#ROBBED YOU GUYS

[cherish--these--times]

What actual platonic besties look like!

[hinamie]

post-graduation trip airport looks

[lotus-pear]

the fine people of bsd tumblr have asked for fem skk and i shall give it to them

[ajtheweirdo]

Little guy

[kokoa-la]

Ngl I just find it so funny if Danny just accidentally becomes friends with someone trying to rob him like-

___________________________________

“Get up!”

And he was up, hands above his head and everything. The guy in all black proceeded to pat him down along his pockets while pointing a gun at him otherwise. 

“How do you not have a wallet on you?”

“I’m a college student, I can barely afford tuition.”

That’s a lie, he was on a full ride scholarship, but they didn’t need to know that. 

“Oh you too?”

Did this bitch just say ‘you too’ ? No way.

“‘You too?’ Are you doing this to pay for college???”

Ancients, the school system sucked if he had to resort to crime for this.

“Yeah- you wouldn’t believe how expensive my major is, the textbooks alone cost more than my rent!”

“Holy shit, no kidding. Yeah, why are textbooks so expensive? Why am I paying hundreds of dollars for something that could have been a 2 dollar pdf?”

“Right! I tried asking my professor instead, but he said he’d fail me if I didn’t have the right materials! It’s driving me nuts. Like how am I supposed to pay for all this?”

How Dannt started making conversation with his own robber, he didn’t know, but he was happy to finally complain with someone. He hadn’t exactly made friends since he got here.

“Personally I buy used books, and the more trashed they are, the cheaper. Then, you can just use the pdf version but still have the textbook in class. It’s honestly so much easier. Or you can see if you can borrow it from the library and just bring it in for the classes he checks it, then return it after to avoid the fees. That option is a bit more troublesome though.”

“Oh shit, no way! That’s awesome, I never thought of that, thanks man! Man, I wish I talked to you sooner.” 

“Yeah, it’s all good, maybe just avoid the crime after this? There’s tons of online jobs you can do during class and stuff. I don’t know, there’s always another option than crime. You sound like a good guy, just desperate.”

The robber turned friend (?) lowered his gun and sighed before returning the items in the bag to everyone. He then apologized to the cashier and then to everyone else before giving Danny a hug (how long had it been since he’d gotten one of those?) and leaving. Danny was so proud of him he almost cried (again). 

______________

I know it's a bit weird and out of place, but that's bcs its a snippet from a fic I'm writing on ao3 😭

But still, I need more of Danny befriending ppl trying to jump/rob him

[robiinurheart33]

I’m obsessed with ghost being obsessed with soap.

The way he knows tidbits and fun facts about soap is just unparalleled to everyone despite ghost seeming unbothered. They go on missions together more than anyone else in the task force or god forbid, any other military they’re working with. As much as military life would like you to believe, there’s just as much waiting and planning than there is executing.

Soap is notoriously not patient. Ghost is, but only when it comes to work. Anything else he doesn’t have the time nor patience to deal with it. Unless it comes to Johnny. But no one will ever know that except for Ghost himself. But back to the point, they’re mainly on missions together and they stakeout together, they hide in itchy bushes for hours together, they stay in each other’s space, no matter if they want the other to or not. Soap cannot keep his yapper shut for the life of him and he’ll go stir crazy if he has to stay still for 2 whole hours. So he talks. Whispers, really so as to not give their position away. Ghost is a professional after all, he can split his concentration between the mission and Johnny. It’s endurance training. (Or whatever he tells himself anyways.)

Soap doesn’t mind the mindless talking if it helps him concentrate, and if Ghost doesn’t seem to be bothered then it’s all good. He knows that he isn’t actually actively listening, which is okay. He’s not offended, per se, but he feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest whenever he looks back at Ghost as if it were an actual conversation to be met with nothing. Soap is a professional and damn good at his job at that, so he doesn’t let that bother him. (He doesn’t.)

One hazy night, Soap and Ghost (Ghost and Soap) are staking out a warehouse across the street, a bone-deep exhaustion hangs in the air as they both slump in their seats near the open windows. Cicadas make themselves known and the humidity doesn’t let down even in the night. Soap’s eyes are hazy, blinking ever so slowly and almost slipping shut for good a few times before he jolts himself awake.

“Go to sleep, Sargent.” Sargent. Ghost’s rough but tired voice cuts through his mind as he slides open his eyes again, not knowing they were closed in the first place. He rolls his head over to Ghost, where he’s sitting rigidly upright. To anyone, it would seem like he’s the picture of alertness, eyes trained out the window, posture perfect. But to Johnny, he can see that his fists are clenched too tight, his gun is still strapped to his side, and he hasn’t even taken a shower yet, when Johnny already has.

Guilt pangs softly in his chest, and he purses his lips in thought. Ghost wouldn’t take a shower now seeing that Soap was so tired. He would probably stay up the whole night staring out the window, sweat trickling uncomfortably down his back but still endure it for the opportunity for Soap to rest. He isn’t stupid, he knows there’s something between them that they can’t name, a connection that isn’t quite friends, but crosses the line of professionalism. Whether Ghost knows that or not is still up in the air for grabs. He pushes himself off the chair with a soft groan, sliding his bare feet over the wooden floors to the bathroom. He splashes cooling water on his face and rubs his eyes, blinking harshly. He stares at Soap in the mirror, and Johnny bristles a bit. He looks like pure shit. His eyes are bloodshot and tired, eye bags threatening to pull his eyelids closed, and he hasn’t shaved in quite a few days. Definitely not up to military regulation. He doesn’t bother to clock in the rest of himself now, wanting to focus more on Ghost than himself.

He walks back out to the shared living room, which is also their bedroom and kitchen, and behind Ghost’s chair. He bends down to swiftly unclip his vest off.

“Wha’ are you doing?” He doesn’t even sound annoyed, just tired.

“Gettin’ all this shite offa’ ya.” Soap doesn’t need to look to know that Ghost is probably even more tired than him. His Lieutenant with all the responsibilities under the sky, and no one to share that burden with.

The vest falls with a heavy thump on the ground and Johnny continues to clatter the remaining knives and guns onto the table, right beside their haphazardly placed maps for future ambushes. He pulls a knife from the sole of his boot, and Ghost huffs in amusement.

“Didn’t know you knew about that one, Johnny.” He’s Johnny now.

“I know everything about you.” It scares him a bit how it slips out that easily, but it scares him even more that he doesn’t take it back.

Ghost’s eyes bore into the side of his skull as he throws the rest of the equipment onto the table, keeping a gun in the pocket of his cotton pants. Johnny juts his chin towards the bathroom, arms akimbo.

“Go shower.” he doesn’t bother with a jab now, God knows they’re both off the table for that. It’s come to a point in the night where jokes lay to rest and honestly is the only thing left to say.

Ghost doesn’t look like he’s going to move and Johnny won’t blame him. He knows how hard it is to leave your post, how you scream at your body to move but nothing works. Nothing happens. Johnny’s eyes eventually hone in on Ghost’s eyes, trying to get a grip of what he’s feeling at the moment. Brown. It’s stupid, but Soap’s never been good with all the metaphorical side of describing things. Ghost’s eyes are brown. It’s brown. And it looks soft around the edges, calm and present, moving ever so slightly as he looks back at him. And they look at each other. And Johnny melts. He wants to melt and be safe in Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing wrong now, there can never be anything wrong. How could it when the stars and the moon crafted them to orbit around each other so perfectly and intimately? And how could anything go wrong when this is the most right Johnny has ever felt in his life?

He feels his hand rise like silk, cupping Ghost’s cheek, like he’s done it so many times before. He hasn’t. Johnny’s not so sure what makes tonight different, or what changed, but he doesn’t want to question it. He’s not jinxing or screwing anything up this time. The cheekbone of the plastic skull digs into the palm of his hand and Ghost’s eyes droop. His thumb drags up and down, up and down right under his eye, not breaking the eye contact he has with Simon. He watches in real time as his eyes dilate and flutter, his head tipping forward, as if he could feel his touch over the plastic and the balaclava. Before Simon’s head could fall forward, eyes finally closing, Johnny grasps his face with both hands, murmuring.

“Hey, big guy. Not yet.” Simon’s eyes open again, looking up at him and Johnny wants to cry at how desperately he wants him to just relax right now, but he knows that if he isn’t completely safe and comfortable he’s be screaming awake 2 hours later.

“Shower.” He whispers. Ghost seems to snap back into reality slightly, standing up straight and towering over Johnny once more. Like this, his eyes seem black in the shadows, and things are jagged and sharp again. He grunts once, stepping out of their safe bubble and sliding into the bathroom, closing and locking the door with a click.

Johnny sighs softly as he sits down on Ghost’s seat, the wood still warm as he looks out the window. The gun burns where it’s pressed against his thigh, but maybe that’s just the absurd heat at the moment. His eyes are trained on the warehouse, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting his mind drift off for a bit. There’s no one in the warehouse at the moment, and any movement would be extremely obvious in the dead of night so he figured it would be okay.

Johnny thought of his family. He thought of the soft yearning he felt whenever he wanted to be small and tucked in his mother’s arms again. he thought of how accepted he felt if one of his older sisters threw an arm around his shoulder. He thought of his home back in Scotland, an empty living room with an aging woman who would spend the rest of her life waiting for children that were not guaranteed to come back. The sadness plagued his mind whenever he was alone, wishing he could come back as soon as possible to his home. To what? Put on the obnoxious military persona and acting as if he were immortal to not worry his family? He knows better than that. He knows he’s soft and pliable, that no matter how many muscles he builds, his body will always cave to a bullet. He knows his family will always worry and he can’t do anything about it.

Ghost steps out of the shower and Soap’s thoughts dissipate, head tilting in his direction. He’s swapped his hard skull mask for a clean balaclava, traditional hoodie and sweatpants. He looks…domestic, in a way. A too big man standing in a too small hallway, hunched over and fatigue evident. Love, Johnny realises, comes in many shapes and forms, but it all takes root in the same place.

Simon lumbers over to stand behind his chair, eyes boring down to meet his. Their positions have swapped now, Simon looking down while Johnny reaches up to meet his. Love is a gentle thing. Soap realises with a calmness that shouldn’t be there that he couldn’t pick between his family and Simon. His family meant the whole world to him, but Simon was his sunlight and his saviour. They floated in a nice limbo between everything, Simon and Johnny. Johnny and Simon. Love is a gentle thing.

“Go to sleep, Johnny. you’re tired.”

“You don’t kno’ that.” He’s slurring.

“I know everything about you.” The line is thrown back into his face, and Johnny’s eyes widen. He can feel the butterflies in his stomach, twisting in an exhilarating way. He swallows and watches Simon stare at his Adam’s apple bob up and down, eyes crinkling. Johnny’s a bit speechless, partly due to overwhelming fondness and partly due to his body screaming for a rest. Simon cares. He cares for Johnny. He thinks about him. He cares. He cares. He cares.

Love is a gentle thing.

“Aye.” John whispers.

All is right in the world, because Simon cares and his mother is at home waiting for him, and he is loved. Johnny is told to sleep, and so he will.

[sinusoidaldysfunction]

Queen Wasp. That's not even a real queen!

[charmac]

[fandom-trash-goblin]

yue qingyuan my miserable babygirl.

[ghostedghouls]

I have never seen the ghouls in such a high resolution before. I wanna put them in my mouth.

[chickensauras]

Like to support bullying askeladd, reblog to make him go bald faster

Is based on this calvin and hobbes comic tho. Love ignoring the depressing tone of canon to instead be silly

[spookytoziers]

i cannot STAND it here on sunnyblr bc why are yall just??? hanging out???? with the gang???? yall could be like "omg yas im at a gay bar called the dried cum sock doing poppers with glenn rn xx" and i would be like... sounds about right!

[korpuskristae]

Verdict

Warnings: 18+, Smut, public sex, blowjobs, slight femdom, language, mentions of past injuries

Pairing: Fem Reader x Judge Turpin

Word Count: 2600+

Summary: Once Turpin's whore, you find yourself in the position of his wife, although with your new status as Lady Turpin, you find yourself still lacking the manners usually expected of a high-ranking Lady such as yourself. AKA: I had too much fun writing this and got carried away...

AN: I started tweaking at a concert I went to last month because the guy in front of me had long hair and a big nose... I have a type, to say the least... Anyway, I make do with my promises, even if it takes me three whole months. Requests are open, so feel free to drop something in my requests, keep in mind I write at my own discretion. Be wary of spelling and grammar errors! Point them out so I can fix them :) !!

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the eyes of Victorian London, Lord Turpin and you, Lady Turpin, were amongst London’s most unusual couples. Your relationship came not long after Richard lost his ward, Beadle, and nearly his life after a brush with Benjamin Barker, a lowly barber he sent away on false charges who miraculously, found his way back even after being sent to Australia to serve out a life sentence of harsh manual labor. Richard emerged from the events, not as the man London had once trusted implicitly, but as a man teetering on the edge of mania, grasping at what little fragments of sanity he had left. Returning to the bench a mere three weeks after his attempted assassination, the subjects of London couldn’t help but notice a change in their infallible judge. Almost every circle in London was whispering about the shift in the judge’s demeanor and it didn’t take long for the doubt of his competency to reach his ears causing his already harsh sentences to become even crueler and unpredictable, casting a further darkening shadow over his once-certain judgment.

 Most people expected everything to return to normal once the judge’s attacker had been brought to justice, after all, as a judge of the high court in service to her Majesty the Queen, he reserved the right to convict and sentence whoever dared to cross him, or the law. He was by definition, untouchable… Yet in the case of Sweeney Todd’s attempt on his life, it seemed that Lady Justice had already dealt her hand, taking Todd for herself, depriving the judge of the cruel justice he so desperately desired to feel in control. Spiraling further into a dark path of retribution that bordered on obsessive, Richard was a mere shell of the proud man he once was, seemingly falling further into the clutches of insanity with every passing day.

After being compelled to step back from the bench due to mounting public concern for his mental health and well-being, he was granted a month to rest and recover. One whole month—a dangerous opportunity to ruminate on his unexamined consciousness that Richard was not eager to take. By no means had Richard attempted to fix his wrongdoings, he was a bad man, an unjust, and cruel man who wielded the law as a weapon of his desires. He was a sinner, a liar, and a reprobate. He attended church only to enjoy the company of a whore the very next hour, he knew his life was one big contradiction. And still, he clung to the illusion that as a judge, he stood above the law and public opinion, he was a judge who answered to no one but himself, believing his actions bore no consequence beyond his own scrutiny.

 In the wake of Richard’s recovery from the attempt that nearly claimed his life, your relationship, and subsequent marriage, seemed to unfold at lightning speed. The fact that Richard had forsaken many a beautiful, and no doubt rich, highborn lady for you, irked the British aristocracy who were all throwing their daughters at the judge to have even a chance of marrying into the esteemed house of Turpin. It would’ve been one thing if you two were young lovers but your scandalized affair only grew more scandalous as people started to frequently draw attention to the fact that you had, practically, in the eyes of the public, not existed at all, prior to your engagement. 

The last woman Richard had shown any interest in was Lucy Barker, but even then, it was public knowledge he merely lusted after her, his longing for her was based not on feelings of love but ones of conquest and control, seeing her as a prize to be won. But his feelings for you seemed to stem from an unknown source… one that was less centered around himself and his personal motives.

In a society that prized status and reputation above all, Richard’s marriage to you, someone deemed “lowly” in the public’s eye, sent shockwaves through the cobbled streets of London. Unshaken by the public’s doubt of his choice of wife, Richard managed to pull out all the stops for your wedding, wasting no expense on the extravagant affair, with nearly every citizen near and far from London clamoring to attend the wedding. As guests observed the warmth in his gaze, they began to piece together a narrative that suggested genuine love that transcended societal boundaries. It wasn’t long before the public, hungry for scandal, sought to uncover the mysterious story behind your unusual romance.

The story given to the public was that you were one of the nursemaids who had so gracefully nursed him to back him to health, lovingly tending to him and eventually falling in love with him. While that story couldn’t be further from the truth, every tall tale had some grain of truth to it, certainly no nursemaid, granted, you did tend to him, in a much more… intimate way than originally specified, you two were indeed a rare occurrence of genuine love. Initially, you were just a contract—an arrangement for the night, a whore, to put it crudely. Once you, rather, he finished, you had noticed him wincing in pain along with the stiff movements of his neck, originally wary of the notoriously foul-tempered judge, you, strangely enough, found yourself hesitating to leave. Despite being expected to leave as soon as you two were finished, you couldn’t just leave him to suffer like that. This man, one who commanded London’s High Court with an iron fist now laid bedridden, his physical wounds matched only by a wounded pride. His growls and biting remarks about you staying to offer him help sounded more like thinly veiled pleas for help, revealing a side of the judge that he himself even resented, one that was weak. 

Not even half a year later you were the highly feared and equally esteemed, Lady Turpin. While the fear came from your husband’s reputation, you yourself were quite the opposite of him. Instead of intimidating people to get your way, you often made use of your snarky wit and cleverness, a trait that Richard himself found endearing and discovered proved far more useful from time to time when intimidation wasn’t a viable option. 

Seated at his bench, high above the court giving him the illusion of an almost godly appearance, Richard sat, tall and rigid. Dressed in his black robes, the long wig he wore—an obligation of his station—itchingly reminded him of the traditions he had little patience for. Leering at the people entering his courtroom he huffed uninterestedly. While his wife had managed to salvage his sanity and coax a flicker of gentleness from him, she could not penetrate the fortress he built around himself in public. Fixing his posture, he moved only to accidentally bump something underneath his bench with his knee, seeing you, his wife there, he glared at you kneeling between his legs. Smirking up at him with a lustful haze in your eyes, you placed your hands on his knees slowly parting them as you winked at him. 

Grumbling, he snarled at you without any real venom behind his words, “What the devil are you doing?”

Currently sat in front of a fully occupied court he had to preside over, you clearly had no sense of decorum when it came to respecting the authority that Richard had, slowly parting his robe at his waist, you placed your hands over his pants, palming his already growing erection. The ruthless judge, so quick to condemn others, quite literally, was nothing more than putty in your mere presence.

“Taking care of my husband, of course, you must be so stressed, huh? All those responsibilities… my dear judge, my poor, poor judge,” you purred softly, your fingers tracing languid circles on his thighs. The heat emanating from his arousal was unmistakable and he was clearly getting impatient but you ignored him for the time being keeping the tension high.

Growling lowly, he narrowed his eyes at you grabbing your hand and placing it on his clothed cock, “Do not play games you little minx, if you want to act like this then carry through with your teasing,” he demanded gruffly.

“Oh, my…” you gasped, feigning shock, “right now? Dare you disrespect the sanctity of this here court?” God you were such a tease, how was he ever expected to behave around you when you acted like this? So clearly reveling in your role as an unrelenting tease… if he was in hell, you were most certainly the demon sent to torture him till the end of his days.

Snarling at you, Richard tangled one of his hands in your hair, a firm grip that asserted control without causing discomfort. “Careful now, love. Keep with that insolent tongue of yours and I'll put it to far better use," he growled with an arch of his perfectly manicured eyebrow, his threat laced with a hint of desire.

Laughing lowly, you slowly dragged your fingers up his inner thighs before reaching his zipper and freeing him from the confines of his awfully tight trousers. Already rock hard, his cock was thicker than your wrist and his tip was an angry red color with a small bead of precum leaking from it, a testament to his undying lust for you. “So impatient and rude… you’re supposed to be a Lord, my love, one with manners who treats ladies with respect,” you chided dramatically not caring to whisper considering the courtroom was still settling in.

“Last time I checked ladies don’t terrorize their husbands multiple times a day for sex,” he grumbled letting out a low sigh of relief, feeling the pressure lessen on his aching cock. Eyeing you, he huffed in amusement as a smirk played at his lips, watching you blink up at him innocently. A little actress you were, one who was anything but what she pretended to be.

Grabbing his cock, you slowly stroked it, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, not explicitly as he was still seated in front of a room full of people, but enough for you to get the satisfaction of seeing him unravel slightly. Exhaling a long drawn out strained sigh, he spoke gruffly, evidently, trying to have some restraint. “What a naughty little thing you are, playing with your husband's cock so brazenly in a courtroom full of people…” 

 Running your thumb over the tip of his cock, you heard his breathing hitch and felt him cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb over it lovingly. Letting out a small whimper, he felt you take him into your mouth and swirl your hot tongue around the edge of his tip, tasting his salty precum on your tongue, savoring its slight musky taste. “Yes, mhm… just like that my love…” he hissed, his grip on your hair growing tighter as he pushed you down further onto his cock, forcing you to take him deeper.

Letting out a strangled squeak, you glared up at him with a mouthful of his cock as tears pricked your eyes. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he teased slowly bobbing you up and down his girthy shaft.

 Hearing the thunderous boom of the courthouse doors opening, Richard glanced up to see the defendant being ushered into the courthouse by a guard from the jail. He barely glanced at the list of accusations before re-establishing his cold, detached expression. As if he wasn’t being serviced by his wife at that very moment.

Richard raised his eyes and immediately the court fell silent, making the usage of his gavel redundant. He struck it lightly for the sake of formality before he cleared his throat, resting his hand atop your head to signal you to stop your ministrations. “You are being charged with petty larceny and the garrotting of several women, what say you in defense of these charges?” he said, his booming voice reverberating through the courtroom, fixing a cold glare at the defendant. How dare he ignore you! Use you for his pleasure and tell you to stop at his own convenience? God, he was way too privileged!

Glaring at him, as you kneeled on the floor, your eyes flashed with anger and defiance, Richard, ever so oblivious didn’t seem to notice the anger radiating from beneath him. Ignoring his wishes for you to halt your movements, you started to bob up and down again, swirling your tongue around his shaft just the way you knew he liked it, feeling him throb against your tongue, you glanced up at him cheekily as he glowered at you. Consequences be damned, you were no convenience, and you certainly weren’t controlled by him!

Barely stifling a moan, Richard’s thighs tensed as he fought to keep his composure. Watching the defendant bow his head in defeat, he heard him profess his guilt, “I plead guilty and ask you for your mercy, your honor.” If he didn’t have a little minx between his legs he’d sneer at the fool in front of him for even thinking he’d be merciful. 

Feeling you take him deeper, he watched as your hand reached up to wrap around the base of his shaft to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth, with his breathing growing ragged, he only hoped that nobody could see his very obviously flustered state. His grip on your hair only grew tighter as he tensed further, his muscles pulled taut as he felt his orgasm approach rapidly.

Realizing the entire courtroom was awaiting his verdict, he coughed, trying to cover up any of the obvious hints of his arousal, “The jury will deliberate and your fate will be announced at a later court date, this court is adjourned.” He said banging his gavel before watching everyone file out of the courthouse in confusion. 

The Esteemed Juge Turpin, widely revered and equally feared, had rarely relied on a jury—his rulings were law, laws he often wrote without deliberation. Murmurs filled the courtroom as the gallery began to question whether or not even Richard was second-guessing himself. The reason behind his stalling was, in truth, much simpler than what they suspected. Richard was merely just a pawn in his wife’s new uptaking of mischief and suffering the consequences.

After everyone filed out and left, Richard’s head fell back against his chair as you continued to suck him off. “You are so dead-” he groaned, not even able to finish his snarky comment as he felt his cock throb with his impending orgasm. With a strangled gasp and a deep guttural groan, Richard’s hips bucked into you as he came hard, his seed spilling down your throat in thick, hot, spurts that even you struggled to keep up with. After his orgasm subsided, you released his cock with a wet pop, the sound reverberating through the empty courtroom.

Slumping back against his chair, you watched with a satisfied smile as he struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving. Tucking him back into his pants, you heard him hiss, his cock was incredibly oversensitive after that mindblowing orgasm no doubt. Standing up, you dusted off your dress, looking at him with a wicked smirk, “Hmph, what was that love?” 

Sneering at you with half-lidded eyes, Richard huffed, unable to punish you for the time being, “Your arse is going to be so red when I get my hands on you,” he rasped out, watching you saunter away. He was so going to get you back tenfold, despite his mostly playful annoyance, deep down, he couldn’t deny the obvious satisfaction he got from surrendering his control to you…

AN: First time writing smut, how'd I do? ;)

[httyd-art-requests]

Dragon #11 - Reignstorm (Rise of Berk) for @acamaryseinteery

[robiinurheart33]

What if ghost had a stuffed toy he had since he was a kid

What if in the fire the only thing he managed to save was a little bunny with floppy ears and fur matted from the long years of Simon drooling, hugging and loving him?

What if the only thing he has left was the stuffed bunny and for a very, very long while he kept it stuffed in a box along with things from the fire they barely managed to save and the ear was slightly singed and covered with a thick layer of soot

What if one day Ghost had a panic attack and the only thing that could comfort him was the box in the closet and when he found the bunny he got so emotional he held it against his face and tried to gather the last comforting smells his house had, even if it smelled mostly of mothballs, burning fire and alcohol

What if ghost washed the bunny after a long 10 years, worried that his tears would soak through the soot on the bunny and remain permeant on the fur

What if Ghost scrubbed and scrubbed the toy the whole night, fear griping his heart at ruining the last thing that came from his childhood

What if he kept the bunny under tight security like it was his life savings or passport

What if everytime he sunk too deep into his head ghost would bring out the bunny, cry and then wash it again like a cycle

What if years later soap becomes his new bunny and ghost allows him to be his new safe space and comfort

What if years later after wars and missiles, ghost and soap settle down together and above their fireplace, next to their married photo is bunny leaning against the frame and looking matted and worn out, but loved all the same.

[lilnasxvevo]

I love you Monkey D. Luffy I love you protecting the power of friendship through the power of incredible violence