#robin groves

[mariocki]

The Nesting (Massacre Mansion, 1981)

"It may come as a surprise to you that a physicist could even contemplate the existence of paranormal phenomena."

"But you admit to the possibility."

"I admit the possibility of the unknown. I admit that science is only beginning to understand its own discoveries. But I do not believe in evil spirits or painted phantoms in windows."

[gotankgo]

[esonetwork]

Silver Bullet | Episode 393

New Post has been published on http://esonetwork.com/silver-bullet/

Silver Bullet | Episode 393

Jim discusses a classic “Werewolf” tale based on a Steven King novella – 1985’s “Silver Bullet” starring Corey Haim, Gary Busey, Megan Follows, Everette McGill,Terry O’Quinn, Robin Groves, Leon Russom, Lawrence Tierney and James Gammon. A small town in Maine is terrorized by a beast who is killing off its citizens. Find out more on this episode of MONSTER ATTACK!, The Podcast Dedicated To Old Monster Movies.

[yen-sids-tournament]

Cool Runnings: Olympics, International: Jamacia--McFarland, USA: Sports, International: USA--Pirates of the Caribbean: Pirates, International: Caribbean+--The Three Caballeros: Donald-USA, Jose-Brazil, Panchito-Mexico--The Emperor's New Grove: International: Inca--Rob Roy: The Highland Rogue: Scottish Folk Hero--The Story of Robin Hood: English Folk Hero--Remember the Titans: True/Inspirational, Denzel Washington!, International: USA--Rise: Sports, International: Nigeria/Greece/USA--Arjun: The Warrior Prince: International: India--Newsies: Musical, International: NYC

*International Men's Day is November 19th the goal is two part: to recognize the contributions men/boys bring to their communities and raise awareness for issues they face. First established in 1992, this year's theme is "positive male role models."

[rafefar]

American robin

[slightly-nerdy-rambles]

Robstar Week Day 4: Culture Clash (Prompt: Downtime)

This is another fic where I used an idea originally based on one of last year's prompts, specifically day 5's "Movie Night." Because movie nights are a pretty great way to use your downtime, right? For this one, I decided to do a little flipping of the script, as it were, in terms of Robin being the one to get lost in understanding pop culture from Starfire's home planet. I thought it would be a fun idea for the Titans to watch a movie from Tamaran, and it also gave me an excuse to indulge my headcanon of Cyborg and Starfire working together on cross-planetary (usually food-based, but nobody said it all had to be cuisine) projects.

Culture Clash

Starfire could barely keep herself still as Cyborg made one last check of Titan’s Tower’s main viewing screen. The two of them had been working on this project for months now, and Robin could feel the energy buzzing between them.

“Alllll righty, then, we should be good to go,” Cyborg said, backing up and wiping his hands more as a gesture of completion than any real need.

“Are y’all ready to witness the historic occasion that is Earth’s first interstellar movie night?���

Beast Boy raised his hand. “Question: Are we sure this is the first one on Earth? Because there’s kind of a lotta aliens in the Justice League and –”

“First. Ever,” Cyborg insisted. “Even if those guys have any, the Watchtower is in orbit above Earth so it doesn’t count.”

“Cool then! Heck yeah I’m ready!” Beast Boy replied enthusiastically. Raven simply nodded, Robin grinned and shot Cyborg a thumbs up, and nobody even had to ask Starfire with the way she was practically vibrating out of her seat.

“Oh, it has been so long since I last watched Lover’s Grove properly! It was one of my favorites growing up,” she gushed.

Beast Boy sprang up in his seat. “Wait, that title translates to ‘Lover’s Grove?!’ That sounds like a total chick flick!”

Starfire gave him an even look. “If you are using the term ‘chick’ in regards to a female individual, then wouldn’t any movie I enjoy constitute a ‘chick flick?’”

Beast Boy opened his mouth again to retort, but paused. Robin could practically see his brain trying to parse whether she was joking or not.

Cyborg chuckled. “Easy, B. I had to watch it a bunch to put the subtitles together and I still didn’t get tired of it. Star has a good taste in Tamaranean movies if this one is any clue.”

Starfire blushed and giggled at the praise, and Robin smiled at her and loosely swung an arm around her shoulder. Beast Boy, still a little put off, rolled his eyes and gagged teasingly at the show of affection.

*******

By the time they were about an hour into the movie, Beast Boy had changed his tune. He and Cyborg both laughed raucously as one of the characters on the screen made a comment about gloorgs and some place called the Deksa Mountains. Starfire was grinning and giggling along, leaned forward in her seat with her chin propped in her hands.

Robin didn’t get it.

When the laughter died down, he leaned over to Cyborg and spoke in a voice that he hoped was low enough that Starfire wouldn’t catch it. “Okay, I know gloorgs are those big guard dog-things,  but what do they have to do with anything?”

Cyborg sniffed and wiped a mirthful tear from his human eye. “I have no idea,” he muttered back, “but I bet the Deksa people wish they didn’t either!”

He chuckled again at his own joke, but Robin only frowned. This wasn’t the first cultural reference that had been lost to him – it felt like every other joke, and several of the more dramatic moments, had some distinctly Tamaranean element that he didn’t quite understand. Cyborg and Beast Boy seemed to be following along all right, but Raven was watching the movie with a bemused little frown on her face that said she was as lost in the references as Robin. At least that meant he wasn’t just clueless.

Starfire suddenly placed a hand on his arm and leaned over toward him. “Do you need help understanding the plot?” she whispered.

Robin jolted a little and winced, ashamed that his confusion was so obvious to her. He didn’t want her to think he couldn’t appreciate her favorite movie.

“Not… really,” he hedged. At her patient stare, though, he gave up and let his shoulders slump.

“I guess I just keep getting lost in all the Tamaranean cultural stuff,” he confessed. “I’m following along with the main story about the two families all right, but some of the details are… confusing.”

To his surprise, Starfire smiled and nodded in understanding. “I know that feeling very well. You doubtless recall how often I was confused by your Earth ways when I first moved here.”

Robin frowned. “Yeah, but you always seemed to just, I dunno, roll with it. I keep getting distracted and completely missing the punchlines.”

Starfire shrugged. “It was not always as easy as you make it sound. But… I suppose I made my own fun, in a sense. I made a game of sorts out of trying to learn or guess the situation from context, and simply followed the energy of you and the others when I was completely lost.”

She paused for a moment to glance back at the movie and snicker at some obscure joke – the comedy relief was stealing the show at the moment, so there’d been a lot of those lately – while Beast Boy cackled from the far end of the couch. With a thoughtful eye on him, she added, “I suspect Beast Boy and Cyborg are doing the same thing now.”

Robin’s brow furrowed and he hummed a little to himself, deep in thought. It made sense, but…

Starfire’s expression lit up with an idea. “Perhaps after the movie is over, I could explain the meanings behind any references that are confusing you. Then you will understand it better the next time.”

Robin smiled at that. It was such an obvious solution, but somehow hearing it out loud – and having Starfire suggest it, so he knew it would not be a bother for her – was enough to brighten his mood considerably. He was becoming increasingly interested in Tamaranean culture as time went on and everything about it seemed a little less daunting, and getting a better understanding about a piece of media that was so important to Starfire sounded like a wonderful way to learn even more.

“You know what?” he said, resting his shoulder comfortably against hers as they both settled back in their seats. “That sounds like a great idea.”

[yagodichjagodic]

The wise words of an artist to his critic.

SHOP.

Side note: extremely excited to have found the vintage party decoration I used in the background for free! A super nice fella told me I could just take it, after purchasing 6 souvenir spoons from him at Williams Grove 💛

[nervoussystemmusicreverence]

Aztec Camera - Working In A Goldmine

Music Video

Artist

Aztec Camera

Composer

Roddy Frame

Lyricist

Roddy Frame

Produced

Rob Mounsey

Credit

Roddy Frame - Vocals, guitar Rob Mounsey - Keyboards, keyboard programming Will Lee - Bass Steve Jordan - Drums Carol Steele - Percussion Lani Groves - Backing vocals Gordon Grody - Backing vocals Robin Clark - Backing vocals

Released

November 9 1987

Streaming

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Good evening, please have this terrible idea:

Steddie Fight Club AU

Steve as the Narrator (normal, boring, stuck in a conforming lifestyle)

Eddie as Marla Singer (quirky, curly hair, somewhat British)

Billy as Tyler Durden (evil, silly mustache, punches the protag)

Robin as Bob (friends with the protag, simply the best)

Tommy as the guy who gets his face beaten in (deserves to have face beaten in)

Obviously, a few things would have to change. E.g., Robin (Bobin?) can't play the exact same role as Bob, because it would be wildly OOC for her. Also, she deserves better than to have her head blasted open 😔. She has to be there, though; she's and Steve are contractually obligated to be bffs no matter what universe they're in.

Anyway, doesn't it sound wonderfully heinous?

[mitjalovse]

All these mercurial musical figures followed their own whims mostly thanks to their own financial successes. Yes, I put my definition of them in a paradox here, yet allow me to tell you what I mean on the case of David Bowie. Here's the deal – while he did have his own path to chart, I believe he didn't become the Bowie until his 80's that remains one of his most controversial eras. You are familiar with the fact he has been accused of selling out and the numbers from the time support this assertion. However, think of this – he would only be a cult item without him doing the cosplay of a pop star during the 80's. Also hear some of the works from them – some of them suck in a way only he could've made, but those that function marvelously do so because of him.

[fanaticsnail]

Ravenous

Masterlist Here

(Image Source)

Synopsis: Luffy is hungry, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He doesn’t care where it happens, how it happens, or what exactly happens - all he cares about is the who and when. The who is you, and the when is right now and until his hunger is fully satisfied.

Warnings: Luffy x afab!reader, established relationship, no gendered terms used, NSFW, smut, overstim, Luffy is hungry, Luffy is eating, Luffy is persuasive, Luffy is dominant - do not read if you are not fond of Luffy in this way, afab!reader, without plot, no penetration, oral afab!reader receiving, MDNI it's not meant for you.

Notes: This is a gift for my moot-wife, @sordidmusings. In light of the post directly below this one, this is without much plot at all.

Tag List: @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @vespidphoenix @i-am-vita @sexc-snail @since-im-already-here sssssssorry...

Fingers absentmindedly sought out the scalp of your captain, his head reclining in your lap, his straw-hat lying beside you both while enjoying the mild heat of the afternoon. You hummed a small melody, joining your other hand in his dark curls and tugging lightly on a few key locks. You soothed his skin, fingers circling down and massaging the scruff of his neck and behind his ears. 

As you both sat on the top deck of The Sunny, enjoying the cries of gulls and crashing waves against the wooden hull, you felt the creak of wooden slates dipping slowly as Luffy turned in your lap. Placing his hands on the floor, his knees rising beneath him to hoist his body up: he slowly stalked towards you. Before you even turned your head to acknowledge this change in demeanor, you knew the sight that was awaiting you. When he prowled that slowly toward you, he was a beast consumed with a lust that was truly insatiable. 

He was ravenous.

There was nothing you could do about him when he got in this mood but take what you were given, with a smile on your face and a hot flush swelling in your cheeks. You elected not to look at him, angling your face away as he prowled on all fours towards you across the wooden planks lining the floor beneath you.

“Luffy,” you shot him in a warning tone, “We’re on the deck.” You heard a soft humming melody from the kitchen, along with a small stream of cigarette smoke wafting from the kitchen bay window. A clack of bolts and powders shifted from a metal cylinder into a glass orb, Usopp’s latest craft being siphoned into a bolt.

“Don’t care,” he growled in a feral growl, his hot breath tickling at your shoulder as his grabby hands pulled at the hemline of your shirt, “‘M hungry.” A clatter of a porcelain teacup meeting its dish had your attention splitting over to the tangerine grove aboard the ship, a wisp of Robin’s ebony hair blowing in the gentle breeze and reflecting the risen sun. 

“Luffy,” you again uttered, shifting your body away from his and scuttling over to the mast, “Someone will see.” A small coughed grunt littered the air, a rumbly snore following as Zoro rolled onto his side: blissfully and soundly slumbering while basking in the sun. 

“Hungry,” he repeated, his arms surrounding your shoulders and caging you against the base of the crowsnest. You squeaked as his lips connected to the exposed point of your neck. A trail of desperate nips, licks, and bites littered your collar, pulse and jaw. 

“Luffy,” a breathy call of his name pricked his ears and encouraged him to continue peppering your body with insatiable kisses. “Luffy, somewhere else. Anywhere else. Please, Lu.”

“No, ‘please, Lu’,” he taunted, his lips curling into a taunting smile as he continued to consume your flesh, “Please, you. Need you. Please, please.” His mocking chant growled at you, “‘M so hungry.” The way his lips hummed against your throat, the way his eyelashes fluttered into your skin, every aspect of his insatiable touch shot sparks into your flesh and raised your follicles to stand alert in anticipation. 

When Luffy said he was “hungry,” like this, you knew it was never a hunger for food. Although his appetite for meat was vast, when he said “hungry,” in this tone, what he truly meant was: “hungry for you.” 

“Lower decks?” you breathily sighed at him, his lips curling in contact further against your skin, “Bedroom, bathroom, the map room, Lu,” you listed, inching away from him in a last ditch effort to halt his advance, “Anywhere, but here.” 

Luffy hissed out a dark chuckle into your neck, nuzzling the flesh with his nose and grinning into your throat. He pressed a chaste kiss against the center of your throat before rising to his feet, hoisting you into the air, and throwing you over his shoulder. 

“Knew ya’d see it my way,” Luffy chuckled, his palm meeting swiftly against your ass cheek in a crisp clap before pawing at the flesh below, “I’m gonna eat ‘ya until you’re all dopey in the head,” his chuckle grew darker, his voice lowering in that feral rumble you knew meant trouble. 

“You’re gonna sit back and take it until I say you’re done,” his tone turned serious the longer he walked below decks, kicking the door to crew quarters open with his heel, “Gonna’ have ‘ya regrettin’ stopping me and makin’ me wait.” 

As soon as the door clicked behind you, your clothes were flung from your body and piled in careless heaps on the floor. Your body was flung onto the mattress, Luffy’s arms hooking over your thighs and raking you down to the bed where his famished lips awaited you. 

He was ravenous.

Your left hand clapped over your lips, your eyes widening almost beyond their natural capacity, and pupils going black as your world came crashing down around you. Your toes curled, thighs shaking and caging Luffy’s head deep against your gushing pussy, writhing and squirming against his face as his tongue greedily lapped your glistening core. 

Luffy was a messy eater, a common feat he wore as a badge of honor each time he ate like this. If his face was not covered by your slickened arousal from the sheer number of times he had you whimpering and sobbing for him, he would not stop until it was. 

Lips, nose, tongue, chin and teeth were bobbing, weaving and slobbering over your throbbing cunt. Your stiff clit was prodded, sucked, nosed at, rubbed, and licked: Luffy’s saliva mixing with your slick juices and coating his face and your thighs with its sheen. As he paid attention to your quivering entrance, pistoning his moist muscle in and out with the precision you had seen showcased with his heavy punches in battle, he growled into your core. 

“L-Luffy p-please. No more, please,” you begged him, writhing and grinding against his head in an attempt to pull away. His arms caged you in, feeling the way your walls gripped and beckoned him in with its throbbing and squeezing. 

“Nuh-Uh,” his muffled voice taunted you, his lips open and mouth wide as he slurped and bobbed his head. Luffy’s eyes rolled back as another wave of your arousal snapped, an orgasm coaxed and ripped from your body with a particularly sloppy circle of his tongue over your aching bud. He continued rolling his tongue, repeating that movement as you screamed his name. 

He was ravenous.

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping onto the curled locks and holding his face against your throbbing core as your hole clenched in an attempt to draw in further contact. It was hypnotizing Luffy with its rhythmic summoning, calling his name in a beckoning chant of fluttering walls as waves of release washed over your body. 

After fully riding through your high, your body fell limp in his arms. Each part of you felt empty of substance: your lungs, your mind, your pussy - everything numb and dumb of all thoughts as the hazy fog swelled throughout your afterglow. 

“One more, ‘kay? One more and I’m done,” Luffy panted, his eyes dark with his pupils black to cover his caramel orbs, “Just one more,” he kissed at your thigh, “I need one more from you. Just one more, and I’ll be all full.” You had no energy to move your lips, no air in your lungs to form words as you felt him maneuver your body up onto the bed further. He flipped you over, ass up and shoulders firm against the mattress as he dove in behind you. 

He slunk you down into the bed, hooking his arms around your ass beneath your thighs, as he rocked you against his face from behind. Laying his torso down onto the bed, his clothed cock made twitching contact against the mattress as he felt your walls flutter around him. He moaned into your pussy, thrusting his tongue into your entrance while using his chin to stimulate your clit. 

You couldn’t take much more, exhaustion hanging over you as no words strung into cohesive sentences. Babbling his name, mewling and keening for him, as he ate you from his position behind your body, had tears prick at the corners of your eyes and threaten to spill through another release. Your body responded almost against your will, your aching cunt rocking against his chin as his tongue fucked into you. 

Luffy’s ravenous appetite was insatiable, him eating at the sweetest nectar he had ever sampled while subconsciously rutting into the mattress at each drag of his tongue against your walls. You cried for him, shoulders shaking as you felt the tight swell within your stomach threaten to teeter over the edge again. Your brain fog had each moment seeming as if it were to be your last as Luffy spat and slobbered against you. 

His deep growls vibrated through your walls, his soft hum hitching as his knob ground beneath him. His precum beaded at the slit of his cock, his veins throbbing and velvetty shaft desperately thrashing and grinding against the mattress as he felt you near your release. You whimpered for him, hands gripping the fabric of the mattress and squeezing the material hard enough for it to fray. 

“L-Luffy I-I-... ngmm-a-ahhh-... I-I’m g-g-,” you couldn’t make it through your sentence, lightning striking within your stomach as you ground against his face. Your toes curled and legs shook with every radiant shock sourced from your clit to your spine, stomach, eyelashes and down your legs. You gushed in his face, mixing your arousal with his saliva connecting to his tongue in hot strings. 

Moaning into your fluttering walls, Luffy’s cock wept through his shorts as hot ropes of sticky cum shot through his throbbing slit. His eyes rolled back at the taste of your cunt, propelling a long and encumbering orgasm to shudder through his own body. He ground his understimulated cock against the bed, shifting and stuttering through his orgasm as he held onto the flesh of your ass more. 

As you both rode through your bliss, Luffy licked another stripe along your overstimulated walls, a flutter from your entrance enticed him to kitten-lick another small kiss against your bud. Flipping you onto your back, he was mesmerized by your flushed cheeks and puffed lips, bruised by the amount of times you stifled your more violent cries within your mouth. 

“O-One more?” Luffy asked, kissing your thighs and nodding against your groin, “One more, okay? Just one. One more and I’m done.” His dark eyes glowed up at you, his face coated with the glistening sheen of your arousal smearing over his lips, nose, cheeks and chin. His greedy smile rose against his damp cheeks as your hands reached for his, lacing your fingers in between each of his digits. 

He couldn’t get enough. He loved you like this. His appetite sprung up once more, leaning down and beginning the slow and sensual roll of his tongue against your body: consuming more of your essence until he drank his fill and stifled his hunger.  He was ravenous.

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: Reunion (1.12, LWT, 1972)

"It's not his style!"

"And Clifford's not a very pleasant character."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just I think he's being getting under your skin."

"Well, he'd get under anybody's skin."

"Because he got away with it, before?"

"There are no facts to prove that Clifford wasn't there. Just as there were no facts to prove that he wasn't a party to the bank job, but you and I and every man in this force know that he was."

"And there's damn all we can do about it. Look, I'm not stitching him up just because he happens to have made idiots of us in the past; we have to prove, conclusively, without supposition, who killed Gemmell."

[the-californicationist]

Picking Flowers

@pricesugarwife left this amazing comment on one of my posts and i couldn't get it out of my head...

pricesugarwife: Nos complaces con un smut Hades!Price x Persefone!Reader??? *se arrodilla*

te amo griss!! espero que te guste esta historia que escribí para ti, nena. 🩷🩷

TW: rape/non-con/cnc elements, loss of virginity, corruption, very bad greek mythology knowledge (sorry, it's just make believe okay jeez)

In a grove in Hellas, long, long ago… 

Before you opened your eyes, you already knew what you would see. Slowly, as sleep fell away from you, like the warmth of a blanket being pulled away from your body, a heavy darkness giving way to light, you could see a warm, egg yolk glow behind your eyelids. The sun had cut a path through your windowpane, and now it cast itself like a spell, masking its burn over your face. When you opened your eyes, you would squint through your lashes, looking up through the green mottled leaves, neon, blinding, of the twisted yew outside of your window. You could smell your mother’s bread baking in her old dutch oven, hints of oregano and pepper wafting through your room, bringing the warmth of the hearth with them. You could almost taste the crispy crust, roasted to perfection, protecting the soft, textured middle. 

Finally, you peeked between your lashes, and before you, your self-made dream came true. The sun filtered in through your glass a little less bright than what you had imagined, but the greens were there, and they reminded you that today was your favorite day: the arrival of Spring. 

“Sephie! Are you awake?”

Your mother’s sing-song voice fluttered down the hall and tucked itself through the crack of your bedroom door. She always knew when you woke up, and although you’d never questioned it, you had to admit it was uncanny. You chalked it up to the wonders of motherhood. She seemed to know every other thing about you, so why question it?

“Yes, Mom. Coming!” You called back, your own voice a little stronger, a little less like a delicate lark, a little more like a robin. 

You were very much a late bloomer, still living with your mother at almost twenty years of age, especially when most of the girls in your village had suitors or proposals by sixteen. But, you didn’t let it bother you. As your mother was ready to remind you, the thread of your life was your own, and you would follow its path until the end, whether you wanted to or not. If Lachesis had measured your life out to be this way, then that was that. Why question it?

You pulled on your robes, woven on your family loom of the finest silk threads. You had begged your mom to add a tight spiral of cyclamen along the hem, the flowers so familiar, their pink heads watching you as you followed your daily path to the river. So, she had insisted that you try. You were well enough a woman now, and more than skilled enough to craft your own clothes. And you had; it had been easier than you thought, and you added a few glass beads in that same heart-shaped petal to the tips of the cord of your belt. 

You owned no looking glass, but you never noticed its absence. There was so much more to do than to stare at something you couldn’t change. Focus on what you can do, your mother’s voice haunted your mind, not on what is already done. Besides, your mother insisted that you were beautiful, so why question it?

“Here, my darling,” your mom tapped you under your chin, handing you a cloth satchel full of bread, fruit, seeds, and dried meats, “Before you go to the river, please check on the well. It should have clear water for you to fill this skin. Fill it again on your way home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

You were out of the door and heading down the hill to the well before you knew it, the feel of the soft grass comforting your heels, cold and damp from the morning dew. The village below you was coming alive, its people tending to their new lambs, planting seeds in the black, fertile soil, carrying buckets of water to and from the olive groves, pruning the dead branches away from the new growth on each branch. Their bustle and laughter as they worked together made you long to live in town. But, your mother had insisted that the town and its people would just be a distraction, and you’d never experienced such a thing; why question it?

When you approached the well, you were alone. You let your hands trace their way along the rough, grey stones, feeling the familiar edge, reaching for the thick rope to pull up the bucket. The worn hemp gave way, and the echo of the old wooden bucket hitting the sides of the well rang out like shrouded bells. You reached for the handle of the bucket, pulling it up to the rim, carefully filling your waterskin, making sure not to waste a drop. You used the rest to wash your face and hands, letting the cool water soak into your cheeks, adding moisture back to your body after a long sleep. 

Suddenly, your eyes darted up to the treeline just beyond the well’s clearing. You thought you saw a shadow that stretched just a little too long, shaped just a little too wrong… but when you studied the dark spaces between the trunks, there was nothing but lush overgrowth. You packed your waterskin and tossed the bucket back into the water; you were eager to get down to the river. The light always played tricks on you in this glade, so why question it?

You walked quite a ways through the valley, using your fingers and the softness of your touch to coax the flowers to bloom and grow as you let your hand fondle its way through the tall grass. When you reached your river, you savored the sight. The way that it curved into a deep ox bow was your favorite thing. It was as if the river had carved out a small, circular stage just for you. In it, you worked on your crafts, practicing growing buds from seeds, trees from roots, ivy from the palm of your hand. Then, you sent it out, down the river towards town, making sure the village was well-shaded, well-fed, and well-protected from the elements. 

It was hard work, and you always slept after a long afternoon of using your magic, but your mother always said that no one else would be able to do a better job than you, so you kept at it, and it was the one thing you never questioned. 

This time, when you woke up from your nap, you knew you weren’t alone. As you sat up, you looked around, thinking that a striped kri-kri or a golden jackal would be nibbling at the food in your pack. But, sitting with his legs crossed, was a man dressed only in a dark blue chilton, the shoulder of which hung loosely around his waist as if he were a farmer who had been toiling in the field. He was no farmer. Not with those inhuman eyes of ice fire, pale and bright, glowing although the sun was at his back. His body was that of a giant, muscle-bound and heavy, full of power just rippling beneath the surface. He reminded you of the well. How deep did his strength flow? His beard and chest were furry but well-groomed, just like that of a nobleman. 

You greeted him, apologizing for your slumber,

“Good day, sir. Forgive my sleeping. I was just tending to my flowers, and I must have dozed off.”

“No trouble,” his smile came to him easily, and you enjoyed it, basking in it, “I enjoy watching you work. It is a gift to see it up close.”

He reached out his hand and plucked one of your most vibrant hyacinths from its stem, cradling your art in his huge hands. 

“Beautiful,” he purred, speaking of the flower but looking at you. 

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you some bread or fruit from my pack? I carried clean water from the well this morning.”

“How generous you are,” his smile showed his straight, large teeth this time, and he tucked your own flower behind your ear, letting the delicate petals tickle your sensitive flesh.

You prepared a small piece of bread for him, decorating it with nuts and juicy lobes of fruit that you had carefully peeled with your hands, tearing off a piece of dried meat for him to try as well. You ate with him in companionable silence, watching him as he chewed. Whereas the kri-kri would have greedily gobbled up the bread from your palm, this man seemed unsurprised by it. What was a delicacy for some of Gaia’s creatures was a mere appetizer for others. But, it may be that he had much finer fare at home, so why question it?

“Do you live near to this glade, sir?” You asked, hoping to learn more about your handsome stranger. 

His hands peeled the delicate pith from the citrus lobe you had given him, expertly trimming it as if he had done it for a thousand mornings, knowing exactly how hard or easy he needed to pull the flesh for it to yield, feeding it into his mouth in a wet, juicy bite, letting the sweet nectar soak into his beard and become sticky. 

He chewed slowly, eyeing you carefully as he did, seemingly in no rush to answer your question. So, you tacked on another one, impatiently, 

“What should I call you?”

“I have been called many names,” he spoke, looking down at his hands, staring at his open palms as if to divine some sort of future before his eyes shot back to yours, pinning you where you sat.

“Hm,” you smiled, inching closer, pretending to get a better look at him, studying him like a statue at a temple, “You do not look like an Akakios, nor an Eirenaios…”

“No,” he chuckled, his laugh rolling like a volcanic crag inside of his throat, “I should think not.”

“I cannot imagine naming you Melanthios, though it fits your face,” you giggled.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that, little petal.”

His laugh was still jovial, so you pushed him further, 

“Perhaps Kleisthenes. Your strength is apparent, as is your status. Surely, that must fit you.”

You leaned back, biting off another chunk of bread, saving the crust for last, satisfied with your naming ritual.

He shook his head, 

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s very brief, or at least much less trouble than Kleisthenes.”

“Bion, then.”

“Mm,” he frowned a bit at the edges of his smile, “Quite the opposite in essence, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are a foreigner. One of Troy, or Rome, even? Something brief, like John.”

“I am foreign enough to this land, so I suppose John is close enough,” he sighed, allowing you to finally take your win. 

You hadn’t realized how close you had drawn yourself into him. You were now near enough to smell the oils on his skin: laurel, salt, and something akin to tarnished silver. His hand reached out to touch the curls of your hair, carefully braided by your mother, entwined with small flowers and ivy stems to keep it off of your neck. But, after your nap, one lock had escaped and was now being delicately twirled in this man’s immense fingers. 

“And what should I call you, little flower? Marjoram is too serious for you. Iris, not serious enough.”

“Persephone,” you offered, unwilling to force him to endure the same naming torture you had just gone through. 

“Ah!” He gasped, leaning toward your face as if seeing you for the first time, “Persephone.”

Then, before you could even know what was happening to you, your lips were tasting his. He was cradling you in his arms, holding your limp body against his bare chest, the gold of his necklaces and armbands warm from his body heat as they pressed into your skin. He was kissing you, moving his mouth against yours, forcing your jaw to yield to him, to take his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, to suck the citrus juice from it, the memory of his food still fresh on the muscle. 

You had never been kissed before, even though you had practiced on two of your fingers held tightly together, watching lovers sneak up to the well on hot days of work to do to each other what you longed for someone to do to you. It was so much more satisfying to feel another’s lips move against your own, nothing like the static, chaste practice you’d tried to mimic. 

Only now, after you were left gasping, feeling his hands wander along the edges of your chilton, his fingers beginning to dig into the loose gaps in the fabric, did you question whether you should be kissing this man or not. But, it felt too good to stop. 

John, or whoever he was, pulled away for a moment, and his eyes seemed to study your mouth, inspecting your plump, swollen lips as if something was wrong. You wrapped your hands around his neck to steady yourself, and he lay you back, letting your head be supported by the plush grasses beneath you. He spoke to you in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around for miles, 

“I have been watching you, Persephone. I see you growing your lush gardens, creating a world full of life, all for me to take. And I come back every autumn, when the sun is shy and the sky is dark, just to inspect all of the gifts you have given me,” he kissed you again, his hand finally snaking its way under the shoulder of your robes, peeling it down slowly to reveal your full breasts to the open air, “And I eat them up. All of them, and I take them home. I’ve been keeping them for you. All of your treasures from years past. They’re still there for you to see.”

Then, before you could ask him what he meant, his mouth latched onto the dark nipple of your breast, suckling at it like a babe. And then, very much not like a babe. Like something else. Like a wolf digging the marrow from a bone. Like an otter clawing at a clam, slurping up the tender meat inside. 

And then, he stopped. He sat up, holding you by the shoulders and helping you sit up with him, fixing your top so that you were covered again, dizzy and reeling from his attention, the wet skin of your aching nipples sticking to the silk fabric of your gown. 

“Sir, I…”

“Come with me, love,” he held out his hand, “Don’t you want to meet your old friends?”

You didn’t know what to say, but he seemed so friendly. There was a dark, twisted piece of wort inside of you, growing and twining itself around your belly that made you want to see if he might put his mouth on you again. It had been so lovely… Besides, you very much missed your old creations. You remembered hundreds and hundreds of seasons of creations you had made, trees and plants, fruits and flowers. It would be wonderful to be reminded of all of the things you had brought into the world. If he had kept them for you, it may even be rude to refuse his hospitality. He seemed so sure, so why question it?

So, you took his hand, and he led you through the earth, ripping at the dirt like a heavy veil, marching down into the darkness, leading you step after step down a winding, rocky staircase. Above your head, you saw the last bit of a ruby-colored sun, setting in the distance, illuminating the ceiling of roots and fungus that hung above you as you delved further into his depths. 

Then, your heart skipped a beat. You saw your river again, her wine-dark waters now black, curling in that same ox bow pattern, cutting the land in half. On one bank, the souls of the living waited to be ferried across, and on the other, fields and fields of your own flowers, frozen in time, neither growing nor dead, shrouded in darkness in the grey soil of the Underworld. 

He led you onward, towards his blue, gleaming castle, all of its walls made of shining glass, distorting the world outside, and concealing the one within. You marveled at the wide door, its ebon gate the only iron you could see, and all of the castle guards were the dead. Their lifeless eyes gray and cloudy, set inside of gaunt, bony faces, unseeing, unfeeling. You did not fear them, even though you were sure you were meant to. You knew them. You had made the food that fed them while they were alive. You had grown the trees and bushes that had sheltered them when they lay beneath your boughs, exhausted from their labor or their warfare. Who was afraid of an old friend?

Then, you watched your companion climb the long stair up to the throne of Hades, for that is who he was after all, and he sat on its plush seat, motioning for you to sit in an equally-crafted chair beside him. There was no difference between the two thrones. His was not higher, nor was it more elaborate. So, you sat, waiting to see what Hades wanted to show you. 

A delightful processional began, and you spotted some of your first flowers being brought to you on pedestals and pillows, you ooh’d and ahh’d at them, sharing stories and listening to Hades tell you all of his tales of how he brought them here to keep. How he’d waited so long for you to come and join him here, to rule in the Underworld beside him as its queen. 

“What do you think, love? My people are desperate for more of your creations. You are the only one who reminds them of home. They see your trees and your flowers, your fish and your fruits, and their souls finally know peace. Be my queen, rule beside me, help me put these souls to rest here in Elysium.”

“I am still a maid, sir,” you told him, “My mother is the one who would make that choice for me.”

He looked at you confused,

“You are a goddess most powerful. There is no one who can make choices for you. Even I am no match for your magic. I cannot bloom these fields.”

“When I return home, I will consult her wisdom, and she will help us marry.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “Perhaps you will at least allow me to show you the same hospitality as you have shown me. There is a feast that awaits you in my chambers. Will you join me, petal?”

You had no excuse. How could you refuse him the same thing you had provided. After dinner, you would return home and tell your mother about this handsome suitor.

You followed him from the throne room and entered his chambers, sitting on a wide lounge where platters of meat and fruit and honey in wide bowls waited for you to dig into them. You did not shy away now that you were in the comfort of his rooms, letting Hades sit beside you, as close as he could, feeding you berries and sweetmeats from his hands, dipping his fingers into your lips and letting you suck them clean, laughing and joking with you. 

He had done a poor job of tying your robe back onto your shoulder, and it kept falling down. Finally, when you were about to adjust it again, he stopped you, pulling it down even further to hang with the cord of your belt, letting your breasts hang free upon your ribs, heavy and full, sensitive from his earlier ministrations. 

“C’mere, love. Lay back and let me feed you. You must be so tired from your work today,” he murmured in your ear, allowing you to lay your back across his chest, his legs spread wide to allow you to sit between them.

You did as he bade, letting him feed you grapes dipped in honey, delicious fish and mussels, crab and octopus still cold and fresh. He ate, too, feeding you sometimes from his own mouth, bending to kiss you with sweet bites between his teeth. 

Then, when you had both had your fill, he used his hands to rub your sore muscles, easing the tension in your neck, down your shoulders, and then finally, he stopped,

“Alright, love. We should bring you back to Demeter. I’m sure she is waiting.”

“No,” you protested, ignoring the fact that he knew your mother’s name, “I mean… I thought we could stay a bit longer. I’m so full; a journey would be too arduous right now.”

“Oh?” He returned to petting you, letting his hands trace just outside of your breasts, fingers skating through your underarms and then up along the thin skin of your neck, “How should we occupy our time, my love?”

“Just… like this,” you let your hands wander to his strong thighs, massaging down his knees and calves, admiring the muscles there. 

“If that’s what you want, my love, then you shall have it. All that you want shall be yours,” his tone was dark in a way you had never heard from another person, but you felt so good, so why question it?

His hands were callused and warm as they covered your sensitive breasts, plucking at your nipples like the petals of one of your flowers, and you mewled from the pleasure, asking him for more and more and more.

Then, you felt his mouth on your neck, sucking and licking you, reminding you of how it felt when his mouth was on your tits, making your flesh tingle like the crackle of lighting, like the cold of the first swim of the season. 

So, you turned towards him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips, sitting proudly in his lap, hoping he would return his mouth to where it was needed. And he did. It was as if he read your mind, knowing you wanted him to suck and suck and suck against the softness of your skin, to use his tongue to press into the nub of your nipple, over and over until you felt your legs begin to shake as if you were shivering from the cold. 

“My pretty flower, it feels like you need something else, hm? What would you like? I will give you Olympus if you ask me for it.”

You weren’t sure what to ask for. When a flower asks to be picked, growing symmetrical and soft as it does, what does it know about the plucking? Only picked flowers know what they’re really asking for, don’t they?

“I don’t know… I just… I need…” You tried to make sense of your body’s wishes, and why you were rocking your hips back and forth, why you needed to feel something between your thighs. 

Hades’ smile widened, that dark beard pressed out of the way of his full mouth as it turned up into a grin, 

“How about this, hm?” 

He fumbled with your robes and his, and then you felt yourself sigh with relief when he placed some part of him between your legs, giving you something to rub against through your softest petals, wet with excitement and desire. You both sighed, and you could feel the heat of him as you rocked back and forth. It felt like his wrist, but then again, it didn’t. It was wide enough, but at the end, instead of a hand, it was the fleshy edge of another tongue, perhaps. Something that was licking your hole every time you passed over it. 

Eventually, everything was wet beneath you. His robes, your robes, his body, your body… it was a sticky, dripping mess. You had lost your breath, your heart beating out of your chest, your mind sparkling like a fire and then going blank like you had drank too much wine. Over and over, you felt everything and then nothing. It may have been hours, but you couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was in a rush to be finished with your game, so you didn’t question it. 

“More, still?” He finally asked, kissing you on the mouth sweetly, sucking on the tip of your lolling tongue, “My greedy little flower…”

You weren’t sure what more there was. But, he showed you. This time, when you rocked back, he used his hand to notch himself at your hole, and if you pushed forward, you would have to press yourself onto him, to take him inside of yourself somehow. It was the same way you had used your fingers inside yourself to play in your bed or in your glade by the river, just touching yourself for the comfort of it. 

But, this was different. This was not comfort, it was magic. It felt like old magic, something from the world as it was before. And yet, he had promised you whatever you wanted, so you didn’t question it. 

As you slipped yourself over his fleshy knob, you experimented with your movements, rolling your hips back and forth, seeing how it felt to push him deeper and deeper inside of you, stopping when you felt like you were being stretched open. Then, you tried circles, turning your hips around and around as you sat in his lap, feeling him slipping deeper and deeper inside of you as you found your rhythm. 

He was busying himself with kissing you, or suckling from your nipples, but you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were. His grunting was that of a rutting deer, hoarse and loud. Finally, he reached some sort of limit, and he grabbed you, changing places, pressing you beneath him on the lounge, nearly ripping off your robes and his own, making you naked in front of him. 

Then, you saw what you had been using for your pleasure. His phallus stood tall and strong against his belly, ruddy and throbbing, shining with your wet nectar. You had never seen one up close, and when you cradled it in your hands, it felt alive, like it was separate from him even though its thick root was buried deep inside his body. 

Hades’ eyes glowed bright blue, his own magicks coursing within him, and he told you,

“Open your legs.”

So, you obeyed, entranced by his power and the feeling you were experiencing, weightless and floating in your own mind. He fed himself into you, as deep as you had gone and then deeper, not stopping when you hissed in a breath from the feeling of your muscles stretching beyond the point of comfort, delving far enough to cause pain. 

“Ahh!” You cried out, but he shushed you with his mouth, kissing you again and again, distracting you from the discomfort of his invasion. 

“That’s my good girl…” He praised you, just as your mother always did, for a job well-done or a chore checked off the list. 

But, you didn’t feel like you were doing a chore. In fact, you felt like you were watching him do one for you. His thrusting was violent and repetitive, his huge rod pounding into you with every snap of his hips, grinding his tip inside of you deeper and deeper. As you moved past the pain and back into a throbbing sort of pleasure, he looked as if he was taking your pain away from you in this ritual. His face was set in a grimace, his eyes ferocious and snarling, his voice growling and letting out only deep, throaty whines. 

So, you did what he had done for you. You kissed his furry chest and latched onto his soft nipple, listening to him cry out with a sudden shout. 

“Love, I can’t… ”

You didn’t know how to help him, so you kept sucking and sucking, hoping you would bring him the pleasure that you felt, that you might ease his pain. 

But, he grabbed your face in his huge hands, pulling you away from his chest, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips press into a helpless sort of pout. 

He growled down at you like a wounded animal,

“So beautiful. My queen. My perfect little flower.”

Then, you felt your body tumble into another one of your hypnotic phases; your muscles clenching, your toes curling, your breath neither coming in nor rushing out, helpless to your own reaction. 

“Unghff-fuck… that’s it. Persephone…” He looked at you with those eyes, the eyes of some unearthly being, the bright icy glow keeping you in that cyclone of pleasure, thrashing you with it over and over, making you feel a wet gush between your legs, warm and slick. 

He released your face and leaned backwards, peering down at your body from his kneeling position, letting you watch how he was pistoning inside of you, pressing himself through you and filling you up. He watched himself for a moment, staring down at where you were joined, and then he sank himself all the way in and tossed back his head with a bellowing shout.

You felt his prick writhing inside of you, pulsing and throbbing. You waited, panting with him, watching him wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled himself out slowly, and lay it on your belly, letting you see the last of his seed drooled from his tip. There was blood on your skin when he pulled away, and as much as you tried to wipe it away, it stained.

Hades carried you to his bed, wrapping you in his dark blue silk sheets, cradling you in his arms until you both drifted off to sleep. 

You awoke to the sound of a woman crying. A voice calling your name. But, you were so tired, you must have been dreaming, so you didn’t question it. 

AO3 Link -- Thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! <3

[deathmetalunicorn1]

I’ve seen artwork of Eri dressing as erasure head and Miro. Can you write reactions for each of the Straw Hats, White beard, Shanks, Mihawk, Ryleigh Etc.

-A sense of dread washed over the vast seas, like something dangerous was about to happen, putting many on edge as they tried to find the source of it.

-The answer came in letters delivered to different individuals around the world, the letters themselves seemed to have the aura of death around them, which made several scared to open them, that is until they saw who they were from.

-Garp was your first victim of your newest activity, playing dress up, and he opened the envelope to find a letter from you, telling you that you missed him, along with a crayon drawing, but when a photo fluttered out, landing on the ground…

-Coby and Sengoku were the one to find Garp unresponsive, crying out to him, thinking he was dead before they noticed the photo in his hand, taking it before Coby fell back, clutching his chest, seeing it was a photo of you, dressed up like Garp, like a marine.

-Sengoku couldn’t help but chuckle softly, realizing how ‘dangerous’ you actually were.

-Your next victim was Perona, as the photo of you dressed as Mihawk made her melt with cuteness, gushing on how adorable you were. Mihawk was a bit calmer, but he was gushing just as much inside, unable to handle your cuteness before he smiled almost evilly, “I wonder if Red Hair got one?”

-Benn was exasperated as Shanks was on his side, a puddle of tears surrounding him as he was babbling, unable to form a single coherent word, ugly crying. Your photo reminded him of when he was younger on Roger’s crew, wearing Luffy’s hat and you were wearing a huge smile on your face.

-Whitebeard was admitted to the clinic with heart related issues, overwhelmed with cuteness, after seeing you dressed as him, wearing his giant cloak, as he recognized the surrounding area from when you were in Wano.

-Whitebeard got your photo enlarged and framed, putting it up in the galley so everyone could behold your unbearable cuteness.

-Law didn’t let anyone see the letter or the photo, because the moment he took a peek at the photo, he sprinted to his room so nobody would see him gushing, seeing you with one of Zoro’s swords over your shoulder and hugging a giant polar bear plush.

-Zeff was much like Whitebeard, enlarging your photograph, wearing a little chef outfit and hat, with your hair braided in front of your face, mimicking his mustache, he was proud while the other cooks were all dying from cuteness.

-The Straw Hats were all dying, seeing you dressed up like the each of them, holding, or trying to hold Zoro’s three swords and Usopp’s slingshot, wearing Chopper’s hat and holding cotton candy, wearing one of Sanji’s suit jackets, holding a lollipop in the kitchen, wearing one of Franky’s Hawaiian shirts doing his Super pose, wearing Luffy and Ace’s hats, wearing a child’s sized version of Jinbei’s yukata, holding Brooke’s violin, holding a map in Nami’s grove- each one of them were overwhelmed with emotions, finding you so adorable.\

-Robin was happy to do this, when you came to her, wanting to play dress up, as she got to make a photo album of all your adorable photos.

-You were clever however, as you got to surprise everyone else, as you enlisted Nami’s help with taking a photo of you wearing Robin’s cowboy hat and a pair of glasses, holding one of her books.

-When Robin came into your shared bedroom to put the last photo in the book, she was surprised to see her photo for you sitting on her desk, waiting for her. Tears welled in her eyes as she smiled, overwhelmed with joy that you thought of her as well.

[metamatar]

whats the book you're talking about? sounds interesting

Nothing special, just the classic introduction to indigenous epistemology in science these days, Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Like, quite clearly in like chapter 2, so even if you've not finished the book! – Kimmerer draws on how biological studies in mast fruiting suggest that indigenous descriptions of tree councils that decide when to spawn fruit have some truth in them. She suggests that historical vision of plants as individual, self contained systems lies in viewing plants as mute and thus lacking communication, and indigenous storytelling about plant councils should have prompted these questions being asked before. At no point is she suggesting that we take the storytelling as truth – merely that storytelling is cultural knowledge that has noticed that regardless of environmental factors, groves of tree fruit together and that therefore investigating synchrony was worth taking seriously as a hypothesis. When people project this perspective that that this book demands the rejection of the experimental method or whatever we dump into the category of the "scientific method" imo they're doing orientalism – especially since Kimmerer is quite clearly embedded in traditional science academia and trained as a scientist. Its about how indigenous epistemology is useful as a perspective to determine the questions to ask and the metaphors that inform our policy. Their are def radical claims you can make about abolishing science, but this book really isn't making them.

Also in the context of reading Technovisions of a Sami Cyborg by May Britt Ohman.

[komeiii]

Usopp & Sanji Age Regression Headcanons

Starting with Usopp! ⚠️Mention of anxiety attack

Usopp is definitely a little kid and big kid regressor, sometimes he can slip to 2-4 years old, but also regresses between 5-8!!

Most of the time he regresses due to his anxiety. When it gets really bad, he slips younger and sometimes has anxiety attacks

He has a habit of chewing on stuff, either the sleeve of his shirt (or someone elses sleeve), so he uses teethers alot

Has nicknames for everyone on the crew. Luffy is Lulu, Nami is Mimi, Sanji is Jiji, etc

He love love loves to tell stories when he’s little. If someone else on the crew tries to tell him a bedtime story or just a fun little tale, halfway through it’ll switch to where Usopp is just telling the entire story and now the other person is the listener

Also with telling stories, if him and Sanji are both regressed during playtime, he gets INTO it. He takes playing very seriously—doing all the voices and getting into character

Usopp loves to collect little bugs and plants everywhere he goes, and always manages to scare Nami and Sanji with them

“Look!! Mimi!! I found another friend!” Usopp exclaims, running over to the small tangerine grove with a small bug cupped in his hands.

“Oh, Usopp—“ Nami sighs, recoiling a bit at the tiny creature Usopp presents to her. The other little sitting in her lap gives him a small glance, before shrieking at the sight of the bug. The navigator huffs, quickly moving to calm Sanji.

“What have I told you about bringing friends to me and Jiji?” She scolds, but it clearly doesn’t do anything as Usopp just giggles and starts showing the bug off to Sanji, who clearly wants nothing to do with it.

Always likes to help Robin in her garden, naming random plants and helping her water them!!

He is also very artistic. He loves to draw, usually coloring with Luffy, and he also likes to help Franky with inventions. Sometimes he does crafts too!!

Very giggly and playful when he’s regressed, and adores any form of physical touch. Hugs, head pats, cuddles, he loves it all

He doesn’t really have a main caregiver, but when Sanji isn’t regressed the cook is usually the one watching him. Since Sanji understands what its like to be regressed, and what a regressor needs

Sanji headcanons!! ⚠️Mention of cigarettes

Normally regresses between 2-5 years old, but on rare occasions he can regress younger

He mainly regresses due to stress and trauma. Whenever he has nightmares he’ll usually wake up regressed, and if he overworks himself/gets too stressed he’ll slip!

He loves petnames. Honey, baby, sweetheart, it doesn’t matter. He loves petnames

Also has nicknames for everyone on the crew, sometimes he calls Robin and Nami Mama/Miss, Zoro is called by his usual nicknames like Marimo, Mossy and Mosshead, but when Sanji’s little he also likes to call Zoro by his actual name

“Mama?” Sanji whines, shyly coming up to her in the library. Robin raises an eyebrow, setting her book down to shoot him a smile and pat the space on the couch beside her.

“Yes, sweetheart?” She asks, as Sanji plops down beside her and snuggles into her side.

“Can I stay here? Mossy fell asleep n’ now i’m bored.” He whispers, peering down at her book as Robin laughs softly and nods. “Of course.” She says.

He always gets sad when he isn’t big enough to cook, so usually someone on the crew makes him food to make him feel better (or he reads a children’s cookbook for fun)

Always has to have something in his mouth, a pacifier, his fingers, just something—mainly to replace his cigarette when he’s little

Zoro is actually his main caregiver, and he is always a huge softie for Sanji when he’s little. The crew usually finds them all cuddled up together, Zoro feeds Sanji at mealtimes, plays with him and even uses petnames. He also gets very protective of Sanji

Very nervous and shy when he’s little, but also the cutest thing ever. Usually holds peoples hands or shyly begs for hugs when he’s really scared

Sanji loves to play with Usopp when they’re both regressed, even if Usopp takes over the storyline, Sanji loves to listen.

He loves to listen to Brook’s music too, just like Usopp’s tales

His favorite places on the ship are the aquarium and kitchen!! He likes to watch the fishies in the aquarium swim around

Ahh!! I love them both, and some of these headcanons are actually incorporated into my series learn to trust, before you tumble on ao3!! (that hasn’t been updated in forever lol)