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vyainide · 8 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤgratefulness (i'm sorry, can this be over now?)ㅤ౨ৎㅤ12.9k

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oneㅤ/ㅤtwo synopsis. luffy loves you— you know this with how abundantly clear love is in every ministration of his outstretched hand and a grin— yet your traitorous heart demands more, even though you're in no place to give him your loyalty. you know this so you do not demand his love nor to be saved, even when met with a relentlessly stretched hand.

warning(s). gn! reader, hanahaki disease, but some creatively liberated variation of it, angst, hurt/some comfort, slow burn, but does it really count if nothing happens?, unrequited love, pining and the works, background character death, blood, violent imagery, vague allusion to an unspecified mental disorder that involves eating habits (pls be careful!!!), luffy tries his best to be kind but it's cruel, reader spirals 🙏; minimal editing and proofreading (these are basically my thoughts raw and unadulterated)

from vyon. the card game they play is a vietnamese one also known as smth like thirteen in english and has too many rules to explain but it doesn't really matter :3 i was a beast at that game though i fear; this fanfic has been in my drafts for so long, it also grew into too big of a project than it was meant to be. i also had to split this up into two parts, it was getting too long, i'm sorry ＞︿＜

do not repost / copy / translate.

Once you know Monkey D. Luffy, you'll know his heart not a few minutes after. He's welded the unmoving, burning ingot to his bicep, always on display due to his amassing collection of armless vests; rubber skin melted around the golden gem, oozing past the lines of his beating heart to staple it there, an anomaly on the expanse of skin not otherwise susceptible to bullets or cannons. Your captain is a man that lives with his heart on his tongue, always ready to dictate the lay of your next move with an irregular beat that drums against the skinned men of war and an impulsivity that makes his crew scramble after him exasperatedly; oxygen taken from his cerebral arteries to his brain are stained in the grease and oil that stick to the meat he handles so carelessly. In the same endearing way, he's careless with his heart, allows for the small stuff to momentarily prick his heart, for judgement to cloud into anger before it picks up on the bitter taste of agony.

It's always easy to get a frown onto Luffy's face. Feign disinterest in his stories; make yourself too busy to help him look for strange insects; force him to shower, scold him after he does something he wasn't meant to; keep him away from something he seems interested in; starve him for more than five minutes— he makes it all exceptionally too easy. You're not audacious enough to claim to know Luffy any more than the Strawhats, especially not those that he had met in East Blue; you try not to let it bother you that they managed to meet a younger Luffy who had so many holes in his defence, whose smile threatened through skin more, who had yet to find scars in his palm from how hard he had to clench his fists.

To you, it seems unfair that Luffy had managed to uncover so many of your firsts. His unwavering presence by your side as you learnt how hard it was to live on sea, the intonations of your screaming when a marine canon was pointed at you, to live so freely away from the confines of restrictive justice, how it felt to have a hand in yours to promise forever and then some. Luffy has no preferential treatment when it comes to people he loves; he treats them all the same, no hierarchy could dream to disrupt that.

With the same sandals he uses to stomp on the faces of Marine's, he could demand food from Sanji, money from Nami, Zoro to play with him— instead, you watch him whine Sanji, food and dissolve into a puddle when his cook orders him to wait, he allows Nami's fists to fall onto his head when he makes any financially impulsive decision (or even thinks them), and he idles himself with drawing on Zoro's face with Usopp and Chopper, with the previous two of them taking the psychical brunt of their consequences. (Chopper is let off with a mere promise that he won't join in with their shenanigans again when it involves making Zoro into a fool and a growing bump underneath his hat.)

Luffy, from second to fourth gear, is tender aggression when it is love.

His form is bizarrely respectful when the door opens and light dawns upon your face; you see him through the gaps of Nami and Sanji's legs and towering forms over him, his hands on his thighs and feet tucked underneath his bottom. He slurs out an I'm sorry that lets you know that his face is definitely messed up and then follows up with an I was hungry though!

Then Nami messes him up some more for his shitty justification.

She leaves him— some caricature of her anger— on the floor with her hands on her hips and Sanji trailing after her with hearts in his eyes at her dominant display of power. As she passes Brook, he asks for the colour of her underwear and earns himself the same treatment. It's then that you laugh. Luffy snapped his head up, following after the trembling air of your laughter and then calls out your name, the syllables are all messy around his swollen cheeks and a missing tooth that will come back after a few minutes but you cannot rid yourself of the thought that it's sticky with love that you only remember hearing when you were just a babe, screaming and crying in the arms of a tired and ill mother in a hospital. You were introduced to a group of midwives with same love you hear now, their idle finger catching into both your small hands; Luffy's hand dances across the air, breaking apart your laugh with urgency and catching onto your wrist.

You're not sure if it's you who had been pulled to him or if he'd managed to catapult himself into you but you both end up a mess on the floor regardless. Limbs tangled around each other in a wave as you both fall to the deck, Luffy does not correct the length of his arm and takes to wrapping the limb around you like a vine snaked around the trunk of a tree. You don't know a start nor an end as Luffy nuzzles his beat–up face on your shoulder. "Hey captain," you raise your head to look down on him, trying to wrench a hand through the tight spirals he's coiled around you.

"I'm hungry," he whines in lieu of a response, "and I'm bored, Usopp kicked me out after I ate one of his ketchup stars." He doesn't relent with his hold on you, simply loosening the coil that you're trying to work your hand through before tightening again once your arm makes it past to trap it against your side. You don't question the fact that Usopp's ketchup stars may be laced with gunpowder or what the small dose of gunpowder may have done to Luffy's internal organs.

You guess even Usopp has his limits when it comes to his childish captain. "I can't do a lot about either of those things if you're keeping me hostage here." He looks up at you, his exaggeratedly large lips in a pout that matches the swelling of his cheeks and then says your name again, like you’ve done him wrong. It's a disordered collection of the letters again but you find you can't really do anything to fight against it. Instead, green tendrils sprout from your trapped arm, each vine wrapped in a light of leaves and strain against his extended limb before he gives in and, instead, laughs as he wraps his rubber arm around the spindly, twisted branches splitting open layers of skin on your bicep. His skin coloured against the green runner keeps the bine from wilting down to meet gravity.

You let Luffy do whatever he wants, with an expression that you're not sure you're too familiar with etched out on the lines of your face. Thinking back on it, you could've simply done as Nami had or Usopp, ignore or scold him enough into submission but his fingers catch one of the fronds and it curls between the meat of his fingertips, reaching out to tickle his palm and something soft blooms inside you. You know it must be you, not the work of your devil fruit, because as much as you've tried in your lacklustre pursuit of beauty, you've never been able to sprout any kind of flowers.

When Luffy finally lets you go, you find your way into the kitchen and give Sanji a smile. You apologise for interrupting him and tell him that you know that lunch had been served only an hour ago but, if he wasn't too busy, you were still a little peckish. Sanji shoots up immediately and asks you what you've got a taste for— you assure him any leftovers from lunch will do and he tells you, though this doesn't come as any surprise, that Luffy had worked his way through any grain of leftovers with a laugh. You laugh along with him and well, you seemed to be craving meat right now.

The plate he prepares seem to be more about quality rather than quantity, with sauce underneath the red meat drizzled across the white ceramic, a slab of meat already cut into bite sized pieces for you and a decorative herb stuck between the fatty slices but when the light oozes down into the stretch of meat, you don't think Luffy will complain too much.

You, of course, were right about that.

The shattering grin he greets you (the plate of meat, however small it seemed) with gives you the faint smell of sticky rain drenched in the light of the sun, and you almost give him your hand when he reaches out for the plate. Brook's guitar strums in the background and your heart shakes in time with his strings and Luffy's incessant chewing.

You've really no problems with Usopp asking you to help him with target practice, it's fairly common for you to help the crew with their unique fighting style— save Nami and Franky for fear of losing your life with their less than particular aimed area of damage— it's easy enough really. You don't even have to be mentally present for it; shaking through layers of flesh, vines grow across the deck of the Sunny and rise up straight to tower over Usopp as he fixes his goggles over his eyes. You keep a quarter of your mind instilled in every chloroplast that shivers across the skies so you can keep them moving but the other three quarters are focused on the card game you play with Robin, Chopper, and Franky.

You hear the snapping of elastic and your finger twitches against the back of playing cards as the particular vine shot to the left, glancing curiously at Chopper's hand across from you when he turned to Franky and accuses him of looking at his cards.

"It's not my fault!" Franky frowned, fixing his comedically small glasses to perch on his metal nose. "Your cards just happen to be in my view when I'm looking at the pile 'cause you're tiny!"

Chopper takes to this horribly (you reshape a vine that has fallen to one of Usopp's stones and keep it relentless across the wave of air) and he grows into the much less cute and broader, more human version of himself to hold his hand out of Franky's view. (Two vines snap together and they take the path to slice through air to where Usopp stands, you hear the cracking of wood as Usopp shouts at you, saying he only wanted to focus on offence. An apology is drawn out with the green arm in the air.)

"Ivy," your eyes flicker to Robin and she gestures to the pile of discarded where the two of spades had been placed on top. "It's your turn." You glance down at your hand, eyes flickering over the collection of 7's in your hand.

"Bomb." (You feel a vine break apart into pieces, think about the fact that it's lucky you've no nerves attached to the tendrils, and keep the one down to give Usopp a little win.) Franky curses your name as Robin chuckles.

Chopper glances at the four 7's with a sense of wonderment that you're sure is too dramatic for the moment. "No wonder I had no sevens!" You give him a sly grin and watch Robin pass her turn, ignoring Franky's levelled glare behind his glasses.

In the end, Robin wins anyways, ridding herself of her hand with her final card being the two of hearts. The loss is taken bitterly by both you and Franky though you think Franky definitely takes it worse than you do as when he stands to sulk away, cards fall out of his speedos, and they leave a trail after him. Robin, in all her morbidity, laughs behind a hand as you and Chopper drop your jaws in disgust.

Chopper collects the cards, hesitating with the ones that had been on Franky until Robin points out that you've all played many rounds and there's a chance that all of them had shared the same fate. (Another vine shutters down to the floor, broken apart and particles flown across the deck.) The cards slowly fall to the floor as Chopper cries out in disgust. Shaking your head with some colourful amusement, you use the two vines fallen to pick up the cards and start shuffling them.

Responding to Chopper's call, Luffy shoots his way from Sunny's figurehead. "What're you guys doin'?" He falls graciously to where Franky had previously been sitting; his eyes are ever so impatient to glance over the cards being shuffled. "Oh," he says with great interest, "are you guys playing 'go fish'?" He leaned towards you— the cards in your possession, actually— and blinks at the shuffling. "Lemme in!"

"We weren't playing 'go fish', Luffy." The little doctor has since calmed down, taking a seat between Luffy and Robin and shaking his head. "We were playing—" he turns his head up to Robin, to which she supplies 'bài tiến lên' with the intricate accents and all, "that!"

A flash of thinking places itself on Luffy's face, crossing his arm and tapping the side of his sandals on the deck, then it's gone. "Let's just play 'go fish' then."

Chopper whines, saying that 'go fish' is boring and that Luffy always snatches more than one card from other people's hands, which is cheating, and that he doesn't want to play.

Luffy turns to you with a pout, eyebrows furrowed at the dip where his nose bridge starts and then straightened out towards the end. The two vines that had been expertly dodging all of Usopp's shots and taunting him by doing silly dances and twisting into words in the air both crumple down to the floor at the same time, they follow the curve of your spine as you double over, a breath stuttering in your throat. You hear Usopp call your name and the deck of cards slip out from the vines that had been shuffling this entire time, your hand wraps around your throat and you hack out a cough you've managed to choke on.

"Are you dying?" Chopper shoots up, frantic as you keep coughing and choking— both violent in temperament, and scampers around, shouting for a doctor.

Footsteps tap closer as a shadow forms over you, Usopp's hand patting your back ferociously comes after the sound of shoes stop.

The blur that came with tears invading your eyes gives you the confidence to look at Luffy again before you're calling Chopper to a stop. "I'm fine, just choked on air."

You don't mention how it felt like you were breathing through a cheesecloth, how your lungs feel so restricted with every inhale as you all compromise on 'chase the ace' and how easier it feels when Usopp pushes his way between you and Luffy, too intimidated to pick from Robin's hand; when you all finish up for dinner, Robin is looking at you in a way that makes you think she's caught onto how you've been struggling.

Dinner is a strange ordeal. It's characterised with its usual events: Luffy sneaking his hands into people's plates though his stands full, Usopp trying to hold his plate out of his way, Zoro tending to his glass bottle of beer, Sanji making some quip about Zoro's show of alcoholism, Nami getting increasingly annoyed by the noise around her, Brook's laughter, Zoro escalating the situation with Sanji, Chopper screaming when Luffy clears Usopp's plate and then goes for the doctor's, Robin watching the scene with the patience of a saint, Franky pretending he was better than the rest, Usopp exacting revenge on Luffy by swapping their plates. It all ends with Nami telling them all to shut up and Luffy taking one final chicken leg from Zoro's plate. You stare down at your plate and count the missing bits, Luffy hasn't really touched any of the potatoes or asparagus, so you finish them up.

Two chicken thighs sit in stark contrast to the plate, thinking about having them anywhere near your mouth makes you a little sick for some reason, the weight of them in your stomach, the taste of caramelised skins, crisped with wells of juice sat next to a tinge of burnt flesh; you push the plate over to Luffy and detest the way he can take the colour of well–done oranges between his teeth and not care about the juice dribbling down his chin.

Luffy says thanks with his mouth full of chicken; Nami glares at him and turns a more concerned face to you (that also makes you sick) and inquires about you not eating. You mumble out some excuse about not being hungry, not feeling well, having a little bit of a headache, feeling tired— something along those faux lines, you don't remember but you remember that you don't tell them the truth exactly. "Sorry Sanji," you fix into your shitty excuse after, running a hand through your hair, to make yourself feel better about the entire ordeal.

He offers to make you a more palatable porridge or soup instead.

You take a cigarette and a red apple, going to bed hungry and angry at some unknown thing that brews on the tip of your tongue.

The next island is of great interest to Luffy.

The entire crew knows that its history nor culture was not either reason behind his excitement, only the mere prospect of digging his sandals into new, uncharted land is why he's running around the deck, filling up the empty spaces with bubbling laughter. Sanji finishes up bentos for those that are leaving, taking unnecessary extra care with Nami’s, and wishing he had it in him to starve Zoro whilst Nami is giving everyone an allowance. You take two bentos, yours and Chopper's, and head out onto the deck. Luffy only seemed momentarily sad that you were going with the doctor but bounced back immediately after when the trees come closer enough to intimidate so you push down the offer to join him instead. Franky joins up with Usopp, Luffy'll run off alone regardless of who he ends up going with, Nami ends up going with Zoro (to Sanji's displeasure), and you and Chopper make plans to find a pharmacy and a library for Robin.

Being around Chopper is easy enough with this unsettling prick of poison that's forced minimal responses, curt words, a flurry of tiredness, a sickening chill through your days recently. The little doctor is a lot more mindful of changes in mood, it's not any imminent injury either so he doesn't press to know why. Out of guilt (for being a brooding asshole lately), you ask him about his rumble balls and all his different forms. He answers cheerily and you can only pick out every other word with a persistent headache as the smell in the air changes from salty skies and bloody fish to sweetened foods and something unfamiliarly clean.

It's a bright island. You hear a faint bell in the distance that is traced over with the sound of children and stall owners; Chopper's hooves rhythmically sound beside you on the pavement and you find yourself counting them in groups of four. "Ah, there." You pick up your head and turn to follow the direction of Chopper's eyes. A sign is hung on the side of the building, the library. "Robin wanted a book of North Blue diseases for some reason," Chopper mumbles to himself as you two push open the door.

It's a small bookstore, walls lined with books and the paths carved with more standalone bookcases. "North Blue diseases?" You repeat, confused, "do they have North Blue exclusive illnesses?"

Your question goes unanswered, though it looks like it opens a vault of new questions for Chopper. Books aren't of great interests to you, so you follow behind Chopper as he walks through each section and grab whichever book he tells you to bring down for him. On the way back, you tell Chopper to keep going and change your course in search of something you're not too sure of.

You stray away from the town centre and head deeper through the small alleys of the town, there's no destination in mind; without the urgency of a fights and with the domesticity of a small knit community, you wander adrift. There's a dampness in the air to the walk around a shadowed hide of the place that loosens up the tension below your ribs, many different eyes follow after your form as the heel of your shoes click against a null path; shadows ooze around the soles of your shoe and lacquer up between the carved maze of black rubber of your soles until you find your way into a dead end.

It's a little bit of a cliché to be met with a ragtag group of delinquents when you turn to go back. Your eyes trace over them. In the hand of the one closest to you sits your wanted poster.

Something blooms inside you again— it's a much more pleasant feeling than the unmoving sap of ire that's been invading lately. Each man before you is physically bigger, towering over you ominously and shadows eating you but they all have swords and guns in their hands and that's why they lose. You, to the detriment of all life around you, are a weapon in and of itself; you choke out the vitality from others and steal their nutrients. They strained against their confines as their skin blossoms through shades of blooms, you are not the merciful rubber of a human, so your constraints don't relent, they squeeze and squeeze until the bark splits apart, until blood is cut off at the source, until they wither, until you are full.

On the way back, you buy a gift for everyone with the money you hadn't used and when they take to it, all in their varying degrees of joy, you feel less bad about the dead end alley full of brothers and sons. You tell yourself, handing Zoro a gift of alcohol, if not them, then it'd have been you.

You end up staying anchored to the island for a week to your displeasure. The longer you're stuck there, the closer you are to exploding; you always keep an eye out on the log pose strapped to Nami's wrist like you could quicken the process if you stare enough. Usopp starts avoiding you out of fear you'll blow like a poorly constructed cannon, Zoro makes you train with him to see if it'll help blow off some steam, Sanji brings you iced drinks at a rate that keeps you dizzy but you always feed it to Luffy or redirect it to Chopper's or Usopp's office with a little note.

On the third day, you follow in Zoro's example and sprawl out on the deck to rest your tireless mind. You've always wondered how sleep was ever a possible option for him when the feet thundering across the deck came with obstructive vibrations, no doubt slapping any chance of sleep away from his mind, but you find that it's almost pleasant. Beats all from familiar loves translates through the groves of wooden planks and etch through the back of your spine, you feel a bone fall back into place after Nami's heels against the floor and the thunderous kick that lands where Zoro was standing manages to work its way up your head to ease a headache.

The sun burns cries into your eyes and the skies move fluidly, they don't ripple as clouds shrivel against a light blue you're unfamiliar with; even as you close your eyes, you continue to feel the burn of the sun. The slapping of weaved straw against a sticky, sweaty sole then the deck comes as you slip into sleep.

Dreams have never been so amicable enough to become a recurrent in your life; more often than not, you're shown memories all blended together into a mess that leaves you sick, the abhorrent now and the nostalgic then bleeding past their confines until you see your mother stood next to that deceitful Marine admiral, both with that same look in their face. You wake up with a start when a loud bang scours its way through a flurry images you're unfamiliar with and then your body escapes you. Your head weighs with the heaviness of the bodies dropped to the floor, arms cold as if dipped into the river Styx, bones locked in place with a restrictive pain, muscles burning, aware of every breath that shivers through your suddenly odd body.

"Owww," three Luffys blur around each other as you pushed a hand to the floor to straighten up, you try blinking away the other two, but they're glued to the captain reflecting in your eyes; he looks down at what he's tripped on and follows it back to you. Your hand is met with something curved in shape when you go to push yourself up and when you look down, you see vines underneath you. You realise then that a burst of them had grown beneath you, splitting through the lawn deck and uplifting some of the planks underneath the greenery and inching upwards towards the guard rails of the ship. They take the form of something you think you met in your most recent sleep.

Luffy has managed to crawl his way towards you in the time you spend wondering why your devil fruit had been acting up— in your sleep no less and he wraps a hand around your ankle to get your attention. "Hey, you're really cold." He pointed out, eyes flickering down to the flesh between his fingers and then trailing his fingers up your thigh as he shifts closer to you on his knees.

The touch makes you violent and tender. "Really?" You managed to puff out, giving too much air back to the world with how much you're panting, "I feel a little warm though."

Luffy hums, clapping his hand over your cheeks with gentleness he only shows to those he loves, and it feels wrong. You get an itch underneath your skin that urges you to move, move, move but you can only push Luffy away with a ferocity he'd never shown you as you tremble under the bursting of violent air hacking up your throat, your shoulders strain as you wrapped your arms around your stomach, trying to heave out something that wasn't there.

Luffy scrambles back immediately, not caring for you shoving him away, and soothes away the rattling of your core with his clammy hands on your arm. "Are you sick?"

No, you think as a retch comes up your mouth; maybe, you correct as the path is marked by drool slipping down your chin and tears streaking across your cheeks. You shake away Luffy again. He's less submissive this time, his legs open over yours to plant his knees by your thighs. You hear him call for Chopper and it's obvious he has something of a frown marked on his face; you keep burning beneath your skin, but Luffy keeps rubbing his palms over your arms like you're cold.

You realise what your vines had drawn underneath you when Chopper comes out, fretting over you as he takes Luffy's place close to you. A grave. The image makes you laugh as the reindeer instructs his captain to haul you up after you'd ignored his inquires on if you could walk; your arm bends around the shape of Luffy's shoulder and your laughter erratically convulses into a collection of coughs from the skin on skin high.

You forced into bed rest after Chopper does a preliminary round of tests on you and declares you've simply gone down with a cold. You take to the diagnosis apprehensively, though in Chopper's defence, how was he meant to accurately diagnose you if you don't tell him all your symptoms? Instead, you sit in his office and spend the minutes, all alone, trying to retch out the feeling of having a piece of hair down your throat; you claw at the blanket and keep hacking until you've got a blanket full of tears and spit. The feeling does not pass.

At lunch, you get a visit from Franky who comes by to complain that you've made unnecessary work for him. "—seriously, how did you manage that in your sleep? Were you having a nightmare?" He ranted, legs crossed and leaned back in the visitor chair in a way that pushes his skinny, hairy legs close to your face.

Scrunching up your face, you sit up. "It was the future." You rebut, in between all his fantastical stories of his nightmares and talking about how he'd never attack Sunny even if Chopper grew a mechanical, giant arm and overthrew Luffy to become their captain. "A future," you correct yourself before turning to Franky with eyes judgemental, "are you scared of Chopper?"

"You weren't there at Enies Lobby," he tells you, which serves as a cruel reminder of sorts. You think about all the scars you've seen littered on the crew's skin and wonder which ones they've collected while they were with Luffy and who knows of which. The faint, protruding marks underneath Nami's tattoo, the stitches around Zoro's ankles, the ones pulled across his chest; you wonder if Sanji's got one hidden underneath his bangs. "The future?" Franky repeats after a moment, "are you a prophet?"

"It's a working theory," you brush off instead. "Though I can see in my mind's eye that Luffy is currently eating all the food and you’ll be left to starve if you don't go back."

Franky scrambled up from the seat not a second after your words.

With him gone, you settle back onto the bed and wonder about too many things to recall.

Between the hours after lunch and before dinner, Luffy comes by. He settles himself on the bed and forces you up as well, the shifting causes another cough to burgeon in your throat and you turn your head the other way to spit it out in an uncontrolled group of four. "You're not feeling better?" He frowns.

You see now that he's holding two pieces of barbequed meat in his hand, he's got the bone in his palm as he holds it upright like a sword, juices from the flesh dripping down to his hand and the smell gives you a headache. "Do you want this?" You move your eyes to Luffy, he's got his eyebrows furrowed together and his lips straightened out in a line when you don't answer. "Both?" He looks over at you, then the meat, and then you. "You," he swallows, "you can have them," his knuckles turn red around the bone, "since you need energy and you're sick." You think he's trying to convince himself to give them up.

You reached out and watch Luffy's face turn sour as his expression squeezes altogether around a midpoint trapped in his nose; you retract your hand and watch his face relax and his body unwind, you think he's moved his hand back a little. You repeat it again a few more times until laughter comes up and dislodges the uncomfortable feel of hair set deep in your throat. "It's fine, Luffy, you can have 'em."

"Really?"

"Mhm, go for it."

He moans around a bite of meat, crying your name as he chews and says thank you. The feeling is back as soon as it left.

No one comes to visit after that. Chopper comes by before he heads off to bed to make sure you're all set for the night and tells you that he expects to be woken up if you feel any symptoms get worse. You agree to his conditions, though can barely make yourself seem like you were taking him seriously with his cute face scolding you, but it seemed to work well enough as he's gone after he leaves a cup of water by your side. Sleep lingers around the corner, shirking away from your twitching fingertips and restless eyes; you give up after a few minutes, thinking about Robin who'd been thrown on watch tonight.

After going back and forth on the details, you bundle up yourself in the blanket (not wanting to have to mimic any semblance of serious guilt to get through Chopper's less than intimidating scolding if you get any sicker in the morning) and wander to the deck. The darkness of the sea would be safe for you, twisting around every limb extended to grope your way through your chosen path and oozing out from strands of hair to empty at your feet if not for the lamp of the moon ahead of you. Its light a forecast of tragedy, reflecting off a blade that would drive through the blood of a man who faced an unlikely love with only disgust and betrayal. "Robin?" The light hangs onto your word with a vehemence to uncover your unjustifiable deeds.

"Ivy," a shudder of surprise rattles your head to duck to your shoulders as you turn around. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

You give Robin a frown, tugging your lips down. "Yeah, my weakened bones nearly fell to the floor." She huffs a laugh. "Please announce yourself before you appear." Robin traces over your palish face and your features soften into a smile when your eyes meet.

"Can't sleep?" She asks once you two settle at the side of the Sunny where you'd napped earlier today, some of your vines still wedged between planks and parts of the floor haphazardly missing. You lean your back against the side of the ship and lower your eyes to the floor.

It's a total void, welcoming you back home. "No," you answer, a little breathless. The moon doesn't shuttle into the hole of the deck and something reaches a hand out for you between the atoms of a black hole. Roots twist out, easing close to your feet and sinking beneath the soles of your shoes. "I napped a little earlier." It's safe.

Robin hummed— I know rattles through her hum— and her elbow falls onto the guard rail of the ship. For the next few moments, you regret coming out. Robin's always been more receptive to the details and fine lines; it's not surprising that she can nitpick through a flurry of fronts and covers to the feelings you want to hide. They beckon out to her, wanting to fill that hole that's grown smaller with every day she wakes up to the open seas and the lively sound of her crew. "Chopper said you were sick?"

"A cold," you sniffle, bringing the blanket closer to you. Finding some semblance of confidence inside you, your eyes flicker over to Robin but she isn't looking at you— only turns when she feels your gaze levelled on her. You hesitate, searching for something to say and land on extending an arm and opening the blanket to invite her into your bundle. "You cold?"

She laughs, "it's fine, you should go back in if you've got a cold though." Her head tilted with a smile, "it'll be bad if the night air makes you worse."

Not wanting to find yourself softened in moonlight nor her eyes, you nod and bid her a goodnight before shivering your way back into your room. The door opens and light from Sunny's hallway is swallowed into the darkness of your room before it's banished out with the slam of your door, you shuffle around odd things thrown on the floor and slip into bed.

Your sleep is broken through with intervals with coughing, curling into yourself, shivering still though you burn in the night like a sibling of a star. When you wake up, sometime in the afternoon, you're heaving and reaching out your arms all around your duvet to haul together the skin that feels like it's melted down. Your palms prick against the leaves of vines that have overtaken your room, they fluoresce around your body and branch outwards to all corners of your room. The mess all blur together as your brain thrashes in your head with every splutter, you shake and twitch, trying to make sense of anything. Skin burned raw as you attempt to kick away the shrubbery that's keeping the blanket contorted around your body.

Your throat skinned and crude with its imminent thoughts of water.

A hand reached back blindly to grope at your bedside table for the cup that Chopper left for you last night. What you find instead is the burning touch of the sun, it seeps through the micro wounds stabbed through lines of your fortune and inflames every nerve straight to your heart. Your hand snaps back towards your body, the bones shivering from the imminent heat. Your entire body twitches at different paces, an invasive and hungry need drowns your senses. You need water, you need not for this to happen, water, you need for your sleep to be calm, you need to stop burning, you want to stop losing control, water first. You want water. Water— you turn your head to find the water, you need— Luffy?

Luffy is sat on a chair that you don't remember being there and when you look a little closer, you see that your vines had granted him a throne to comfortably lay on, other than that, they avoid him like the near plague. His body is leaned forward, his chest laid against the side of your mattress and arms crossed on your bed to sleep on like a pillow. You retch up some acid and, like the bowed head of a priest, a gentle petal disrupts the stream, flowing against the tide. It's a beautiful purple colour that's light against the transition to white towards the middle and an eye-catching yellow streaking against the white; lines of a deeper hue stretch through the petal and it's oddly reminiscent of veins.

The petal sits on the puddle of stomach acid that warms your thighs, your head bowed down to stare at it; you feel your soul unfurl at the sight of it, branches stretched outwards over a riverside, the heavy head of buds pulling weighted branches down to drink from the stream. Everything else blurs with a ripple, the petal is withstanding no matter no much you try blinking away an oncoming headache. The river near dries up in your attempt to wash down this unnerving disgust; you hunger for more.

Little changes when you find out what this 'cold' truly was. The lighting in Sunny's library is several shades warmer than the light of the sun, it draws upon the hunched shoulders down to your back as you tilt your head to hear the bones crack under your ear. Four syllables, that's all your death is. A lot of words are four syllables. Anonymous; unfortunate; hilarious; adventurous; hanahaki. It doesn't mean a lot by itself, so you try giving it some context. You pretend to tell Chopper that you're dying, you have hanahaki and that it's something he can't cure in a way you'll accept and you still feel nothing. You think about Chopper's face. He adamantly tells you that he'll cure you, he'll do it. The you in your imagination tells him no. Faced with your refusal, Chopper cannot do anything. In the end, it is a grave that cures you.

Death, as it stands, was something you had accepted when you stepped onto a pirate ship. Even someone with as stubborn a character as Zoro could be welcomed in by death, even Luffy. For a while, you wonder about death. The air in the room pauses as if to grace you with the silence to ponder on it, all you hear is the sound of your own breathing.

The closest thing to death comes searching for you a few minutes later.

You've always been interested in Brook. A skeleton with nothing but a sword; he has no lungs yet still sings, no heart and still smiles, dead but human in all his actions and behaviours. "There you are." He sneaks up behind you, bones falling onto your shoulder as you think, he smiles down at you. "Luffy asked if I’d seen you earlier.” He looms over you for a moment before he's straightening back up and calling out loudly, "but I'm a skeleton so it's not like I have eyes to see anyone anyways!"

It's the two syllables 'Lu–ffy' that shakes you the most. You stifle a cough in your chest and feel it tear through your ribs instead, searching for a path out. "For what?" The breaths rattle in your chest and shudder through your words.

"He wanted to show you a beetle." He takes the seat next to you, peering down at the picture book that you have open. You wait for him to make a comment about seeing what you were reading before disregarding it all with a lack of eyeballs so he wasn't seeing it really but he doesn't say anything, so you're forced to talk instead.

"Brook."

"Yes?"

It takes a single breath to prepare you to say this, it's warm and evident that you've not yet truly succumbed to your illness. "Do you see yourself as dead?"

Death is the art of those who do not live. It's something that keeps people tethered to the moment; it's the one thing that keeps humans humane. It's evidence you've lived, no matter how full nor how long. She's beautiful in her own right.

"I cannot see myself as anything because I am a skeleton with no eyes!"

Brook does not get to elaborate because Luffy shuttles in moments later, whispering loudly. (He'd learned somewhere that you're meant to be quiet in a library when he was younger but his whispers still manage to shake the room somehow.) "You're here! I found a beetle to show you!" He tip–toes to your side, "what're you reading— oh, hi Brook! The flowers here are pretty!" He points a finger down to a sunflower; his index covers an entire petal and he strokes it upwards to the middle. "Do you think they're edible?"

He turns to you with a smile.

You meet him with the same, "their seeds are." He gasps and picks up the book to scour through the letters in search of a name of these seeds. You take in a shuddering breath and when you feel another urge to cough, you cannot stop it.

When vines splatter around the room, they uproot the place; they've always been disruptive in this way. A wave of them washes various bouts of furniture to the floor, through the pounding of your ears, you hear the sound of books thudding as green appendages snake through bookcases and rattle them at the base; Brook's chair collapses as a vine chokes out one of its legs into splinters, the world blurs into a hue of greens and purples. A hand reaches from down in your throat, you heave around gaps of allowance for air and gag, cough, retch up more acid and some tea that Sanji brewed earlier this morning in lieu of breakfast. It's unpleasant. It's ugly in a way death should not be, though you guess the dead don't get to choose how to live in the same way the living cannot choose their death.

You're hauled off to Chopper again.

Chopper's voice comes as the hollow sounds of keys on an old piano. He does another round of tests on you— this set lasts a little longer than the previous and he takes extra caution with some. He finds that your heart is a little faster than it should be, he nitpicks at the bluish tint around your fingers and notes the concerning amount of weight you've lost in the past few weeks. When he asks you, what's wrong, you tell him that that's what he should be telling you.

Hypoxia; another four syllables for your cause of death. "Some of the symptoms are there," Chopper frowns, mumbling to himself. "It's when your tissues aren't getting enough oxygen, do you have difficulty breathing?"

You placed your cheek into your palm, elbow on Chopper's desk. "You're a pretty good doctor, Chopper."

The effect is immediate, he starts blushing and kicking his legs in his seat, a hoof goes to rub at the back of his head and nervous laughter comes from him. "That isn't distracting me at all, you bastard." You smiled and watched the compliment break any semblance of professionalism in him.

He gets back on track a little while later, placing a stethoscope on your chest and asking you to cough. You're not sure exactly what he's looking for but you give a soft cough into your elbow and you can say for certain— just based off the way he jumps back and looks at you a little quietly for a second, it's nothing good. Chopper spends a few minutes looking at your fingertips, then your lips, then some other parts of skin already exposed and humming to himself, troubled.

For now, he says, he wants you to try not to exert yourself— maybe leave fighting to everyone else and focus on resting until he can figure out a better way to confidently diagnose you. His lips are pulled into a frown, hands in his lap and trying his best to be professional and keep his emotions at bay. Before you know it, your hand is on top of his pink hat and fondly rubbing over the material softly. "Thanks Chopper, I'll keep that in mind."

He nods. You hesitate for a second before you're getting up to leave so that everyone else can see that you're not dying— or maybe you should tell them you are, you're not sure you could take another session of Franky accusing you of destroying the Sunny to create more work for him.

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and twists, stopping when Chopper speaks again. "You're not hiding something from me," he accuses gently, "are you?"

Your hand tightens around the doorknob. A flash of that imaginary Chopper comes back to you— heartbroken and confused at your refusal to be cured— you steal an unnecessarily large breath from the world. "I get sudden cravings for sweet things if that means anything."

Chopper, unbeknownst to you, takes those words and carves them true and raw into himself. His eyes are unwilling to leave you for more than necessary during the times you eat together, he watches you push aside the food on your plate, tearing small bits of meat off the bone to chew on it for a couple minutes too long before swallowing. He makes note of the way you have no problems finishing up everything but any sort of meat, sliding them over to Luffy, or one of his victims.

You're met with another blossom soon after lunch. You've made a bad habit of leaving the table early to escape the smell and resign yourself to the open deck, sprawling out on the grass like Zoro usually does. You're certain you're about to fall asleep shivering but the slap, slap, slapping of your captain's sandals are nearing closer so your brain kicks awake with a start; your eyes twitch, eyelashes shuddering in the wind. The darkness over your eyes morphs into a shadow of Luffy hovering over you, head tilting with a hand on his hat— your mind supplies you with the frown— and then you hear him taking a step back and sitting down next to you.

A troubled melody hums through his lips and when you open an eye to peek at him, you see his hands wrapped around his ankles, legs loosely crossed; he turned back to you and you quickly close your eyes. Here is where you finally learn that when Luffy touches, he's never placated with a simple tap, a light knocking between skin— no, he must stroke, he drags his fingers up the side of your thigh, he shivers from the coldness of your flesh and, even then, crawls closer. Then he's silent for a worrying amount of time and for a moment, curiosity takes you over. You find yourself wanting to draw light upon the disgusted features when he's met with someone he thinks close to him is growing closer and closer to a grave amongst the roots.

He leans his forehead against yours whilst you shuffle through the despicable crawl of your heart through your bones, something shifts in you and when you reach to itch at your side, it dislodges. It takes no more than a simple flip for your entire world to shift; you think you saw Luffy hovering over you momentarily before you had snapped to the side.

A fragment of the world greets its end.

Something strangles you, a hand of a giant pressing two fingers against the sides of your neck until everything in you bursts and splatters against parts that have gone unknown until now. There's nothing new to the tremor of vine that erupts through your skin, bubbling through the surface of flesh like a geyser; the tentacles claw their way your throat until you're choking around them, searching for an allowance for air. Your knees shuffle up to find some balance, head ducked to meet the lawn across the deck and elbows digging deep into the dirt. Your spluttering comes in time with the sound of Luffy calling your name, shouting for Chopper; there's a knot tied inside your mouth, you shake away tremors and tears all the same. You erupt yet there's nothing to be burnt, it's only ash that leaves your mouth— only the colourful petals of the wisteria plant that wash over the green of the open deck, burnt in hues with blood.

The next island is a spring island, known for their sweet peaches and sweeter music.

You watched Luffy devour two peaches in his hands, the ripe skin melting underneath his teeth— pale with a dusted blush until it snapped into a bloody red, melted at the pit. Then he's gone with a rustle of mikan trees as you held out a basket for Nami to delicately place her mikans in; apparently, she'd managed to catch the attention of some peach vendor with her sweet tangerines and swindled the poor man out of his money for a basket.

The streets are lined with lively hums and a strumming of odd instruments, music escapes through every crevice of a worn-down building as Luffy jumps from stall to stall, drooling over the goods before you're beckoning him back with his lunchbox and a promise of meat after you finish this errand for Nami. On your way to the stall, you hear faint chattering that doesn't interest you but Luffy straightened up beside you and turns to stare at the people as they argue on who had managed to grow the biggest peach this year.

You sigh, grabbing hold of Luffy's collar when he stops to stare at them and drag him off to the stall vendor who had fallen victim to Nami's schemes. The exchange is easy enough— give him the basket (ignore the fact that Nami had managed to make it look like it was overflowing by artfully bunching up a cloth on the bottom and filled gaps between the fruits with flowers) and make sure you've got the correct amount of money. It's when Luffy asks the stall vendor who has the biggest peach this year that things begin to go downhill.

Rather than answering Luffy's question, the man goes on a tangent about some kind of festival for a God and how the biggest peach will be the offering to said God this year— apparently, Shumi (the woman who owns the fabrics shops) had managed to get her hands on this, that, or the other to help her husband grow a peach large enough to bring doubt to the fact that Gyupuri had managed to grow the largest peach (again) this year.

Luffy insists on tracking them both down to help the people come to a decision as he wiped away the drool on his chin. Resigned, you managed to find Shumi first with her shop being the only one in town that sold fabrics and she denies you both permission to see the peach; Gyupuri, on the other hand, is more than happy to show you to the peach he grows. He takes you straight out of town, into the forest, and then up the mountain to where there's a clearing full of nothing but flesh coloured peaches.

As you listen to Gyupuri's story on how he was merely taking after his father to grow these strangely sized peaches, you have to keep Luffy in your hold so he doesn't go running to the giant peach and take a bite out of what could be for a God. Somehow though, he manages to get a handful of flat peaches when you weren't looking and when you attempt to apologise to Gyupuri, he doesn't seem to be fazed, shoving a few more peaches into your hand and telling you it's fine.

"So, who is this God anyway?" Luffy asks, his legs wrapped around your waist and chin hooked on your shoulder as he leaned back, satisfied with cheeks full of the peach you were holding in your hand. You turn to give him a look, but he merely stares at you back.

The people here must have made a unanimous decision to answer questions from the left side of the field because Gyupuri only tells you the name of this God when he drags you and Luffy up a hill to stare at a statue of this God carved out of generic stone.

To be polite, you call the statue pretty; Luffy feels no need to be polite, so he says it's not really. When you look at him to furrow your eyebrows at him, he's already looking at you.

When you're back on the ship, money handed to Nami, you think about that moment so much that it grows moss in your mind and vines burst through the crevices of the worn–down artifact you've made out his gaze to be. You throw up everything you manage to eat and feel hollow and worthy when you meet Luffy's eyes in Chopper's office again.

There's a chill that follows your days after that.

It's persistent and stubborn in a way that cruelly reminds you of Luffy. On a brighter side, you've got an excuse to be lazy in bed though it irks your bones not to have the weight of you walking thrumming up your body. You get visits from the Strawhats, get your food delivered to you, some of the crew shuffling into your room to keep you entertained with some card games and the likes— you get Luffy consistently making his way into your room and treating it as any other room on his Sunny. He comes in, always makes himself home on the bed, and talks about what he did today. At some point, it becomes less endearing and more annoying to be treated as though you were actually dying. (You hadn't told them for a reason.)

Four days after Chopper had resolutely punished you with bed rest, Luffy decides that he was going to start sleeping in your room. Apparently, your face had translated over what your head was thinking too quickly because he starts whining, saying that he wouldn't get to see you enough if he doesn't do this and, well, since you've always had a tender, raw, skinned soft spot for the boy, you end up saying yes.

He spends his first night telling you what he was going to spend tomorrow doing and you come to the realisation that every other sentence contains you. (Going to find more beetles to show you... Chopper told Sanji it'd be good to get more meat into your diet... Zoro accidentally cut snakes and ladders in half so Nami is giving me money to see if we can find one for you so we can play... Robin said there's a really pretty flower on this next island… For you… For you...) It’s all there laid bare and you cannot face it. You hide your face into the crook of your elbow and wretch out a cough. Luffy frowns but doesn't mention it. He talks himself into sleep and you lay awake to him, trying to keep yourself from blooming throughout the night so he doesn't wake up, cold and still.

When you're startled awake with misty embrace in a dream, you see that Luffy has gone.

What he has left is his straw hat and a mouthpiece of his greatness. The straw is rough against your fingers, resembling the thorns that grows along roses and you stare at it in your lap until you can feel the roughness in your throat— just when you think you need to get water, Sanji shows up with breakfast. You eye the cigarette in his lips and ignore the settling of the tray on your bedside table, watch the smoke fight the smell of scrambled eggs and bits of bacon to take over your room.

"We're at an island?"

Sanji walks around your bed, finding himself comfortable on the couch across the foot of your bed. "We docked early this morning," you watched his smoke rise, ash falling to the wooden floor of your room, waving and grasping hands up to God. Sanji keeps himself entertained by looking around your room, his foot pushing around odd leaves and petals on the floor before he nods over to the plate. "Eat." Then he's gone.

You stare at the tray, settling Luffy's straw hat aside, you shuffle to the end of your bed and take the fork in your hands— you look at the plate until you swear you can taste the eggs in your mouth and the slight bursts of saltiness that'll come from the bacon and you have to wash it down with the glass of water he's given you. You push it aside and opt to go back to sleep.

You dream of a still life on top of a hill, overlooking a dock as the Sunny pulls back out into the sea; you thrash but find every part of you rooted down to one spot, the wind picks up and you feel tangles of what could be hair or leaves hitting against a part of your body. You're still rooted despairingly in a garden of silks and duvets when you wake, Luffy had found himself unable to keep away from your breakfast but when you sit up and look a little closer, you see a pile of the diced bacon bits shoved off to the side as he shovelled eggs into his mouth.

Shattering free from the earth with a faltering cough broken into four, you shuffled yourself up and spit out a cluster of wisteria. At this point, you do not need to look at Luffy to know what his face looks like; he turned to face you, cheeks full and quickly finishing the eggs to shuffle closer to you on the bed with a book in his hands. "You left your book under the plate."

It's a hardback children's book, pulled out of Sunny's library and coloured a light blue that resembled the sky and broken apart by a sunflower in the middle and petals around it, the title curled around the sunflower. You know that the book was left in the library when you were having your episode. The cover is smooth to the touch as Luffy gives it to you and ends up knocking his shoulders against yours in his attempt to get closer; your eyes moved over to the tray of food and you think of Sanji, who'd grown up in the North Blue where this children's story was more popular amongst the romantic commonwealth.

He knows, you think, and it fills you with a dread that the wisteria blossoms feast upon delightfully; he knows, and he could tell everyone, the vines throb over your heart as Luffy opens the book over your lap and looks up, expectantly at you.

Myrsa was a pretty girl, enough so that praises sang for her ended up calling upon the scorn of love's Goddess. The depiction of her getting cursed is almost comical, stricken by lightning as she returns from a forest with a basket full of flowers and mushrooms. "What happens next? What happens next?" Luffy pushes his face closer to the book, tangling a rubbery leg with yours as he moves impossibly closer. "How does Myrsa beat up the God?"

It's the certainty he holds that Myrsa will beat up God that makes you laugh, it's the fact that she does not beat anything that makes you tremble, shaking coughs and petals out your throat. Luffy seems to think that the book is too excitable, trying to pry it away from you and saying that he can ask Robin to read it to him later so you should just rest. "Don't you want to know if Myrsa will beat up the God now?" You ask instead, knowing the answer will be yes.

Perhaps they were the wrong words to convince Luffy because when you're on the last page, Myrsa buried in a forgotten land and her love used as fertiliser for a field of sunflowers, he's threatening to beat up a God made up to exact revenge for Myrsa. It's a lot more cheerful than you had expected— all the characters drawn with round faces, small bodies, and black dots as eyes. It makes death seem redeemable.

After Luffy hauls himself out of your room, in search of the God had turned Myrsa into sunflowers, you force the bacon down your mouth and bring the tray out to Sanji. You linger in the kitchen, eyes watching him as he scrubbed the dishes and danced around the kitchen, no doubt knowing why you were there. He doesn't seem to want to be the one to approach the topic just based on the way he refused to stop even for a moment for the past fifteen minutes you've been there.

You know nothing about Sanji past the fact that he's blond, he's a cook, and he used to be a prince from North Blue's Germa Kingdom.

"You know Myrsa didn't die because she had hanahaki." Your hip meets the edge of an island, arms crossed over your chest as you watched Sanji finally slow to a halt, throwing a glance over at you. He takes his cigarette between two fingers, breathing in for a moment and then takes it out, holding it out to you. "What she was cursed with, wasn't ever meant to be able to kill her."

"I know."

Sanji takes the cigarette back after you shake your head, shrugging a little as he continued. "Myrsa died."

You laugh a little, "I read the book."

There's a point he's trying to make that's as foreign to you as the notion of a love that doesn't hurt but he turns a glance to you that almost reads like he's disappointed in you and it settles nicely against the vines choking you through. You straighten up, uncrossing your arms and his visible eye wanders back over the pots he has boiling on the stove. "You liked the ending?" The ending of the North Blue story was a two–page spread of a sunflower field, a planet of bright yellows and a dull light blue, clouds breaking apart overwhelming tones of sunny golds and drowning diamonds.

A tree split awkwardly in half due to the spine of the book, curved in shape and pinched in the middle until you held the pages at the edges and pulled to straighten in down. "It was pretty," a gentle breeze running through the leaves shedding from the tree, a shiver to the wooden flesh that split apart if looked at the right way by the right man. Myrsa was beautiful, even in a death she didn't pick treated her well.

How could you hope to live when she did not?

You find a lot of things pretty now; you wonder if that's the dead crawling in you that is beginning to appreciate the life around. Robin sat on the deck with a cup of cooling coffee on a table in front of her and a book in her hand, Nami stood between her rows of mikan trees, Zoro straining under the weights of his responsibilities, Brook with a violin to his shoulder. The sky drowned over the ocean as Luffy leaned his head against you on Sunny's figurehead, his voice a soft beat over the water rushing against the hull of the ship. He's talking about Shanks and his dream and your heart aches selfishly; his skin gulps down the orange light of the dawning sun and you resigned yourself to a death loving him.

You wonder if Luffy still thinks of his dead brother, your tongue slips against the bark of your gums, and you open your mouth without thinking. "Luffy," you hear spoken into the wind, "will you tell me about your brother?"

"Sabo?" He's clapping his feet together excitedly, turning from the sky to you with a large grin on his face, "he's a part of the Revelation Army— no, wait revocation? Revenge Army? Renovation Army! Wait— that's not right."

"No, the other one." A whisper haunts the wind, 'the dead one' written in its movement.

There's a certain hesitation to his words that brings you to the realisation that being loved by Luffy is a wonderful thing. He's never been one to be articulate with words, picking the simple ones that come to mind first without a moment's hesitation but strangely the simple–minded way served him well when it came to love. Love is not articulate either— it's one of the simplest things in the world— so when it's met with someone like Luffy, it blossoms into an art form of all things beautiful.

You regret have not meeting Luffy when Ace was around. Dancing around his features is a tender skip of tightness; his shoulders pulled up to his ears, head ducked down, lips awkward and tongue thick as he told you the story of being accepted to be Ace's brother. Hues of embers fluoresce, dripping down on Sunny's figurehead as you reached an arm around him; his words are stained in blood and adoration, strained and slow but Luffy persists, his love persists.

"You should've met him!" He finishes, turning to you with a light chuckle. "You would've loved him."

Your hand falls onto his shoulder, pulling him closer despite the crawl of vomit up your throat and you leaned your head against his straw hat. "Maybe I will."

Death is another thing you think is simple. It's as easy as slipping into Chopper's office to find him hunched over his desk, his hooves holding onto a pestle as he circled the butt around in a mortar. "Ah, you're here?" He glanced over his shoulder as you walked around him and settled onto one of the beds he has in his room. "Give me a second! I nearly have your medicine ready."

"Chopper," you think you've played this out in your head before, "I have hanahaki."

His arms slow down to a halt, his face dropping by several degrees; the previous petals that made up his hopeful and cheerful expression flutter to the floor, guided by the winds you'd altered with those four words.

"Hanahaki?" Chopper's words are slow as he settled the pestle down, "I thought— but it doesn't exist?"

"Funnily enough, it died off." You tell him with a little laugh. "As more people took to the seas and chased after the one piece, less people fell victim to hanahaki." The Chopper you've told this to before in your mind was definitely less devastated and surprised to be greeted by the fact that you have hanahaki.

He's stumbling over his words, trying to pick something to focus on first as his face was scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed, and lips open into disbelief. "How long have you known? Why didn't you tell me? You'll have the surgery, right? You can trust me; I'll definitely save you. When did it first start?" Your head is pounding with the incessant questions he spits at you, unable to answer any of them as any allowance for a response was filled in by another inquiry. Suddenly, he's pulling his mind to a stop as he turned back to you, solemn and sad and asks, "who is it?"

It's easy to tell how Luffy has touched people, Chopper makes note of the way your head tilts and you smile and it's obvious that there was no one else capable of calling upon your love.

"And the surgery?"

The look on your face, although foreign to you, tells him all he needs to know.

That doesn't stop him though, he keeps himself by your side and urges (pleads) you to have the surgery; his constant presence becomes a problem when he makes a point of forcing Luffy away from you. It's small at first, trying to distract Luffy with other things, claiming to want to be the one to watch over Luffy when you all dock so you're not given the chance, clinging onto your arms and demanding your attention when Luffy threatens to take it away from him. Then, when Luffy notices that he's been holding onto this flower for hours, fingers pinched around a sunflower stem to ask you how you get seeds from the flower to eat, and every time he's seen a speck of your colour from corners, Chopper shows up to drag you away or points a finger somewhere to shout about a meat mountain, he has a problem.

You notice it's about the meat mountain at first though.

He's slamming the door to Chopper's office after the fourth time, shouting, "Chopper! Where's the meat mountain you keep talking about?" He doesn't seem to care about the fact that Chopper is checking up on you as he stomps into the room, plopping himself down right next to you. Chopper pushes him away when your shoulders brush against each other and you're coughing out bloodied petals. His attention diverts when he hears the shaking of your cough, how you knock into him uncontrollably as your torso leans to meet your thighs, hands deep into the foam edge of the mattress. Petals splatter onto your shoes, clinging to the leather with saliva and re–painting the laces in a sickly red. Luffy’s touch is intrusive, a hand tightened on your thigh that burns your skin to ash and forces vines to splutter out your skin. They attack him, you reel yourself away from Luffy in hopes that they don’t reach him but in some disgusting way, they force themselves to new lengths to coil around his limbs. Spindling up and up and up and you can’t see his face anymore as a thick rope of vines in the shape of his hand reaches out for you, they keep moving up until you only see his hat— your back knocks against the wall. You sternly tell yourself this death is acceptable; the vines grow limp.

When you’ve calmed down enough, the first thing Luffy asks you is, “why aren’t you better yet?” And you feel as though you’re being scolded for some reason; your eyes flicker over to Chopper, fingers tangled together in front of your thighs from the corner of the room you’ve forced yourself into. When Luffy catches the wandering glances— as if you’re trying to keep him out of something— he treats you exactly how you’re acting. Like a criminal.

“Chopper?” It’s unnerving how his eyes are still on you, no trace of expression on his face, “out.”

“But—”

“Out.” Chopper throws you an unhelpful glance as he passes you to get to the door.

You’ve always had the wrong impression of Luffy— everyone that doesn’t know him has the same image; he’s a pirate that has taken down warlord after warlord, who has brought horrifying change and shifts the balance of authority wherever his feet take him. Hearing hushed whispers of him and his close affiliates in the lightened haze of booze, to distract from a tooth getting knocked out of place never does much for his image either. Though it wouldn’t be right to say that Luffy is wholly good either— he’s selfish. Selfish and impossibly kind and downright disgusting with the handling of his own needs; the sound of your name fizzing between his teeth has you startled, nodding your head back to him on the bed you’d left him at.

“You’re hiding something.” It’s not a question nor is it an accusation of any kind. It’s an observation. Luffy slides himself off the bed, his sandals comically slap against the floor of Chopper’s office, “tell me.” His hands fall onto your shoulders, one stays there and the other slides down. He treats your skin like an amusement park for his pleasure; his nails drag across the goosebumps of your bicep, pressing down on raised scars and then splashes into the palm of your hand, dragging ripples in the centre.

You hesitate, twisting your fingers together and pulling as if to attempt to dislodge the odd feeling that follows his fingertips. “Are you asking as a captain?” Despite how general expectations of Luffy remain pretty low to those who do know him, it’s also known that Luffy has a nerve in him that’s impossibly receptive to hurt. There’s a certain way to activate it and when it’s on, it doesn't quieten down until its idiot owner is pleased. Luffy scrunches his face up in an odd way, displeasured at your question as if he couldn’t believe you’d ask him something that hurtful, and his head tilts.

“Tell me.” You’re met with an unwavering stare, the hand on your shoulder tightens and there’s a hardness to it that you’ve never associated with your rubber captain— you can feel the bone in his fingers, stern and undeniable. Your eyes trace over the exposed, tanned skin of his bicep and you wish that you could force your vines through his skin to crawl into his chest and listen to the tremors that’ll run up your devil fruit from his beating heart for some kind of answer. There’s a sudden breath that’s available to you that isn’t tainted and clogged, trapped before it even meets your lungs, but it burns in a new way as you stare at Luffy, scared and terrified of a new life that’ll be forced upon you if you tell him what’s wrong with you.

You open your mouth with an excuse, but Luffy huffs and the words shrivel in your mouth, collapsing to a grain on your tongue and when you close your mouth, you taste dirt. “Luffy,” you beg, “I can’t— just, I’ll be fine.”

There’s a hint of some anger in his gaze before it turns into a haunting realisation, “Chopper knows, doesn’t he?” He pushes you aside, “I’ll just ask Chopper.”

There’s a ringing distant in your ears that chimes like the bell of the church from that place two islands ago, maybe three— you haven’t been too good with time recently. Sunny shakes like the earth as a body hits the pavement, you feel disgusting and heavy and an itch claws through your palms where Luffy’s hand has just been. You’re sure it’s Chopper he’s shaking an answer from but you hear Robin’s voice, calling for him to calm down and when that doesn’t work, Sanji cuts in. It all gets further and further away, you think about the planks of Sunny opening to welcome you back into that darkness from nights ago, you think about being choked by one of your vines, you think about the wisteria blooming whole in your lungs— you think and you think and think and suddenly, it’s all nothing. You’re dying, you think, that’s a fact, what else? Luffy is the reason. Or maybe you’re the reason.

“Luffy,” were you the one talking? “Luffy.” The voice comes again, stern and your eyebrows furrow with the same tension that the voice is carrying. “Thank you for being my captain.”

Not that it surprises you, Luffy punches you.

#op production: circa. 1864 #one piece #monkey d. luffy #one piece angst #one piece x you #one piece x reader #luffy oneshot #luffy angst #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #op luffy #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x you #op x reader #op angst #one piece one shot

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mayhaps-a-blog · 8 days ago

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Do you ever do something while thinking "this is the most logical and obvious thing to do", and then afterwards look at the result and go "hm. perhaps only to me."?

Anyway, funny story!

I've been dealing with a fungal gnat infestation; these are little harmless flies that like to hang around houseplants, which I unfortunately prefer to keep right next to my desk to ward of The Void (seasonal depression), which means that I've had a lot of fungal gnats hanging around In My Face, the worst place for a gnat to be.

So I've been idling my way through possible solutions, limited by the fact that I am 1) cheap 2) too busy to run to the store 3) keep food plants and worry about pesticides, which I also tend to dislike for environment reasons and don't want to spend a lot of time researching. So the fungal gnat problem has remained unaddressed, except that I've been keeping my eye out for cheap carnivorous plants.

Because a carnivorous plant would not only solve my problem but also mean getting another plant! Win win!

Most carnivorous plants available in my area are butterworts and go for around $20, which was more than I was willing to spend on a plant (that might die, my track record is... variable). But then! I saw one on Facebook for $5!

So of course I jumped on it, and less than 24 hours later, arrived home with two little butterworts.

Unfortunately, since this was an impulse purchase, I did not do my research before buying the plant, or before going to the store. Which I'd tied into picking up the plants, and was therefore not inclined to do again for at least a week.

Butterworts, for those unaware (such as myself as of a few days ago), are very particular plants. They require high-drainage soil (can't use regular potting soil) and ONLY distilled water. Or rainwater.

I did not have distilled water or rainwater.

Also, if they dry out, they die. Cue panic.

It was past 10pm and I was not going back to the store for some damned distilled water, even if I could find a store that was open.

So I did the ~logical thing~

I pulled out my largest tupperware, poured in some boiling water, floated a small bowl inside, covered it with plastic wrap and used a piece of candy to slope the plastic down to the bowl, thereby improvising a solar still. To get improvised rainwater. In case my new plants dried out in 12 hours or less. (They didn't.)

It wasn't until I was standing proudly over my creation, set on top of my heating vent since the Sol in solar wasn't available, to realize that. Huh. That's probably not the solution most people would jump to.

But hey, I got two tablespoons of water out of it! And got distilled water on the way home from work the next day. Butterworts are doing well and already doing their job, so all's well that ends well!

#thought tumblr might appreciate this #adventures in gardening #and apartmenting #and adulting in general #plants #butterwort #pinguicula #solar still #desperate improvising #me things #long post #tumblr story #yes i am a scientist #and also have adhd

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trensu · 10 months ago

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Heyyy, long time no post, huh? I'm dropping another chunk of stasis in darkness for you guys! And I wanted to remind people that these posts are basically rough drafts. The final product will hopefully be more polished but in the meantime please enjoy!

After Steve convinced the old man he meant no harm, he’d been allowed into the home. The Lord of Night hadn’t been super specific about the purpose of his quest, only that Steve had to bring him to Wayne Munson. Steve discreetly looked around the home as he entered it. The old man was obviously unwell and had been for a while, given the state of the house. Steve had the creeping suspicion that the time limit the Lord of Night mentioned was linked to the man’s health.

“What are you doing?” Wayne Munson asked suspiciously once he had returned to the kitchen with Steve in tow. He had sat heavily in one of the old worn chairs at the table but Steve, instead of joining him, began to clear the table on impulse. Steve halted awkwardly.

“This ain’t your house, boy,” Wayne said with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”

Steve did his very best not to look at the scattered mess in the kitchen or living room. It was not the mess of a dirty, careless person. It was the mess of someone tired and overwhelmed. It was the mess of someone in pain who was too proud to ask for help. Steve took in Wayne Munson’s watery eyes, wan skin, and the clothes that were plain things, tattered from use, but mostly stain-free. Steve quickly added all these details and came up with a plan of attack. He set the plate back down.

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed easily. “I’m aware, but I serve the Lord of Night and he sent me to you specifically. In our god’s name, I must assist you in any way I can.”

Wayne’s expression wavered. Steve pushed again. He lowered his gaze in a slightly embarrassed manner, letting a note of uncertainty color his words.

“I don’t know what else to do until nightfall,” Steve said. He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “I don’t want him to think I’ve neglected you.”

“What happens at nightfall?” Wayne asked.

“It’s when the Lord of Night wants to see you,” Steve said. Wayne blinked.

“Me? He wants to see me?”

“Yeah! So, if you could please let me,” Steve said, putting on his most endearing smile, “I’d like to take care of you until then. You know, make sure you’re comfortable and get the place ready for a divine visit. If it’s not too much trouble, sir?”

“Uh, no, that should be fine. Is…is there anything I should do?” Wayne asked dazedly.

“Not really. All I know is he really wants to see you tonight. Oh, maybe you’d like to rest until then? A nap, so you’re not drowsy when he arrives.”

Wayne nods, still in shock at the news. He didn’t protest when Steve helped him out of the chair and let him lean his weight on him as they navigated to the bedroom. Wayne sat on the bed as Steve drew curtains closed over the room’s single window. The curtains were thick enough to dim the sun to a pale yellow glow.

“I didn’t know there was anyone else who followed him,” Wayne said as he lay himself down over the covers.

"He told me you’re the only one left, besides me,” Steve told him. “And I only discovered him a month ago by accident.”

“By accident?” Wayne asked with a wry grin.

“My friends found a holy text when we were researching other gods. It was the only one of his in the city's whole library. Then we had a hell of a time trying to find his last shrine. When I finally found it, it was falling apart. He’s been forgotten,” Steve said. At Wayne’s troubled expression, he hurriedly added, “But now that I’ve pledged myself to him, I’m going to make sure people know him again.”

Wayne did not appear convinced, but he finally settled to rest after Steve promised to wake him before sunset. Steve took the opportunity to clean. He hadn’t been lying to Wayne when he said he wasn’t sure what to do until nightfall. It didn’t help that Steve also liked to keep himself busy. Being idle made him itch.

The house was small. Aside from Wayne's bedroom, there was only a cramped kitchen and a modest living room. From the small window of the backdoor, Steve could see a short, worn path to an outhouse.

Given the size of the house, though there was a mess everywhere, it didn’t take Steve very long to clean it all. When it was done to his satisfaction, there were still a few hours left until sunset so he wandered outside. The porch railing was covered with broad green leaves from intertwining vines but Steve left that alone when he saw the small garden nearby. It was full of ripe vegetables that Steve assumed Wayne had been unable to pick himself given his condition.

By the time Steve had picked the vegetables, pulled the weeds, and watered the garden, the sun hung low in the horizon. He cleaned himself up the best he could in the kitchen sink and took one of the chairs from the table to the bedroom before waking Wayne.

He told Wayne what he accomplished during Wayne’s repose. While Wayne expressed his gratitude politely enough, it was still apparent to Steve that the old man was irritated at having needed the assistance at all. To keep Wayne from dwelling on that, as well as to satisfy his own curiosity, he coaxed Wayne into conversation.

“Can I ask, uh, how you–I mean, how did you know? How did you know the Lord of Night existed?"

Wayne laughed at Steve’s befuddled tone. The laugh turned into a coughing fit. Steve quickly fetched him a glass of water and put it on the bedside table after Wayne had a drink.

“My family’s a bunch of no-good criminals,” Wayne croaked. “Were. It’s only me now. But before, each generation of Munsons took it up. Like a family tradition.”

“Criminals?” asked Steve cautiously.

“Thieves and con men. Some ladies of the night, if you catch my meaning. They knew of our Lord of Night and passed the knowledge down,” Wayne sighed sadly. “The life of a criminal ain’t what you call stable. We lost bits and pieces of him with every generation. Like his name. No one’s known his name for a very long time. Is that why he wants to see me? Did I fail him?”

There was genuine distress in Wayne’s question so Steve hid his disappointment. He had hoped the Lord of Night’s last worshiper would at least have a clue about where to start the search for the lost name. He focused, instead, on reassuring the old man.

“I don’t know why he wants to see you, but he wasn’t angry when he sent me. He sounded excited.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Wayne said uncertainly.

“Definitely,” Steve assured. Before Wayne could sink into his gloom again, Steve said, “I know you said you’ve lost some knowledge, but do you know if the Lord of Night has any prayers? I haven’t…I mean, I’ve tried to worship him but I don’t think I can do it right without a prayer. I’m kind of new at all this.”

“My ma used to say our Lord didn’t have patience for formalities,” Wayne said, brow furrowed. “They bored him so he only had a few official prayers. There was one where we’d thank him for any dreams he gave us. I think there was another one that asked for dreams to bring inspiration or something of that sort. I don’t really remember those–ma would be boxing my ears for that if she was still around. I remember the one for protection, since we used that one a lot. It goes:

Lord of Night, Guide us through all phases Of the moon; May the dark be free of All dangers, While your many stars burn.

Wayne’s voice cracked into a coughing fit near the end. Steve hurriedly offered him water again once Wayne had caught it again. Wayne took a few mouthfuls and repeated the prayer again so Steve could learn it. It took a few tries, but Wayne was patient and by the end of it, Steve had it memorized.

“Is that the only one?” Steve asked, hoping to learn more. Wayne grimaced.

“It’s the only one I really remember. The Lord of Night prefers stories. My ma would tell us the best bedtime stories. Said they were for our god as much as for me and my brother. I was never good at coming up with new stories, so I retell my favorites or tell our Lord about my days and give him a little offering.”

Steve wasn't much of a story teller. He supposed he could do as Wayne did until he met up with Robin and Dustin again. They constantly chatted about books they’d read. Steve couldn’t help but notice how, once again, his friends seemed a better fit for his god than he was; all Steve could give his god was his shield and sword. It was discouraging. He had to figure out a way to make up for it somehow.

“What kind of offerings?” Steve asked.

He wanted to give his god more; he wanted to give the Lord of Night something he’d actually like. It wasn’t lost on him that the Lord of Night took him under duress. Who else would’ve been able to complete this quest?

“When I was young, it was horse shoes,” Wayne chuckled at Steve’s confusion. “Thieves are supposed to give him a part of their loot but my ma and pa were horse thieves. They got horseshoes and would leave one for each horse they stole, tied with a braid made of the stolen horse’s mane.”

“You stole horses?” Steve said, unable to fight off a grin as he remembered the conversation he had with the Lord of Night about it.

“Me and my brother, before he passed,” Wayne said with a weak nod.

The sky had darkened by now. Steve pulled the stone out of his satchel. He carefully unwrapped it from the cloth and set it gently on the bedside table next to the glass of water. Wayne eyed it quizzically.

“It’s from his shrine,” Steve explained. Without any further fussing, Steve stood up and went to the door.

“Don’t leave,” the Lord of Night said.

Steve turned to see the god, hooded in his cloak of constellations, sitting in the chair Steve had vacated. The Lord of Night had not even glanced Steve's way when he spoke to him. The god’s attention rested solely on Wayne.

Steve hadn’t seen or spoken to the Lord of Night since he’d been accepted as his holy warrior. The god had needed to conserve his energy, he explained to Steve, so that Steve could complete his quest. The god’s cloak was as mesmerizing as the first time. However, this far from the shrine, the god did not look as solid as he had during the nights he spent with Steve.

“I wanted to give you two some privacy,” Steve said softly.

“I think Wayne would appreciate not being alone,” the Lord of Night said.

The old man stared at the god unblinkingly. Wayne’s expression was one of awe and fear, so Steve did as he was told and stayed in the room though he chose to lean on the wall furthest from the pair. He was still close to them in the tiny bedroom, but it provided the pretense of privacy.

“My Lord?” Wayne’s voice was barely audible.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said.

#trensu tells stories #steddie #stasis in darkness #stranger things #i'm gonna be honest #i absolutely have no idea how prayers are structured and i've got like zero experience in poetry #i do NOT like how the prayer turned out but #i did my best okay?#steve is so eager to use holy words #i had to give him SOMETHING #also #i'm starting to think i should've been like numbering these posts or something #but it's not like they're actual chapters or have a consistent length yknow?#so idk

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taggedmemes · 1 year ago

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SENTENCE MEME BALDUR'S GATE 3 / PART ONE

i think you're past the point of saving.

together we might survive.

get me out of this damn thing.

we have no time for stragglers.

do you intend to die for a stranger?

i thought that damn thing was going to be my coffin.

you keep dangerous company.

we can watch each other's backs along the way.

enough of this chatter.

who put you in charge?

i'll trust my own judgement.

a miracle, given everything you've been through.

it'll all be for nothing if you don't find help soon.

you're alive. i'm alive. how is this possible?

seems like we're the lucky ones, judging by all the corpses strewn about.

anything's an improvement on where we just came from.

'we'? you want to stay together?

we need each other.

i can't think of better company.

i wanted to thank you again.

you should be furious, shouldn't you?

kill it yourself — you look capable enough.

i was hoping for a kind soul.

let's try to keep that lovely neck of yours in one piece.

no need for this to get messy.

i need her alive.

and to think i was ready to decorate the ground with your innards.

please, allow me to introduce myself.

of course it'll turn me into a monster.

you should travel with me.

our odds are better together.

i was ready to go this alone.

maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea.

you seem like a useful person to know.

let's hope any future acquaintances don't hold a blade to your throat by way of introduction.

no harm in a little mystery.

conversation shouldn't be made, it should be grown.

maybe i'd like to get to know you better.

i'm usually better at this.

couldn't have phrased it more repellently myself.

you don't happen to be a cleric, by any chance? a doctor, surgeon? uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?

it's not exactly a common affliction.

a parasite shared is a parasite halved.

you're both twice as tall as me but have half the bloody backbone.

no point getting killed.

second worm gets the cheese and all.

nobody's getting any damn cheese.

she obviously sees your kindness as weakness.

don't let her take advantage.

a simply 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss.

your friends abandoned you.

i've got plenty of friends who aren't soft.

let's just hope she reserves those impulses for any common foes.

what a curious way to awaken.

what is the worth of a single mortal's life?

something the matter?

you must have thoughts about our little stowaways.

thinking about it won't help.

i suppose we'd go our separate ways — not a slight on your company, of course.

no reason for us to not stay together if we get on well.

if we do survive, we'll have separate lives to return to.

let's just say it's a very person, very private acquaintance.

you're not the kind of company i'd keep willingly.

perhaps i'll return the favor at some point.

she's delightful, in a very 'look at me twice and i'll dismember you' kind of way.

i understand much beyond your comprehension.

you'd do well to observe more and question less.

and they didn't cut you from navel to neck?

i am still getting used to people like you.

that large, fleshy nose of yours looks like a mistake.

best to keep quiet, lest any drivel leak from your lips.

i do not intend to stay long in this place.

may your actions express the same mettle.

anomalies lead to surprises.

what hasn't happened may yet come to pass.

not a collaboration i'd have anticipated.

can't you tell me something real about you?

i have a great respect for privacy, especially my own.

i have a very disciplined mind.

those tricks won't work on me.

please don't try that again unless i invite you to.

we meet again, as predicted.

care to explain why you're helping me?

what kind of services can a skeleton offer?

a monster forms inside us, and you care to be idle?

i knew your kind to be fragile.

don't you know an exhausted warrior is an ineffective one?

it's a thickheaded notion in a complex circumstance.

what were you two talking about?

if that was any of your business, we'd have called you over.

your business is mine.

we're entwined.

if we're to survive, we need to trust each other.

you seem reliable.

we're overdue some good fortune.

#sentence meme #rp meme #sentence starters #bg3 meme #roleplay meme #inbox meme

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the-self-indulgent-corner · 6 months ago

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Genshin Characters x a reader with adhd (part two!)

Summary: Your adhd may be strange, but you're convinced your (boy/girl) friend is stranger despite that.

Or, how the genshin characters react to a reader with ADHD. (Ft some lesser known aspects of ADHD)

Featuring: Hu Tao, Collei, Cyno. Can be read as romantic or platonic (except for Collei, I wrote hers only platonically)

A/n: Hey it's me again after *checks notes* about nine months. Whoops.

I don't have any crazy stories I just lost inspiration. Truth be told I had 2/3 of this already written out mostly but lost inspo and also time so it was kinda left in the drafts for a while. And I only finished writing it today with minimal proofreading so if there's mistakes no there isn't-

Anyways, you don't need to read part one to understand this, but as I said before I do use some more less known features of adhd in these hcs so i'm putting a general index of what they mean here. It's not a perfect summary but it'll give you a general idea of what it means.

And disclaimer! While I do have adhd, not everyone's adhd is the same. So what's common for me might be super uncommon for other folks with adhd and vise versa. So don't take this index or hcs as verbatim and do your own research if you don't know about something!

Index:

Executive dysfunction/ADHD paralysis: Wanting to do your job/work, but it feels like you’re physically unable to.

Food sensory issues/selective eating habits: A lot of people with ADHD are ‘picky eaters’ and refuse to eat certain foods even if it's good for them. Usually we pick foods with high sugar since it causes a ‘dopamine surge’.

Auditory processing disorder (APD): Having difficulty making out what someone is saying or processing what someone said too slowly.

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD): Being much more sensitive to rejection or perceived rejection.

Verbal stim: Exactly the same as other stims (Like bouncing your leg or clicking a pen) but just with words. Usually being a certain phrase, sentence or singing, although any vocalization can be a verbal stim.

Time blindness: Becoming so engrossed in something that many hours can pass when it felt like a much shorter amount of time.

Intrusive thoughts: unwanted disturbing thoughts and ideas that come to mind randomly. Can either be mildly unnerving to totally distressing.

Now with that word vomit out of the way, onto the hcs!

Hu Tao

Y'all can't tell me this girl also doesn't have ADHD.

Once you tell Hu Tao about your ADHD she'll go "ayo that sounding kinda familiar 🤨"

Whether or not she has ADHD is up to the court to decide but NONETHELESS Hu Tao can absolutely relate to at least a few of these.

Impulsive? Check. Stimming? Check. Time blindness? Check.

(Society not liking how you act? Check. /J)

If Hu Tao hasn't already latched onto some of your stims she definitely will after you tell her, even if she doesn't realize it right away LOL

You also steal some of hers <3 like her idle animation with the hillichurl song?? Yeah that.

You two don't even notice it until someone (probably Zhongli) points it out.

The amount of times you two impulsively went out is kinda impressive tbh. Either one of you will be like 'hey are you busy?' And if the other says no they're dragged off somewhere LMAO

You two always have fun though

She’s good at helping you out but her ways are kinda unorthodox

If your executive dysfunction or smthn is acting up girl will literally just. Pick you up and bring you where you need to.

“What? You need help getting somewhere and I can help! Besides, you said having others around helps you work, right?”

Stop being right about this Hu Tao how dare you /j

Really tho girl can and will just. Pick you up to get you to do something/go somewhere LMAO. Only stops if you get genuinely upset by it.

And while she’s good at helping you she’s also a bit 50/50 on what she does help you with.

If it's actively hurting you in some way she'd absolutely stop it, but if it's a bit more hehe silly goofy she'd prob just do it with you

Don't like this texture of food? Yeah her neither, let's get something else. Found something shiny and now you're distracted? She's looking at the shiny thing with you.

If you mask/Your ADHD isn't very obvious people would view you as the one who keeps Hu Tao in check which, depending on what kind of person you are, could be true but it's much better imo if you both are equally as strange

Stranger: Oh, you'll keep Hu Tao in check, right?

You, about to do the same thing as her: Yeah of course!

Tbf even if you did try to keep everything in line Hu Tao has a way to always convince you to do it her/another way instead. She knows how to trick you.

You fall for it each time 😔

"Wait. We aren't supposed to be here! We have to go to-"

"Too late! We're already here! May as well have fun!!"

If you're playful like her you two love to tease each other all the time. The amount of inside jokes y'all have is insane

As long as you're fine with it you two try to one up embarrassing each other in other people's presence LMAO

"Hey, 'Tao, remember that one time when you-"

"If you're talking about the knuckleback incident then it's not even half as embarrassing as that time you-"

This can go on for days.

You two have a relationship not many understand but it doesn't really bother either of you. As long as you're both happy you couldn't care less.

You two are little freaks of society /lh

Although, if you're also a bit of a troublemaker like Hu Tao, y'all turn into team rocket. Prepare for trouble and make it double fr

"Hey, y/n! You'll never guess what I just found!"

"Whatever it is, it better have the ability to mess with someone."

"It does!"

"Perfect."

The people of Liyue often wonder how you two have that much energy.

Hu Tao is a pretty good listener and loves to hear whatever you want to talk/rant about.

Probably the best person out of this list to rant about your hyper fixation to because girl will match your energy even if she doesn't care/knows nothing about it. If it's important to you, it's important to her!

You'd be stimming happily talking about it and she'd be doing the same; not to mock you but because if you're excited she's excited too and also needs to let out that energy

Even if you're talking at 2x speed, she somehow keeps up with all of it.

She also likes when you space out because it becomes 10x easier to scare you back into reality. She can’t help herself. What can she say?

“Boo~!”

“Ah! Hu Tao!? Why!”

“You were spacing out! Cmon, we can find something better to do besides staring at a wall all day.”

“... Who do you want to prank?”

“I'm so glad you asked!”

You're preoccupied for the rest of the day.

Collei

You 🤝 Collei

BEING NEURODUVERGENT/HAVING A MENTAL DISABILITY

Even though ADHD and PTSD are nothing alike, girlie is still so happy she's found a kindred soul who personally understands (at least some of) what she has to deal with that many others don't.

I'ma be real with you tho I don't think Collei really knew what ADHD was before she met you lmao

I feel like at most she's heard the term but not much beyond that. With that said though I don't think she'd have any preconceived notions on what ADHD entails, she's prob the easiest to explain your disability to honestly.

She also hears you explain some symptoms and is like ‘hey wait… Some of this sounds familiar to me!'

She actually confides in you quite a bit because of this. usually about her the lesser known aspects of her PTSD. It's usually the parts she feels bad about telling Tighnari, things like intrusive thoughts.

She probably thought she was a terrible person for thinking that, unaware that intrusive thoughts are, well, intrusive. Once she tells you about them you tell her about yours as well and probably have to explain that it doesn't make her a bad person.

Although a good bit of you and her talking about your guys mental disabilities is just that spider man pointing meme since quite a few things overlap LMAO

“Oh! So you say some things repetitively, too? I thought only I did that!”

“Yeah! I have a lot of vocal stims, honestly. Like one where I- Uh… you good, Collei? You look kind of confused.”

“Vocal stims…?”

Despite relating to quite a few things and already knowing she has a mental disability she's completely in the dark about more nuanced things than the standard. You'll have to teach her some things about it 😭

Although some things she's a bit lost on, she's got the spirit!

She can be a bit awkward about the things she doesn't relate to, though. She doesn't mean to be! But this is uncharted territory for her, and she's not quite sure what to say at times. After that initial phase of uncertainty though she sees it's not as scary/intimidating as it sounds on paper.

For example you'll tell her of your executive dysfunction and she'll get so nervous and absolutely blow out of proportion how bad it is/looks but when she once catches you just laying around while you were meant to/want to work she's like ‘oh, that's not as bad as I thought.’

She definitely tries to help you if you need it though. If you had food sensitivity issues she would prob try to make foods you dislike taste better.

(Even if it failed you appreciate the attempt she made.)

You also teach her how to manage some of her own habits as well by sharing your own tricks.

Some work perfectly and she's forever grateful you told her about it, but others completely flop.

(Even for those that don't work, she also appreciates that you tried.)

Sometimes though, she's completely flabbergasted by your antics lmao.

She’ll see you working on something new and asks you about it, to which you respond in 2x speed about how you went down a rabbit hole these past few days and now are trying to learn a completely new skill from scratch and she lost you after your second sentence.

“Okay so basically a couple of days ago I saw this person who was making some pottery and I thought about how cool that was, so I looked into it and-”

“Wh-what…?”

Girlie means the best but she's so confused 😭 by the end of your tangent she's giving hesitant encouragement because while she has no clue what you're doing or why you seem to be having fun at least.

But honestly Collei worries about you sometimes, but that's more because she's anxious and even if she's been around you for years can probably never fully get used to your antics lmao.

She's worried that others will see you as weird since at times you can be so unapologetic with your ADHD and worries you won't fit in.

She's too sweet.

You always reassure her that even if that did happen, you wouldn't want to be friends with people who think you being yourself was weird or a bad thing.

If you keep this up you're going to completely rewire Collei’s brain.

You probably inspire Collei quite a bit. She's a shy person so seeing you so open with your disability (and helping Collei with hers as well) makes her look up to you a little. She thinks it's so cool you can be so upfront and honest about it without really worrying about what others think of it.

At some point, Tighnari pulls you aside and thanks you for being her friend. You helped her by just being someone who can relate to and understand her in some way, something that he can't do. Showing her that no, she isn't less than just because of a disability.

Congrats you officially joined the family.

“Ah, y/n! There you are! I um, have been meaning to give this to you… it's a plush of that character you like a lot! You've helped me a lot so I… wanted to give this to you as thanks! I-I hope you like it!”

Cyno

Congrats Cyno for being the only one on this list to know what ADHD is besides just knowing it exists!!!!!!

Fr tho I think Cyno knows a good bit about ADHD, like how it ties into other mental disabilities, sensory issues or even things like going non verbal… but at the same time he falls for a lot of the misinformation/generalizations about it as well 💀💀💀

If you mask well, he absolutely will not be able to tell you had ADHD. Completely unaware of it LMAO. But he's trying, give him a break.

It might even take a bit longer to explain to him since you have to correct any misinformation he has about it unlike the others who come in with mostly a blank slate.

Like, no Cyno, not everyone is super hyper. No, not everyone is unable to sit still. No, some of us can mask. No, we aren't all connected to the ground itself- where'd you even hear that from!?

He grasps onto it pretty quickly though, and he remembers everything you say about it. And by extension, how it affects you specifically.

“You shouldn't buy that.”

“?? Why?”

“It has that material you dislike the texture of in it.”

“Oh shit I didn't notice-”

Tbh Cyno is probably one of the best people to help with your ADHD since he's so observant. He’ll recognize when you're about to hit your sensory limit, remind you to do things you forget, and even helps you when your executive dysfunction is acting up.

Although Cyno isn't perfect at everything and… honestly, you'll probably lose him at a couple parts.

He doesn't mean to be rude or anything, but some parts he just genuinely does not get.

That doesn't mean he doesn't respect them or anything, but like when he hears you talk about verbal stims he’ll both think ‘huh that's kinda weird how they have certain vocalizations they like to say I don't think I've heard of that before’ and ‘it's cool they feel safe enough around me to tell me that I wonder what their vocal stims are’ simultaneously.

Mans doesn't fully understand why you do some of the things you do (and tbf you don't either) but he also doesn't care as long as you're happy.

And while he's a great help, you can't forget that this is Cyno. Since he's helping you so much you know there's only one way to pay him back…

It's time to d-d-d-d-d-d-duel!!

That's right he forces you to play tcg with him LMAO.

He doesn't really care if you've never played before or not, he will lend you his cards and teach you right then and there if he must.

And if he gets you hooked on it? (or you already are hooked on it) Oh boy-

You two could battle each other for hours, you both probably have before. Cyno is so happy to have someone who likes the game as much as he does tbh. Even if you're not a pro, he still enjoys the battles.

And if you are a pro, then you may just confuse everyone else around you with your in depth conversations about the most optional strategies and best support cards.

But if you're not talking about and/or playing TCG, he'd love to hear about your current hyperfixations. He can keep up with you if you talk at 2x speed so don't be afraid to go crazy with it lmao.

He’ll listen attentively and even ask questions about it every now and then, but he tends to keep quiet when you talk about your own interests. Content to just listen to you ramble on and on.

However with all this new information about your hyperfixation you've given him you accidentally made a monster. Because now that he knows how it works/what it's about, Cyno is going to make bad dad jokes about it and you can't stop him.

When he sees you again he'll tell you his new greatest joke about your hyperfixation.

“So you remember when you info dumped about that book series to me yesterday?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“*Pulls out a written list* okay so I've got some new jokes about it and-”

Please he's SUCH a dork. Laugh at them he’ll be so happy about it.

He’ll be even more happy if you make your own jokes/add onto his. You literally just made this mans whole month with that.

Cyno may even repeat these jokes to others if your hyperfixation is something well known.

Cyno will also probably find himself repeating some of your own stims (verbal and non verbal) too. Generally he only does your quiet/silent ones, (quiet humming, tapping a pen, clenching and unclenching his fists, etc…)

I like to think that once or twice he repeated one of your more bizarre vocal stims and then just. Didn't elaborate.

He probably won't even notice himself doing it until someone else points it out. He doesn't mind it though, just probably was surprised he did it at all lol.

At first Cyno would probably see your ADHD antics as strange (and to an extent, he still kinda does lol) but takes it in stride. As said before he's of the mindset of ‘as long as they're happy and not hurting anyone I don't mind.’

After a while though it definitely grew on him lmao. Now he actively initiates conversations about it to better understand you and your adhd.

If you ever feel upset about your ADHD he's kinda shocked because you probably never mentioned it before. Def the type to listen to your worries and calmly yet rationally tell you how that's actually not as bad as you think it is. Besides, you have like a thousand other redeeming qualities, so what if you can't always pay attention? Who else is Cyno going to duel with on a random Saturday afternoon?

… Yet even after learning all this about ADHD, he's still going to come to you asking weird questions.

“Y/n, is it true that people with ADHD like shiny things?”

“Cyno, that's every human.”

“Oh.”

He tries his best, okay?

Ending note: Annnnnd that's a wrap! Sorry if this one is shorter/less detailed than the last one but i'm tired. However if I don't do this now I probably won't post it later because of a lack of confidence oof. Anyways thanks for reading this far and I hope you liked it!

Also what characters do u think I should do next if any?

#genshin x adhd reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #hu tao x reader #collei x reader #cyno x reader #adhd reader #genshin adhd reader

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darwinquark · 3 months ago

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Okay the Halloween chapter had me foaming at the mouth. Another masterpiece. You never miss! I love when third parties like Anne get introduced in the mix just to create tension between J and V. Like girl was flirting so bad but all Jughead seemed to notice or care about was Veronica eek I love it. Please gimme more party scenes I beg. I actually live for Veronica quite literally bringing him to his knees like atta girl you go ahead and get what you want 😭

Also what jeronica/colemila fics from @thefudge do you recommend?? I'm invested now

ah, so glad you liked it! the party atmosphere was def a departure so v happy it worked for you. and yeah lol Jughead's two main modes are being a little bitch or being Veronica's bitch and that's just where we've landed these days.

as for jeronica/colemila fics by @thefudge, WHERE TO BEGIN!

first of all, I am utterly obsessed with her cursed colemila series in all of its unflinching oozy toxic glory. Cole is human sleaze in this and Cami makes horrible decisions and the two of them just keep metastasizing in each other and it's honestly romantic in how unromantic it is

kiss and (don't) tell - the classic, the OG, the primordial fix-it/what if fic when Betty and Archie kissed and everyone was obsessed with the idea of Jughead and Veronica leveling the playing field with a kiss of their own (and then...)

bakunin and broccoli - the fact of the matter is I would die for Seymour Lodge-Jones and he'd definitely let me. this my actual canon of them as elitist parents who are sickeningly in love and dote on their sociopath son when they're not too busy annoying him with how horny they are

teen idle - a darker take on high school writer Jughead with big stalker vibes but I live for the tension of him swearing he studies her because he hates her but also obsessing over her in this very carnal way

barrels - another post-Barchie fix-it/what if fic where Jughead and Veronica go on an impulsive road trip after the cheating reveal and it's really sweet and poignant and more than the writers would ever give them in canon

honestly, I could keep going and end up recommending all of them because flo is genuinely such an inventive, fearless, and exquisite writer and I feel like I learn something about writing every time I read anything of hers, but I'll lock those down as my faves. she's prolific beyond belief though and has so many other fics, so if what you're after is her more cursed stuff, I'd say look beyond the riverdale scope to her more recent works (in particular her Paul/Irulan fic which deservedly blew up the Dune fandom and her most recent Taylor Swift RPF which made me go 'jesus CHRIST' out loud at least five times. she's also got Amelia/Andrew RPF which I've yet to read but is on my list because I'm sure it's wretched and spits in the face of all that calculated chemistry).

#reply #jeronica #fic recs

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ashenquill · 3 months ago

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Hello Tumblr, I am back with more headcanons!!1!1!

Beware of Hermitshipping in this one (it's not the focus but it's mentioned)

Bdubs. He doesn't have a full legal name, he's just Bdubs. On paperwork, he will sometimes put "Bee Double", but it's no more than a formality. It's pretty well-known that "Bdubs" is technically a nickname, but whenever someone tries to ask okay, but what's your real name?, he just keeps talking like they never said anything. Most people brush this off, but anyone who is highly-attuned to and proficient in magic will realize that, although Bdubs seems like an open book, they don't actually know that much about him.

Hybrid-wise, Bdubs is a fae creature of unspecified origin, although he's most akin to that of a nymph (specifically a dryad) or a gnome (this isn't just a short joke, it's a short joke with a purpose). He is closely connected to the earth, and can manipulate anything that comes from the earth, though he doesn't do it often. He is also able to make illusions and move at higher speeds than should be possible, which makes it very easy for him to confuse and disorient people, especially those who don't know him.

Bdubs is a very devoted and hard-working person, and he is proud to boast that he works an impressive seven jobs. These include: owning and operating a coffee shop called "The Muhd Cafe" (or simply "Muhd"), Construction Supervisor & General Contractor, owning and operating a headshot shop (he does both pictures and paintings), owning and operating a plant nursery, owning a demolition company, part-time Scarland employee, and the esteemed Royal Advisor/Jester/Butler etc. Bdubs technically works part-time for all of these businesses, and co-owns most of them with other people. He has to keep busy to not become restless, and it shows.

Some details for each buisness:

Muhd - Co-owner: Etho Slab. Affectionately nicknamed "Wet Dirt" by Etho and most employees. Bdubs hates this nickname. Bdubs uses his hybrid abilities to make coffee faster than any gunslinger in the Wild West, and frequently leaves his customers disoriented. Because of this -- and despite his protests --, he has been banned from working the counter unless there's a rush. This is Bdubs' "favorite" job (he swears he doesn't have a favorite, but he comes here most frequently), and he lives in an apartment above the coffee shop.

Bdubs' Head Shop - Sole owner: Bdubs. Sourced from a van with all of his art and photography supplies, and only appears on occasion. Bdubs has a glowing reputation, and any time the shop appears in the city, he gets heavy foot traffic.

Moss O Menos - Plant nursery located near Muhd. Bdubs is technically the sole owner, but the store's manager, Gemini Tay, runs the place in his absence and is basically a co-owner at this point.

Boomer's Demolition - Co-owners: Tango Tek and Impulse S-V. Their office is located in a tnt factory, so they typically do business over the phone or through emails. They have a terrible reputation and don't get many customers, so all three have other jobs.

Other details about Bdubs:

Smell = earthy, mossy, and also the unholy mix of his ten thousand jobs (coffee, oil, paint, gunpowder, churros, etc.)

Hybrid: forest nymph/gnome type of thing (connects to nature easily, can move faster than normally possible, often causes small-scale abnormal events)

Book smart - Special knowledge of customer service, architecture, and color theory

Likes: Etho, working, Etho, helping people, keeping busy, Etho, Etho, Etho

Dislikes: minor inconveniences

Passions: brightening someone’s day, serving others

Habits/other details: thinks he has street smarts but could get conned by a shady guy in a trenchcoat, this is actually how he ended up marrying Etho, no I will not elaborate

Active in his environment - hates being idle, needs constant change to not get bored, and is willing to make it EVERYONE’S problem

Perfect sleep schedule, major early bird, gotta shreep

#i know i didn't mention it much but there's Ethubs here #character headcanons #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitshipping #hermitcraft bdubs

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hathorneheiress · 7 months ago

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The Hawthornes as elements.

I was going to try and do the 4 natural elements but decided to expand slightly. ( I know, it's stupid)

Nash: Earth. Is it any surprise that the oldest, and most easy-going Hawthorne brother goes best with earth? People with this personality tend to be grounded, dependable, and practical. They strive for peace and harmony. On a negative note, they can give too much to others and maybe craves sweets more then they should. Nash, even though he wasn't always around, he was there for his brothers. He has more knowledge of the reality of how the world works. (Especially with the glass ballerina when he understood what the old man was saying) In TIG we can see him trying to keep the peace with brothers, especially between Jameson and Grayson. His savor complex is sometimes a blessing, but it can also be a curse. It's not cannon, but I think we can all agree Nash has a weakness for sweets.

Grayson: Ice. (I was going to go with water, but doing more research ice fits him better) This element is known for being cold, unfeeling, and logical. What better element then for cold, uninviting, Grayson Hawthorne himself? As solid as it seems, ice can crack at some point. Which we know Grayson, as strong as he may appear, has a breaking point. (As seen in the beginning of TFG and sometimes during TBH) Ice personalities are also very creative. Though not really cannon, Grayson most likely is the most artsy, if you will, out of all the brothers. His love of photography and classy style seems to hint at that. And I whole heartily believe Grayson is an exceptional painter as well. On the negative side it should come to no surprise that having very little to no emotions and being secretive and uninviting also fits Grayson as well. Honestly, if I mentioned Grayson's name most people would imagine an unsmiling, cold looking young man who hardly shows emotions with blond hair and icy blue eyes. Or is that just me? (P.S. Grayson is sooo Elsa coded. You can't convince me otherwise)

Jameson: Air. Witty, intelligent, thoughtful, caring, free spirited. Though inconsistent and selfish. Sounds right up Jameson's alley, if you know what I mean. He's witty and good natured. And just like air, he is very energetic and loves to be always moving. I mean, when is the air not moving? Just like Jameson: always in motion. When we first meet Jameson he was all about riddles and games. Trying to hide his grief. But throughout the series we see a more caring and thoughtful side to him. His love for his brothers and Avery. Though hard to see Jameson was thoughtful. (Trying to distract Grayson from meeting his father. Giving Avery a break by going on the rooftop.) Jameson isn't afraid to talk to new people and is very independent. As with air personalities, Jameson has a hard time committing to things and doesn't like to settle down. Always looking for something new, which can have negative outlooks. His recklessness could be considered selfish since he's only thinking of himself and not how others feel.

Xander: Electricity/lightning. Known for being kind, caring, and filled with energy it should come to no shock (See what I did there) that this element fits Xander Hawthorne the best. Electricity is not only energetic, but also unpredictable. Just like Xander. In TIG we found out that he was the mastermind. Carrying out the old man's plan. He is also extremely energetic. Xander is not one to sit idle, he always needs to be keeping himself busy. I think Xander is also a hard worker. On the downside his mischievousness sometimes gets the better of him and his impulsiveness. (Like blowing something up to only loose an eyebrow) This personality also loves music, which I think Xander loves as well. Though his style tends toward classical pop and rock.

Well, that's it. I hope you liked it. I do plan to do Avery and maybe Libby but I really wanted to post it tonight for you all.

(Sorry, it isn't that great)

#the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #nash hawthorne #xander hawthorne #avery grambs #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #the grandest game #the elements #Ice #Air #earth #Electricity

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dreamsofminnie · 2 years ago

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“Ethereal Paintings”

21~ Stage one denial☔️

Scaramouche x Reader Smau | Word Count: 1.2k

Pounding thumps on the front door were surprisingly nonstop for the past half an hour. Each 15 knocks were different paced every 5 minutes, as if there has been switching the knocker five times. You were glad the door didn’t allow voices to be heard from the other side, only vibrations directly placed on the door itself.

Many “No ones hommee..e…” and “No knocking plea..see.” were mumbled softly from your mouth.

Dinnertime might’ve been over by now. You couldn't tell with how you’ve been practically living on the floor in the main studio area right between the stairs towards your bedroom, and the front door, none which you had energy to get up and go to.

Luckily the kitchen counter was just several scoots away, set with a mini fridge, water boiler and a microwave.

“Refuse contact…don’t want it.”

You didn’t know when the knocks soon dispersed. But you knew they would be back the next day at the same hour.

illumi already gave up on boosting your mood and rather play with the paint brushes that dried up in your spiritless state.

Your large window wall was half covered by the thin blinds, forbidding the blinding and healthy rays of sunshine from entering anywhere near your already damaged and baggy eyes.

To be completely honest; you have only ever showered every two days or even further till you really needed it. Only because it was way too much work to take care of your needs…And all the way upstairs.

Denial was your resistance, the only way you wanted to live at the moment. And the powerlessness in your body is what the effect was.

Even forgetting those online classes you promised to attend, your mind, body and soul were in disarray.

The only routine you held was the mindless paintings you mass-produced over these weeks, as a non-functioning coping mechanism.

And the routine you did when the sky outside the glass walls were dimming, reach for your blanket and pillow, lay on the sofa bed and stare at the paintings for hours till your eyes shut on its own.

That was only day 2 of being exposed to Scaramouche’s crime against you.

The other days weren’t as end-of-the-world-health-threatening.

☔️☔️☔️☔️

Sharp taps on the black table were the only thing heard in the lonely room. The shaking of a leg bouncing up and down began soon after.

Impatient as he is, the impulsive actions he exhibits weren’t half his show of anxiety.

Four grown men sat on the bed behind him in a row on the edge of his bed. Two sat on the floor, well.., one sat and the other was sprawled across the ground.

For the man Scaramouche, aka. Kabukimono, aka. the man who is curling himself into a ball of nerves, was sitting at his computer screen discarding every single A.I.-produced image he ever held—correcting a mistake he should’ve repressed a whole long ago.

A string of curses leaves his soured lips, his eyebrows furrowing even more than possible. “When did I fucking download these onto google drive?!? You bitch!! Prime fucking ass.”

“PFTT!!”

“When was the last time we ever saw i-give-no-fucks-Scara?”

“Just last year. What are you on Venti..” Albedo kicks the one spread across the floor with his criss-cross legs.

“Green tea crepe—cakes!~” Tighnari wanted to step on Venti’s head rolling across the floor, if only he was closer…

“I made that cake for Ayato but you just HAD to get your grubby hands on it.” Tighnari motioned Albedo to kick him again, or to use Venti as a seat instead of the hard floor.

“Mercy–!!!”

Sounds of constant clicking and idle chatter was keeping the room occupied as the only one working hard was deadly silent. Minus the vulgar curses at the poor computer.

Ayato flipped through pages of the stack of documents he fingered through. He was indeed busy but wouldn’t miss this rare one-in-a-lifetime redemption arc in his favorite drama show.

“Kazuha. What do you think about the health department?” He didn’t look up from the papers as Kazuha answered.

“Hm? I think they can do much better.” Kazuha has been assisting Ayato with some of his work since Ayato thought his ideals and views were quite insightful.

“Very good. But I meant health inspectors. There are ones who come to the boba shop and stay long for the knowledge of our traditional japanese cleaning facilities. And now I have 27 health check placks…”

Kazuha laughed at the ridiculousness at the entirety of it. “Maybe just hang them all up to drive away any other incoming health inspector.”

Ayato hummed at that suggestion in agreeance and scribbled onto the documents to save for later. Kazuha points out more points to add.

Kaveh, the one closest to Scara and helping him, leans back on one hand behind him as he scrolls though his phone mindlessly. “Remember to delete those off your twitter. Hmn now the account has no such purpose…best to get rid of it!”

“I know that!!! Shut up!”

“Hey, I'm trying to help!!”

“What help do you provide if you tell me things I am actively conscious of.” He swivels in his chair and violet eyes burn in unbridled anger and pain at Kaveh directly sitting behind him.

A beat of awkward and tense silence fills the dimly lit room.

“Scaramouche. We know you are panicking in trying to scrape up the pieces of your torn relationship—”

Ayato looks up from his papers and tries to catch his glare that only burned straight through Kaveh who avoided his gaze sweating profusely.

“—but that's why we have all managed time here to help you recuperate. And not once have you asked for help. What else would you rather us do here than try and reach to help you.”

Scaramouche darts his eyes to Ayato at the head of his bed. His teeth clenched together. They all knew Scaramouche had too much pride and ego for him to ask for help. Others have to actively put help in front of him for Scara to take it.

The chair swivels back to the desk, stiff and unmoving like the walls Scaramouche has once again built over and over.

His friends behind him internally sigh, they lost Scara to his obstinate personality once again.

“Then help me in another area.”

As unyielding defines his personality Scara doesn’t like his personal affairs meddled in the hands of others– “WHAT!?”

Those words shook everyone who stared at his back with mouths agape and eyes widened.

“Were the crepe cake poisonous??!? Did Scara-dookie ask for help?!?!” Venti jumped up from the floor in a scramble.

“Say that again. I dare you.”

Despite the usual venom, Scaramouche’s hands rested on either side of his drooped head, hiding any peeping views of his expressions.

“I dare you second.” Tighnari knocked Venti’s head at the thought of him thinking his cake could ever be poison, then turned to Scaramouche.

“You mean what to do with Y/n right? Since you got figured out.” They could see the tiniest of nods from his posture.

“Weelll, since she basically exposed your ass with a 5-foot diagram of every opposing thing you’ve ever done to offend her…..you have the slimmest chance of recovery.”

Scaramouche slammed his chair into the desk with how fast he turned around. The desperation and anguish in his face conquered any trace of fear or hesitance in confronting you.

Albedo smirked in attracting his full attention and determination. “But of course, you have much more chances when you have this much support from your friends.”

With everyone’s smiles on him, Scaramouche has never felt this much supportive feelings of warmth.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis{3}-> Scara decided to stop his a.i art creations when he realized that you are really his fav artist—as long as you were the one to teach him how to paint and draw. Facing multitudes of slip of the tongue from your friends; you figured out that he was your mortal nemesis; hatred brewed and twisted your view on him.

• give it up for Season 3 woooo

• sobssogb the smau is halfway done omngh😱

• proud but sad

//Taglist//

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @sketcheeee @ozzierenato @ohmyfinggod @kiyomi-hoku @hutaosbootao @ynverse @featuredtofu @reinoodle @angeilix @yxcade

#genshin fic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smau #text fic #genshin impact smau #genshin screenshots #genshin x y/n #genshin scara #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scara x y/n #scaramouche x y/n #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scara x you #scaramouche x you #scaranation

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foundtherightwords · 7 months ago

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The Hollow Heart - Chapter 8

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8 - Sweet Music and Loud

Christmas drew near. There was no snow, but Christabel was thankful that the cold was keeping the fog at bay. When it got too cold for her daily walk, she busied herself with Christmas decorations, determined to give Creel House a festive air, despite Henry's utter lack of interest.

She was learning to pick her battle with him. Like the matter of finding her a lady's maid—Henry kept putting it off, so she'd stopped mentioning it. After all, she reasoned with herself, they never went anywhere, so there was no need to dress up, and thus no need for a maid. As for Christmas, Henry had flatly refused to go to church for Christmas service or to any of the Christmas concerts in town, but he'd agreed, albeit in an absentminded kind of way, to let her decorate the house. So she'd asked Kas to cut down one of the cypress shrubs of the right size and shape of a Christmas tree and put it up in the drawing room. At least they've come in useful, she thought with grim satisfaction while draping garlands of popcorn and cranberries over the tree.

Kas seemed fascinated with the decorating. He helped her make the garlands, wove some loose cypress branches into wreaths and hung them on doors with red ribbons, and even found some ivy vines to put around window frames. It appeared Henry had never bothered much with celebrating Christmas before. She felt rather sorry for Kas and made a mental note to get a present for him.

For all their efforts, Creel House remained dark and sullen, a Scrooge that refused to be swayed by the holiday cheers no matter how many spirits of Christmas paid it a visit. But Christabel wasn't deterred. Some more decorations, something sparkly to catch the light of the candles, and a good crackling fire in the hearth, and Creel House would be ready for Christmas.

She'd stopped fighting with Henry about her money as well. She'd relented and agreed to transfer her inheritance into his account at a local bank. Since most of her father's bequest was in the form of shares and stocks and would require some paperwork to transfer, she'd offered to put her idle money into the account first. That seemed enough to appease Henry, and he even drove her to the bank himself.

"You shouldn't leave all that money lying in the vault, darling," he said, on their way into the city. "Let me invest it, and I'll give you a much better rate of interest."

Sitting next to him on the passenger seat, Christabel only shrugged. She didn't care what he did with the money, as long as it meant he'd stop nagging her about it. Besides, she was still smarting from his refusal to stay longer in the city for her to do her Christmas shopping.

This annoyance only grew when she saw how the city was decked out for the holidays—even the street lamps were wrapped in tinsels and ribbons. It was strange seeing the familiar sights of excited shoppers hurrying down the streets and Christmas decorations under an unaccustomed blue sky, so different from the gray skies and white snow of New York, yet they still made Christabel so homesick that she almost cried.

But there was nothing to do but accompany Henry into the bank, nodded at all suggestions from Henry and the bank manager, and signed all the papers they gave her. Seeing Henry was in an amiable mood, she convinced him to let her pop into the department store across the street while he wrapped up some business of his own with the manager. She'd spied the shop when they drove up and had been hoping to find some decorations for the tree there, perhaps a present or two as well.

There was so much to see in the store—she didn't realize how much she'd missed such a simple, frivolous activity as shopping—that Christabel only became aware she'd been inside for too long when the clock struck twelve. Henry was certainly going to be angry with her; she was surprised he hadn't come in to drag her out himself. She quickly paid up and reluctantly left the store with her purchase.

Crossing the street, Christabel soon found out why Henry hadn't come to find her—he was locked in an argument with an older man.

"I'm telling you, you're mistaking me with someone else," Henry was saying, in the same even tone he'd used with that man, Thompson, on the train.

"I'm not mistaken!" the other man shouted. "I'd recognize you anywhere, you bastard! You have not aged a day!" He must be in his forties at least, disheveled, with unkempt blonde hair hanging limp about his face, a scruffy mustache, and a desperate look in his blue eyes.

Their raising voices had started to draw attention, and the bank manager and a guard were coming out to see what the commotion was.

"Sir, please stop harassing our customer," the manager said to the older man. "This is a place of business. If you don't leave, I shall have to call the police."

"Call them then," the man said. "I'd love to have a word with them as well. Tell them to arrest this—this criminal"—here he poked a dirty-nailed finger in Henry's direction—"on charges of kidnapping and murder!"

"The man is clearly insane," Henry told the manager in a low voice, but the other man still heard.

"Insane, am I? Let's see how insane I can be when I tell the police that you've kidnapped my sister!" His eyes landed on Christabel as she ran to Henry's side. "Or have you found someone to replace her already? It's been what, nearly fifteen years now?"

"Sir, Mr. Creel has been an esteemed client of our bank for nearly a decade," the manager said, stepping between the man and Henry with a placating gesture. "I can assure you, whatever you're accusing him of—"

"His name is not Creel!" the man shrieked, making a lunge for Henry. "His name is Ballard, Peter Ballard! What have you done to my sister, you son-of-a-bitch? What have you done to Maxine?!"

The manager nodded at the guard, who quickly stepped in, seized the older man by the arms, and marched him away.

"No, listen to me!" the man screamed, trying in vain to fight off the burly guard. "His name is not Creel! He's Peter Ballard! I'm not mistaken! He still looks exactly as he did fifteen years ago!"

Those screams reverberated through the street, as clear as day, even as he disappeared around the corner.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" the bank manager asked, holding Christabel's elbow.

"Yes, thank you," she answered shakily. Somehow she'd managed to keep hold of her shopping.

Henry did not spare her a glance. He nodded brusquely at the manager's apology and reassurance that it would not happen again, got into the car, and started the engine, forcing Christabel to scramble to follow him or be left behind. It was like the train trip all over again. She was frightened out of her wits, and he saw nothing but his own anger.

It wasn't until they were halfway back to Creel House that Henry exploded. "That is why I don't like going into the city," he said through gritted teeth, gripping the steering wheel so hard that Christabel was afraid he was going to pull it clear off. "It's full of lunatics!"

Christabel wanted to point out that Henry seemed to have a talent for attracting lunatics whenever he went, but she knew it would be a good way to direct his anger toward herself. So she stayed quiet, while the island with its perpetual shroud of fog loomed in the distance.

***

On Christmas Eve, Christabel tried her best to be cheerful, but she could feel her spirit wilting just like the pitiful tree standing in the corner of the drawing room. Despite her efforts, it still looked bare and even more scraggly than it had outside. The strings of popcorn were ragged like the teeth of some long-dead animals, the cranberries shone dully like dark drops of blood, and the glass baubles, imported from Germany as the proprietor had assured her, which had shone with such brilliance in the store, now seemed gaudy, out of place. No present adorned its base save for the one she'd bought Henry. She'd sent her mother a Christmas card and a letter but received no reply. When she asked Henry if they should give Kas a present as well, he'd waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it," he'd said. "I've given him a Christmas bonus."

She hadn't asked whether he had a present for her.

After dinner, she could no longer stand the thought of the single, lonely box under the tree, so she retrieved it and placed it in front of Henry, who was finishing up his port in the dining room. "Here you go, darling," she said. "It seems rather silly to wait until tomorrow."

Henry barely glanced at it. "What's this?"

"Your present, of course!"

He tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a silk cravat and a cravat pin set with a ruby. "It matches mine, see?" she said, holding up her stained glass rose pendant.

"Yes, very nice, darling," Henry said absently, draining his glass of port and getting up.

"Aren't you going to try it on?" She tried to smile, but tears were stinging the corner of her eyes.

"What for? We're not going anywhere. Now, are you finished with this Christmas nonsense? I have work to do."

He went upstairs, and a moment later, she heard the attic door slam shut.

Alone in the dining room, surrounded by the torn paper, with the cravat and the pin tossed carelessly on the table, Christabel took a deep breath, waiting for the tears to flow, but they didn't come. They were caught in her chest by wounded pride and by anger, anger at Henry for his utter indifference, and at herself. Had she really thought that he would've behaved differently, just because it was Christmas? How naïve could she be?

Not wanting to go upstairs to her dark room and its ghosts, and unwilling to let Kas see her crying over silly little presents, she gathered up the cravat and the pin and went into the drawing room. The tree with its incongruous ornaments stood like a silent reminder that no matter what she did, it would never be good enough. Everything and everyone in this house was rejecting her.

She had to do something, she had to scream or break something to get rid of the iron fingers squeezing her throat, of the unshed tears burning her eyes. Storming over to the tree, she grabbed one of the glass ornaments that she had chosen with so much care and excitement, and hurled it to the hardwood floor. It exploded into thousands of tiny pieces, glittering like shards of starlight in the flickering flame of the candles.

The sharp pop of the ornament shattering made Christabel realize how childish she had been. Suddenly exhausted, she knelt down and reached for the little broom and shovel by the fireplace to clean up the pieces. That was when her eyes alighted on a large parcel under the tree, which she hadn't seen when she'd come into the room. She was quite certain it hadn't been there when she'd gone in to get Henry's present.

Christabel pulled the parcel out and placed it on the hearthrug. It was rectangular, quite heavy, and wrapped in ordinary brown paper, with a label that said "Mrs. Henry Creel, Creel House, Outside Lands, San Francisco" in an unfamiliar hand. There was no return address. Somebody must have sent it to her, and Kas had put it under the tree for her during dinner. But who? Not her mother or any of her old friends from New York, surely. They had all cut her off.

She unwrapped the parcel impatiently. The wooden lid of a box or a small trunk showed underneath. As soon as enough of the paper was peeled off, she unclasped the lid and lifted it up. Inside the box was a phonograph, along with about a dozen wax cylinder records.

Heart beating faster with excitement, Christabel assembled the phonograph and slipped a wax cylinder into place. As the first soft notes of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" flowed from the horn, the lump in her throat immediately vanished and she almost burst into tears, though they were tears of joy this time. It seemed too long since she had heard anything other than the murmurs of the sea, the moans of the wind and the foghorns, and the echoes of her own thoughts. She'd almost forgotten how soothing music could be. Under its magic, even Creel House seemed to change. The tree looked charming and festive, and the dark was no longer sinister and oppressive but cozy and comforting.

She sat on the hearthrug with her arms around her knees and listened to all the records. When the clock struck twelve, she went up to her room, got ready for bed, and listened to them again. There were popular songs, carols, and little pieces of orchestral music. Each was only about two or three minutes long, but it was more than enough to ease her mind and fill her heart.

Most of the records were labeled with the names of the songs on them. The last four, however, were unlabeled. They contained guitar music, gentle melodies like the pattering of summer rain on a window. But now, in the quietness of her bedroom, as she listened to them again, Christabel noticed another sound in the background, a strangely familiar one. She played the records once more, putting her ear close to the horn in case she'd misheard. No, it was faint but unmistakable—the sound of foghorns. Two sharp, quick ones, followed by two more, slower and lower. The same foghorns that had been bellowing outside her windows, haunting her dreams.

Those records had been made here, at Creel House, or at least somewhere very near here.

By who? There was only one person who could have made them, and it wasn't her husband.

Christabel went to her window and looked out. The lighthouse was dark. She thought about going down into the hothouse, or perhaps the kitchen, but decided against it. Questions and answers would have to wait until the next day. For now, she let herself get lost in those sweet melodies once more and drifted off to sleep with more ease than she had in over a month.

***

Christabel woke with a strange but pleasant lightness. It took her a while to figure out why she felt that way—she'd slept through the night without being woken by nightmares. She wondered if the music had anything to do with it.

As soon as she finished breakfast, she took the present she'd bought for Kas and went down to the lighthouse. She knocked quietly on the peeling door, her stomach turning with something quite different from its usual cramps. It was apprehension, she knew. After the gruesome story she'd heard about Patrick McKinney's death, the lighthouse had taken on a sinister air for her, as sinister as Creel House itself. She didn't know what she was going to find inside. And how Kas would react.

"Yes?" came Kas's voice from behind the door.

"It's Mrs. Creel. May I come in?"

There was a pause, then she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back, and the door opened a crack. "I'm sorry," Kas said. "I can't open it any further. It's quite sunny out today. Please, come in."

"It's all right," replied Christabel, slipping through the door. "Thank you."

For a moment she stood silently, taking in the inside of the lighthouse. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. An extension of Creel House, perhaps, only even more dilapidated. But this funny little circular room had nothing in common with Creel House, except for the thick curtains at the window.

For one thing, it was light and airy, despite the curtains. The whitewashed walls, the candles blazing on every available surface, and a glowing stove gave it a homey, cozy air. An old armchair with stuffing coming out of the back, a small table by the stove, and a little bed behind it made up all the furniture in the room. The rest was taken up by books, books on shelves nailed to the wall, books on the floor by the chair and next to the bed, and on the chair and the bed themselves as well. Scattered here and there on the shelves were little curios, shells and fossils and even little animal skulls, peeping out from between the spines of the books. Somehow they managed to look friendly and inquisitive, despite having no eyes and no flesh. A spiral cast-iron staircase took up most of the back wall. It, too, had been commandeered as an impromptu bookcase.

"What's upstairs?" Christabel asked, pointing at it.

"The lamp room. But it's not used anymore. Nothing up there but bats now."

There was even a little Christmas tree on the table, a miniature cypress draped with popcorn and cranberries, quaint and charming, a far cry from its bedraggled cousin in the big house. "That's nice," said Christabel.

Kas shrugged. "I thought I'd get into the holiday spirit as well. Is there something you need?" he asked, watching her with a half-curious, half-wary look. "Do you wish to change something about Christmas dinner? I have everything ready as you've ordered."

"No, I don't need anything." Christabel hesitated, wondering how to bring up the phonograph in a polite way. She looked around at all the books. "Have you read all of these?"

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on her questioningly. She picked up a book on the table—Coleridge. Kas must have been reading it when she knocked. There was a seagull feather between the pages, and when she opened to the bookmarked spot, the familiar lines of "Christabel" met her eyes. She raised her eyebrows at Kas, and he responded with an embarrassed little smile.

"I've always wanted to know what happens to her, to Christabel," she said, putting the book down. "I wonder why my father named me after an unfinished poem."

"Perhaps he wished for you to finish your own story."

She hadn't considered it that way. The distant memory of her father suddenly became much nearer and dearer to her.

"I came to say thank you for the phonograph and the records," she said. "They're from you, aren't they?"

A faint touch of pink flushed Kas's pale cheeks. "Well, you mentioned that you miss music, so when I saw it for sale... Was that too forward of me?"

"No, not at all," she quickly said. "I'm touched that you remember. Still, it must have cost a lot."

The moment she mentioned it, Christabel realized how tactless it was of her, but Kas didn't seem to notice. "I have nothing else to spend money on," he said with a shrug.

"And some of those records are you playing, right?"

He nodded again, looking embarrassed. "If you don't like them, I can shave them clean and record something else—"

"No," she interrupted, "I love them."

Kas smiled again, just a flash, but it lit up his whole face.

"Where did you learn how to play?"

"From a Spanish missionary, when we first came to San Francisco."

"And is that your guitar?" Spotting the instrument leaning against the bed, Christabel picked it up without waiting for Kas's answer. It was clear that he took great care with the guitar, for the wood glowed like honey, and every tuning key gleamed. The words "Dragon Slayer" were carved into the body. She looked at Kas, amused. "You name it?"

Another quick grin flashed across his face, and for a moment, he looked almost boyish with enthusiasm. "You know how the knights in the old legends often name their swords, like Excalibur and Night's Edge and Protector of the Realm and things like that?" he said. "This is the same."

"The guitar is your weapon?"

His eyes darkened with a strange shadow. "Some monsters can be vanquished by music," he said enigmatically.

Christabel thought of how light and refreshed she'd felt that morning, how the ghosts seemed to have kept their distance all night. Is that why you gave them to me? Or is it a mere coincidence? She looked into Kas's eyes. The candles were brightening them into a soft brown, making them shine as brightly as the guitar. Something in his gaze sent a strange warmth coursing through her, burning her cheeks and making her chest flutter. She turned away, searching for a source of diversion.

"Where did you find these?" she said, pointing to the skulls.

"In the woods, on the beach. Anywhere during my travels with Mr. Creel, really."

"Why do you collect them? Most people would find them macabre."

"Would they?"

"Of course. Death is frightening." She thought of Henry in his Red Death costume.

"Is it? I don't think so. I think it's beautiful. If nothing dies, nothing grows. Death means a new beginning."

She stared at him in wonder. Henry had also said things like that when they'd first met, but always with such pomposity, as though he was proclaiming some grand wisdom. Kas sounded like he was stating a simple fact. Who was this man, who was a servant and yet didn't act like a servant, who could say such beautiful things in such an understated way, who confounded her and comforted her at the same time?

She was so flustered that she'd almost forgotten her true reason for coming to the lighthouse, and only when she put her hands in her pockets for want of something to do that she remembered it. She took out the little paper package.

"I wanted to give you this as well," she said. "Your Christmas present."

Kas's face lit up with disbelief. "You didn't have to—"

"No, please." She gestured for him to open the package. "It's my pleasure."

Kas undid the paper. Inside was a pair of leather gloves, lined with fur. Christabel had agonized over what to give him, something that was personal enough without being too personal. When she saw the gloves advertised in a catalogue, they had felt just right.

"I hope they fit," she said. "I notice that your hands are always cold, so..." She trailed off, for Kas was still bent over the gloves, running his fingers over the soft leather, and she couldn't see his face. Was he angry? Had she offended him again? "I'm sorry," she said uncertainly. "I must have overstepped. I didn't mean—"

"No." He finally looked up, and she was taken aback by what she saw on his face. He seemed on the verge of tears. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just—I've never gotten any presents before. Thank you." He tucked the gloves into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Thank you," he repeated, hand tentatively reaching out for her.

Thinking he wanted to shake her hand, Christabel gave it to him. But he didn't merely shake her hand. Taking her hand in both of his, he held it for a long time, caressing her fingers just as he'd caressed the gloves. His hands were warm now, and their gentle touch sent her nerves all fluttering, from the tips of her fingers to her chest, from her chest to her stomach, and from her stomach to her knees, making her tremble and breathless. Then, to her astonishment, he turned her hand over and pressed his lips to her palm briefly, before squeezing her fingers closed and laying them against his cheek for a moment, as if to trap the kiss in her hand.

A bell above the door rang loudly, shrilly, and Kas dropped her hand like a hot coal.

"Mr. Creel is ringing for me," he said. "I must go." He took down a cloak from its hook behind the door, which covered him from head to foot. But even this wasn't enough—he also picked up a large parasol. Thus equipped, he opened the door wide to let in the brilliant sun and stood by, waiting for her.

"Well, Merry Christmas," Christabel said unimaginatively and went out. Even then, she didn't return to the house right away but remained in the garden, watching Kas hurry across the sunlit space under his dark cloak and parasol, while her palm still tingled with the memory of his kiss, as though she'd been touched by the gentlest brand of all.

Chapter 9

A/N: Kas's guitar is based on Eddie's acoustic guitar, which has "This machine slays dragons" painted on it (which, in turn, is based on Woody Guthrie's "This machine kills fascists" guitar.)

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #hellcheer au #henry creel #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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