people in life-or-death situations, you'd argued with Supers who could kill you in an instant. And you find that you can't do anything but nod, your mouth suddenly dry as you reach out to accept her hand.
She can feel your heart racing in your chest, the beat matching the thump, thump, thump of her own. But none of that is as important as the look in your eyes - and the effect it's having on you.
What Maeve's just done is a big deal. She never wanted to appear too close to you in public. Sitting together at the bar, or in the hospital wing was one thing, but this was entirely different.
Maeve puts her hand around your waist and leads you gently onto the dance floor, the music filling the room and blocking out the noise of the crowd, leaving the two of you in your own private little sphere.
"You always say I'm the reckless fool," you point out, a nervous smirk tugging at your lips. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"
You know what her body looks like, every inch of it. You've seen scars, old and new, and all her muscles and every bit of skin. So this shouldn't be something special.
But it is.
Despite how calm she tries to look, you know Maeve well enough to see curses going through her mind, but your friend is too damn stubborn to give in now. So she just glares at you, the hint of a frown on her lips, as the two of you start dancing.
The lighting is dim enough to give the room a hazy, romantic feel. There's a faint scent of alcohol on Maeve's breath and her armor feels cool against your skin as she grips your hips, pressing you up against her. You force yourself to look into her eyes as she stares back at you.
"I didn't know you could dance" It's as if all of your usual walls and boundaries have gone. She doesn't think she's ever seen you look so flustered. So exposed.
The look in your eyes was almost too much for Maeve. They were filled with a mixture of emotions, but most of all, there was a look of deep, painful longing. She hadn't allowed herself to think of this before, not with you. You were her friend, the one part of her life that wasn't touched by pain.
With your eyes fixed on hers, Maeve pulls you closer into her arms, moving your hips along to the music. Your faces are almost touching, if she moved just slightly, she'd be able to kiss you.
No one has ever touched you like that. Not just in a romantic sense, but with such tenderness and care, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You've caught Maeve looking at you before, and you've seen the looks she's given you - but you always dismissed it, thinking that it was just a friend thing.
Maybe it's the circumstances. So much is going wrong that she's tired, so tired -
And you're there. You always have been.
"There's a lot you don't know about me," Maeve says in response, her voice almost a murmur, her breath fanning over your skin.
This isn't her being friendly. Or a joke. Or a laugh.
No... this is Maeve being brave - being braver than she's ever been.
"Sounds like a challenge." such a cliché, friends to lovers.
But she wants to touch and hold and kiss you. Maeve can't believe she's thinking these things right now, here of all places.
She imagines what the feel of your lips against hers would be like- what your skin would feel like against her scarred, calloused hands. She imagines the way she'd kiss your neck, your shoulder, your-
No. These thoughts needs to stop. Before they go too far, before they get dangerous. Homelander's presence reminds her: she cares for you, a lot. But is it worth it if she can lose you? Lose her little safe bubble?
Everyone is terrified of Homelander, including her, but here you were, looking into her eyes with an expression of adoration. But here you are - not scared and dancing with her like there's no one else on the world but the two of you.
Being a healer meant witnessing everything. Every act of horror, every wrong thing supers do - it's all there for you to see, no matter how much you wish you could erase it. There was never a trace of fear in you, no matter who you were standing up to.
Maeve hadn't allowed herself to have any deep connections because she was afraid of heartbreak, of grief, but there was a voice in the back of her head, repeating over and over: Don't be a coward. Be brave.
The song comes to an end, but neither of you move to pull away from one another. You're still pressed up against Maeve, your chest almost flat against hers. She's staring down at you, her eyes searching yours as she tries to figure out what you're feeling.
There's no going back now - not with cameras flashing, people whispering - is this Ashley swears at background? - and your heart beating so hard, it feels as if it's in your throat. But even if Maeve decided to laugh this off, to turn it into a joke (girls being pals, right?), the Internet would still explode with photos of this dance between the two of you.
And this... this actually helped her to be braver than she's ever been before.
With your heart hammering so violently in your chest, you barely register the words she whispers in your ear, but the meaning isn't lost on you.
She doesn't want to be a coward. Doesn't want to be terrified of Homelander.
If you agree, that is. With her. With this.
And god, you want this. You've fantasised this scene a thousand times; Maeve confessing her feelings, telling you that she wants to be more than friends, but it's real now.
Everything else - the noise of the party, the cameras, Homelander's fury - it all fades into the background as you kiss her.
It's gentle and soft, chaste, but it still makes her head spin. You're kissing her, in front of a room full of people, and you're doing it like it's the simplest thing in the world.
People are talking, whispering and looking, Ashley is probably gonna lose the more of her hair after this (you'll have to give her an heal in compensation), and Homelander is no doubt furious, but none of that matters.
There's nothing in her mind, but you - the feel of your body in her arms, the taste of your lips, and the way your heart beats against her chest.
It's wonderful to finally be brave.
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lumiolivier · 20 hours ago
Text
Treasures and Tragedies
Series: One Piece
Chapter: One Shot
Word Count: 7476
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Cross Guild x Reader (YN)
It's Crocodile's week to have you all to himself. It's getting to the end of the week...and you feel more like it's getting to the end of your life...
You wanted to hide.  It wasn’t often you wanted to hide away from your boys, but today was a day to hide.  You were up in the middle of the night while Crocodile kept an arm around you, making sure his hook was out for the world to see.  Just in case someone were to make their final mistake.  And you knew then something wasn’t right.  Something didn’t feel right.  Any other night, Crocodile would have you drenched in sweat.  The man was a space heater.  Of everyone you slept with on a regular basis, you didn’t need much for blankets with Crocodile.  But that was the thing.  You couldn’t get warm to save your life.
You carefully slipped out of Crocodile’s grasp and made your way toward the bathroom.  If he asked, you got up to pee.  Nothing to bring attention to yourself.  Nothing he would ask questions about.  Everything would be fine.  But when you got to the bathroom, you gripped onto the sink for dear life.  Your short walk from the bed to the bathroom was enough to turn your legs to jelly.  And if that wasn’t enough to turn your already not great stomach, the room decided to start moving on its own, too.  You knew it.  Deep down in your heart, you knew.  You were getting sick.
And in your throat.  And your lungs.  And anything else that decided to reject its existence.  If it could hurt, it did.  And it was utter hell.  But not nearly as much hell as you’d be in if the men in your life were to find out.  As much as it’d suck, you dragged yourself down the hall to your room, leaving Crocodile alone in the bed you both once shared.  That’s when you finally felt safe.  And proceeded to violently throw up in your own bathroom.  After you were done, you violently shook on the cold ceramic.  Your chills made your back tighten up and in that moment, you wished for the sweet release of death.
“I do not envy you…”
You jumped at the unexpected voice floating above you, “Perona, what the hell are you doing in here?”
“You think I didn’t hear you yakking in here?” Perona perched herself on the edge of your bathtub, “How are you sick?  Don’t the boys keep you wickedly healthy?”
“Mostly,” you gently nodded, “But regardless of how great my immune system is, even I can still get sick.”
“Poor baby…” Perona put a hand to your back, “You need to get back to bed?”
“Mmhm…”
“Here,” Perona helped you onto your feet and held you steady while you shuffled back to bed, “You want me to wake Mi-”
“No!” you pleaded, a few coughs escaping your throat, “Perona, no.  Please.  I know your heart is in the right place, but please.  Don’t tell anyone I’m sick.  Don’t tell Mihawk.  Don’t tell Buggy.  Don’t tell Crocodile.  Just keep this between us.  As far as you know, I caught my period before I could stain the sheets, so I just came in here.  All I need is to get some sleep.  The more I can get, the quicker I’ll get better.  I do not need to have the boys hovering over me and treating me like I’m going to break if they look at me cross eyed.  I don’t need that.  Please, Perona, if you love me even a little bit, you’ll keep your mouth shut about me being sick.”
“I won’t say a word,” Perona promised, “But you know how they are with you.  Someone’s bound to find out eventually.  Even when you’re not sick, they’re up your ass in some way.”
“Yeah,” you grumbled, “I know.  But they’re going to have to not be clingy with me today.  Just let me get back to sleep.”
“Alright,” Perona let it go, “Is there anything I can get for you?  Do you need anything?”
“I’ll be alright,” you crawled into your bed and got comfortable.  As much as you could at that point, “But thank you, Perona.  If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Alright,” Perona left you alone to get your rest. 
And as much as you trusted her, you had a feeling she was going to say something to someone.  To the wrong person.  And you were going to end up having someone on your ass about being sick.  But you shut your eyes and left that to be a problem for future you.  For now, you were going back to sleep.  And praying to all things holy and unholy that once you were awake, you would feel a million times better and this was just a weird dream.
When you started to come to again, you heard assorted chatter at your bedside.  And a cool washcloth on your forehead.  You didn’t remember putting that there last night.  Not when you fell asleep almost immediately after your head hit the pillows.  But you had to retrace your steps.  You had your conversation with Perona.  You felt like you were going to die.  You were miserable and frozen, but you were appropriately wrapped up in blankets.  Nowhere in there did you remember putting anything to your forehead.  Nor do you remember inviting company.
“And she wakes…” The second your eyes opened, you knew you were screwed, “Good morning, Princess.”
“Mmm…” you sunk down into your blanket cocoon, the sun shining far too brightly from the window.
“You don’t ever wake up before I do,” Crocodile’s hook ran down your cheek, “And on the off chance you do, you don’t ever come in here.  Which begs the question…”
“What brought you in here, darling?” Not only were you screwed, but you were double screwed.
“I…” your voice gave you away.  You couldn’t write this off on a period.  That didn’t mean you weren’t going to try, “I got my period last night.  And I came in here.”
“You don’t get your period until the end of my week, doll.” Scratch that.  You were triple screwed.
“So,” Crocodile thought, “Other than that fever of yours, what brings you into your room?”
“I’m not running a fever,” you lied through your teeth, “It’s just freezing in here.”
“No,” Mihawk swapped out your washcloth, “Try again.”
“Alright.” Because you didn’t have the energy to fight them anymore, “I came in here last night.  I threw up a bunch.  I went back to bed.  Happy?”
“I think I can speak for everyone,” Buggy sat on your bed, “No.  Not at all.”
“Why didn’t you tell us, YN?” Crocodile asked, “At the very least, me.  Hell, I was right there.”
“Because I knew this would happen,” you brushed them all off, “Because I knew you three would blow it out of proportion and, cough, cough, I don’t need that.”
“We’ve never blown anything out of proportion when it comes to you, treasure,” Mihawk cradled your cheek in his palm, “And you’re staying right here until you’re better.  If we have to, we’ll be the ones to make sure you get that way.”
“He’s right,” Buggy agreed, “You’re precious to us, too.  You’re falling apart at the seams, doll.  We can take care of you, too.”
And that’s what worried you.  But you’d be lying if you said your boys coming together for your sake didn’t warm your heart a little bit, “Alright.  I’m not going to fight it.  But you three have to make me a promise right here, right now.”
“Anything, Princess,” Crocodile insisted, “What do you need?”
“You don’t hover,” you ordered, “I know you three are going to try and give me the world and it’s only going to wreck yourselves in the process.  It’s not worth it.  Got it?”
The three of them shared a glance that always put a knot in your stomach.  You weren’t sure if it was a good one or a bad one, but you knew that look.  Deliberation amongst the three of them.  You always thought they could read each other’s minds, but it was scarier yet.  They read each other’s faces.  They could have a full conversation without you hearing a word out of any of their mouths.  But they did eventually come to an agreement.
“Alright, YN,” Mihawk nodded, “Understood.  But we have demands of our own, too.”
“Come on, Mihawk…” you whined, stirring up another bout of coughing, “I’m sick.  Aren’t I the one who gets to be making those demands?”
“In this case, no,” Mihawk put his foot down, “We’re essentially the only doctors you have here, darling.  If there’s anything we decide you need, you’re getting it.  Whether you want it yourself or not.  Can we all agree to that?”
“Mmmm…” you groaned, burying yourself deeper in your blankets.
“Buggy,” Crocodile ordered, “Go call a supply ship and make an order.  You know what we need.”
“On it,” Buggy left a little kiss on your forehead and took off for the office. 
“Mihawk,” Crocodile began his declarations, but he was quickly shut down with one look from Mihawk.  He knew better than to bark orders at Mihawk.  He wasn’t overly thrilled about it, but he understood.  Regardless of the Cross Guild setting up shop here, it was still Mihawk’s house.  Crocodile didn’t respect many people in this world, but he could respect Mihawk, a fellow warlord who more than earned his station.  And if not for that fact, it was because of you.  Seeing the respect and admiration you had for Mihawk made it contagious.  The only thing Crocodile didn’t respect was the furniture.
“You need me for something, Crocodile?” Mihawk asked, not a drop of condescension in his tone.  Because that respect was mutual.  No matter how much they may occasionally bicker.  Besides, that’s what they had Buggy for.  Buggy was where their irritations went. 
“No,” Crocodile shook his head, “We’ll let YN get some more rest.  I’ll take the first shift with her.  Go ahead and do what you need to.  If anything at all.”
“Thank you for your permission,” Mihawk retorted, already on his way out.  But not before leaving you with a soft little kiss on your forehead, “If you need anything, darling, don’t hesitate to ask.  Any of us.”
“Thank you, Mihawk…” you shut your eyes for a moment or two before you were right back to sleep.  But you knew something was going to happen.  There was no way you were going to be left alone for the day.  You weren’t going to get that lucky. 
Still, you felt like you were dying.  So, what if your boys felt like doting on you a little bit?  That was their prerogative.  And even though it got under your skin, it was nice to know someone cared.  It was nice to have several someones care.  And you loved them for it.  And if it wasn’t obvious before, they loved you, too.  More than anything in the world.  And it would show no more than when you were sick.
A little later in the day, when you woke up from your first nap, you felt another wave of nausea hit you.  And it hit hard.  When you opened your eyes, you noticed Crocodile taking a nap in your chair.  A cup of tea sat on your nightstand, but things were about to get messy.  As much as you wanted a drink from that tea (that was likely still a little warm), you went straight to your bathroom and proceeded with another round of violent retching that, much like it had earlier that morning, left you shaking again.
“YN?” And you may have woken up Crocodile in the process, “You ok, Princess?”
“Do I look like I’m ok?” you glared up at him from the floor, your head resting on the toilet seat.
“I asked a question,” Crocodile’s tone shifted, “I didn’t ask for you to snap at me.”
“Crocodile,” you sighed out, “Sweetheart, I love you.  You know I do.  But right now, I am not going to be sunshine and lollipops.  Do forgive me.”
“I know, I know,” Crocodile scooped you up into his arms.  And you reveled in his warmth, his strength.  You wanted nothing more than just a little time with Crocodile.  Just to be close.  If this is what it meant every time you were to go throw up, then so be it.  When he put you back down in your bed, he noticed the tears rolling down your cheeks, “What’s that all about?”
“What?” your voice broke.  Was it because you were just throwing up or was it something else?  You hardly realized you were crying.
“No…” Crocodile sat on your bed and let you curl back up in his arms, “No, no, no…What’s the matter, YN?”
“I don’t know…” you wept.  Even though you were perfectly aware.  You didn’t want Crocodile to go.  You didn’t want him to go back to your chair.  You wanted him right there.  You wanted him to be within arm’s reach.  You wanted him to be around you.  And just the thought of him walking out of the room kicked your tears up even worse.  Which only made your coughing even worse than that.
“Must be your fever,” Crocodile put a hand to your forehead, “Still kind of high.  But I think it’s breaking.  We’ll call that a win.”
“Please,” you clung to him, your tears soaking through his shirt, “Don’t go.  Please…Don’t leave me.”
“Shh…” Crocodile ran his hand through your hair and down your back, “Don’t you worry, Princess.  I’m not going anywhere.  I got you.  But you’re due for another round of medicine soon.  And you know what that means?”
“Hmm?”
“That means I’m going to hand you off to either Buggy or Mihawk,” Crocodile gently broke the news to you, “I’m not saying I’m leaving right now, but someone’s going to have to handle the supply ship when it comes in.”
“But you said I had medicine,” you remembered, “I thought we were out this morning.”
“That was this morning,” Crocodile pointed out, “YN, you’ve been out for a while.  We’ve had a supply ship come in already.  We’re waiting on another one.  There were some things we forgot the first time around.  I’ll take care of that one.  You’ll be alright with someone else.  I’m not sure who won that game of rock, paper, scissors, but you won’t be alone.  I promise.  Ok?”
“Ok.” You loved Buggy.  You loved Mihawk.  But right now, there’s no one you wanted more than Crocodile.
“It’s alright,” Crocodile assured you, “I’ll be back.  And if you need me, all you have to do is yell for me.  Ok?  You know I’ll come running.”
“Thank you,” you nestled your tear stained face into Crocodile’s ribs. 
“Of course, Princess,” Crocodile held you close, “Of course, I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.”
“Crocodile,” Mihawk stood in the doorway with a pair of tablets in his hands and a glass of water, “Buggy’s looking for his fishnets, so I have YN’s medicine.  I’ll take the next shift.”
“She’s a little clingy, Mihawk,” Crocodile wasn’t letting you go, “I appreciate you bringing her medicine, but I don’t think she’s going to let me go anywhere.”
“If that’s the case,” Mihawk put your water and medicine down on the nightstand got in your bed on the other side of you, “I guess I’ll just have to be here, too.”
“I got her, Mihawk,” Crocodile kept his arm around you, “Go ahead and do whatever.  I’m sure your protégé is looking for you for yet another futile sparring match.”
“No,” Mihawk pushed your matted hair out of your face, “He left a few days ago.  I’m surprised you didn’t get your own licks in.”
“With the rest of the Straw Hats here?” Crocodile laughed, “No.  I don’t have a death wish.  And I’m sure if I even thought about going near their captain, your son, but not your son would be the first to drive the nail in my coffin.”
“Hey, guys?” you spoke weakly, hoping to break up the potential fight brewing between them, “Can we not talk about dying when I actually feel like I’m dying?  That’d be wonderful.”
“I’m sorry, darling,” Mihawk left a little kiss on top of your head, “We didn’t upset you, did we?”
“No,” you let a few coughs out, “But I really do feel like shit.  And I’d rather you two didn’t try to kill each other in my bed.”
“Alright,” Crocodile let it go, “But truly, Mihawk, go.  I have her handled.”
“Fine,” Mihawk got up from your bed, “If you need anything, YN, you know where to find me.”
“And I’ll probably send Crocodile to find you,” you giggled a little, “Because there’s no way in hell either one of you are going to let me get up for anything other than the bathroom.  And even that’s iffy.”
“Get some rest, darling,” Mihawk covered you up a little more, “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” you cracked a little smile and curled back up with Crocodile.  And you shut your eyes again.
But that’s when the medicine kicked in.  And your fever started to take hold of your brain and put it in a paint shaker.  When you shut your eyes and drifted off to sleep, your brain turned into colors.  Swirling shades of blues and greens and shades of gray only to have them fade into pinks and yellows and all the pretty colors of the sunset.  And you were perfectly content.  Until it turned.
Your beautiful, cold medicine and fever concoction turned violent.  The sunset went away and turned into black and red.  And an empty room with a cold, cement floor and red splatters all over the place.  You looked around the room and found a heavy chain around your wrist.  All while you noticed dead bodies on the floor still twitching.  A voice echoed through the room.  Your fault.  Your fault.  Your fault.  And it only got louder and louder until you finally realized who those bodies were.  And how you were soaked to the bone in blood that was not your own. 
“YN…” you felt your body shake, “YN, wake up…”
Your heart was about to beat out of your chest when your eyes opened back up.  Thankfully, still living and breathing, Crocodile held you tight, doing his best to get you to calm down.  But when you looked up at him, you felt the tears pouring out of your eyes, “Crocodile…You’re ok…”
“Of course, I am, Princess,” Crocodile pinned you to his chest and let you cry it out, “Of course, I am.  I’m not going anywhere.  You know that.  I’ve already shooed off Mihawk and Buggy and Perona today.  I told you before you fell asleep.  I am not going anywhere.  What happened?”
“I…” you wept, “I…I killed you…And Mihawk and Buggy.  Everything was so nice, but then…”
“Shhh…” Crocodile cradled you in his arms, making sure nothing could get to you ever again, “It’s alright, YN.  It’s alright.  It’s all over now.  You just had a little nightmare.  It’s ok.  It’s all done.  I promise.”
“I hate it,” you snarled, “I fucking hate it.”
“I know you do, sweetheart,” Crocodile settled you, “But it’s done now.  You don’t have to think about it anymore.  I know you’d never kill me.  You know you’d never kill me.  It’s ok.  I forgive you.”
“Really…?” your bloodshot eyes looked up at one of the men you loved more than anything and held so dear and most definitely didn’t want dead.
“Really,” Crocodile let you get comfortable in his shoulder, “You know, YN…It’s been a while since I held anyone like this.”
“When was the last time?” you wondered, not really seeing Crocodile as much of the cuddly type.  Except when you were involved.
“If we can keep it between us,” Crocodile began.
“Of course,” you swore.
“I had a baby like this,” Crocodile sighed out, getting lost in a nostalgic haze, “He was sick at the time, too.  His father was out looking for medicine, but there wasn’t much where we were at the time, so he had to go on an honest journey for the sake of finding a doctor who could get us some.  And he cried so much.  He hurt so much.  And of course, he didn’t fully understand what was going on, so that just made it worse.  And there was nothing more I could do.  Broke my heart to hear him scream like that.  But he did get better.”
“What happened to the baby?” you asked, nestling further into Crocodile’s embrace.
“He ended up going to live with his grandfather for a while.  And I didn’t see him for a long time until he popped up in Alabasta.  He doesn’t know how well connected we are, but…” You saw a strange sadness fall over Crocodile’s face.  Only for him to snap back into taking care of you mode, “That was a long time ago.  And nothing you need to worry about.  Just go back to sleep, ok, Princess?  We need to get you better.”
“And I will get better,” you cuddled into him, letting him know that with as much as he’s there for you, you’re there for him, too, “That’s what I got you for.”
“That’s right…” You didn’t know it, but you might have made Crocodile’s day with that statement, “Now, get some sleep or your next round of medicine is going in you as a suppository.”
“So demanding,” you giggled deliriously, “Maybe I want it that way.”
“You are a special kind of freak, YN,” Crocodile hugged you tight, “Just get some sleep.  Ok?”
“Okie dokie…” your delirium took over.  And then, your delirium took you under. 
When you started to come to a little while later, you felt yourself in someone else’s arms.  That was not Crocodile anymore.  And your heart immediately started racing.  Not only were you moved, but Crocodile was no longer there.  You thrashed and freaked until you realized the sound around you.  Splashing.  Water.  Bathroom.  Bathtub?  Bathtub.  Bathroom.  Your bathroom.  The same place you had thrown up earlier that morning.  What were you doing there?
“It’s alright, darling,” Mihawk cradled you in his chest, “It’s alright.  We didn’t want you slipping into the water and you had thrown up on yourself earlier.  You’re ok.”
Your heartrate started to settle and you became much more acutely aware of the horrendous taste in your mouth.  It was ok.  Everything was ok.  And yet, you had one question burning in your mind, “Where’s Crocodile?”
“Taking care of your sheets,” Mihawk told you, “I’m hoping this bath breaks your fever a little, too.  It’s almost there.  We just need it to drop another degree or two.”
“Ok…” You weren’t upset to be held by Mihawk.  But you missed Crocodile’s warmth around you.  You missed the softness.  You missed the tender way he held you…
“YN…?” Speak of the devil, Crocodile poked his head into your bathroom, “I thought I heard your voice in here.”
“I’m here…” you replied weakly, “Sorry for throwing up on you.”
“No need for that, Princess,” Crocodile brushed it off, “You didn’t even throw up on me.  Your bedding can’t say the same, but it’ll be alright.  That can be washed.  You can be washed.  And I’m sure Mihawk’s more than accommodated you in that respect.  Hasn’t he?”
“Yes, he has,” Mihawk nodded, “And everything has been entirely pure and innocent, Crocodile.  I’m not breaking any rules here.  She’s sick.  We’re taking care of her.”
“Everyone except Buggy,” Crocodile pointed out.
“Where is Buggy?” you wondered.
“I’m surprised he was with you as long as he was this morning,” Crocodile admitted, “The guy’s got a thing about germs and getting sick.  It’s the performer in him.”
“I think that’s the first time you called him a performer,” you giggled, letting a few coughs out, “instead of a narcissist.”
“Is he not a little full of himself?” Mihawk scoffed, “Come on, YN.  You know him, too.”
“Just a little,” you shut your eyes again, “But that’s ok.  I wouldn’t want him any other way.”
“Really?” Mihawk looked at you like you were on drugs.  But in your defense, you kind of were.
“Mmhm…”
“You’re delirious, Princess,” Crocodile got a towel for you and scooped you out of the water, “Come here.  Let’s get you back to bed.  As much as I love seeing you hot, wet, and naked, this isn’t the right context.”
“Love you, too, Crocy…” you rolled into the towel and got comfortable right where you belonged. 
Crocodile gave a grateful nod to Mihawk, who had to get his own towel.  Crocodile was a sweetheart to you.  But you were also you, “Crocodile?”
“What?” Crocodile turned on his heel.
“I know you’re going to bring her back to bed,” Mihawk thought, “But pray tell, which bed are you putting her in?  I’m sure hers hasn’t been properly cleaned yet.  And if it has, there’s no way it’s dry.”
“I have it all taken care of, Mihawk,” Crocodile rolled his eyes, “You think I don’t know how to take care of YN when she’s sick?  Or anyone for that matter?  I did it with him.  I’ll do it with her, too.”
Mihawk looked at Crocodile strangely, “Him who, Crocodile?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Crocodile kept a tight lip as he brought you back to your room.  However, you weren’t going to your bed.  Because as Mihawk suggested, there was still a wet spot on the edge of your bed where you were presumably laying when the incident went down.  No, no.  You were brought into Crocodile’s bed.  But you couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Crocodile,” you spoke softly, “Why are we here?”
“I’m not putting you back in your bed,” Crocodile gently lowered you back down to the mattress, “It’s still a little wet.”
“But what about you?” you wondered, “I don’t want you getting sick, too.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Princess,” Crocodile settled you, tucking you in his massive bed, “You just need to worry about getting better.  And even that, we have taken care of.  I’m going to get you a t-shirt, ok?”
“Ok.” You always did love sleeping in Crocodile’s t-shirts.  You always drowned in them and made you feel little and dainty.  Much like sleeping with Crocodile did.  He babied you.  And you weren’t mad about it.
“Here, sweetheart,” Crocodile came back with a gray t-shirt just for you and helped you in it, “Go back to sleep, ok?  I’ll go get your medicine and when I get back, you’re taking it.  Got it?”
“Yes, sir…” you gave him a little fake pout as you nestled down in his bed.  And after you popped your next round of medicine, you were back to sleep in Crocodile’s arms. 
**********
“Thank you for coming.  I know it was short notice.”
“Of course.  I have an obligation to help those who need it.  And clearly, she’s been in rough shape.”
“We’ve been doing all we can for her, but it feels like she’s not getting any better.”
“Well, she’s not running a fever anymore, so we can chalk that up as a win.”
Slowly, but surely, you opened your eyes when you felt a foreign pair of hands on your chest, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Excuse me?” the man stared you down, not sure if he wanted to cure you or kill you.  But then, you got a better look at him.  And for a brief moment, you forgot you were already in a committed relationship with three other men.  He was pretty…
“It’s alright, YN,” Mihawk assured you, sitting at your bedside with Crocodile, “I called for a doctor.  He showed up.  And he’s damn good at what he does.”
You knew those knuckles.  You’ve heard stories about those knuckles.  The word death tattooed across them.  And in your current condition, that wasn’t exactly comforting, “Trafalgar Law…”
“That’s me,” he nodded, “Look, I have some medicine on the ship.  By the looks of things, she just caught a tinge of the flu.  She’ll make it, but for the sake of nipping it in the bud, I’ll give her something.  Unfortunately, the quickest way for it to get through her system is intravenously.  Is that something we’re all good with?”
“Yes,” Mihawk agreed.
“Yes,” Crocodile wasn’t much different.
“Hold on.” You, on the other hand, weren’t exactly a fan of the word intravenous.  Intravenous meant needles.  Needles meant pain.  Pain meant you having a not good day.  And you were already miserable.
“No,” Crocodile took your hand, “I know it’s not going to be pleasant, YN, but it’s the quickest way to get you better.  If we agree to this, how long until she’d be a hundred percent again?”
“With a decent night’s sleep?” Law thought it over, “She’d probably be better by the morning.  Completely.  That doesn’t mean she won’t be still a little contagious.  So, I’d suggest the two of you still exercise caution around her.  While I’m getting her meds ready, I can set you both up with a heavy duty round of vitamin C.”
“If it means still being able to sleep with her tonight,” Crocodile thought, “It’s worth it.  Misery doesn’t ever mind a little bit of company, does it?”
“Nope,” you cuddled into Crocodile’s side, “Thank you…”
“I probably should, too, then,” Mihawk sighed out, taking your hand, “Besides, it’s, what, one little tablet?”
“If only,” Law started heading out of Crocodile’s bedroom, “So, that’s a round of peramivir for you and two bags of vitamin C.  A boring day of work, but they can’t all be a bloodbath.”
“Wait a second,” Mihawk started to piece things together, “Did I just sign up for needles, too?”
“You sure did,” Crocodile smirked, “What’s the matter, Mihawk?  Not a fan of needles?”
“I’m concerned for anyone who says they are,” Mihawk admitted, “But yes.  I might not be the biggest fan of needles.”
“Me either,” you took Mihawk’s hand.  Because even in your state, you weren’t going to stoop to Crocodile’s level.  They didn’t have to love each other, but they loved you more than anything, “But we’ll be alright…If it means me getting better and you and Crocodile not getting sick, we’ll get through it.”
“Then,” Mihawk suggested, “Shouldn’t we get Buggy involved, too?”
“No way in hell!” Buggy yelled down the hall, “You two were dumb enough to stick around!  I don’t need that!”
“There it is,” Crocodile found Buggy’s ear sitting behind the cigar box on his dresser.  He held it up to his mouth and let out a guttural growl, “Listen well, clown.  You ever bug my bedroom again and we will have a problem.  Do we understand?”
“Crocy…Baby…” Buggy got defensive, sending his mouth your way, too, “I wasn’t bugging your bedroom, per se.  I was worried about YN, too.  I just wanted to hear what the doctor had to say, too.”
“Then, get your ass in here…” Crocodile winged Buggy’s ear out the door, “Fucking clown…Why do we put up with him?”
But then, you saw a pair of cheeks fly into Crocodile’s room.  And you immediately knew what they were.  It made you laugh, but your laughter made you cough.  Still, it was enough to put a smile on your face.  And that’s all that mattered.  However, Crocodile and Mihawk weren’t nearly as amused as you were.  That didn’t mean they didn’t appreciate the sweet sound of your laughter.
“Buggy,” Mihawk held his face in his hands, “If you sent your literal ass into this room, my foot is about to go into it.”
“Are you threatening me with a good time, hawk eyes…?”
“Buggy!”
“Alright, alright!” Buggy retracted his floating hiney and let those sleeping dogs lie.
Although, when Law walked back in, he couldn’t help but scratch his head, “Did I just see a floating ass in the hallway?”
“We call her Perona,” you joked a bit, “Unless you were talking about Buggy’s ass.  Then, yes, you did.”
“Anyway,” Law just chalked it up to casual stupidity and held three bags in his hand and a few drip stands, “I need three arms out.”
“You mean, you need YN’s arm out,” Mihawk corrected him, “Right?”
“No,” Law shook his head, already prepping your arm for the IV, “I mean, I need three arms out.  Because once I got hers in, you two are getting it, too.”
“And,” Mihawk hoped, “You really don’t have it in some kind of pill form?”
“Not this strength,” Law told him, “The amount you two need is in these bags.”
“I can’t believe it,” Crocodile teased, “You’re really afraid of needles.”
“I’m human,” Mihawk snapped a bit, “Even I have fears and weaknesses…Just happens to be needles.  Fuck off, Crocodile.  No one asked you.”
“Are you going to be ok, YN?” Law asked, tuning the others out.
“Mmhm.” You weren’t thrilled about it either, but if it meant you getting better, then so be it.  You’d suck it up for just a moment or two.
“Are you sure?” Law kept your eye contact, “Because I know these aren’t always pleasant.”
“I don’t want to meet the person that finds genuine enjoyment in getting administered IVs,” you chuckled to yourself.
“Why’s that?” Law glanced over at Crocodile, knowing he was the rock in the room.
“Don’t get me wrong,” you admitted, “I’m no stranger to enjoying a little bit of pain from time to time, but it has to be in the right context.  It has to be cough, cough just the right amount.  There has to be an exit.”
“So,” Law assumed, “You’re into that sort of thing?  Because it sounds like you’ve experienced it a time or two before.”
“Look who I’m sitting between,” you rolled your eyes, “Two of the biggest sadists I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.  Of course, we’ve played around with pain before.”
“And would you look at that?” Law cracked a little smirk, “You’re already a quarter of the way through your bag.  Didn’t feel a thing, did you?”
“What?” you looked down at the needle stuck in your arm and the tube attached to the needle, “When did you do that?”
“Around the time you said you didn’t want to meet the sick weirdo that was into getting IVs,” Law pointed out, “I’ve worked with little kids before, YN.  I know how to distract better than anyone.  I bet I could keep Mihawk from passing out, too.”
“Really?”
“Really?” Mihawk rolled his eyes, “I don’t pass out.”
“Uh-huh,” Law scoffed, “You were just talking about how you had a fear of needles.”
“And?” Mihawk’s tirade continued, “What does that have to do with anything?  It’s like I said.  I’m human.  What?  Am I not allowed to have fears now?  Just because I’m a big, scary warlord means I’m somehow no longer allowed to have emotion?  Fine.  Then, I guess I’ll just sit here and be a stone.  I’m sorry, YN.  I can no longer love you.  And I can no longer get pissed when Crocodile puts scorch marks in my furniture.  And unfortunately, I also can’t draw delight from whenever you punt Buggy’s head down the hallway.”
“But you can shut up and take your vitamin C drip,” Law brushed him off, turning the nozzle on Mihawk’s bag, “I told you so.”
“What?” Mihawk finally realized there was something in his arm.  There was an IV in his arm.  There was a needle stuck in his arm.  And his vision started to go white, “See?  I told…I told you…”
And there he went.  His head flopped onto your shoulder while the vitamin C drip ran through his body.  And of course, Crocodile couldn’t leave that alone, “And I told you so.  How do you do that, Law?”
“I hold a little conversation,” Law explained, “Get someone going on a rant, they’re not going to give a shit about anything else that’s going on around them.  Easy.”
“Did you just treat me like a toddler?!” Mihawk clutched his chest.
“Are you throwing a tantrum like a toddler?” Law wasn’t dealing with it.  He was already out of his way.  He didn’t need to also deal with Mihawk pitching a fit, “Because if I wanted to deal with tantrums, I would’ve stayed with Doflamingo.”
“Maybe I should tell Doflamingo about this,” Mihawk threatened.
“But let’s be honest,” Law jabbed the needle in Crocodile’s arm.  Crocodile, who sat perfectly still and hardly flinched, “Do you really want to deal with Doflamingo?”
“I mean…” Mihawk admitted, “I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t fun to be a little catty with at World Government meetings.  But that’s as far as I really wanted to go with him.”
“You and me both,” Crocodile agreed.
“Now,” Law looked over at your bag that was sucked dry and gently pulled the needle out of your arm, “You’re going to get some more sleep.  By the time you wake up tomorrow morning, you should be alright again.  If you’re not, I’ll come back.”
“Ok,” you got comfortable again, “And since they’re both juiced up on vitamin C, does that mean I can still sleep with Crocodile tonight?”
“Are you serious?” Law stared blankly at you, “You’re still going to have sex with Crocodile in your condition?  Damn, YN.  I’m not sure if I’m impressed by your stamina or appalled at your stupidity.”
“No,” you held your face in your hands, “I meant sleep.  I’m not used to sleeping without another warm body in my bed.  I’d rather not do that.”
“Oh,” Law let it go, “Personally, I wouldn’t advise it, but if it’s alright with all involved, then go for it.  At your own risk.”
“Ok…”
“But…” Law chuckled to himself while Mihawk slumped down after his needle got pulled out, “I think you might need to make room in the bed for Mihawk, too.”
“Not a chance,” Crocodile shot that down immediately, “It’s my week.  Mihawk can wait his turn.  Mihawk, wake the fuck up and get out of my bed.”
Nothing.
“Looks like he’s done,” Law shook it off, “Crocodile, give me your arm.  You’re done, too.”
“The shit I do for you, YN,” Crocodile watched Law pull his needle out.
“Thank you…” And you love him for it, “Thank you, Law.”
“You’re welcome,” Law grabbed his things, “I suggest putting Mihawk somewhere comfortable.”
“That isn’t here,” Crocodile added, scooping Mihawk into his arms, “YN, I’ll be right back, ok?”
“Ok,” you could already feel your eyes getting a little heavier.  All you wanted now was some sleep.  And the fact that you had that pretty doctor taking care of you didn’t hurt. 
“Knock, knock…” Although, while Crocodile was busy putting Mihawk to bed, you had a special visitor, “How you feeling, doll?”
“Hi, Buggy,” you smiled a bit, “Well, I still feel like shit, but I think I’ll make it.  Full recovery.”
“That’s good to hear,” Buggy wasn’t moving from the doorway.  It’s not that he didn’t want to get close to you, but he also didn’t want to get close to you, “So, what are we thinking?  Are you going to be ok by next week?”
“I should be fine by tomorrow,” you assured him, “Don’t worry, Buggy.  I won’t be sick next week.”
“Because,” Buggy sent his hand out to you, gently caressing your cheek, “I have a few new toys in my room that I want us to try out.  And I want you to feel up to it.  Got it?”
“I will,” you promised, “I’ll be fine.”
“Good girl,” Buggy brought his hand back, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take an excruciatingly hot shower.”
“I understand.” Never did you expect Buggy to be the one with a germ thing, but you weren’t going to fault him much for it.  Instead, you decided to shut your eyes.  Just for a moment or two.  You wanted nothing more than to make up for the lost sleep you being sick has caused.  But alas…You still couldn’t get that lucky.
“So, are you dead?” And Perona never really had much for tact.
“I’m not dead,” you groaned, “I’m just tired, Perona.  And in my own special hell.  Can I go to sleep yet?”
“I can’t check up on you?” Perona scoffed, “Honestly, YN.  I thought we had something special, too.  Not just you and the boys.”
“We do,” you threw your head back into the pillows, “But I’m also miserable.  And tired.”
“And don’t think I didn’t hear that crack about you calling me an ass!” Perona pouted.
“That’s great, Perona…” You drifted in and out of consciousness.  And you were perfectly ok with that.
“I’m not an ass!”
“Mmhm…”
“I am a fucking sweetheart, thank you very much!”
“Good talk, Perona…”
“And you are damn lucky to have me in your life!”
“Mmm…” But you were done.  You were going to let Perona continue her tirade, but you were done with it.  It was time for you to go to sleep.  Whether Perona was happy about it or not.  You needed the rest.  In all honesty, if Mihawk hadn’t passed out after his IV, he would’ve gladly shooed her away for you.  But alas, Mihawk had to go and pass out after his IV coming out.  But you weren’t going to fault him for it.  As long as you got to go back to sleep.
“Perona, get the hell out of here.” Much like that, but instead of it coming out of Mihawk, you got it from Crocodile instead.  Although, you weren’t expecting to be fully woken up by it.
“You’re no fun,” Perona pouted, “Where’s Mihawk?  I guess I could go fuck with him.”
“He’s passed out in his bed,” Crocodile reported, “The big baby can’t handle needles, apparently.”
“Poor thing,” Perona grinned, the sadism stirring in her heart.
“You’re the worst, Perona,” you made a little more room for Crocodile.
“I know.” And just like that, Perona was gone.  Likely off to screw with Mihawk in unspeakable ways.  If not Mihawk, you knew she was going to go take it all out on Buggy.  Much like everyone else would.
Your arms went up to Crocodile, quietly begging him to come to bed.  Of course, he couldn’t say no to you.  He crawled back into his bed and you stuck right to him like a magnet.  Crocodile’s giant hands ran idly down your back, “You should be back to sleep already, Princess.”
“I know,” you shut your eyes, “I was waiting for you to get back here.”
“You would’ve been able to sleep without me,” Crocodile brushed you off, “I’m sure whatever Law gave you had some kind of tranquilizer in it.”
“I don’t think so,” you nestled into Crocodile’s ribs, “Crocy…I’m tired…”
“Clearly,” Crocodile chuckled to himself, “Just go to sleep, sweetheart.  Ok?”
“I will…” And so, you drifted back to sleep in Crocodile’s arms, refusing to be anywhere else.  Between Crocodile’s warmth, your general exhaustion, and your medicine kicking in, there was no way you wouldn’t sleep through the night.  You didn’t care about anything else.  You had your blankets.  You had your warlord of the week.  You were done.
Purupuru…
“Yeah?” Crocodile kept his voice down, making sure not to wake you.  Granted, that ship had already sailed, but you were curious, so you kept your eyes shut, “Hi.  It’s been a while, hasn’t it…?  I’d be happy to, but forgive my skepticism…I wouldn’t say we parted ways as best buddies…Look, I can’t really talk right now…Yeah.  She’s been sick for the last day or so.  It hasn’t been pretty.  Kind of reminded me of when we were taking care of Luffy when he was little…I know.  Scared the shit out of me…Yeah, yeah.  She’ll be fine.  We got a doctor to her and he juiced her up with something.  He called it peramivir.  He juiced Mihawk and me, too, but that was just vitamin C…Good.  She needed something strong…Thank you.  That’s oddly kind of you.  Are you dying…?  I know.  Maybe one day, if she’s alright with it.  You do know where I’m staying these days, right…?  Mihawk’s.  Just call ahead first…Don’t go getting sentimental on me…Good night.”
“Crocodile…?” You stirred at his side, “What was that all about?”
“What was what, Princess?” Crocodile put his hand up to your forehead and let out a little sigh of relief, “Good.  That shit works fast.”
“What do you mean?” you wondered.
“Your fever’s gone,” Crocodile reported, “You’re almost all better.  Remind me to send Law a fruit basket.”
“Will do,” you went back to sleep, letting that conversation slip your mind.
“Go back to sleep, YN,” Crocodile pulled your blankets back over you.
“Yes, sir…”
39 notes · View notes
falafelluva · 8 hours ago
Note
Hiiii, can you write something with kenan where he gets injured during a match and the teader comforts him and then like takes care of him?🫶🏼
; 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 - 𝘬.𝘺𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘻 ✮
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summary: the req
warnings: ermm an injury
author’s note: im tired but i cant sleep even tho its 4 pm
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It was a crisp Saturday evening when Juventus faced off against AC Milan in a much anticipated Serie A match. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, fans buzzing with excitement as they filled the stands, chanting their team's praises.
You sat among the crowd, your heart racing not just from the thrilling energy but from the anticipation of watching Kenan play.
As the match kicked off, the players were intense and focused. Kenan moved gracefully across the pitch, his confidence and skill on full display. You cheered every time he touched the ball, feeling a swell of pride for the young man you loved.
But as the match progressed, the intensity ramped up. The players were fighting hard for possession, and you could feel the tension in the air. Just before halftime, it happened.
Kenan went in for a tackle, his opponent's foot caught him unexpectedly, sending him crashing to the ground.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd as the whistle blew. You jumped to your feet, eyes locked on Kenan as he lay on the pitch, clutching his ankle in pain. You felt your heart drop.
As the medical team rushed onto the field, you anxiously scanned the faces around you. The referee signaled for the game to pause, and you could see Kenan grimacing, his face contorted in pain. Time seemed to stretch as you watched the medics assess him, and your mind raced with concern.
Finally, they helped him to his feet, but he couldn't put any weight on his injured ankle. You felt a wave of panic wash over you. The match continued, but your focus was solely on him.
You could see the frustration in his eyes, mixed with pain, as he hobbled toward the sidelines with the medics' assistance.
Once the game ended, you rushed down to the players’ tunnel, your heart pounding in your chest. As you reached the entrance, you spotted Kenan sitting on a bench, his leg propped up on a stool.
He looked up at you, his face pale, but his eyes still brightened when he saw you.
“Kenan!” you exclaimed, rushing to his side. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He forced a smile, but it was clear he was trying to hide his discomfort. “I’m fine. Just a little twisted ankle,” he said, but the way he winced as he shifted told you otherwise.
You knelt beside him, taking his hand in yours. “You don’t look fine. I’m so sorry this happened.”
“I’ll be okay,” he said, though his voice was strained. “I just need to rest.”
As you sat beside him, the medical staff wrapped his ankle in ice. Kenan leaned back, trying to catch his breath, and you could see the fatigue etched on his face.
“You played so well. I’m so proud of you,” you said, trying to lift his spirits.
“Yeah, well, it didn’t end how I wanted it to,” he replied, a hint of frustration in his tone. “I hate being out.”
“I know,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “But you’ll recover. You’re strong, and I’ll be right here with you.”
After a while, the medical staff left, leaving you two alone in the dimly lit room. You could see Kenan’s brow furrowing in thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
“What if I can’t play again?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
You shook your head. “Don’t think like that. You’re young and healthy. This is just a bump in the road, Kenan. You’ll be back on the pitch before you know it.”
He looked at you, his expression softening. “Thanks for always being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Of course, I’ll always be here,” you replied, standing up to grab a nearby bottle of water and handing it to him. “Now, let’s get you home and take care of you.”
After a bit of struggle, you managed to help him up, your arms wrapped around his waist for support. He leaned heavily against you, but you didn’t mind; you were determined to help him every step of the way.
Once you arrived at your shared apartment, you guided him to the couch. “Sit here. I’ll grab some ice and a blanket,” you said, moving quickly around the living room to gather what you needed.
Kenan settled down with a small sigh, his expression shifting from frustration to gratitude as he watched you. You returned with the ice pack and a soft blanket, carefully placing the ice on his swollen ankle.
“Is that okay?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.
He nodded, albeit through clenched teeth. “Yeah, it’s good. Thank you.” He leaned back into the cushions, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
You settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Just relax. You’ve had a long day.”
He sighed contentedly, wrapping an arm around you. “I don’t like feeling helpless,” he admitted, his voice low.
“I get it,” you said softly, looking up at him. “But you’re not alone. We’ll get through this together. Besides, you know I’ll spoil you while you’re recovering.”
A small smile crept across his face at your words. “You always spoil me,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“That’s the plan,” you said, feeling lighter now. “We can binge-watch your favorite shows, and I’ll even cook your favorite meals.”
“Now that sounds tempting,” he replied, his eyes lighting up at the thought.
As the evening wore on, you made sure he was comfortable, fetching him snacks and drinks while you kept him entertained with stories and laughter.
You both reminisced about past games, your favorite memories flooding back, lightening the mood despite the circumstances.
Eventually, as the night drew to a close, Kenan leaned over and kissed your forehead softly. “Thanks for being my rock,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
You smiled, leaning into him. “You’ll always have me, Kenan. No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”
With that promise hanging in the air, you both settled in for a cozy night, the challenges ahead seeming a little less daunting knowing you were in it together.
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mozzzz05 · 20 days ago
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I just had an upsetting thought - what if Alison constantly visited the Ghosts and knew - when she was old and grey and had lived a life - that she was going to die, so she made sure she was in Button House for it?
Mike accepts it and understands her want to go back to the Ghosts, they’re like family, they’re always there.
But then it’s Mike’s turn to go and he decides it must happen at Button House too. He’ll see his wife again! Spend a couple of hundred years together & hey he can actually meet/talk to the ghosts now!
Only when he dies and he meets all the Ghosts, who are all excited to actually talk to him etc, he asks where Alison is, only to find that she moved on straight away.
He finally gets to see a part of his life that was so bizarre for him, so secret and hidden, part of his life where he only ever had half a story. And now he has that half but his whole world is still gone and he doesn’t know when he’ll ever see her again.
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 6 months ago
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I want it back / I drag its dead weight forward.
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moonilit · 2 months ago
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why is polygamy not an option for Dick Grayson and im asking the writers, like he loves both Kory and Babs? I don’t see Kory and Babs being together but if they are ok with it Dick can be with both of them? Like he have a family in both the titans and gotham ?? Instead of this on and off with both that leaving everyone hanging let them be happy
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smokbeast · 21 days ago
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my dummy boys
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Bloobery banana
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wickmitz · 2 months ago
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I decided to start talking about Wick and Rocky's relationship because I like their dynamics too, I like seeing Wick scared of Rocky and Rocky being aggressive with him, which is unusual because Rocky is rarely aggressive with anyone, but of course Wick is an exception to rule
Also my mini opinion about their possible relationship, I think that if Rocky didn't have to fight for his place, then he and Wick could become friends, or at least tolerate each other a little, I also see some superficial similarities, their gentlemanly and romantic natures, and their common love for explosions (remembering the quarrymen chapter), but this is my assumption, I think that I don't understand the characters' personalities well, so I can be wrong in this assumption, something like that. So, what do you think about their relationship?
for starters, i cannot thank you enough for this ask! as i’ve said previously, i have many thoughts on these two, so it’s nice to finally be able to share some of them. although given the extent to which i think about them, i apologize in advance if this is sloppy and sort of everywhere … while i’ll try to structure things the best i can, i cannot promise i’ll succeed! but hopefully this is an enjoyable reply nonetheless.
one of my favorite things about rocky and wick’s relationship is absolutely how aggressive rocky is towards the aristocrat ; he is prone to glares and cruel jokes and borderline hissing whenever the man is within his line of sight, or can be brought to a wailing-fit over the mere mention of his name from miss m’s mouth. there is a childishness to it, but a very prominent threat as well in spite of rocky’s usual incompetence. so he goes out of his way to posture around wick, readily lying and adorning himself with the gangster drapes he so badly wants to wear, in the hopes that it intimidates … will even badmouth wick’s family and make fun of his name and rock related obsession to mitzi, and so on so forth! yet all of this is very reminiscent of schoolyard bullying rather than anything too severe, though we as the audience understand rather quickly that rocky would bash wick’s head in with a tire iron if he could. ( translation : if it wouldn’t earn the tears or hate of a certain beloved mitzi may ) and it’s all very intense despite the absence of actual violence! and i understand why many fans see this as unusual for rocky and believe that it’s only wick who makes him act so aggressively, but i’d argue it isn’t really wick at all that prompts such scary reactions from him … and that rocky is a deeply angry character who’s a.) been boiling quietly for a long, long time and b.) has turned wick into a punching bag of sorts for this inner world of resentment and hurt. basically, when he’s judging the well-to-do or poking fun, his eyes don’t look at wick and actually acknowledge him as sedgewick sable ; instead this is a being, something vague and metaphorical, who threatens to upseat rocky’s permanence in the lackadaisy and steal away his savior, and he’s had a hand in the violinist’s misfortune for a long time.
obviously, rocky doesn’t think wick robbed him of his family twice over and made him homeless, but he is channeling the fear and anguish of those events into his loathing for wick, if that makes sense? it’s easier that way -- to finally have an outlet for everything bleeding inside of you, to be able to bite and claw at something without feeling conflicted or having to take personal accountability for your own mistakes … which is something that i think rocky does struggle with to a degree. he is sort of a finger pointer! his pain has to be worth something, it has to be for someone else ; spending years homeless and losing his last bit of family was for freckle, and the scrambling of his literal brain was for mitzi, and that means he can’t ever be angry with them! well, except that he is, somewhat, but he buries it deep down instead of feeling it. with freckle there is a sense of strain between them -- an air of ‘you owe me’ from rocky to freckle as he uses freckle to appease miss m, and he constantly pokes fun at his cousin too. it’s lighter than his jabs at wick, but there’s a constant pestering, a reminder of how good freckle has it : how he’s got the mom and the house and the job and the girl most notably. i don’t think rocky is intending to come across as mean, and to his credit he hardly does! but it’s rather clear to me that some part of him, some hidden and deeply hurt part, is rather indignant about taking the fall for freckle all those years ago. which he can’t understand, because how could he? he made that choice, he decided to take accountability for something he didn’t do because he loves freckle and knows it’d be so easy to believe this family tragedy was roark’s fault ; the devilish child he was, all troublesome and too broken to properly fit anywhere. so there is a disconnect born here, where rocky can’t comprehend that he’d be angry at freckle, so instead these not so great feelings are placed elsewhere and silently boil over time. and with mitzi … i don’t think he’s angry at her per se, but there is a frustrated and desperate chorus of : why him and why not me, when i’m the one out here dying for you? which is certainly unpleasant. of course, rather than allowing those feelings to be more aimed at miss m, whom he feels unloved by, he ( again! ) represses these emotions and allows them to fester into his greatest fears and fantastical complexes. i think there is a lot of other miscellaneous anger he could have towards others too … perhaps some part of him is sore upon seeing ivy’s normal lifestyle, watching her go to university and knowing that’s been taken from him. or an ache felt when hearing stories from zib and the band and how they used to travel successfully, living as nomads, and rocky is all too reminded of his similar lifestyle and how he couldn’t make it work as effortlessly. people with immense trauma are more prone to irrational anger and jealousy, to viewing everything around them as unfair and believing it’s even more unjust that so many people get to live comfortably while they’ve suffered. a situation that gets more messy when you’re someone like rocky, a man who’s willingly made choices that have harmed himself and wants to continue on with his smiling, bumbling fool of an act. he does not want to be angry, does not want to see it within himself, i think, which leads to an accidental increase of it.
all of this is to reiterate that wick is a scapegoat for rocky and nothing more. it’s why he’s rather hypocritical whenever it concerns the man. for example, it was stated by tracy that he looks down upon wick for his excessive presence at the bar, yet he appears to enjoy hanging out with zib -- who drinks just as often! he makes fun of how all wick ever talks about is rocks, when he himself is prone to poetry rambles that people find irritating or boring, and etc etc. this is also just a human nature thing, to critique someone you heavily dislike and even going as far as to belittle things you love or do in your own day to day because you just hate them that bad! but given rocky’s willingness to befriend anyone, it more so reeks of a dehumanization element. wick is every obstacle in his way, every divine force that threatens to send him packing again, so he is equal parts unnerved by wick’s presence and angry about it. it is mostly a fear response we are seeing, an emotion that’s morphed into long held resentment and anger. so his actions are extremely defensive, with him trying to push wick far away and keep him and mitzi separate, like some sort of animal attempting to ward off a threat that’s come too close to their home. despite the loaded animosity there, this hate has hardly reached its peak … but it shall only grow more intense as things continue onward i’m afraid, since as it stands ( in the comic at least ) rocky is at an all time low … and is ten times more desperate. i’d honestly say wick has become so warped in his mind’s eye that he can only strive towards ‘winning’ over the other man, because that’s all he can see anymore. i think mitzi implying that wick willingly helped her out, the intense head injury, and rocky’s fragile emotional state is exactly what pushes him towards premeditated murder in look-see. i don’t know how people perceive that arc, but to me it’s very clear that rocky actively sought to see the deaths of wes and fish that night. going as far as to lament that he’d be, “very disappointed if ( he ) dreamed them,” and purposefully luring the marigold duo away to have freckle pick them off. while you could argue that this was a smart move, in a gangster sort of sense, there’s still no denying that rocky is oddly chipper about the whole thing and is now seeking death out ; whereas before his methods of vengeance were just, well, ruining people’s livelihood but ultimately leaving them alive. this isn’t to discredit the fact that rocky is going through something! he is in a very muddled and dark place, mentally and physically, but even tracy has said that the head injury hasn’t changed rocky’s personality -- it’s only brought things to the surface.
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source : q&a with tracy .
which, yeah! makes sense! head trauma can cause a person to become a wreck emotionally ( think mood swings, irritability, etc ) but it doesn’t completely morph someone either. personality changes may occur, but it’s not like you’re being rewritten entirely, you know? and given tracy’s old statement, it’s clear that ‘personality changes’ aren’t a side effect he’s suffering from. something that adds to my beginning statement, which is that rocky is a deeply angry and troubled person, more so than fans give him any credit for.
however, to touch upon your mini opinion about these two, i actually wholeheartedly agree that rocky and wick could become friends if circumstances were different. they do in fact have many superficial similarities, but one of the more prominent things they deeply share is never really belonging in the groups they frequent. this is more overt with rocky’s character, yet wick faces it too in subtle ways. the well-to-do crowd, seen through the investors, find the gentleman to be lacking in about every place imaginable ; to them he is an obsessive freak who cares too deeply for meager rocks, something they constantly mock him for, while he’s also being noticeably set apart from the rest of them … he seems younger than the investors, more excitable, passionate, and a little less experienced, and doesn’t seem to care for money or reputation as much as them either. there is a constant rubbing between him and them, where what he enjoys is seen as wrong, such as his love for the lackadaisy and his choice in paramor, a grieving widow with extremely dangerous ties. we also know that wick doesn’t have many friends at all, with the only two he has being lacy and church ( church is listed as such on his character profile, in a sort of tongue-in-cheek way ), both of whom work for or with him. they are obliged to hang around, and while they care in varying ways, they are prone to judging him just as much. honestly, it’s not shocking that wick seeks refuge at his chosen speakeasy! but even there he is rather distant from everyone else. he doesn’t speak to zib ever in the comics, nor seems all too close with viktor, ivy, or horatio … it is merely mitzi he is close to, even if he knows of the other people who work there. and, once again, wick very obviously doesn’t fit in. he is not gangster material, could never be an atlas may replacement, much less someone who could get his paws dirty in such an active way. so he has his feet in two different worlds and doesn’t know how to fit into either of them, or which one he actually wants to fit into more. i think in many ways rocky could relate -- these are two very lonely people who wish to belong somewhere and be accepted by some group or another but go about it in all the wrong ways. wick, who is too hesitant to fully commit to what he wants and is worse off for it, and then rocky, who obsessively throws himself against what he wants until he breaks every bone in his body. they also have explosives to bond over, lol, and other miscellaneous things like their taste in women i suppose … but this potential bond adds to the tragedy of lackadaisy, where we see two people who on every level should get along but we’re burdened with the knowledge that it’s an impossibility anyway, because there’s no removing the circumstance of which they’re in.
though i like to believe that despite wick’s fear of rocky, he maintains a kindness towards him regardless. i think his worries about rocky are rather surface level … he doesn’t know the boy at all, really, and thus can’t make heads or tails of him, hence him believing the lie in balderdash. so when i’m feeling particularly self indulgent, i like imagining a world where they’re forced together and sort of ‘stuck’ together ; to which rocky finally breaks and exposes his wounds to wick, in every sense of the word, and wick finally gets him. the aggression, the possessiveness of mitzi … it is all fear and desperation and a profound sadness, things he’d sympathize with. if rocky was able to explain that he loathes wick because if he saves the lackadaisy then mitzi won’t need him anymore and that it’s not fair that wick gets to so easily fix things when rocky would give his soul for his home, for her, and how wick could render every sacrifice he’s already made for naught by smoothing things over with some greenbacks and he can’t lose this, he just can’t --! … which, well, wick is too kind of a man to be able to do anything except feel awful, even though it’s not his fault at all. here we have two people who could coexist! and they should, since rocky logically can’t do every speakeasy job ( band member, rumrunner, mitzi’s shadow, also the guy who gets the money for the hooch ) by himself, just like how wick can’t save the lackadaisy with only his cash and limited booze stash. it’d be a joint cooperation, a collaboration between them, both equally important in the grand scheme of crime’s every turning wheel … but rocky’s rage and fear won’t let him see that, and likely never will. still, in scenarios where everything ends up alright for the lackadaisy and the people involved in it ( which is not how canon will go, by the way ), i fancy wick and rocky getting better within their relationship. rocky will always be prickly and quick to upset around the other man sadly, but perhaps he could see wick in a softer kind of light. or at least understand vaguely enough that he isn’t out to get rocky, so to speak. and then maybe wick learns that pancakes soothe rocky’s ire and poorly makes them anytime he wishes to talk to the man, and other fun things like that! but you should have more confidence in your character analysis skills, because you were spot on ( at least in my eyes ) about them potentially getting along if things were different. it’s certainly a fun aspect to play around with, and is important to note when discussing their relationship so you can fully understand just how warped rocky’s perspective on things are. and how unstable and traumatized he is too, of course </3 sidenote, but i also hope that throughout everything i’ve said here, or anything i’ve said before on my blog, that my love for rocky and my own sympathy for him comes across well enough. while he’s deeply flawed and i have no qualms discussing said flaws in depth, i also don’t think of him as some insane freak who’s evil at his core or anything like that. honestly, i adore analyzing him so much as a character because of how far down his issues go! he’s very well written, i’ll say, as is wick and many of the other characters, but i digress.
once more, thank you for the ask! i’ll end this here because i fear if i don’t i’ll start going in circles, since their relationship is so vast and very important for rocky in a character sense. hopefully i shed some more light on it though! i love these two to bits and pieces and i wouldn’t be half as invested in lackadaisy if their dynamic wasn’t so monumental -- at least to me.
#my asks.#lackadaisy analysis.#lackadaisy#rocky rickaby#sedgewick sable#tracy j butler#i also think rocky’s sudden taste for marigold blood is him making marigold his other scapegoat#he isn’t dealing with anything in a healthy manner and is so traumatized it’s starting to spill out of him … which is. uh. not good!!#but it sure is what’s currently happening regardless#cannot stress enough that rock is a very ill and traumatized individual who hasn’t had a single break in his life#he is constantly in stressful situations that are dangerous … and like.#when you’re constantly put in those situations you become numb. and angry. and it becomes hard to heal#or to truly connect to others … etc#i could talk in depth about rocky’s traumas and why they’ve caused this anger issue and this inner disharmony inside#because frankly there’s a lot there! and i hate to say it but people who are hurt normally show their hurt in ugly ways#especially if mentally ill … which rocky is imo#it’s just the reality of things! this isn’t me demonizing mental illness or the effects of trauma. i’m just being realistic here#someone as deeply troubled as rocky ( someone with NO outlet and whom hides his feelings from others and himself )#is bound to be. well. troubled!! his smiling facade is merely another mask he wears to cope and to be good for the people he loves#it is not … really rocky rickaby … rocky rickaby is that and the wrath and the self destruction and more#AHEM but i digress. how rocky treats wick and all that has really done wonders for understanding his character#and i truly love the wick / rocky / mitzi trio so bad. their relationships with each other is what drew me into this world#like. i am shaking them so much. the overlap!! the complexities inherit in their bonds and what that says about the individual characters!#it’s amazing truly lol like … i have had such fun thinking about them twenty four seven for the past three-ish months#anyway. anyway! i love analyzing these bitches. they can fit so much into them#and i’m rooting for wickmitzi endgame and for wick to desperately try to bond with rocky … while his bloodshot eye is twitching as we speak#lots of fun!!! lots of pain and agony too … rocky is nothing but a painful character alas. that is his nature. but that is also his appeal#and ooops i’ll shut up in the tags now i just. have a lot to say. and a lotta love to give to these two!! but uh. yeah <3 loved writing thi
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trans-xianxian · 7 days ago
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so fucked up that the fandom chose x*yao and even fucking x*cheng over nielan.... we could have had it all
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mokeonn · 4 months ago
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I think something that is REALLY fun about having a small animal that needs to live in a habitat is making it a hobby to try to make the best possible habitat for them. Like there's nothing more fun than planning and executing different ways create paradise for an animal with a brain no larger than a peanut.
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