#and this anonnnn

[tojiscrack]

okayyy… i know this is going to be controversial… but i actually think kamo having a crush on reader is endearing? 🤭

DONT GET ME WRONG I LOVEEE MEGUMI (MEGUMI IS ENDGAME), but kamo liking reader is kind of cute? it reminds me of highschool all too well…

it also means, MEGUMI, STAND UP!!! he’s had so many chances! you can’t blame kamo, he asked (not wanting to completely be a home wrecker) and reader is seemingly up for grabs.

anyways, AGGHGGHGFYUV i love ur writing! its not very often these days where i’ll be able to reread a whole fanfic, and still be kicking my feet and giggling! the first few chapters, while lacking in plot, were still SO enjoyable!!! you truly have a gift for writing!!!🫶

p.s. i keep hearing this stupid sound on tiktok of an old lady singing “liar liar pants on fire” and i can only think of this lovely fic!

as the author, i agree 😭

it’s still so amusing to see everyone going apeshit with kamo HAHAHAHA, like as much as i’m like ‘guys, no 😔’ i’m also like ‘yes! get him! 🫨’.

you’re factually correct for that part tho — that he asked and made his move once he learned that he’s got no competition (allegedly 👀).

high school drama is exactly what i’m trying to depict here 🫣

‘MEGUMI, STAND UP!!!’ is so real, but that kid has absolutely 0 game so it’s like watching someone run through a never ending tunnel 💀

AHHHH YOU LOVE MY WRITING 🥹🫨😋🙂‍↕️😫💘💗💞❤️💜 i love you sm, your message itself has me kicking my feet and giggling UGHH <333

those first few chapters, despite lacking in plot (kinda), were still super fun during the writing process and i’m glad you had a good time reading it too! 😫💞

p.s. on the hunt to look for that sound LMAOO

[14dayswithyou]

I can see you, Saint... ^^ I had a lil ask I finally had the will power to ask bc of the redacted brainrot

"he'd want Angel to be themselves. There wouldn't be much point in Angel pretending to be someone else for Ren's sake, and as such, he'd probably try to convince them to be "real" with him."

what if we told him to be real with us first before we are real with him??? Redacted I can see you dont think I cant

Also what if Angel told Redacted they never liked haruko but instead was just intrested in how the character was written or something along those limes....

Can you tell I like Redacted more then renren

Anyway I hope you have a nice day:333

✦゜ANSWERED: Hehe I think people tend to forget that Ren canonically hasn't revealed his true/[REDACTED] self yet, so it'd be difficult for Angel to convince him to be himself first — especially if they aren't even aware that [REDACTED] exists in the first place.

I've also mentioned this a few times in the past, but it'd be very difficult to get Ren to go back to his real self. It's been ingrained into his brain from a young age that nobody would ever like him as he is, and it's not something that he can just snap out of or get rid of. If anything, Ren would likely try out other variations of Angel's hyperfixations before he'd consider going back to his real self.

Similarly, if Angel told Ren that they didn't like Haruko, he'd probably try to find out what their actual type is and create a new persona based on that. I doubt Angel would have to say anything though, as Ren is very in tune with their interests and would likely pick up on their change of heart before they say anything.

However, if Angel's type was literally [REDACTED], he'd likely dress up like himself and curate a slightly different personality — one that favours Angel the most. But I don't really want to go into too much detail about this as I feel it kinda?? removes the entire point of 14DWY and Ren creating his Haruko persona?? shdgsjdhg /nm /pos

[nvuy]

Argenti has really been on the brain as of late…I miss my wife….how do we feel about vampire agrenti//getsranover

love bites! — argenti

summary. argenti would do anything for you, even if that anything went against his own moral code.

notes. i think ANON YOU COOKED. YOUUUU COOKED. YOUUUUUUUU COOKED.

warnings. ehhhh… i’ll give it a 16+, suggestive content, as per usual you’re a freak, but argenti is also a freak so it’s okay, as the ask suggests argenti is a vampire, blood, biting, ummm, yk. vampire stuff. but it’s romantic i think.

You feel the couch dip next to you with added weight, and Argenti rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He has barely just gotten comfortable on the couch when you decide to be a thorn in his side. You grin wryly down at him. “Wanna try it?”

Argenti flutters his lashes in confusion.

You huff. “There’s a reason I wore a low cut shirt, dude.” You gesture towards your neckline.

“Oh!” Suddenly, he looks guilty. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I’m afraid I must decline.” He shakes his head and offers you a kind smile of his own. “I have staved off blood for years. I cannot start now. It would be… very unbecoming of me.”

“But, I want you to,” you try lightly. “And it’s your birthday.”

Birthday. As if his birthdays meant anything anymore. Argenti has had hundreds by now. Still, you always manage to make him feel like the most important man in the universe.

He laughs. “My birthday is two months away.”

“Early present,” you conclude firmly.

Then, you lean forward and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His skin has been bloodless since the day you met him, but there’s something so beautiful about it’s near translucency. It’s iridescently white and brilliant, and it’s like pearl silk when his hair spills over his shoulders.

Speaking of which, his hair smells of cherry and coconut.

Hmm, hmm. He’s used your shampoo—not that you mind. Not at all. He uses it because it is something to remember you by when he leaves for extended voyages. And it’s cute.

“C’mon.” It comes out as a childish droning low whine as you hit his shoulders gently. “I see the way you look at me when I get hurt. It'll be good for you.”

Argenti appears sheepish, though he indulges in your hand that cards over his scalp. His fangs poke from behind his bottom lip.

He glances away for a moment. His eyes have traced down to your neck, and he almost abandons his willpower to taste your skin.

“Just a teensy weensy bit.” You pinch your fingers together for good measure.

“It will not be ‘teensy weensy,’” Argenti explains softly. Although his voice falters for a moment, his hands do not tremble. “I will not be able to stop myself. You have always been tempting.”

“Aww.” You bop him on the shoulder. “You’re worried about me?”

“Well, of course. I do love you.”

Your heart falters. You’re sure he can hear how your blood stutters in your veins. He’s said it those words again—how many times? Almost everyday—and it still manages to fluster you.

How you managed to score this dude was beyond you. Maybe the ‘tempting’ part of you was the friends we made along the way.

You giggle like he’s smacked you over the head with his giant spear and caused a concussion. That’s what it feels like, at least. He makes you feel dizzy, but in a good way, like you’re being spun around and around by a lover when you return home after a long day.

Your fingers are still pinched together. “Just a little bit.”

You see him swallow.

He fidgets with his fingers for a moment.

He’s staring at your jugular, and though he appears apprehensive, there’s something clouding over his gaze.

He can’t say no to you. It goes against all of his moral principles.

“If it will make you happy.” Just a taste. He’s set in his ways, now. He’ll prick your neck, allow your blood to wash over his tongue, and then he’ll pull away.

And he really does love to make you happy.

“Hell yeah, it will.” You press your chest to his. “All yours.”

Oh, goodness. He swallows harder, and his hands that are usually confident with how they move, are suddenly hesitant now that they rest on the sides of your face. His hands are free of his gloves, and though his skin isn’t warm, you enjoy the callouses and marks that rub against your flesh.

Dutifully, you push his hair behind his ears.

You’re jealous of how lovely he is.

“Are you certain this is–”

“Yep.”

His brows knit together. “But this–”

“Argenti.”

He smiles apologetically. “I just want to make sure this is something you want, and not something you are doing for my sake.”

You sigh.

Then, you press your lips to his. You don’t let the taste of him distract you, however—and you know that’s secretly what he’s plotting by how his eyes flutter shut.

Argenti appears disappointed when you pull away.

“I want you to do this.”

Uh oh. You’re in for it now. You know that look.

He wants to. He does. He’s wanted to for a while now. But it is selfish of him to drink the blood from your wounds, so he instead ignores the desire.

Now, he can’t ignore it any longer.

His lips press to your cheek first. Then he moves to your jawline, painstakingly slow, but still considerate with how he dotes upon you. Maybe he’s trying to coax you from making the worst decision of your life. Wouldn’t be the first time.

You hum, pleased.

His nose is cold when he buries his face into the side of your neck where the throbbing arteries lie beneath thin supple skin.

And you smell delicious. He smells every throb of your veins as your heart pumps in your chest; that metallic earthy smell, like soil after the rain, and dew on rose petals.

Suddenly, you grow nervous.

He notices.

He tries to reel back, but you lock a hand behind his head.

Still, he tries, “you’re uncomfortable. I won’t–”

You’re excited. Your legs are jittery. The adrenaline rush is exhilarating, and sugar flows through your veins like hot ash.

Your skin feels set alight. You’re burning to the touch.

The scent of you is too much. He pinches his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to control himself.

“Bite me.” You feel his lips bump against your neck. “C’mon.” He lets out a stuttered gasp against your skin. “Do it.”

His will is not strong enough.

He wets his lips and they then part to allow sharpened canines to dot along the skin above your veins. He knows each and every path beneath your flesh. He knows where danger lies. He understands your fragility, for he was once the same.

He steers clear of the artery, as enticing as it is. It’s wrong; and he could very well hurt you beyond repair.

Your heart stutters when his fangs slice through your skin.

And it hurts. Of course it hurts, and Argenti knows as such. His other hand that is not trying to hold you still rubs along the other side of your throat soothingly. The pinpricks of his teeth are slow and deliberate. Perhaps it would hurt less if he was quick, but the sharpness stirs hot on your flesh anyway.

You try not to voice your anguish. Instead, your fingers curl firmly into his hair.

He lingers with his teeth lodged into your vein.

It’s uncomfortable, especially when you feel something hot and wet trickle from the puncture wounds and slip over his cold teeth, but you’ve never felt so alive.

His teeth pull away with a wet pop and you shiver.

You’re bleeding, rightfully so. It’s not a major wound���he’d never. You knew he’d never—but with how sticky the holes were growing, you would be convinced otherwise.

Gingerly, you felt a warm tongue swipe over the wound.

That hurt, too. You hiss then, and you feel Argenti wince against your skin.

The damage is done.

“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re practically jumping out of your skin. “Keep going.”

After a pause, his tongue cards once again over the fresh blood spilling from the wound. It doesn’t help the fire in your veins when he slots his lips over the punctured skin and begins to suck. The noises are alarming at best, and you can hear him swallowing.

It hurts.

But it’s good.

You stiffen in his hold.

Argenti stops for a moment to pepper sticky kisses over your wound. You’re sure it’s stained in the shape of his lips. Stupidly, you giggle at the idea.

He continues to indulge and he’s slow. Maybe he’s hesitant, or maybe he’s savouring you. You’re not sure.

When you’re sure he’s finished, Argenti’s bloodied teeth scrape lower along your neck until his fangs sink into the junction of your throat and your shoulder. Somehow, it hurts more.

More bloodied kisses that make your skin stiffen. His tongue draws over your flesh again.

Both the wounds are still bleeding when he decides to add another to your body.

This one hurts even more. You can tell because his teeth don’t sink in cleanly. The other side of your throat has that arterial vein you know he wants to get to. You also know he wouldn’t ever. He’s inching dangerously close to it, though.

He’s sucking and sucking and you smell copper in the air and you’re stomach is churning and your neck is covered in blood.

Your hands slacken from around his head.

The fourth puncture wound comes over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter for a moment.

He’s not stopping.

In fact, he hasn’t even opened his eyes to check on you. He’s way too absorbed in your taste to notice your slackening grip on his shoulders.

His tongue grazes your shoulder.

“Argenti.”

He doesn’t even hear you. You move your hands to push him away, but your arms tremble. You’re growing weaker with every second.

Oh, God. This was a bad idea. You’re good at making those.

You hit his shoulders weakly.

“Argenti.” It comes out strangled and weak.

His teeth pop out of a new wound. He hums.

You’re already dizzy. Weakly, your arms wrap around him and grip loosely onto his clothes.

As sexy as this is, and because you feel like the main character in some cheesy vampire story, the stupid primal urges in your brain to survive shut down the idea of laying there, taking it, and letting him ruin your neck until you fall unconscious.

Argenti finally understands just how strong you smell and is horrified at what he’s done when his eyes finally refocus on you.

He lays you down properly on the couch and rushes to get a first aid kit.

When he comes back, he’s mumbling strings of apologies. He looks forlorn, because he’s betrayed himself, and you.

You don’t think it’s appropriate to comment on how the blood around his mouth is almost enough to make you jump on him. Only issue is you’re not sure your bones can support your weight at the moment.

The alcohol stings as he tends to the punctures, but not as much as his teeth did.

You sigh, but it’s happy.

Argenti looks at you. Guilt is smeared over his face like a thick paste.

“You look just as beautiful as the day I met you,” you murmur to him. Because that day had been a wild day. Not only did a giant man with flaming red hair stop to offer his sincerest compliments on how radiant you were—dressed in flip flops and pyjama pants because you were simply hosing your front lawn—with two squirrels at his feet and five birds resting on his shoulders.

If Argenti could blush, you figure he’d be bright red by now.

Instead, he lets out a shaky laugh. “You flatter me so. I know nothing more enchanting than you.”

The wounds have stopped bleeding now, and he makes sure to clean each one thoroughly. He expresses no concerns about a stitch job. You’re relieved at that one.

Weakly, an arm raises to push his hair behind his ears again.

That alone takes all of the strength out of you.

“You okay?” you ask him.

He looks confused at your question. “Fret not, I have had my fill. It is you who I’m worried about.”

“I feel alive.” It’s partly true. As woozy as you feel, it’s like warm sugar still lingers in your veins. “That was great. I bet you enjoyed it.”

Argenti’s grin turns crooked. “Very much so. Perhaps too much. I’ve hurt you.” His fingers rub over the tender skin surrounding the puncture wounds. “But, you are as sweet as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m so in love with you, dude.” Very appropriate thing to say. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Amazing pet name, too.

Still, Argenti flusters. He clears his throat for a moment and his fingers still around your neck. “Words cannot convey how often I think of you, or better yet how often I long to hold you.”

He behaves as if this is his first confession of many to come.

Oh. Your heart is racing in your chest.

Arms much too tired to move, you instead pucker your lips obnoxiously.

Argenti eagerly leans down to kiss you again. His lips are still bloody, and the scent and taste of metal makes your stomach twist for a moment, but it’s him. It’s him and how gentle he always is—and how can you still be so gentle when you’re enraptured in cutting holes into your partner’s neck? Beats you.

“Still so sweet,” he whispers against your lips. “Is all of you this sweet?”

You kiss his cheek. “Wanna find out?” You’re happy to play pillow princess for an hour.

Argenti smiles at that, but it’s cheeky. His eyes crinkle with mischief as he moves to your lips again.

[inoreuct]

more sanji drinking angst plis,,, 🙏🏼😁

y’know, it’s normal when zoro drinks. he has an iron liver and a sky-high tolerance. he get mildly tipsy with the amount of alcohol sufficient to kill a regular man.

when sanji drinks, though, it’s usually… not very good.

they’re in the galley, have been since dinner. zoro’s drowsy and full and slumped over the table with his chin in his hand as he watches sanji scrub at the dishes until they squeak, divested of his suit jacket and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, and the cook looks haggard. they’ve all been expecting it, really, what with Whole Cake being a fucking doozy— but sanji’s been holding it together perfectly. big smiles and neatly-pressed suits and coiffed hair and all.

zoro knows him well enough to know that he’s due to break at some point. still, tonight is the first time he’s seen sanji like this; like he’d just decided to say fuck it all and throw pretence to the wind. maybe it had been thanks to the emptiness of the galley, save the both of them. maybe sanji had considered it safe because zoro was in no place to judge.

but when sanji had picked up that bottle of rum, he hadn’t put it down until there was nothing left.

zoro had let him drink. the cook hadn’t even been smoking any more than usual— hadn’t had a single hair out of place, no sign of the pressure except the strain at the edges of his smile. everybody had been walking on eggshells for the past few days and sanji had just kept going like nothing was wrong, which zoro knows means quite a lot is wrong, because sanji’s a self-sacrificial bastard who wouldn’t be able to ask for help if his life depended on it.

didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt, though. he’s felt like he couldn’t breathe, the whole of last week; it doesn’t feel right seeing the cook with a bottle between his lips instead of a cigarette, liquor wetting the corners of his mouth instead of smoke. it makes part of zoro tighten into a dead knot. on one hand, it’s an unspoken show of trust— deliberately left alone so as to not draw attention to it, but one all the same. sanji would never let himself go in front of anyone else like this. maybe a few months earlier he’d think the cook just didn’t care enough for his opinion and get all offended, but now?

sanji knows he’s here. he’s never unaware of his surroundings, and especially now after… everything. he’s believing that zoro won’t judge him, and he won’t. he doesn’t. but enough is enough, and sanji’s grip on the edge of the plate is tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

it’s almost a relief in a really twisted way. zoro’s been hovering by the sidelines, sleeping with one eye open and waiting for sanji to crack just so he can catch all the pieces before the cook falls apart completely, and it seems like this is it.

his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “alright, let’s get you to bed.”

“no.” sanji doesn’t stop scrubbing. he doesn’t even bother looking up. “why?”

zoro scoffs. “because you’re fucking drunk, cook. you’ve been washing that plate for five minutes.”

“well maybe it’s just not fucking clean, yeah?” sanji spits, quiet vitriol leadening his words even with his head bowed, and his breathing is jerky as zoro walks forward.

“oi.” it doesn’t come out harshly, exactly, but he needs sanji to know that he isn’t fucking around with this. “What the hell’s going on?”

“i don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t—”

“i don’t know!”

zoro lurches back at the outburst as the cook whips around, seething within the span of a second, plate dropped carelessly into the water in the sink. he hears it thunk when it hits the bottom.

“i don’t know, alright?” sanji laughs, eyes wild. “nothing’s wrong. everything’s wrong. everything is fucking perfect and i feel like i’m fucking dying inside.” his voice cracks right before he takes a visible breath and turns sharply, dipping his hand under the water to grab the plate and sponge again.

zoro watches his shoulders tremble. every movement of his now is precise and carefully calculated; he’s moving like a fucking robot and zoro hates it. hates the way his spine looks rigid enough to snap with a touch. hates the way his face is a placid mask, still water with a storm roiling beneath. zoro doesn’t know how to approach this other than with barbed words and concern thinly veiled as confrontation. he doesn’t know what to do other than be here because it’s better than not being here at all.

sanji’s hands have been scrubbed pink and raw. “get out, mosshead.”

“no.”

the cook’s cuticles are peeling, his fingertips pruned. he never lets either of them get this bad. “i said get out—”

“and I said no.” zoro crosses his arms. he counts three seconds of silence before sanji snaps.

“god, for once could you fucking listen?!” the cook snarls, rounding on zoro like a cornered animal and waving his arms. “i don’t want to talk to you right now! i do not want you here! so please, fuck off and— put me down, you piece of shit!” sanji borderline screams, struggling and wiggling over zoro’s shoulder as he’s hauled up and marched out of the galley.

zoro winces as the toe of a steel-capped oxford jams into his ribs, digging in deeper as sanji grunts with the effort. he doesn’t know where he’s going but they end up outside the infirmary, and he shoulders the door open before depositing sanji on the bed without preamble. “stay,” he grunts, ignoring the noises of outrage and turning to go get water.

“you can’t tell me what to do,” sanji spits from behind him, cheeks red from more than just anger as he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. he either doesn’t realise that he’s listing to the side or he doesn’t care.

“sit down or I’ll make you.”

the cook barks a laugh that snaps in the air like a neck in rope. “try! i fucking dare you, marimo, you—”

zoro tackles him down and he screeches like a trapped cat, trying to escape even as the swordsman pins his legs and shoves his shoulders down into the bunk. “you are drunk. stop it.”

“why?” sanji shouts in his face. the cook is straining against him, all wild eyes and bared teeth, shoulders jerking with a sardonic laugh. “don’t wanna fight anymore?”

“no. i don’t.” the air is suddenly too quiet, too heavy, with something zoro doesn’t know if he should name. he watches as the cook’s face falls and twists into something sullen as he tries one last time to jerk his way out of zoro’s hold. “not like this.”

their ship rocks gently as zoro slowly eases off, shifting his weight back and sitting on the edge of the mattress with a soundless, weary sigh. there’s still a stubborn set to sanji’s chin even as he lays there on his back, unmoving from where zoro put him— leave it to him to be contrary for the sake of being contrary. the swordsman takes a deep breath to suppress an eye roll and opens his mouth to say something—

“it hurts.”

zoro stills, turning so he can see sanji better. “what hurts, cook?”

“everything.”

the blond is staring at the ceiling, unblinking and unreadable. the fabric of his slacks is riding up and zoro swallows down the urge to curl a hand around his pale ankle for comfort. he tells himself he doesn’t know where the urge to soothe came from, but he knows, he knows— this melancholy is something that sanji buries so deep, none of them catch even a glimpse of it on a normal day. his face is a blank slate, his usual fire banked, and he looks so drained. an cracked shell of himself running on empty. “i don’t want to feel it. i don’t want to feel anything,” he continues, softly enough that zoro has to strain to hear, leaning in instinctively. 

glossy blue eyes flick over. golden hair scrunches against the off-white sheets as sanji turns his face towards him and whispers, “doesn’t that make me exactly like them?”

no. zoro swallows, at the same time both too wet and too dry, feeling a little like he’s been gutted with a dull knife. he says a mental to hell with it and slowly shifts his hand to wrap his fingers around sanji’s ankle, just a gentle grip, his thumb resting beneath the notch of bone. he can hear the soft sounds of the waves outside as it melds with sanji’s breathing, as he opens his mouth and comes up dry for things to say. “…get some sleep, curls.”

“can’t.” sanji purses his lips, shrugging a shoulder as he looks away like it’s no big deal. “can’t sleep. not well, at least. not since…”

zoro feels his own heart thud against his ribs as his gaze slips over sanji’s face, the redness rimming his eyes and the dark circles beneath. “i’m sleeping with you tonight,” he decides. 

the cook makes an aborted noise of indignation before apparently deciding that it isn’t worth the effort. “we can’t fit two people in a bed.”

zoro shrugs, unaffected in the face of the venomous look sanji shoots him. “we can try.”

sanji mutters something to the ceiling under his breath. the swordsman pretends not to hear it.

they end up crammed onto the infirmary bed, sanji squashed against the wall and zoro almost falling off. the blond wiggles around in discomfort for five minutes before sitting bolt upright with a hissed curse and undoing his dress shirt in a frenzy; zoro stifles a laugh as he balls it up and hurls it at the desk across the room before flopping back down with a loud huff. 

the cook scrunches himself up, spine pressed against the wall and one knee pulled up between them to maintain the distance, pointed at zoro’s gut as a subtle threat. “i’m not gonna bite you, y’know,” zoro grumbles. here he is doing this out of goodwill and this is how he’s treated. 

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” sanji snips in reply. “also, you stink.”

“no i don’t. i just showered.”

“irrelevant.”

“priss.”

“moron.”

“spoiled.”

“i have standards, you sentient piece of kelp.”

“you—” zoro grits out, before he stalls. somehow, throughout this whole exchange, they’d inched closer and closer together and now sanji’s shoulder is digging into his breastbone, his breath warm across zoro’s cheek even as a brush of his skin above the loose, low front of zoro’s shirt feels completely opposite. “why’re you so fuckin’ cold?” he mutters, briskly rubbing at sanji’s upper arms before the cook bats him away with a startled hiss.

“don’t—” he cuts off and huffs a harsh breath, sneering in the dark as he digs for the right word, “—coddle me.”

“why not?” zoro shoots back. the words are out of his mouth faster than he can process, but it’s too late to take them back. “give me one good reason and i’ll stop. just one.” 

the quiet that falls into place after that is broken by the sound of sanji’s swallow and nothing else. it’s nearly pitch-black; they’d put out the lamp on the wall and the infirmary has no windows. if zoro strains his eye he can see sanji’s outline curled close to his own front, golden hair darkened to honey and arms wrapped around himself.

he recalls how it had felt to have fine bones beneath his hand. how the cook hadn’t kicked him off. 

the hand he rests on sanji side is tentative. barely-there pressure, a ghost of a touch with enough space for sanji to back away. he settles his palm down more firmly after a few seconds, tracking his thumb up and down the bumps of sanji’s ribs, and he barely stops his breath from catching when the cook wiggles away from the wall and presses his spine into zoro’s hand. 

sanji’s looking at him. he can see the occasional flutter of long lashes, feel the weight of the cook’s attention like sanji’s preparing to say something, but it never comes. a soft breath slips from his lips before zoro feels a hand curl around his waist, fingers curling into his shirt. 

“sanji.”

the cook heaves a long-suffering sigh. it doesn’t hide how he’s affected by zoro using his real name; zoro can read him too well for that. knows him too well for that. “what.”

zoro readjusts, fingertips pressing into the small of sanji’s back to pull him closer, and wonder of wonders, the cook lets him. “you’re nothing like them.” 

he pretends he doesn’t feel sanji’s arm tighten around him after a few seconds. he notices that his shirt’s damp right before he falls asleep, right where sanji has his face buried in his shoulder.

he doesn’t mention any of it.

*

the next morning is… interesting.

zoro had woken to an empty bed, with the sheets just barely warm and hazy recollections of a lithe body tucked to his side, a leg thrown over his and soft hair under his chin. he stretches and ambles down to the galley, scratching at his stomach beneath his shirt as he yawns, and right on cue— sanji’s disdainful little tongue click reaches his ears, and he smiles. everything’s back to normal, then. 

there’s more of the usual; luffy getting yelled at to leave the eggs alone, i don’t care if you’re hungry, they are raw, and nami and robin being handed their special little tiny cups of coffee and tea respectively. the rest of the crew filters in, and zoro people-watches from his spot on the ratty corner couch before he eventually gets up and slides into his seat at the table. 

but when sanji takes his spot beside him, it feels different. the cook’s made onigiri for breakfast, the plate set down just a little closer to zoro’s side than usual before he sits, and zoro pauses with his chopsticks in the air as an ankle bumps into his. 

not roughly, or painfully, nowhere near, no. just a reminder. a small nudge that could say any possible number of things, but from the way sanji’s gaze meets his before darting away, he’d guess it’s the thank you that their cook always has so much trouble saying. it’s never a lack of gratitude— more of a refusal to acknowledge that he needed help in the first place, that he accepted it, but zoro will take what he can get.

the circles under sanji’s eyes aren’t quite so dark anymore.

zoro knocks back. he feels the rasp of his boot laces against the heel of sanji’s patent leather oxford, and neither of them pull away. the swordsman presses his lips together and takes a big bite to hide his smile, failing momentarily when sanji immediately starts berating his abysmal table manners, marimo, honestly, if you choke i will leave you to die, and yeah, sure. back to normal.

he catches sanji’s eye again, sky-cornflower-ocean blue, and he wonders what sanji could be seeing in his to make his face soften like that.

normal, and maybe a little something new. 

(he isn’t quite sure what to do the following night. sanji’s already in his own bunk when he slips in for a quick few hours of shut-eye, but it isn’t long before he feels someone climbing in with him, and he just knows instinctively without even needing to open his eye. they’ve got limbs hanging out here and there but they fit reasonably well and zoro wakes with sanji’s sleep shirt tucked in his fist and his thin blanket pulled up around his shoulders.

it goes on like this night after night to the point where their crew knows, he thinks. even if zoro discounts the fact that most of them share a bunkroom, they’ve still got to know something’s up; sanji glows like sunlight reflecting off the ocean now, real smiles and laughs that have him tossing his head back and holding his stomach, eyes in sapphire half-moons. robin brings it up offhandedly one day and zoro hums that proper sleep’s doing their cook good— she gives him that look that she does, and he turns away with a smile that he hides in his arm.

the first time sanji finds him in the crow’s nest, he’s still asleep when zoro’s watch ends. the cook’s stretched out on the bench above as zoro sits on the floor, hand draped down against zoro’s collarbone, his face so peaceful that zoro can’t— fuck, he can’t wake him.

and it can’t be comfortable lying on his own arm like that; zoro sits down and carefully pushes him up until sanji’s leaning on his shoulder, that sharp nose tucked under his jaw, and drifts asleep.)

(he stirs awake before sanji’s gone. his eye flutters open to find the cook mid-yawn, working out a crick in his neck and bathed in early-morning light, warm and golden. the cook realises he’s watching and freezes, shoulders going tense and stiff—

he deflates a little when zoro blinks at him, sleep-warm and bleary. “gotta make breakfast, marimo,” he murmurs, reaching out after a moment’s hesitation.

the hand that cups zoro’s cheek is gently callused and somehow familiar. he turns into it like a flower to the sun and breathes in something that he never even realised he’d gotten used to, olive oil and shoe polish and orange blossom pomade. “i know,” he replies, pressing the words into sanji’s palm, and a thumb drags across his cheekbone.

“need anything before i go?” sanji asks, and they both know it’s half a joke. what could he possibly give zoro in here? a dumbbell sandwich?

that other half, though— it’s far too serious. a cold plunge of water through zoro’s muddled early-morning brain. he knows what he wants, but zoro also knows that patience is a virtue for a reason.

the cook already has a hard enough time letting people in. zoro doesn’t want to push. the hand against his cheek is enough for him, even if it is all sanji could ever want, and so he slips the blond a wry grin. “onigiri?”

“you— ugh, fine.” sanji huffs. “anything else?”

zoro frowns, growing increasingly convinced that this is some sort of trap. these are unprecedented levels of generosity. “…protein shake?”

it takes all of two seconds before sanji puts his face into his hands, taking a deep breath before zoro hears something about having to do everything myself, don’t i? the cook plants his hands on his hips, tapping his foot with one brow arched. “of all the people in the world,” he mutters through his teeth, advancing on zoro with enough of a menacing air that the swordsman leans back into the backrest, “of course it had to be you.”

“me what?” zoro says warily, eyeing sanji up and down, and opens his mouth to continue before a fist grips his collar and there’s a brush of contact at his temple— a kiss, he realises, before all the thoughts drain out of his fucking brain.)

(he’s still reeling when he stumbles his way to breakfast. still wide-eyed as he washes the plates, for once, without complaint. it’s when it’s just the two of them, when zoro twists around to ask a question that he hasn’t yet phrased, that arms lock around his waist and sanji’s forehead presses to his nape.

they’re quiet for a long, long while. “you remind me that i’m not like them, y’know,” sanji breathes, barely loud enough to be heard.

zoro turns in his hold, hands dripping all over the floor, fuck, the cook’ll make him clean that up later, he knows and he isn’t even mad about it. “what do you mean, curls?”

sanji leans into him, all sharp edges and bony joints softened by lean muscle and zoro’s fondness, fingers long and thin and laced together over zoro’s hip. “i’m pretty damn sure they’ve never felt like this.”)

(not much changes after that. franky does make them a bigger bunk to share, though, and they fight perhaps even more fiercely now; afternoons are spent toying with each other across the deck, pushing their limits, pushing each other higher until nami yells at them to stop making a racket. zoro doesn’t pretend that he can’t tell when sanji needs a little more contact, keeping him close when perfectly filed nails dig into his shirt. sanji takes care of them all like he always does, and he lets zoro take care of him— most of the time, at least. it’s still a toss-up on whether he’ll explode or break down whenever anyone tries to help him, but with zoro it’s either both in succession or neither.

sometimes he picks a fight and then cries afterwards. others, he concedes to being wrapped in a ratty old blanket and tucked into zoro’s chest where he can hide from the world.

he sleeps through every night now, though. he’s fiery and sharp-tongued and bright-eyed and when he’s had a bit too much to drink he just gets loud, fooling around with their captain and cackling with nami in a corner of the galley between conspiratorial whispers, but zoro can’t deny him anything even though he’s fairly sure they’re plotting his downfall.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[nyxi-pixie]

Hiiiii.

Sorry to bother you, I wanted to know if you had any fic recs? Your writing is so good and your tastes are immaculate, and I am starving for any kind of good content. Please?

its not possible to bother me love dw <3

NOW. i dont actually read all that much anymore bc i am horrendously picky but this does give me an excuse to hype up the few authors that have satisfied my unreasonably specific tastes 🤩.

so. a few bsd recs for you (except theyre 99% skk because im horribly predictable forever). everyone go read all of these and tell the authors how wonderful they are in the comments please <3

anything @booksandpaperss has ever written is genius work and everyone should read it. could talk abt all of their stuff for hours (and i have🤩 they put up w so much of me bothering them godbless). also our brains do some accidental crazy mind melding shit whenever either of us write fic so if you like any of my stuff you will like theirs. thats the rules. <3

like twin stars in the dark (we collide)- dead apple skk porn as a vehicle for 22skk analysis. makes me salivate i have read it so many times. they get 22skk better than anyone🙏

my lies are for you to keep (my love for you to lose) - the only take on beastskk that matters to me ever. you can actually see me losing my mind in the comment i wrote on this fic bc of how fucking insane every single line made me. theres SO much packed into this thing its fucking crazy i NEEEEED everyone to read it. thats all <3

till death, I'll give you my breath - dazai death timeloop. this fic terrifies me so much i await every update with my teeth chattering and my heart pulsing so rapidly i should be hospitalised. the first scene of chapter 2 genuinely had me on the verge of tears im unwell about it.

(elli also has some jjk stuff thats REALLYREALLY good and if ur into jjk u should check that out too.)

NOW. aside from being a propaganda machine for my fav writer ever. Heres some other stuff i love.

the second perspective by @wildflowerteas. murder mystery/detective noir stuff w some time fuckery. the au of all time. mashes aspects of beast, canon, and some extra special niko sauce into a mixing bowl and goes crazy w it. just Such a genuinely impressive piece of writing. i could talk abt the technical brilliance of it for hours but i will stop myself. you gotta commit to this thing because it WILL make u crazy. also i loveee the sskk. its like if we had the beast first meeting sskk forever. SOSO GOOD!!!!

did fate guide the gun or did you? by @kanetheo. i read this pretty soon after chapter 109 and it genuinely fried my brain for months. the writing style is beautiful (as for everything they write AUGHH!!!) and the angst is delectable. the way it intersperses more fun silly skk moments with just. complete misery. GOD. it just hits. ive reread it quite a few times and it never fails to make me go crazy. srsly cannot rec this enough.

the decomposition of dazai osamu by @hella1975 this shot several bullets through my brain and i still havent recovered. i keep thinking 'oh i should reread that' and then i dont bc some part of my brain still concerns itself w maintaining whats left of my sanity. BUT its crazy good and everyone should read it and suffer at least once. EVERYONE LOVES YOU OSAMU!!!! EVERYONE EATS YOU!!! line of all time lets all kill ourselves.

smoke held conversations by feralrookie - i havent reread this in a while but it does cool stuff with nlh and the skkisms are really good in this too. ppl often write teen chuuya as less intelligent than he actually is. hes very observant, esp of dazai, and this fic gave me that 🙏

i called your name til the fever broke by forest_raccoon - vampire chuuya. biting is involved. i blacked out reading it. enough said.

[generalkenobee]

okay okay okay. we need to talk about the Vulcan ear sensitivity thing. I think you're onto something in that they wouldnt be able to get their ears pierced, like this is silly but if they pierced their ears taht's probably very scandalous, like nipple piercings for humans?? but also like their ears are probably sensitive in a good way too, like imagine having to touch spock's ears for some reason and he almost moans like um that's hot

AHHH THIS IS MY FIRST STAR TREK REQUEST AND YOURE THE ONLY ONE SO PLEASE SEND MORE!!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

OK so...Spock damn near creams his pants when you even get close to his ears like if you need to whisper something to him he's all😮‍💨💦🫨

AND THE WHOLE PIERCINGS BEING SCANDALOUS?!?!? THATS SUCH A GOOD IDEA WHAT?

"Spock" you called out across the room and he walked over to you "yes lieutenant?" He asked voice calm and collected. You stood up on your tip toes to whisper the question into his ear "Dr. McCoy always asks for Ji-" the sound of Spocks voice interrupted you "aughh..mm" you backed away from him "a-are you alright? I didn't hurt you did I?.." Spocks cheeks flushed green "N-No luitenate..I just Vulcan ears are.. sensitive...." you looked up at him embarrassed "Oh.."

PLEASE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU BECAUSE YOU ACTUALLY DONT UNDERSTAND HOW BIG OF A DEAL YOU ARE BC YOURE MY FIRST STAR TREK ASK SOOOO SEND MORE NOW!!😍😍

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

ouuugh the tags in your last post gave me an idea, childe filling in doll!reader's cracks with kintsugi!! (if you don't know, kintsugi is the art of repairing pottery using gold leaf, which accentuates the cracks and turns them into something beautiful rather than hiding them!)

*furious scribbling* people like doll reader,,,, got it,,, /lh

unfortunately, being made of fragile material means you tend to break. A LOT. at least once a week. luckily, they're usually small cracks that can be easily repaired and they don't hurt an awful lot, so you have a lot of tiny "scars" in your body even since before you met Childe. it's the bigger cracks you have to worry about, the ones that sting and spark and expose the inner cavity of your body- they need repairs from a specialist, leaving a large, jagged slash across your skin even after they're healed. you've generally made your peace with them, but even you occasionally wish you could get rid of them or spruce them up a bit- civilians tend to stare if you have a massive break on your body on display out in public, puppet nature notwithstanding

it's Foul Legacy who comes up with the idea, batting around a chunk of Cor Lapis. he likes shiny things, shiny things are pretty. you're pretty! he can use gold to line your cracks, just like Childe learned when he visited Inazuma once! well, the Harbinger is the one who actually does it, his fingers being smaller and nimbler than Legacy's claws, but the Abyssal monster supplies any gold or gemstone or rock or leaf or anything that you need. he chitters and chirps in delight when it's finished, circling you and observing you at all angles with glee. if you'll let him he'll run his talons gently over the lines of gold, purring and nuzzling his head under your chin before scooping you up, light as air. Legacy will try to make sure you don't get seriously injured- it hurts you and his heart. but he can't deny that he adores the way your cracks are lined with gold, running through your skin like gleaming sun kissed rivers

[protosymphonette]

Your ‘hate wins’ Butch and lone survivor art eclipses my thoughts often, I love seeing ur fallout oc’s please talk more about John whenever you have the chance, his positive swag and earnest whimsy have me enraptured. hoping you have a good day 🙏🏼

hello anon sorry for leavin this in my inbox for so long, for some reason i have been PHYSICALLY UNABLE to draw my ocs for the past couple of weeks- i think i got over it though. here are some johns and also a little of my other fo ocs... just 4 u.

[theindescribable1]

God damn it not again-

I need to start doing commissions or smt rather than doing whatever yall want for free 🥲

[luckyashes-art]

lets be real, feral kanade is only a few steps removed from canon... the angriest we've ever seen her is facing mafumom, and that was BEFORE mafuyu hit her lowest point. canon kanade chooses peace, but if she chose violence?????

we keep getting cards of kanamafu shopping together, consider toxic codependent kanamafu (because of course they do everything they possibly can together, they can't stand to be away from each other for long) running into mafumom in public.

kanade is instantly hackles raised, bristling, standing in front of mafuyu to shield her. mafuyu's instinct is to run (if her mom gets any closer she runs the risk of freezing up) but... she's not facing her alone this time. kanade won't let her mom do anything. if she so much as tries to touch her, kanade is grabbing her wrist and digging her nails in with a snarl.

they go home and mafuyu has never felt safer. it's wonderful and it's terrible.

ngl I gotta actually watch the scene in full where Kanade meets with Mafu-mom 😭 (and also read the niigo stories in general, DAMN </3)

the power of alternate universes be so beautiful when you can bring an innocent pacifist and turn them into someone who would Rip Someone To Shreds if you look at some underlying values in them and expand them beyond canon ;SDOGLDNFG

have a quick lil doodle I made, anon, as a treat

[frikatilhi]

Elevator anon here. Sorry I'm late, I was stuck in trafik.

Bojan blinked, still half-asleep and processing the sight of Jere standing in his doorway at ten past three in the morning. The apology took a second to register, and when it did, Bojan’s expression shifted from confusion to concern.

“What?” Bojan finally said, his voice rough with sleep.

“What are you talking about?”

Jere swallowed hard. He could feel his pulse in his ears, his chest, his wrists--everywhere, all at once. He had spent hours trying to make sense of everything, and now that he was here, it all seemed so simple and so terrifying at the same time.

Bojan stared at him for a moment longer, then stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Come in, Jere. We can talk inside,” he said quietly, his voice gentler now, coaxing.

Jere hesitated for a fraction of a second, but the warmth in Bojan’s voice, the familiar kindness, pulled him in. The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly, the world outside felt very far away. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a small lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm glow over the unmade bed and the faint outline of Bojan’s clothes strewn across a chair. It was intimate, quiet, and Jere could feel the tension inside him shifting, not entirely easing, but changing into something he didn’t want to run from.

Jere shuffled awkwardly near the foot of the bed, trying to gather his thoughts as Bojan walked over to the small table where a bottle of water sat. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving Jere, as if he was trying to gauge what was really going on beneath the surface.

“Okay, Jere. Tell me what’s going on. You’re kind of freaking me out here.”

Jere took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but they seemed to be stuck somewhere between his racing heart and the fear that had been gnawing at him all night.

“I mean..” Jere started, but his voice faltered. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look into Bojan’s eyes.

“I not mean what I said earlier, about needing space. That’s not what I want. Not at all.”

Bojan's brow furrowed, his gaze searching Jere’s face as if trying to read the thoughts swirling behind his eyes.

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because… because I panic. Because I’m scared!”

Bojan set the water bottle down and walked over to Jere, his gaze softening.

“Scared of what?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing.

Jere swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. This was it, the moment he’d been avoiding, the truth he’d been too scared to face. But he couldn’t keep running from it, not after everything Bojan had done for him. Not after what he’d felt in that elevator.

"I'm scared of what I'm feeling. You always give me some surprise but I not know what to do with how I feel," Jere shook his head, stepping closer, the words tumbling out faster now.

"I not need space, Bojan. I need you!"

The last three words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw, and for a moment, Jere was terrified he’d gone too far, that he’d said too much. Bojan didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at Jere, really looked at him, and in that moment, it felt like he could see right through him, like he could see everything Jere had been trying to hide.

“You… need me?” Bojan finally asked, his voice softer now, almost disbelieving, his eyes searching Jere’s for any sign that he wasn’t serious.

Jere nodded, feeling the lump in his throat getting bigger. He didn’t just need Bojan’s friendship, didn’t just need his support or his comfort. He needed Bojan, in every way that mattered, in ways he had been too afraid to admit to himself, let alone to Bojan.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, the air thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Then, without warning, Bojan reached out and pulled Jere into a tight hug, holding him close. Jere could feel the warmth of Bojan’s bare skin against him, but this time he didn’t want to pull away.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” Bojan murmured into Jere’s hair, his voice filled with affection and relief. Jere couldn’t help but laugh, a shaky, relieved sound that felt like it was coming from deep inside him. Then, slowly, Bojan’s hand slid up Jere’s arm, tracing the line of his shoulder before resting gently on the side of his neck. The touch was so tender, so deliberate, that it made Jere’s knees weak.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that,” Bojan whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

Jere’s breath caught in his throat, and before he could say anything, before he could even process what was happening, Bojan closed the distance between them. Their lips met in a soft, hesitant kiss, as if both of them were trying to understand this new reality they had stepped into.

But the hesitation didn’t last long. The moment Jere felt the warmth of Bojan’s soft lips against his, something inside him clicked into place, like a puzzle piece finally finding its match. He melted into the kiss, his hands tangling in Bojan’s hair as he pulled him closer. Bojan responded instantly, deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around Jere’s waist, holding him as if he was afraid to let go.

Jere’s mind was spinning with the realization that this was real, that Bojan was kissing him back with just as much need, just as much desire. The kiss grew more urgent, more intense, as if all the pent-up emotions they had both been hiding were finally finding their release. It was messy and desperate, but it was also everything Jere had ever wanted.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other’s as they tried to catch their breath. Jere’s heart was pounding, but it was no longer from fear--it was from the overwhelming realization that this, whatever this was between them, was real and mutual.

“Stay with me tonight,” Bojan whispered, his voice tender, his thumb brushing lightly over Jere’s cheek.

“We don’t have to figure everything out right now, but I don’t want to let you go. Not tonight.”

A fic anon is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor are they early. They arrive precisely when they mean to!

(Also sorry I'm so late, I've been unable to write this weekend!)

Also, everyone's aware that there's a setting on Tumblr that shortens long posts on your dash? /o\

previously

****

The words released tension in Jere's body he hadn't realised he was holding onto. Bojan’s voice was as soft as it had been in the elevator, and it made him want to melt into Bojan, leave all his worriy behind and let Bojan carry it for him. 

At the same time the thought of spending the night with Bojan stirred something deep within him, low in his belly, and he was suddenly very aware of Bojan’s hands around him, holding him firm and tight. Part of him wanted to crawl under the covers with him, push him against the mattress and–

But it was late, and he was tired (so, so tired), and besides, it wasn’t what he wanted.

Well, it was what he wanted. No use in denying it had been what he wanted for a long time now. 

But it wasn’t just what he wanted. He didn’t want some late-night, sleep-hazy, one-off fuck that they would pretend didn’t happen in the morning. He wanted… he wanted so much more than that.

“Just to sleep,” Bojan added, like he was reading Jere’s mind. “I mean, not that I don’t want… I just– shit.”

His babble made Jere smile, and he cut Bojan off with a short kiss on his lips.

“Yeah, yes, I know. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Can you.. hold me?” Jere asked. “Like today?”

Bojan’s eyes lit up with something Jere couldn’t and didn’t dare name, not right now, not just yet. Bojan backed up, pulling Jere with him, until his shins hit the edge of the bed. Then he sat down, scooted back until he was lying on the other side of the bed, and reached his arm towards Jere. 

Jere didn’t need further invitation. He pulled his hoodie above his head, got rid of his sweatpants and crawled after Bojan in only his boxers. Bojan pulled him to his side, manoeuvred him so that they were lying side by side and Jere’s back was against Bojan’s chest.

“Sorry i wake you,” Jere said as Bojan wrapped his arm around Jere’s waist.

“You didn’t.” Bojan’s nose was against Jere’s neck and he could feel the warmth of his breath on his skin. Little goosebumps formed on Jere’s shoulder and down his arm.

“No?” he breathed out, his voice barely a whisper.

Bojan’s arm tightened a little and his face buried a bit deeper. 

“I was here, just worrying. I was so sure I had ruined everything today, that I went too far.”

Jere reached for Bojan’s hand that was resting on his stomach. He laced their fingers together.

“No. Not ruin. You help so much, you always keep me…” Jere searched for the word but couldn’t think of a perfect one. “You always keep me.” 

“I couldn’t help it,” Bojan mumbled. “I only want you to be happy and rested and carefree and… I know it’s not possible, but I just…”

“Yeah. Me too.” Jere thought about all those times when Bojan had one of his panic attacks, or was otherwise anxious or sad or tired, and Jere was thousands of kilometres away. 

“It’s hard, not be close when…” he trailed off. 

“I’m close now,” Bojan murmured, lips grazing his neck softly. Jere shivered.

For now, Jere thinks, but doesn’t let his thoughts dwell on it. Slowly, his breath evened out as  Bojan’s steady breath and the feel of his heartbeat against Jere’s back lulled him to sleep.

They’d figure it out in the morning.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

really random and probably very out of place but…….. hypothetically……… if reader was invited to a bachelor/bachelorette party on another country for let’s say a week or so, how would geto react?? like, i know he would accompany reader to the airport and he’d be super supportive, but would he miss them? 🤨🤨 would he turn into a sad and nostalgic and soggy cat……….. a little yearner even though it’s only a week………

HE WOULD . HE WOULD . HE WOULD. I CANNOT OVERSTATE HOW MUCH HE WOULD DO JUST THAT.

anon this ask set every neuron in my brain on fire i’ve been WAITING to talk abt loserboy loverboy sugu……. because that is exactly what he is. he’s a loser. a lover. he loves you so much. he’s so good at hiding it, so good at keeping up a cool guy image, but deep down he’s a soggy little wet cat who just wants to play with your hair and have you play with his 😔😔 i think that once you’ve completely wormed your way into his heart he never wants to be away from you…. he loves just existing with you at home the most . that’s where he feels most at peace. most himself . :(((((( sniffle….

so when you go overseas…. i doooo think he sort of dies a little. very much turns into a little yearner!!! our little sad soggy cat!!!!! he WANTS to be normal about it so badly because . he knows it shouldn’t be a big deal if you’re away for a week or two. it shouldn’t be. and he desperately wants to pretend that he’s okay because satoru and shoko keep calling him codependent and he wants to prove them wrong. but i think he lasts like…. a couple days before his distractions stop working and he notices that everything just feels kind of wrong. like. where is his little baby!!!!!! where is his little baby who plays with his hair and eats his breakfast and smiles at him so sweetly :(((( he just feels sooo bored and so lonely and so mopey and after a while he gets bad at hiding it. satoru and shoko can’t bring him anywhere because eventually he WILL sigh longingly and go “i wish y/n was here.” sad little baby boy. 

when you’re talking on the phone i think he tries his best not to let you in on it though….. he just wants you to have fun where you are. he doesn’t want to be selfish and whine for you to come back :((((( even though that’s all he desperately needs…. i think he’s patient enough to just . wait . but he misses you. i don’t think he sleeps or eats very well when you’re not around either… but he really, really tries!!! and i do think he reaches a functional state eventually . especially if you remind him to take care of himself extra while you’re away :3 then he’s like . oh well. i guess i Have to. since they asked so nicely. say what you will but i think he’s whipped..

and when you come back……. yeah. you’re not leaving the house again anytime soon :33 he WILL keep you hostage in his lap on the couch and he will feed you a nice warm handmade meal. kisses your head every two seconds. cradles you soooo close . he needs to recharge!!!!!

[14dayswithyou]

I can see you, Saint... ^^

When we see see redacted or get little redacted cookie crumbles

(sorry I didnt have the Secret little phrase)

✦゜ANSWERED: I don't want to spoil too much, but Day 7 is very important!

[enden-k]

good thing childe didnt see his outfit

[up-above-in-the-clouds]

Dear Cloudy, how many neighbors have come visited you before us? We hope you had a nice time with them and with us, we love you a lot buddy. We hope the future neighbors will be kind to you too

*insert forehead kiss and hugs

(Love your AUs and arts Bee, thanks for sharing them with us, have a nice day and take care. And yes, this is an attempt to seek lore, we want to know more about our favorite cloud boi)

[utterhomestucktrash]

You make so many lives better, thank you for taking care of yourself! - ☆

Its the dream to make other people happier or make an impact !! That's humanity babey !!