#milkshakes and whiskey

[its-wabby-stuff]

Atla could not sleep, on account of another nightmare, so it the air of a cold autumn morning, she ventured away from the party to the side of the nearby lake. Thia, expert tracker (rolling a 20 perception check), took notice of the little girl , only a little younger than her own daughter was, and clearly distressed and resigned to follow her behind the quiet songs of waking birds.

“Atla- is everything alright?”

“Hmmm,” the girl turned, “oh, yes everything is fine. Just enjoying the morning.” She smiled that bright smile she always had, but it did not reach her eyes this time.

“It is a lovely morning. Mind if I enjoy it with you?”

“Of course! The more the merrier.”

This took her stance next to the young girl, who seemed to get pulled right back into her thoughts.

“I don’t mean to pry, really, but are you sure you’re okay?“ Atla didn’t respond. “I know nightmares can be awful. I’ve had my fair share.”

“What- are your nightmares usually about?”

Thia took a deep sigh. “My daughter,” she choked. Atla watched this usually quiet and reserved woman break for just a moment. “She was about your age you know.”

“I- I did not.”

“Oh she loved being outdoors and going on adventures. She loves magic too, was especially skilled. Way better than me.”

“You are not- bad.”

“Ha. I’m much better with a bow and arrow.”

“That is true.” They laugh. “Does it still hurt?”

“Yes.” The two stared at the sunrise, watching the still water fill with colors, as the world came to life.

“I did have a nightmare.” Thia brought her attention back to the teifling. “I saw it all again. He killed them-“ she broke into tears and fell to the ground, “I miss them a lot.”

“I know.” Thia knelt to her side, holding her face. “But this will get easier. You must to allow yourself to move on, but that does not mean forget.”

“How could I? I’d sooner die,” she chuckled.

Thia looked at this young little girl, giving a soft laugh and in an instant, saw her own daughter once again. And rather impulsively, pulled her in for a hug. “Please, don’t. Dont die.”

Atla was rather surprised by the out of character physical affection, but responded as one does when hugged by a friend. “I will not.”

Thia pulled away. “Good. That’s good. No dying here. Nope.”

Atla smiled awkwardly, then stood up. “Besides, I have a mission to finish.”

“Yes. Of course. To questing and all that.”

Atla forced a laugh. “It’s morning, so I am going to wake the rest of the party.”

“Good idea.” Atla left Thia alone by the lake as Thia reeled into herself. Shit.

Can’t stop the dnd character grind I guess. This is Thia and a character in the campaign named Atla. The girl lost her parents, Thia lost her daughter. Perhaps there’s something in being surrogates.

But I’ll never get to explore this other than imagination as the campaign has ended. Still, it was very fun to draw. Thia and her half elf daughter under the cut.

This is after Dad died. She was only 15, and a couple years later, she died in a raid against the Drow. She would’ve been 88 in the campaign if she was still alive.

[rairai-raven]

She found the toxic yaoi

[noirandchocolate]

*sipping banana whiskey on a Wednesday night*

What if…guys what if. The Yiga Clan’s Blademaster exam historically wasn’t really that easy. What if Tears of the Kingdom simplified it (Doylist explanation) or the Clan changed and simplified it over the 100 years since the start of the Calamity for some reason (Watsonian explanation)?

Because. It just feels too easy. Even if the person attempting it isn’t Link, with access to fast-travel points and sky islands to drop from. The guy at the Blademaster Station who’s apparently in charge of administering the test even marks the locations of the frog statues on Link’s map! Come on. That’s too easy. And has nothing to do with swordsmanship either! It can’t be that simple.

*pours another shot*

Yeah I think…. There’s got to be more to it. Or there was. Way back when. (My primary headcanon focus is always on AoC timeline anyway.) I think! The banana offerings are just the first part. And the statues are placed new for every candidate. And you have to journey about to find them yourself. It’s meant to test your scouting, perception, and overall survival skills, to make sure you’ll be useful on missions outside the Valley. Can you spot the statues? Climb/teleport up the cliffs? Be in the harsh wilderness of the Highlands and desert for a period of time? (Don’t worry, there’s always (more or less) someone around monitoring you, you (probably) won’t die, they’ll grab you and you’ll just fail the test attempt.)

But then if you can do it, that’s not all. I think! The exam has also got to include tests with the two-handed weapons Blademasters traditionally wield: the windcleaver and eightfold longblade. Tests on technique and form, performing certain strokes, draw speed, things like that. There would also be tests on the arcane arts like the Earthwake technique.

And then—!

You have a match with the Right Hand! Who’s the lead Blademaster teacher/mentor. You don’t have to beat them of course (and in the case of Sooga, you probably wouldn’t), you have to impress them. Hold your own. Get a hit in where you can. Show off everything you know, against the person who probably taught you a lot of it.

Oh and then if you manage to succeed at that?

You fight Master Kohga. And try to do the same. Imagine! Having to try countering all that magic, all that power! It’s a true test, to make absolutely sure you’re good enough for one of the elite martial positions in the Clan!

Afterward, the Master and Right Hand confer and make the final decision whether you pass and become a Blademaster or not. And then you get given your official blade (either type, your choice) and a lil’ feast/party to celebrate you joining the ranks.

*downs the rest of the drink*

Anyway that’s what I think.

(I also think it would’ve been fun in TotK if passing the exam earned you not just a pristine eightfold longblade (easily breakable and lost) but info on the locations of more Clan branches you could travel to to get the pieces of an actual Blademaster armor. Like you could do some kinda additional lil’ quests to get them, to make it more interesting/worthwhile. The Footsoldier-style armor gives you stealth and a set bonus nighttime speed boost for that light fast build. Maybe the Blademaster one could give stealth but the set bonus is proficiency with two-handed weapons? Either letting you swing them faster or they all get a little attack+ bonus?)

*waves glass on my way to bed* ANYWAY THAT’S WHAT I THINK.

[masked-and-doomed]

Faut guilt gear in those tier lists on Reddit is always a 50/50 if they really know him (my interpretation is correct after all sneek snork) or if they don't understand the man's core.

The best tierlists are where Faut and Chaos are in the same tier (Yuri) and it's accurate (seen like 3. God bless my darlings.)

This one is blatantly wrong like. HAVE YOU SEEN STRIVE STORY MODE. Clasped hands. You think Chaos' favourite drink is whiskey. I'm not saying milpico has to be his favourite but if he used that drink to explain stuff, (serves a purpose in telling his story! Gotta be high up for him) I'd say he'd like that drink, and perhaps other similar drinks a damn lot.

Faut's favourite is also whiskey. Al. Alright man sure whatever man I. Whatever whateverr even.

[hardto-forget]

[vhvrs]

tinight will be a banger <- bought almost $50 alcohol on sale

[mageless]

!!!

tell me in the tags either the worse drink you've ever had or what you do to alcohol to make it palatable

[tesl8n]

Jesus this eggnog is so good, and so boozy X⩌X

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐 food prompts 𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

¹⁾ tart, fresh cherries

²⁾ milky tea

³⁾ a can of redbull

⁴⁾ cold pepperoni pizza

⁵⁾ orange segments

⁶⁾ chamomile tea

⁷⁾ burnt toast

⁸⁾ steaming masala chai

⁹⁾ bitter dark chocolate

¹⁰⁾ water-heavy pears

¹¹⁾ salty cinema popcorn

¹²⁾ smooth whiskey

¹³⁾ fluffy cinnamon rolls

¹⁴⁾ rich cuban coffee

¹⁵⁾ streetside pani puri

¹⁶⁾ fresh-baked cookies

¹⁷⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁸⁾ sour jellies

¹⁹⁾ homemade soup dumplings

²⁰⁾ hotel room service french fries

²¹⁾ sugared donuts

²²⁾ mexican coca-cola

²³⁾ strawberry milkshake

²⁴⁾ fudgey brownies

²⁵⁾ spearmint gum

²⁶⁾ happy hour cocktails

²⁷⁾ fairground candyfloss

²⁸⁾ salmon sashimi

²⁹⁾ airplane peanuts

³⁰⁾ takeout fried rice

³¹⁾ pistachio gelato

³²⁾ a packed lunch

³³⁾ bruised bananas

³⁴⁾ cheap instant ramen

³⁶⁾ agua de jamaica

³⁷⁾ petrol station chocolate bars

³⁸⁾ soft mangos

³⁹⁾ chicken noodle soup

⁴⁰⁾ convenience store onigiri

⁴¹⁾ lemonade from a neighbourhood kids’ stand

⁴²⁾ chilaquiles

⁴³⁾ a steaming bowl of breakfast congee

⁴⁴⁾ too-sweet instant coffee

⁴⁵⁾ a sunday roast with all the trimmings

⁴⁶⁾ high-end restaurant steak frites

⁴⁷⁾ mango sticky rice

⁴⁸⁾ salsa verde and tortilla chips

⁴⁹⁾ stale bottled water

⁵⁰⁾ rotten strawberries

⁵¹⁾ old-fashioned caramels

⁵²⁾ honey and lemon lozenges

⁵³⁾ garlic bread

⁵⁴⁾ mango loco monster

⁵⁵⁾ clumsily-made spaghetti

⁵⁶⁾ rotisserie chicken

⁵⁷⁾ madras curry

⁵⁸⁾ abuela’s caldo de res

⁵⁹⁾ dirty martini

⁶⁰⁾ tinned sardines

⁶¹⁾ arayes

⁶²⁾ the last slice of birthday cake

⁶³⁾ ripe nectarines

⁶⁴⁾ caviar bump

⁶⁵⁾ iced latte

⁶⁶⁾ sugar cookies

⁶⁷⁾ mulled wine

⁶⁸⁾ baklava

⁶⁹⁾ chocolate poptarts

⁷⁰⁾ warm champangne

⁷¹⁾ sticky toffee pudding

⁷²⁾ blueberry pancakes

⁷³⁾ birria tacos

⁷⁴⁾ hospital pudding cups

⁷⁵⁾ lobster rolls

⁷⁶⁾ fresh honeycomb

⁷⁷⁾ campfire coffee

⁷⁸⁾ sweet tea

⁷⁹⁾ hot honey

⁸⁰⁾ vanilla protein powder

⁸¹⁾ bulgogi beef

⁸²⁾ warm focaccia

⁸³⁾ chilli con carne

⁸⁴⁾ peach cobbler

⁸⁵⁾ cold watermelon slices

⁸⁶⁾ sweet stewed apple

⁸⁷⁾ coloured marshmallows

⁸⁸⁾ vendor stand hotdogs

⁸⁹⁾ dragonfruit redbull

⁹⁰⁾ blood oranges

⁹¹⁾ vanilla coke

⁹²⁾ blue raspberry slushie

⁹³⁾ nicotine gum

⁹⁴⁾ raspberry jam

⁹⁵⁾ pear cider

⁹⁶⁾ pineapple rings

⁹⁷⁾ chicken wings

⁹⁸⁾ salted butter

⁹⁹⁾ coconut meat

¹⁰⁰⁾ wild blackberries

[loui3e]

Guilty Pleasure

It’s been awhile since you’ve turned up the dial’

Worst!Logan x Reader

Summary: After a first date gone wrong Logan finally confesses the truth.

A/n: I might make a smutty part 2 if you all enjoy this. Has been proofread.

Warnings: A sprinkle of angst, miscommunication (I know), all is solved in the end. Kinda suggestive.

Words: 795

First dates are odd things.

Scary even, especially with a man who you think doesn’t want a bit to do with you.

You’re convinced Wade put him up to this because there’s a scowl permanently etched into his facial features.

You won’t let this get you down though, I mean you’re still on a date with a man that you’ve had a massive crush on since he’s moved in next door. Better than nothing you suppose.

You sip your milkshake, your hands awkwardly tapping the table in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“What do you do?”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. That’s the first time he’s spoken since you’ve arrived to this diner besides telling the waiter what he wanted. His words are gruff, almost reluctant but its words nonetheless.

“Uh, what do I do? Um, art.” You stumble over your words, not use to the sound of your voice after all this quiet. Logan raises a brow from across you.

“Art?”

“Yeah, like I paint.”

“Traditionalist then?”

You chuckle and shake your head, “I guess so.” There’s a new bout of silence, a little more comfortable.

“What do you do?” You reflect the words back, a little happier than his. Shifting your plate out of the way and setting your head on your hand so your full attention is on him.

Logan wouldn’t consider himself a particular interesting person, sure he’s got some stories to tell but those are all circumstantial. But your eyes are on him; bright and curious.

You’re just a naturally curious person, but also partly crushing on him. He’s certainly handsome. You’ve seen him on the halls of your apartment complex, tall and broad. You could fantasise about him all day.

“Not much.”

Your daydream is cut short.

“Surely something?”

Logan’s fully realised he really doesn’t do a lot, now that he thinks about. He expects you to retreat back into disinterest but you don’t, you pry instead.

“Everyone has something, what’s your calling?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. That scowl sneaks back onto his face as he sits back against his seat arms crossed.

You think you’ve might’ve said something wrong, but not for long before the waiter comes over with the bill.

It’s not until you see him at a bar do you speak next, you haven’t really seen him since the date. “Logan,” you call as you take a seat beside him, smiling timidly.

He gives you a nod of acknowledgment. Logan feels a little bad for avoiding you after that date, but after your conversation he doesn’t quite think he’s worth your time.

“We hadn’t spoken after that date, I don’t wanna pry but did I say something wrong? I mean I know Wade put you up to this so you probably didn’t even want to go.”

“What? Wade didn’t put me up to this,” Logan speaks with hard honesty, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But I thought- you looked so disinterested.” You lean in closer to him, head cocked to the side. His eyes met yours and he feels a pang of guilt.

God, he’s an idiot, it didn’t even occur to him it he looked like that. “No, not at all,” he takes a swig of whiskey before continuing. “I just, haven’t been on a date in awhile. I don’t think you’d like me much once you got to know me.”

Your jaw falls open as you look at him before you start laughing. Relief washing over your features, and partly at the thought that you wouldn’t like Logan once you got to know him.

“Logan I’ve been crushing on you since you moved in, you can’t scare me off.”

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” Logan places a bill down onto the table for his drink before getting up to leave. He’s trying to put up a wall between you and him.

“Logan I’m serious,” you shout after him following him out of the bar. Logan turns on his heel to face you a before you can think you’re pulling him in by the lapels of his jacket and crashing your lips against his. You pull back, stunned.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even think-“ now it’s his turn to take you by surprise because his kissing you back. Your arms wrap around his neck, his walls crumble under your touch.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and smoke. An addictive taste that you’re sure you’ll be coming back for; like a cigarette.

“I guess you were serious,” Logan chuckles, breathing heavily.

“I can show you how even more serious I am, if you come back to mine,” you grin up at him, still wrapped up in his arms and the electricity of the moment.

“I’d like that.”

[vomittedsoap]

How characters in AMC The Terror would drink their coffee (/morning drink)

John Franklin: Black, your grandpa's instant Kirkland brand coffee. Either that or 7/11 big gulp that smells like motor oil and piss. Owns a "world's best boss" mug but uses it as a pen cup.

Francis Crozier: black (with whiskey). Jopson makes it for him in one of those plaid Thermos or green old-fashioned Stanley.

James Fitzjames: he takes Starbucks and Dutch Bros very seriously. Big fan of a chai latte as well. Anything with cinnamon sprinkled on it. (insert Larry David Latte joke from Crozier)

Blanky: Same as Crozier but with some sugar and cream

Jopson: owns a French Press that he uses to make Crozier's coffee, drinks his with just a LITTLE sugar but a lot of milk. Also likes espresso sometimes. Drank from a simple white cup or whatever's available.

Hodgson: uses Jopson's French Press (and lost the lid one time). Adds CoffeeMate flavored creamer, pumpkin spice is his fave but hazelenut is fine. Really enjoys stupid mugs so most of the mugs on the Terror belong to him. His favorite is the Rainforest Cafe frog one.

Little: a double-quad-shot of espresso in a Solo Cup means nothing to him. But alas he drinks it anyways. Such is life. Sometimes will have a coffee in Hodgson's mug with a picture of a kitten and puppy playing on it.

Irving: insane amounts of sugar and milk, but will never admit it. One time a shipmate accidentally mistook it for his and instantly spat it out. Irving claimed he didn't know whose it was. The mug changes but says his favorite is the one with John3:16 on it (but actually he covets the Rainforest Cafe frog mug).

Goodsir: actually he's an herbal tea guy. Likes chamomile or things with rose/lavender. Brews them in a mug Hodgson gave him that had some dumb science pun on it, a gift for which he's unnecessarily thankful.

Stanley: black. No fun allowed.

Tozer: regular coffee with french vanilla creamer. Normal.

Hickey: Panera lemonade that kills you. Also takes sips from Crozier, Tozer, or Irving's drinks when they're not looking. ("if you have a milkshake... and I have a milkshake... and I have a straw; see? Watch it. My straw reaches across the room... and starts to drink your milkshake: I... drink... your... milkshake!")

Gibson: doesn't like coffee, but is a big fan of coffee-flavored things.

Collins: espresso with lead and an extra side of lead (with whipped cream)

Silna: Haznelnut latte with which to take her ibuprofin. Lord knows she needs it. Drinks from a baby-blue Stanley Goodsir gave her.

[its-wabby-stuff]

Thia Galanodral

My first DnD character ever, but I was never very good at getting a solid outfit. So here’s the 2023 redraw. OG under the cut:

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - part three

The Stranger That Knows Me Best is a heartfelt story about connection, vulnerability, and taking chances on the unexpected. Two introverts discover that sometimes, the person who understands you best is the one you’ve never met.

part one | part two

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: lots of angst, mentions of drinking

Masterlist

The bar is faintly lit and alive with the various conversations and the occasional burst of laughter from the happy drunk patrons. You step inside with Bucky, a bluesy guitar riff spilling out from a corner where a live band plays, instantly aiding a laid-back atmosphere.

Sam waves you over from a booth near the corner, a broad grin on his face. “About time you two showed up! I was starting to think Barnes was going to keep you all to himself.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, his hand lightly grazing your back as he guides you toward the table. “Relax, Wilson. We’re here, aren’t we?”

Sam’s eyes flick between the two of you, his grin widening. “Oh, I see how it is. Keeping me waiting because you’re too busy whispering sweet nothings to each other.”

You feel your cheeks heat up but you play it off with a laugh. 

“Yeah, sure, Sam. Because that’s definitely what we were doing.” Bucky remarks.

Sam winks. “Hey, no judgment here. I’m just saying, I’ve never seen Bucky willingly spend this much time with anyone who isn’t me.”

Bucky groans, sliding into the booth across from Sam. “Can we not do this right now?”

You scoot in beside him, hiding a smile as Sam leans back, clearly enjoying himself.

A server stops by and takes your drink orders—Sam goes for a beer, Bucky sticks with whiskey, and you pick something light, wanting to pace yourself.

As the night progresses, Sam keeps the jokes flowing, dragging stories out of Bucky about their time working at a fast food place together when they were sixteen. You laugh as Sam recounts the story of Bucky accidentally setting the fryer on fire during their second week on the job.

“I swear,” Sam says between bursts of laughter, “he tried to play it cool, but the man was freaking out. And don’t even get me started on how he tried to convince the manager it was faulty equipment.”

Bucky groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, first of all, it was faulty. Second, you’re leaving out the part where you spilled an entire milkshake machine.”

Sam waves his hand dismissively. “Details. Besides, I wasn’t the one who got banned from ever touching the fryer again.”

You lean into Bucky, grinning. “So, no fry duty for you, huh?”

He shakes his head, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Nope. I was stuck flipping burgers for the rest of the summer. Sam, on the other hand, got promoted to register duty because the manager thought he was charming.”

“Charming is one way to put it,” you shoot Sam a playful look.

“Hey, don’t hate the player,” Sam quips, raising his beer in a mock toast.

As the drinks continue and more stories are shared, Sam leans forward, his gaze flicking between you and Bucky again. “So, when are you two gonna stop pretending this is just casual?”

Bucky chokes slightly on his drink, shooting Sam a glare. “Wilson—”

“What?” Sam says innocently, though his smirk betrays him. “I’m just saying. You’ve got this whole broody, mysterious thing going on, and she clearly doesn’t scare easily. It’s a match made in Brooklyn.”

You’re about to say something to deflect Sam’s relentless teasing when the door to the bar opens. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way Bucky’s demeanor shifts. His posture stiffens, the easy smile he’s been wearing vanishes and his jaw tightens.

“Uh-oh,” Sam mutters, his expression sobering as he follows Bucky’s line of sight.

“What?” you question, glancing between them.

Sam leans in, lowering his voice. “Looks like trouble just walked in.”

You turn toward the door, your eyes landing on a woman weaving her way through the bar. She’s striking, the kind of person who turns heads without even trying. Her confidence is palpable, but there’s something sharp about her presence, something that instantly feels out of place in the warm, easygoing atmosphere of the bar.

The moment she spots Bucky, her lips curve into a smirk and she heads straight for your table.

Sam mutters under his breath, “Here we go.”

Bucky doesn’t move—he just watches her approach, his face unreadable, though you can feel the tension radiating off him.

“Bucky Barnes,” she says when she reaches the table, her voice smooth but laced with something malicious. “Of all the places to run into you.”

Bucky’s grip tightens on his glass as he addresses her. “Natalie.”

Natalie tilts her head, her gaze sweeping over him before briefly flicking to you. Her eyes linger for a second before she looks back at Bucky. “Didn’t expect to see you here. What’s it been, a year? Two?”

“Closer to three,” Bucky’s voice is devoid of the warmth you’ve come to know.

“Right,” her smirk widens. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”

Sam clears his throat, drawing her attention. “Hey, Natalie. Long time no see.”

“Sam,” she acknowledges, though her focus quickly shifts back to Bucky. “You look good, Buck. Brooklyn’s still treating you well, I see.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. The tension is thick enough to cut and you feel like an intruder in a conversation you don’t understand.

Natalie crosses her arms, her tone turning softer but no less sharp. “I heard about your mom. I meant to reach out, but…” She trails off with a shrug that feels anything but sincere.

Bucky’s expression darkens and you notice the way his hand tightens into a fist at his side.

“Don’t,” he states, his voice low but firm.

Natalie raises an eyebrow, her smirk faltering for the first time. “Alright. Just thought I’d say hi.” She glances at you again, her smile colder this time. “Nice meeting you… whoever you are.”

Without getting to introduce yourself, she turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappears into the crowd.

The table is silent for a moment, the air stale from her presence. Sam is the first to speak. “Well, that was fun.”

Bucky sinks back into his seat, he rolls his shoulders back as if he’s trying to expel the tension, his gaze stays fixed on his drink.

You hesitate before leaning closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answers but the clipped tone tells you otherwise.

Sam, trying to diffuse the awkwardness, offers a quiet out. “We don’t have to stay, you know.”

Bucky shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “No, I’m not letting her ruin the night. Let’s just… forget about it.”

Sam nods, though he still looks uneasy.

You don’t press further, but as the night wears on, you notice the way Bucky stays more withdrawn, his usual quietness taking on an edge of distraction.

Later, when the three of you step outside into the chilly night air, you fall into step beside him.

“Bucky,” you grab his arm gently. “If you want to talk about it… I’m here.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed ahead. But after a moment, he looks down at you, his eyes softer than they’ve been all night. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the single word carrying more weight than you expected.

After you say goodbye to Sam and promise a happier redo of your interrupted night another time, you continue walking. The streets are quieter as the night grows and the sounds from the bar fade. Suddenly, Bucky stops walking, looks around for a second before grabbing your hand in his. 

“I have another place I want to show you.” You don’t ask where–you trust him as he leads the way. 

Eventually, you reach a tucked-away rooftop garden atop an old industrial building. It’s quiet, peaceful, with fairy lights strung along the edges of the space and a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The East River glimmers below, reflecting the lights of Manhattan.

Bucky gestures toward a bench near the edge of the rooftop. “Figured you could use a breather after all that.”

You sit down, taking in the view. “This is beautiful.” 

Bucky leans against the railing, his gaze distant. “This place used to be more popular but now not many people know about this spot. It’s… kind of my escape.”

You watch him for a moment, noticing the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers tap restlessly against the railing. “Do you come here often?”

He nods. “Whenever it feels like the walls are closing in. It’s easier to think up here. Or not think at all.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “Were you thinking about her tonight? Natalie.”

His lips press into a thin line and for a moment you think he’s going to brush it off. But then he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She’s… a reminder of a lot of things I’d rather forget.”

He sits beside you on the bench, his gaze fixed on the skyline. “After my mom passed, I wasn’t in a good place. Natalie and I broke up right before it happened. She didn’t know how to handle it—hell, I didn’t either. But instead of trying to be there for me, she… bailed. Made me feel like I was too much. Like my grief was too heavy for her.”

Your heart aches, wondering how someone can have so little compassion. “That’s not your fault, Bucky. She wasn’t strong enough to be there for you, but that doesn’t mean you were too much.”

He glances at you, his blue eyes reflecting the city lights. “Maybe. But it still messed with me, you know? Made me wonder if it’s even worth letting people in.”

You sit quietly, letting his words settle between you. After a moment, you speak up, “I get it. It’s scary to open up, to risk getting hurt. But you don’t have to go through everything alone. You don’t deserve to carry all that by yourself.”

Bucky looks at you then, really looks at you. He leans in, his face inches from yours, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world stops—like the city has gone silent, leaving just the two of you in this rooftop oasis.

But then, he pulls back abruptly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, standing and turning away from you.

You blink, the moment shattered. “Bucky…”

“It’s not you,” he says quickly, his voice strained. “I just… I can’t.”

You stand, stepping closer but keeping enough distance to give him space. “It’s okay,” you say gently. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

He turns to you, the conflict in his face evident. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” you say simply, holding his gaze.

For a long moment, neither of you say anything. You sit back on the bench, and after a moment’s hesitation, he joins you again. The two of you sit in silence, the city stretching out before you, the skyline holding everything left unsaid.

You wake up early to the weight of the previous night pressing down on you, making you a little nervous to see Bucky. 

The memory of the bar, of Bucky pulling away, of the almost-kiss, plays over and over in your mind. After the rooftop, after the vulnerability, after feeling like you’d both connected in a way that felt real and intense... there's a disconnect now. A distance between you two that wasn't there before.

You sit up in bed, trying to shake the haze of sleep, your mind still replaying the conversation. The way Bucky opened up about his ex—just enough to let you see the cracks in his armor—and the way he’d pulled back, retreating into himself. You understand the walls he’s built around his heart, but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

You rub your eyes, standing up from the guest bed and walking out toward the kitchen. You can hear Bucky moving around in the next room as you walk down the hallway, the sound of water running in the bathroom.

When he emerges, he’s in his sweatpants, hair still tousled from sleep. He gives you a quiet nod but his eyes don’t quite meet yours. 

“Morning,” you greet tentatively, unsure how to break the awkward silence between you.

Bucky responds with a soft grunt, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He doesn’t look at you as he takes a drink.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “About last night…” you begin, but you don’t know where to go from there. You want to reach out but you don’t want to push him away further.

Bucky finally turns to you, but his expression is guarded, his eyes distant. “I’m not ready for this. For whatever this is between us.”

Your stomach drops and you swallow hard, the words stinging more than you expected. “I know,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “But I don’t understand why you pulled away. I thought we were getting closer.”

He clenches his jaw, looking torn. He paces slightly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I do want it. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. But I’m...I don’t know how to be that guy. Not after everything.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your heart ache for him, but his words hurt just the same. You can feel him pulling away from you, emotionally. There’s an invisible wall that wasn’t there before.

“I know you’re scared, Bucky,” you say softly. “But I’m not asking you to be perfect. I just want you to be honest with me.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes filled with turmoil, but then they flicker down to the floor. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding himself together. “I don’t know how to let anyone in like that again,” he admits quietly. “Not after everything with Natalie. I let myself get hurt... and I don’t want to do that again.”

You move closer to him, cautiously but he takes a step back, shaking his head. The distance between you feels like an abyss now. “I get it,” you say, your voice trembling a little. “I do. But you don’t have to push me away. I’m not her, Bucky. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally meets your eyes again. “But you are,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re leaving next week.”

You reach out, your hand hovering near his, unsure if he’ll let you touch him. When he doesn’t pull away, you slowly place your hand on his arm. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels like a lifeline.

“I’m here, Bucky, right now.” you whisper, your eyes never leaving his. “I know it’s been hard. It’s hard for me too. After all these months and finally meeting in person, I’ve never felt this connected to someone before. Yes it’s scary and terrifying. We all have a past but why let that ruin what’s right in front of you?”

Bucky stands there for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, a battle raging inside him. You can see the conflict. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping as he steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m sorry.”

You nod, though your heart aches from the distance between you. “Okay,” you whisper. “I understand.”

The silence stretches as Bucky turns away to grab his jacket, you realize that despite all the progress you’ve made, there’s still so much he needs to heal from—so much that he hasn’t let go of yet. You want to be there for him, but you also wonder how much longer you can wait for him to come to terms with his past.

Bucky walks through the streets of Brooklyn, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, a pensive expression taking over his face. The city is alive around him—cars rushing by, people moving with purpose—but he feels detached from it all.

His thoughts are a tangled mess, looping endlessly between the past and the present. His mother’s face flickers in his mind, her warmth, her kindness. The way she always believed in him, even when he felt like he wasn’t worth believing in. Losing her had been the beginning of everything unraveling. And then there was Natalie—her presence had been a wildfire in his life, bright and consuming, but in the end, it had only left him burned.

And now, after three years of silence, she’s back.

Seeing her again last night rattled him more than he wanted to admit. The past always finds a way of creeping up when he least expects it and Natalie is living proof of that. He thought he had buried that part of his life, convinced himself he was better off alone.

But then there’s you—the one person who he let slip past all his defenses.

Seven months. That’s how long you’ve been in his life. And in those months, through nothing but words and carefully chosen gifts, you had found your way into the parts of himself he had sworn to keep locked away. Last night on the rooftop had been the closest he’d come to letting someone in again. The way you looked at him, the way your hand had hovered over his, waiting for him to decide—it terrified him. Because he wanted it. He wants you. And wanting someone meant opening himself up to be crushed all over again.

He wasn’t sure if he could survive that a second time.

The more he walks, the more suffocated he feels by the weight of his own emotions. So he does his usual routine when things get too heavy.

He runs from them and drowns himself in his sorrows.

Bucky slouches at the bar, the soft lighting casting shadows over his face. His fingers wrap around another glass of whiskey, the burn sliding down his throat. He’s lost count of how many he’s had, but the haze creeping into his mind tells him it’s been enough.

The alcohol numbs the storm raging inside of him, dulls the sharp edges of his thoughts. But it doesn’t erase them. He wishes it did.

The bartender eyes him warily, probably wondering if he should cut him off, but before anything can be said, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here again so soon.”

Bucky tenses. He knows that voice. 

Natalie.

He doesn’t turn right away, staring into his half-empty glass, as if he can will her away by ignoring her. But she doesn’t take the hint. She slides into the seat next to him, ordering herself a drink like she belongs there. Like no time has passed.

“You look like you’ve had a rough night,” she muses, stirring her drink with the tip of her straw. “Or is it a rough life?”

Bucky exhales sharply, finally turning to her. His vision is blurry, the whiskey having done its job. Natalie’s face is softer than he remembers, her dark eyes studying him like she can still read him as easily as she used to.

“What do you want?” His voice is rough, tired.

Natalie tilts her head, giving him that same playful smirk she used to. “Come on, Bucky. Can’t I just want to talk?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Since when have you ever just wanted to talk?”

She leans in closer, the scent of her perfume hitting him all at once. It’s the same scent from before—a ghost from a life he’s tried to forget. The alcohol makes his head swim.

She touches his arm, her fingers light and familiar. “You know, I’ve missed you.”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.

And then she’s kissing him.

At first, he barely registers it. His body feels heavy, his mind a fog. He doesn’t push her away. Maybe because he doesn’t have the strength to. Maybe because, for a second, it’s easier to give in than to keep fighting against everything crashing down inside his mind.

And then—

“Bucky?”

A voice. Your voice.

Bucky blinks, the world tilting slightly as he pulls back, his lips tingling from where Natalie’s had been. He looks up and sees you standing there, eyes wide, hurt etched into every part of your expression.

Beside you, Sam stands stiffly, his jaw tight with disappointment.

Shit.

Natalie smirks, sitting back like she just won something.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. His mind is too fogged with whiskey, his body too slow to react. But he sees the way your face falls, the way you swallow hard, like you’re forcing yourself to keep it together.

“I was looking for you,” you say, your voice quieter now. “I thought—” You stop yourself, shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Sam steps in, exhaling sharply. “Come on, man. Let’s get you home before you make more of a mess of things.”

Bucky doesn’t resist when Sam grabs his arm, hauling him to his feet. His legs feel unsteady beneath him. He chances one more look at you, but you’ve already turned away, blinking rapidly like you’re trying not to cry.

And it hits him, then—he’s fucked up.

Getting Bucky back to his apartment is a quiet affair. He barely remembers the walk home, his mind swimming between the whiskey and the weight of what he’s done.

You don’t say a word. You don’t look at him.

Once inside, Sam guides him toward the couch, sighing as he helps him sit. “Sleep it off,” he mutters, clearly pissed. “And when you wake up, figure out what the hell you really want before you hurt her more than you already have.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He just stares at the floor, stomach twisting with guilt.

You, on the other hand, disappear down the hall. You don’t check on him. You don’t ask if he’s okay. Instead, you close yourself off in the guest room, the sound of the door clicking shut feeling final.

Inside, you collapse onto the bed, burying your face into the pillow. The tears come before you can stop them, silent and hot against your skin.

This wasn’t how this trip was supposed to go.

You thought you were here to connect. To build something real. Romantic or not, you thought this was important. That you were important to him.

But tonight had shown you that no matter how much you wanted to be there for Bucky, you couldn’t let him hurt you in the process.

And as you cry yourself to sleep, you wonder if maybe... maybe this trip is already falling apart.

Bucky wakes up to a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and the unmistakable feeling that he’s done something really, really stupid. His memories from the night before are hazy, but flashes of the bar, the whiskey burning his throat, and then—Natalie. His stomach churns as he sits up in bed, trying to piece it together.

The apartment is silent. No sign of you.

Then he hears voices—Sam’s voice, low and firm, from the kitchen. Bucky rubs a hand over his face, bracing himself as he stumbles out of bed and into the hall.

Sam stands in the kitchen, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. “You look like hell,” he says.

Bucky groans, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. “Thanks.”

“You remember what happened last night?” Sam asks, and his tone tells Bucky all he needs to know.

He swallows hard. “Not...everything.”

Sam scoffs. “Well, let me remind you. We found you at the bar—making out with Natalie.”

Bucky’s grip tightens around the bottle. His stomach drops. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Sam shakes his head. “She saw, man. She saw everything.”

Bucky looks toward the closed guest room door, his chest tightening. “Where is she?”

“Locked herself in there after we got you home.” Sam sighs. “She was upset. Hurt. And I don’t blame her.”

Bucky looks away, shame settling deep in his bones. “I didn’t mean to…”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t mean to what? Get drunk and let your ex suck you back in? You’re the one who keeps saying you’re not ready for anything, but that girl in there—she’s been trying. She’s been patient with you.” He shakes his head. “And you go and do this?”

Bucky stays quiet, guilt gnawing at him.

“You need to fix this,” Sam says simply before walking past him, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts.

You wake up feeling hollow. Your eyes are heavy from the restless night, your body sluggish as you force yourself out of bed.

You face the day anyway, pulling yourself together as best you can. You quietly slip out of the guest room, careful not to make too much noise. The last thing you want is to run into Bucky. But as soon as you step into the living room, you freeze.

Bucky is already there, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. The sight of him—his slumped shoulders—makes you feel sad for the way he is feeling, wanting to help him through it but you can’t shake off the sadness in your own body.

The moment he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes meet yours, his blue eyes popping against the redness surrounding the beautiful irises. 

Your pulse stutters, but you force yourself to keep moving. You hastily grab your jacket and shoes, fingers fumbling more than they should.

Bucky stands up slowly, hesitant. “Can we talk?” His voice sounds rough from the after effects of the alcohol. 

You shake your head, keeping your gaze firmly on the floor. “Not right now.”

He exhales sharply, like he wants to fight it, wants to make you stay. But he doesn’t. He just nods and sinks back down onto the couch.

You don’t say another word as you step outside, the cool air hitting your face as you shut the door behind you.

You don’t know where you’re going, only that you need to walk. To breathe. To clear your head.

You make it a few blocks before the weight of everything threatens to crush you.

Without thinking, you pull out your phone and call the one person who will understand.

Wanda.

She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, you! How’s the city? Tell me everything—” Her voice is warm, excited, and it makes your chest tighten painfully.

“I—” Your voice breaks before you can even get the words out.

Instantly, her tone shifts. “What happened?”

You swallow hard, sitting down on a bench near a small café, gripping your phone like it’s a lifeline. “It’s Bucky,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda’s quiet for a beat, then she sighs. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

So you do.

You tell her about the bar, about how Natalie showed up, about how Bucky disappeared afterward. About how you searched for him, only to find him tangled up with his ex in a dark corner of the bar. How Sam had to help you get him home. How you locked yourself in the guest room, crying yourself to sleep, feeling more lost than ever.

Wanda, who has been silent the entire time, finally speaks. “That absolute idiot.”

Despite everything, you let out a weak, watery laugh. “Yeah.”

“I mean, I knew he had some emotional walls up, but this?” Wanda scoffs. “That’s next-level self-sabotage. What the hell was he thinking?”

“He wasn’t,” you say quietly. “That’s the problem.”

Wanda sighs again, softer this time. “Are you okay?”

You close your eyes, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t know.”

“That’s fair,” she says gently. “But listen to me—you didn’t deserve that. You have been there for him for the past what, like seven months, and he just—he just threw it away.”

“I don’t think he meant to,” you murmur, feeling the need to defend him. “He’s just… scared.”

“Scared or not, he still hurt you,” Wanda says firmly. “And that’s not okay.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “I know.”

A pause. Then—“Do you want to come home?”

The question catches you off guard. Do you?

You swallow hard, considering it. You could leave now, book an early flight back to Oregon. Escape this mess before it gets any worse.

But then you think about Bucky. About the past seven months. About the way he looked at you last night, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.

You shake your head. “No. Not yet.”

“Are you sure?” Wanda’s voice is laced with concern. “Because if you say the word, I’ll book you the next flight myself.”

You let out a small breath, touched by her unwavering support. “I just… I need to figure this out first.”

“Okay,” she says, though you can hear the hesitation in her voice. “But promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“If he keeps breaking your heart, don’t stick around to let him do it again.”

You close your eyes, nodding. “I promise.”

Bucky hates the silence between you. He hates the way you won’t meet his eyes—the way the air between you feels colder than it did when you were hundreds of miles apart.

For the first time in a long time, he realizes what real fear feels like. Not the fear of getting hurt, but the fear of losing someone who actually matters.

Natalie doesn’t matter like this.

You do.

And he’s afraid he’s already ruined it.

That night, after pacing the length of his apartment, after running through every possible thing he could say, Bucky finds himself in front of the guest room door. His hand hovers over the wood for what feels like an eternity before he forces himself to knock.

There’s a pause. A hesitation. Then, the door cracks open.

“Please,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just talk to me.”

You hesitate, your expression unreadable as you lean against the frame, arms crossed tightly over your chest. There’s no warmth in your posture, no hint of the connection you once shared so easily.

“What is there to talk about, Bucky?” Your voice is calm, but he can hear the hurt beneath it. And it kills him.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I messed up.”

“Yeah,” you say, sharper than you intend. “You did.”

He exhales, the weight of your words settling deep in his chest. “I don’t have an excuse. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I—I let my past mess with my head.” His voice falters. “But none of that changes the fact that I care about you.”

You flinch at his words, and he sees the way you tighten your grip around yourself, like you’re holding yourself together.

“Funny way of showing it.”

Bucky’s face falls, and you hate how much it hurts to see him like this—how much you still want to reach for him.

“You don’t trust yourself to let someone in,” you say quietly, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “But do you really have to hurt me in the process?”

Bucky swallows hard. “No,” he says, his voice rough and ragged. “And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but your emotions are too raw. “I don’t know if that’s enough, Bucky.”

There’s a moment—a heartbeat—where it feels like he might reach for you. Like maybe he’ll finally step past his own fear and just try.

But he doesn’t.

And that tells you everything you need to know.

Your grip on the doorknob tightens. You take a step back.

Then, without another word, you close the door.

Leaving Bucky standing there, his past and his regrets pressing down on him like a weight he may never be able to lift.

And for the first time since you arrived in Brooklyn, you wonder if this whole thing was a mistake.

Thank you so much for reading <3 please reblog or comment below, I love hearing your thoughts and feedback!

part four

[noirandchocolate]

Bast found me banana cream moonshine and you see it’s not even that high of a proof but that just means I drink more of it cause it’s delicious and then—!!!

…I get silly.

[twit-ter-pa-ted]

Yes, Ma'am. - Part Two

pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x afab!Reader

warnings: flirting & poor description of food, i think

overview: You find out why Sanji is known to be the best chef in the East Blue. The Straw Hat reveals his intentions.

a/n: this is turning into a full blown series😭 thank you for the support on the first part, i was so shocked and i am so immensely grateful for everyone who read and enjoyed it. i love you all!

part one — final part

Sanji had barely taken a step into the kitchen when Patty began reprimanding him on how Zeff had kicked him out of the kitchen for the day, but it didn't stop him from grabbing a pan and starting his work.

You waited patiently after watching Sanji disappear into the kitchen. As you waited for your food, your eyes darted to the party you had been dismissing since you first noticed them. You were busy flirting, after all.

The Straw Hat, the Long-nose, the Redhead, and the Pirate Hunter. Their complimentary bread disappeared within seconds of it being placed on their table, courtesy of the straw hat, which led to the long-nose whining about how he didn't get a chance to taste the bread.

Dish after dish arrived at their table as you recalled hearing the straw hat order every dish on the menu, and you couldn't help but wonder how the nameless pirate would pay for it.

In the middle of watching the Straw Hat, whose name, you learned, was Luffy, you noticed Sanji returning to your table.

He set down a plate in front of you as well as a glass of strawberry milkshake.

"Somethin' I've been working on – sauteed True Bluefin over a sweet soy glaze, sided with seared asparagus," he descripted as he set down utensils and motioned at the plate. Then he motioned at the milkshake. At a glance, you could see that it had been done the way you requested it be. It even had a pink and white striped straw to match.

"Strawberry milkshake with a thin coat of strawberry syrup, no seeds, fine whipped cream made by yours truly," he playfully bowed, "and a strawberry to top off a drink as sweet as you."

You smiled as he winked. "Thank you, Sanji."

He refused your utterance of gratitude. "Please, I find it a privilege to have been able to cook for a beauty such as yourself."

He seemed to have no plans to leave, instead waiting to see your reaction, so you began to cut into the fish, your eyes never leaving his as you brought the piece to your lips using the fork.

A burst of flavor overwhelmed your taste buds the moment you took the piece into your mouth. Your usually insouciant temperament slipped for just a moment as your eyes widened.

"It’s good," you managed to say as if it weren’t the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life.

"Yeah?" He smirked. He knew you were masking your amusement, it was evident on your face that you were. He drank in your expression as you attempted to keep your cool.

You nodded. "It's nothing like anything I've had before," you admitted.

"Thank you, love."

You moved onto the drink. As you went to grab it, Sanji spoke.

"I realized I never got your name," he declared. You paused, simply holding the drink in your hand now.

"Will you be needing it?" You questioned while playing with the fountain glass. His flirty persona faltered with confusion as your tone seemed to have an implication.

"I saw you flirting with the redhead earlier, did you make sure her water came from heaven itself?" You jested, hearing even her crewmates teasing her about the interaction.

He smirked as he was ready to tease, "Are you jealous?"

You only shrugged. "I'm just stating what I observed, darling." Lifting the straw to your lips, your eyes never left his as you took a sip.

You were more of a whiskey on the rocks kind of person, but you had to admit – the strawberry milkshake was far better than good. You couldn’t understand how something so simple could taste so heavenly. There were, in fact, no seeds, and the taste was just the right amount of sweetness that you were looking for, even if you hadn’t mentioned a specific level of sweetness for it.

You think you'd never be able to find words to describe it, just as you had run short of words for the sauteed True Bluefin. "It’s good," oh, please. The two of you knew that you felt you never knew what real food tasted like until you had tried Sanji's cooking – tested out his skills in the kitchen.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the drink. It was so delectable that it was almost painful.

"I like you, Sanji," You confessed before beginning to cut into the fish in your plate again. "I enjoyed our exchange. I certainly enjoy the dish and drink you've made for me." Sanji opened his mouth to reply when someone shouted from the kitchen area.

"Oi, Sanji! You’re here to cater, not to flirt!" Sanji evidently clenched his jaw.

"Just get back to cooking, Patty!" He turned to you again, his jaw now unclenched and his eyes thinning as he smiled.

You rarely told anyone your name. In your line of business, it didn't really matter who you were or how much they knew about you. It was all in the matter of how cheap or expensive your product was, and how hard you were willing to fight for its worth (and your life).

You told him your name. Just your first name – nothing more, nothing less. It led to less hurt that way, if you knew the least you could about each other.

He repeated your name as if to test how it rolled off his tongue, his tone velvety as he spoke.

"Likewise." He moved slightly, indicating that he was now leaving you to eat your lunch.

"But I do mean every word I say. It's nothing I've said to anyone before is all I'll say, I suppose it's up to you to believe that or not. I do hope you consider coming back here despite how shitty it is." You couldn’t help but chuckle as he deprecated the restaurant he worked at. "I'll be willing to cook you up another meal, if you’re up for it."

You pretended to think about it, but you were already dead set on your answer – "Sure, why not?"

Sanji's smile grew as he began to depart from your table, his eyes never leaving yours until he had to take another table's orders.

"That's the broker pirate hunter?" The straw hat declared with his eyes on you. You whipped your head to face them with a puzzled look.

The redhead's eyes widened. "Hey, not so loud!" She turned to you to find that you were already looking in their direction.

"Not a broker, not a pirate hunter!" You corrected irritably.

"See? I told you." The long-nose attempted to mutter as he lightly smacked the straw hat's shoulder.

"Hey, are you the nameless, bounty-less pirates that defeated Axe-Hand Morgan?"

"Woah, woah. You did – you did what?" The long-nose's eyes had widened. He seemed to be unaware of the gang of pirates he had joined.

"Nameless?" The straw hat echoed. He then stood to approach your table. He held out his sauce covered hand which you only looked at. He retracted his hand when you made no move to grab it.

"My name is Monkey D. Luffy. I'm going to be King of the Pirates!" Your eyes widened at his proclamation, your eyes returning to look into his.

Unlike what you expected from countless others who had declared themselves to soon be King of the Pirates, this Luffy character seemed to have something else other than pure determination glimmering in his eyes. It almost had you believing that he was going to be King of the Pirates.

"So just you wait," he then said your name as if you were close friends, "I'll get my first bounty soon."

He couldn't have been that much younger than you. And yet, something about him made you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"That's my crew, by the way." He pointed at his booth. "That's Zoro, Nami, and Usopp."

"Not in your crew," Nami denied.

"Don't introduce us to the pirate hunter, Luffy!" Usopp scolded him.

"What's up?" Zoro calmly greeted.

"I'm not a pirate hunter. That's a pirate hunter," you corrected Usopp once again, pointing to Zoro.

"Not anymore," Zoro corrected you, too.

"Well, I can see that, given how you're in a pirate crew."

He only scoffed. "Uh-huh, nice to see you again, too."

Luffy seemed to be unaware of the tension between the two of you. He grinned as he came to a realization, "Oh, you know each other?"

"Yep." You and Zoro answered in unison, which caused you to glare at each other before looking away.

"Well?" Luffy questioned expectantly, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You looked at the hand on your shoulder and wondered if the boy had any respect for boundaries. You simply shook your head and decided to return to your meal.

"Oh, come on. Zoro!" He whined as he returned to their table.

* * * * * *

taglist: @inf4ntdeath @x-uno @miloonmetis @angeli-fucking-cat @zzbloody-animezz

thank you for your support! <3

(there will be one more part after this one)

[imusticaniwill]

A Beautiful Story of Life

Shared with me by a friend.

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know.

I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned round to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me

with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, “Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?”

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze.

“Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked.

She jokingly replied, “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids…”

“No seriously,” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

“I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the

next three months, we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us.

She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.”

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, “We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing.

There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it!There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.

If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old.

If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight.

Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change.

Have no regrets.

The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets.”

She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose.”

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the year’s end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.

These words have been passed along in loving memory of ROSE.

REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL.

“We make a Living by what we get, We make a Life by what we give.”