#comfort kindness family

[slfcare]

ten years ago you were so scared of such different things, but you survived them anyway. the same goes for five years ago and two years ago. everything that has ever felt like a hurdle, you’ve passed through. so be afraid, identify your fears, and then allow yourself to remember that in just a little while, this will be another thing that you have overcome.

[beamingdesign]

take it day by day

[sp0o0kylights]

Here’s the thing about natural—or unnatural, as it were—disasters.

Regular social norms go right out the fucking window.

In Tommy’s case, all it took was to see one news report, highlighting the burning husk of Starcourt, for him to turn to his girlfriend and ask “Do you think…?”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

Didn’t need too—Carol immediately and instantly knew what he was on about.

They were in Tommy’s house, but that didn’t matter. Carol went right for the phone like she owned it (or like she’d been practically raised in said house given she’d known Tommy since he was seven, which meant she might as well own it.)

“He’s not answering.” She reported after a tense moment,

Tommy bit his lip.

“Think he’s still messing around with Wheeler enough to be at her house right now?” He asked, but it was a hail mary and they both knew it.

Carol rewarded his stupidity with a flat stare. “He’s not dating anyone right now, he’s person non grata with that hideous uniform.”

And for other reasons, not that either of them bothered to voice it all.

Tommy opened his mouth again, no doubt to ask something else idiotic in his growing panic, but was stopped by a finger held loftily in the air.

Carol expertly dialed with her other hand, before once again returning the phone to her ear.

This time she got someone.

“Hi Miss Maple, is Mindy home?” 

A pause, and then a rapid-fire back and forth took place, in which Carol:

Assured Miss Maple she was not at the mall.

Was happy to know Mindy was also not at the mall.

Made an appropriate gasping noise upon finding out Mindy had left only an hour before the mall had caught fire and could she talk to Mindy? Pretty please? This is so scary!

--Until Carol was finally connected to Mindy herself.

“No, I'm glad you’re safe.” Carol was saying, after another exchange that to Tommy, felt like some kind of over-complicated girl language where they both made soft reassuring noises until they finally got down to business.

Which in this case, was asking if Mindy saw Steve Harrington, their wayward third, at the mall.

“He was there.” Carol confirmed a scant few minutes later, frown slashing across her face as she hung up the phone. “She said he had the closing shift.” 

Tommy panicked harder. 

“What do we do?”

Carol, bless her, gave him the easiest answer in the world. 

With steel in her eyes, she calmly determined: “We go get him.”

They did.

xXx

Steve was not at the mall. 

One of his obnoxious children was however, and insisted Steve was both fine and had gone home. 

(As if anyone was ever fine after escaping out of a burning building.) 

Lucky for Carol’s temper and Steve both, that proved to be true. 

 “Hello Steven.” Carol greeted the second one of the Harrington’s double doors swung open. “You look like shit.” 

“‘Ro?” Steve asked in blatantly disbelief, squinting at her. 

Give how fucked up one of his eyes was, Carol wouldn’t be surprised if he honestly could’t make her out. 

Steve’s messed up face moved to the left with another blatant squint before he warbled out: “‘Tommy?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s us. Move over.” She flicked her hands into a “shoo” gesture, as Steve dutifully stepped back, allowing them in. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, somehow managing to sound normal for that one singular line. 

Carol beelined right for the cabinet with the medkit, while Tommy went for the fridge. 

“Taking care of you, idiot. How the hell did you get a black eye in a mall fire?” 

Or choke marks, or any of his other wounds she’d taken in at first glance, none of which looked to be a burn. 

It took a long, long moment for her to get an answer, during which Steve had trailed them both to his kitchen, confused but not fighting their presence.  

“Part of the building collapsed. I--there was--” He struggled for a moment, looking lost in his own kitchen. “A lot happened.” 

“No shit.” Tommy snorted, wrapping a  hand towel around an ice pack before dutifully handing it to Steve. 

“Put that on your eye.” He muttered, when all he got was a blank stare back. 

“Oh.” Steve stared at him, without moving. “Thanks.” 

With another loud snort, Tommy shoved it in his hands, then forced Steve to actually put it against his eye. 

An interaction that did not bode well for the state of Steve’s head. 

“Take that disgusting shirt off.” Carol commanded a few seconds later as she finished laying out medical supplies on the counter. Lined them up like little soldiers gearing up to ship out. 

Bandages, neosporin, alcohol wipes and various other little bits and bobs weren’t going to fix whatever the hell happened to Steve, but given his aversion to hospitals, Carol knew this was as good as she was getting. 

“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” Steve grumbled, but thankfully, complied. 

Or tried too, anyway--he seemed to be reluctant to take the ice pack off his eye now that he figured out that's where it should go, and equally seemed to be having issues raising his arms above his shoulders. 

Carol sent a pointed look at her boyfriend, then jerked her eyes in Steve’s direction when the idiot just stared at her. 

“Let me help you.” Tommy said a moment later, right before Carol decided to throw something at him. 

It took them both a minute, during which Carol rolled her eyes twice at their incompetence, but eventually they managed to get Steve’s busted torso out in open air, and the ice pack firmly back on his eye. 

Carol turned to survey the damage, and nearly dropped the bandages she was holding in shock. 

Tommy too seemed at a loss for words, eyes wide at the sheer amount of bruising. 

Steve was a mess.

More than, a mess--this was the worst state Carol had ever seen anyone in, and the fact that he was on his feet still was a fucking miracle. 

‘Staring won’t fix it.’ Carol told herself harshly, and she knew damn well Steve wasn’t going to fix it either unless someone forced him. 

Hence of course, why they were there. 

“Steven Harrington, did you run from the paramedics?” She demanded, as she finally picked her first weapon (a disinfectant wipe) and strode over to begin her battle. “There is no way they let you go looking like this!”

“They had other priorities.” Steve said defensively, then hissed as Carol got to work. 

“You should have been one of said priorities, idiot!” 

Tommy thankfully, had decided to make himself useful by retreating to the other side of the kitchen and pulling various items out of the fridge and pantry. 

Inbetween her runs for more supplies and hissing insults at how fucking stupid Steve was, Carol identified the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches--their little groups go to favorite. 

Which was good, because it both got him out of the way and meant they could get something in Steve’s stomach before she forced every pain pill she had down his throat. 

“I’m fine guys, really.” Steve protested, as if constantly repeating it would somehow make his words true. 

Carol stared deep into his watery eyes, before jabbing a finger into the center of the largest bruise on his side. 

“Carol!” He howled, bending double and away, panting harshly. 

“That,” She informed him with a pitiless stare, “was for lying.” 

Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as she first thought--it seemed to be mostly just bruises. 

Possibly a cracked rib or two, at worst. 

The worst of it was Steve’s eye, and of course, his head, because there was no way he didn’t have a concussion amongst all this. 

(Only time would tell how bad it was.) 

When Steve was as doctored up as Carol could make him, she promptly turned and frog marched him to his parents' overstuffed couch.

“Sit and stay sitting, while I clean up.” She ordered, not waiting to see if Steve would obey. 

She passed Tommy on her way back to the kitchen, a plate piled high with food in his hands. 

“Make sure he takes at least a few bites.” She added, low enough so only he heard. 

He nodded, and for the first time since the three of them had fallen out, Carol felt something in her finally relax. 

Figured it was likely the same for the boys, given their dynamic had always been something one step away from a normal friendship. 

(it wasn’t the relationship her mother had once accused her of having, though granted, they had tested those waters once, but something that sat in between ‘family’ and ‘mutual ownership.’ 

Losing Steve had carved something hollow in her and Tommy both. She’d put on a good show of not caring. Pretended it hadn’t cut deep. 

Getting even a taste of it like she was? 

Carol wasn’t letting him go again.) 

Cleaning up took a minute, long enough hopefully, for the pain meds to kick in, and she didn’t feel too guilty when she came back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, next to Steve (and thus putting him in the middle, between herself and Tommy.) 

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into her the second she sat down, like he’d been waiting for her to return. There was a pause, like he was bracing to be pushed off, but when she scooted closer, the tension left him in a silent exhale. 

“I missed you.” He whined softly into her shoulder.

She ran her nails through his hair, silently bemoaning the state of it. “We missed you too, Stevie.”

“I want to be friends again but,” Steve sighed, and Carol watched Tommy tense, staring at Steve with such intensity one would think Steve was about to announce whether Tommy would live or die.

(Honestly, her boys were so stupid sometimes.)

“We can't be mean anymore.” Steve finished. “Not me—but also not, not you guys.”

With an (unfortunately) adorable wrinkle of his nose, he added, “We were too mean.”

Carol rolled her eyes, but only when she was certain Steve was paying more attention to her sweater than her face.

“Compromise. I’ll only be openly mean to people who deserve it.” She countered, as Tommy finally relaxed.

“I can be nicer.” He agreed, slowly sinking down into Steve’s other side.

“Way less mean. No--no more pranks or insults.” Steve continued.

Carol nodded. “Not in public.” She agreed. 

She was not giving up her own personality in private, thank you very much. If that made her an asshole that was fine--it wasn’t like she hadn't been told she was nasty before this. 

“And I’m friends with Robin now. So you hav’ to be friends with her too.” 

“Buckley?” Carol made another face, and knew she fucked up when Steve instantly tried to sit up.

“Robin Buckley. She’s really cool, and--” He started, with that kind of stubbornness Carol knew all too well meant he’d made up his mind and would refuse to change it.

“Fine, fine!” She said quickly, though not without an eye roll. “You have got to stop adopting weirdos though. The kids are enough.”

Steve slowly laid back down. 

“You know about the kids?” 

“Steve Harrington, town babysitter?” Tommy said, something teasing threading through his voice. “Everybody knows, man. You give so many rides home your beamer has gained several bus themed nicknames.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Carol snorted, before laying her cheek atop Steve’s head. Tommy cuddled up close to his other side, the same way they all used to before their parents started insisting their cuddle piles were “inappropriate.”  

(That hadn’t stopped them. Nothing had stopped them, until Steve had a crisis of consciousness while dating Wheeler. 

It was only half the reason Carol wanted to put her head through a wall.) 

“That’s what you have me for.” She informed him. 

“Yeah.” Carol could feel Steve’s smile, gentle and radiant as always. “Guess I do.”

A nice, perfect moment followed, the one she knew both her and Tommy had been craving. 

Steve, of course, was a creature who required constant reassurance because his awful, neglecting parents never provided any, and she was prepared when he fought against both his pain and sleep to seek it. 

“You guys promise to be nice to Robin? And Nancy, and Jonathan?” He asked it quietly, like he wasn’t sure what they'd do if they said no. 

“Oh God,” Tommy moaned, “I have to be nice to Byers?” 

 Steve stiffened once again, snapping out; “Yes--” 

“We promise, Steve.” Carol interrupted before Tommy’s giant fat mouth could ruin things.  

She moved a hand down to rub gently at his neck, a soothing gesture. 

Tommy, of course, wasn’t done, because Tommy was a moron. “Wasn’t he the guy Wheeler cheated on you with?” 

“We said we promise.” Carol repeated, steel in her voice. 

Tommy met her eyes over Steve’s head, and was greeted with the steel core of his girlfriend’s ‘do as I say or die’ personality. 

“Fine.” Tommy conceded with a pout. “I’ll be nice to fucking Byers.”

 In a mutter he added;  

“Not happy about it though.”

“That’s okay.” Steve mumbled back, seeming to have finally tired himself out. 

“Go to sleep, Steve. We’ll be here in the morning.” Carol told him.

It was a longstanding fear of Steve’s--that people just left in the night without saying goodbye. 

(Likely because his parents kept doing it.)

It didn’t take long, Steve was the kind of guy who fell asleep quickly. 

It was a nice mend to the hole Steve’s departure in her life had made. Carol hadn’t truly been looking forward to living her life without him. 

She’d get him back however she could.

Even if it meant being nice. 

(Carol hated being nice, but she’d do it, for Steve. 

Well. Less for Steve and more to complete the Tommy-Steve-Carol super trio that Carol had lived most of her life in, at least, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

Not now, anyway.) 

xXx

Close to a year later, Carol stood with her arms crossed, staring coolly at one Edward Munson, drug dealer extraordinaire and former (even if he was cleared) criminal. 

He grinned at her, the jerk.

With a supernatural slowness, she turned her gaze to Steve.

“I swear to God Steve you better housebreak him before you bring him anywhere near me.” She said, loud and clear.

Hadn’t she warned him about adopting more weirdos!?

Steve winced. 

“Come on ‘Ro, you promised not to be mean.” He wheedled. 

“I promised to not be mean to people who didn’t deserve it.” She shot back, as Tommy, wisely, stayed silent behind her.

(Robin, she noted, was equally quiet on Steve’s other side.

Normally this would raise alarms—Robin was quick to defend people if she thought Carol was being shitty and as a general rule was never quiet, but it would appear in this case she’d already clocked where Carol was taking this.

Smart girl.)

“Eddie doesn’t deserve—” Steve started but she cut him off with a blue tipped nail, shoved right against his lips.

“Not yet he doesn’t. But Munson,” She leveled her glare on him now, and let him feel the weight of it. “If Steve so much as says your name in a sad tone of voice, I will make your life into the kind of hell that Jason Carver can only dream of. Understand?”  

Behind her, Tommy cracked his knuckles, which was overkill and she’d get on his ass later for being dramatic, but presently she was too busy letting Munson figure out just how serious she was. 

Eddie’s gaze traveled from Carol, to Tommy, Robin, Steve and finally back to Carol in an assessment she frankly, hadn’t thought him capable of. 

She pushed him anyway. 

“I’m waiting, Munson.” 

In a somber tone of voice, Eddie replied; “It’s gotten. Very, very gotten.” 

“Okay, I’m lost.” Steve said, because, as always, he was the last person to know he was in love.

Moron. 

“Good. As long as we understand each other. Now.” Carol tossed her hair back with a quick snap of her hand. “Milkshakes?” 

“Robin--” Steve whined, no doubt wanting her to spell things out since Carol was refusing, but thankfully Buckley also seemed to realize staying quiet was the best course of action, and instead of answering quickly got Steve off track with a jab at his milkshake order. 

Which was of course, why Carol liked her.

(She wasn’t about to share that with Robin just yet. Integrating someone into a trio like theirs was delicate business—and she had a sinking feeling Robin might be sticking around, just like Steve and Tommy had.

As for Eddie Munson? 

Only time would tell.)

[fatedroses]

He has, in fact, not had his coffee yet.

[sergle]

making LEAPS and BOUNDS with the feral kitten!! tonight I managed to slowly move her food onto my lap to encourage her to put her paws on me while she ate, and once that clicked, she kept kneading on my hands and my legs. I've already broken the seal w/ being able to touch her, but getting HER to touch ME seems huge, I think she's been really needing that, since I don't know how long it's been since she's been around her family. wooo progress!!! p.s. I don't have any pictures yet, bc whenever I'm with her, I'm playing a youtube video of cat purrs / trills to calm her down, and if I go to take a picture it'll pause the video. but I WILL take a picture of her soon!

[glossoholicc]

"Relate"

[flarebean]

DON'T CRY!!! SOMEONE OUT THERE REALLY CARES ABOUT YOU!!!

MY BESTIE MY PERSONAL HERO MY FRIEND MY EXECUTIONER: DOMINUS THRAX

(i'm calling it done! progress threads: 1 2 3)

i have no other ways to tell him i love him. showering him in decorations including ones i spent plat on and a heart lamp and beating up neciwally. i really wish and hope we get a choice to let him stay.

[birb-catto]

I love the wholesomeness of this fandom

Cale sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: YES YES YEAAAH MORE BLOOD MOAAAR

DHB sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: NOOOOOO baby don't die 😭

[hoarding-stories]

Adding to the list of "Groundbreaking Knowledge that only the Bells Hells know":

The Matron's actual face

The identity of the two gods holding the divine gate

Details about the Matron's rite of ascension

The god's opinion on the Luxon

The Matron's feelings on things in general

They really have a "you can chat with us, take a load off" vibe as a party

[slfcare]

I used to hate it when people said the trick was to just do it until ‘do it scared’ started going around, because that’s truly it. Life didn’t start changing until I applied for jobs with one hand in front of my eyes and a trembling hand navigating my computer mouse. Or until I said everything on my mind (in moderation) with my fists clenched and my legs weak. Or until I refused to accept that I’d ‘just’ be shy forever while also kind of being nauseous at the idea of trying to be the opposite. Two things can coexist and that’s exactly the point of believing that you can do anything.

[beamingdesign]

trust divine timing

[aventurineswife]

I have a request, what if the reader was a shapeshifting creature called a basalisc, she has to eat residual elemental energy in order to use her abilities to change her appearance. She escaped from Dottore and ended up in Natlan, she was using her human appearance when she accidentally got caught in a wire trap and revealed her true appearance, luckily Ororon was nearby, but the reader wasn't able to transform back into her human appearance completely because they hadn't eaten any type of elemental energy for a while. https://youtu.be/1etdx9-BbQU?si=SMQcwZ0JcWZ63VP5

To Be Named, To Be Known

Summary: After escaping from Dottore, you—a shapeshifting basalisc—find yourself in Natlan, struggling to maintain your human form due to a lack of elemental energy. When you accidentally trigger a wire trap, your true form is revealed, leaving you vulnerable. Fortunately, Ororon, a mysterious outcast from the Masters of the Night-Wind tribe, finds you. Instead of reacting with fear or hostility, he offers you his understanding—and the energy you need to regain your form.

Tags: Ororon x Reader, Shapeshifter!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Introspection, Kind Stranger Vibes, Found Family Themes (Implied).

Warnings: Mild Body Horror (Reader's shifting form), Mentions of Past Experimentation & Abuse (Dottore’s involvement), Themes of Identity & Acceptance, Mild Injury (Reader caught in a trap).

[Header credits]

The wire trap snapped around your ankle, its metallic twang cutting through the dense jungle silence. You barely had time to react before you lost your footing, the undergrowth beneath you giving way. Your body twisted midair, instincts screaming, but there was nothing to hold on to—nothing to stop the inevitable. The wind rushed past as you crashed onto the damp earth below, leaves crunching under your weight.

And then, something worse happened.

Your human form flickered.

A shudder ran through your body as the illusion wavered, like ripples on water, before finally breaking apart. Your skin darkened, shifting into the textured scales of your true form. Your limbs lengthened slightly, talons peeking from your fingers, and your pupils turned slit-like, glowing faintly with a residual, hungry energy. The shift was incomplete—stuck between forms—because you hadn’t fed on elemental energy in too long.

Panic shot through you. You reached for the trap, tugging at the wire, but your strength wasn’t what it should have been. If anyone saw you like this—

A rustling sound. Someone was nearby.

You froze, heart pounding. Then, from the thick shadows between the trees, a voice—smooth, even, and laced with something unreadable.

"Ah. A name misplaced in the wind, a shape caught between dreams. How strange. How... fitting."

A figure stepped into the clearing.

He was tall, his presence neither imposing nor soft—just there, like a shadow moving with the night breeze. His navy-blue hair, streaked with pale highlights, shimmered faintly under the filtered sunlight. One magenta eye, one cyan/dark blue. A deep blue marking under his left eye, and capeq—black, bat-like, shifting slightly as if adjusting to some unseen current in the air.

Ororon.

You had heard whispers of him—a recluse from the Masters of the Night-Wind tribe, a man who named things as easily as others breathed. And yet, here he was, watching you with the patience of someone who had seen strange things before and had never feared them.

You struggled again, your breath uneven. “Don’t—” you managed, voice hoarse, but you weren’t sure what you were asking of him. Don’t look? Don’t come closer? Don’t see?

Ororon tilted his head slightly. Then, he crouched down in front of you, one hand resting on his knee, the other tracing a vague shape in the dirt.

"Trapped," he mused, as if testing the word on his tongue. "But not caught. No, not caught at all. The wind still moves, even when tangled in branches."

You blinked, struggling to make sense of his words.

He reached out, and for a moment, you flinched. But he didn’t touch you. Instead, his fingers brushed the wire, inspecting it.

"This is a name, too, in its own way," he murmured. "A thing that calls out, a thing that binds. But it is not your name. No, yours is something else."

Your breathing was still ragged, but you forced yourself to speak. “I—I need elemental energy,” you admitted, ashamed of your weakness. “I can’t… shift back until I get some.”

Ororon’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he closed his eyes, as if listening to something only he could hear. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.

"Names need sustenance, just as bodies do."

Then, without another word, he stood and turned, cape shifting as he moved toward the trees.

For a moment, you thought he was leaving, but then he raised a hand. A moment later, a faint pulse of energy flickered in his palm—a harmless wisp of air, but filled with enough residual energy that you felt it hum against your senses.

He turned back to you.

"Eat," he said simply. "Or do you prefer a different kind of offering?"

You hesitated. You weren’t used to kindness. Certainly not from strangers. Certainly not after Dottore.

But Ororon—he wasn’t looking at you with fear. Not with disgust, nor curiosity, nor pity. Just… patience. As if he had already accepted the shape you had taken, the shape you would take, and any you might be in between.

Slowly, you reached for the offered energy. The moment it entered your system, warmth spread through your limbs, and you felt the shift begin again—scales retreating, talons withdrawing, skin smoothing into human form once more.

Ororon watched, expression unreadable.

"Ah," he said finally, once you were fully changed. "And now the wind moves freely again."

You exhaled, steadying yourself, before looking up at him. “…Thank you.”

He gave you a long look, then nodded.

"Your name," he said suddenly, "what is it?"

You hesitated. The name you had once been given by Dottore was not one you wished to keep. The name you had called yourself since your escape was one that still felt foreign on your tongue.

And yet, Ororon asked not with ownership, but with understanding. As if he knew the weight names could carry.

“…I don’t know,” you admitted.

He considered that.

Then, after a moment, he turned his gaze to the sky, as if consulting the wind itself.

"Then perhaps it will find you," he murmured, "when it is ready."

And somehow, that was enough.

[thefallenangel2008]

Look man, I love Stan as much as the next person, but I HATE when people invalidate Ford's trauma and abuse to go say about how Stan had it "worse". THEY WERE BOTH ABUSED BY FILBRICK AND THE ADULTS AROUND THEM BUT IN DIFFERENT WAYS. THEY BOTH WENT THROUGH SOME SERIOUS SHIT BC OF THEIR MISTAKES. THEY'VE BOTH PAYED THE PRICE. THEY'VE BOTH BEEN THROUGH HELL AND BACK AND NOW THEY'RE THRIVING, TOGETHER. Bro I have so much stuff to say about this but I genuinely don't have the motivation rn. Either way, the main point of the post is: STOP INVALIDATING FORD'S TRAUMA. HE DIDN'T HAVE IT EASIER FROM STAN, NOR VICE VERSA. THEY'RE TWO TRAUMATIZED OLD MEN WITH THEIR FLAWS AND THEIR EVERYTHING AND THEY DESERVE THE TIME AND SPACE TO WORK ON THEMSELVES.

[gatoburr0]

Just saw your figmeg stuff and I find it cute! The kids are cuties as well :]

I do have a question, what does Fig cookie think of the treatment of their soft spoken tiger kit :[

Oh they’re definitely concerned, and worry about her more than anything. They absolutely defend her and get her out of trouble every time they can, and after that they do their best at comforting her. Although they can’t teach her how to be physically strong (since that’s Nutmeg’s thing), they can at least help her be more emotionally prepared for the things life brings.

Gosh I would say more about this if it wasn’t 2 am rn BUT I got an idea that I will be drawing later today

[kacievvbbbb]

But what if I said Mihawk

*puts my hand on your back as I lead you down an endless hallway* walk with me.

Mihawk not wanting shanks to know how much he means to him. How he was the only barrier between Mihawk and and an all consuming nihilistic loneliness. How he hides himself so thoroughly that he feels he needs an excuse to be around shanks. If it’s not dueling then it’s bringing him a wanted poster Mihawk can’t just see Shanks because then he’ll know! He’ll know that he is all Mihawk has and that sometimes the loneliness he’s surrounded himself in suffocated him threatens to swallow him whole.

That he knows Shanks loves him has no doubt about it Shanks is incapable of not loving the people around him. And Mihawk doesn’t know what to dj with it. Doesn’t know how to love him back. Doesn’t know how to love without the weight of expectation . Doesn’t know how to stay without feeling restlessness settle in his skin. Doesn’t know how to be bad at something and so he avoids it. Let’s himself get swept up in Shanks love and never think about what it might mean to love him back whole heartedly (because he does he always has he always will even when they were ten years apart the only face he ever wanted to see at the end of a blade was shanks this is the only way Mihawk knows how to love)

Mihawk by his nature is casually cruel. He’s callous with people and capricious.Mihawk is terrible at making friends in the way all lonely people are. Doesn’t even know he needs friends. He places to much on shanks. Revolved his life wholly around the expectations on him. He said a lot of things he regrets that day. Some part of him still desperately wishes to see that smiling boy with the straw hat and 2 arms again live and in motion. He doesn’t know how to be sorry for this. Doesn’t know how to apologize at all. Doesn’t know what the weight of guilt is supposed to feel like. But Mihawk is sorry for the words he said that night, he didn’t mean them. He’ll never say that tho. But he will show up with a wanted poster and takes of the exploits of a smiling young boy with a straw hat and a body nit made of rubber. (It’s not the same but he’s glad that boy wasn’t gone forever that he gets to live on in color and motion)

There is a green haired swordsman that has changed the trajectory of Mihawks life. And a pink haired ghost girl that’s complicated his entire philosophy and the red headed man that is the catalyst that started it all. Mihawk has changed in the 2 years of having known these 2 kids more than in his 41 past years of being alive. There is nothing as undoing as a child. Maybe Mihawk can just love for the sake of it no expectations, no requirements, no guilt

[provinzpoet]

You're my kind of weird. I'm gonna keep you. stop resisting.