#take it and cherish it

[rayniscatstatue]

Hey bestie can I maybe have some just fluffy sophitz? Like just them cuddling and chatting I’m desperate for some Sophitz fluff.

Ooo, sure thing! Sorry for taking so long for it, lol. Also sorry that it is soo short, I mean incredibly short

“Hey.” Sophie hears a loved voice as she is slumped against the tree. It’s Fitz, she spots him walking over to her.

“Hey.” She nods, tired as always and trying to get a quick nap by Calla’s tree, petals falling around her.

He keeps walking towards her, why can’t she just rest in peace. ��Tired?” He sits down next to her, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah.” Her head falls on his shoulder.

It feels… natural? Like it belongs.

“Want me to stay?” He fiddles with the ring on his thumb, twisting it around.

“Yeah.” Sophie nods, already about to fall asleep here, the petals falling around them, some whisking away in the gentle wind.

“Okay.” His voice is quiet, a comfort. Sophie’s head falls onto his shoulder, her eyes closing as blackness surrounds her. But within this she knows she is safe.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder. “I’m tired.” Sophie mutters as she leans into his warm embrace more.

Just friends, they say. Edaline and Grady from the kitchen would say otherwise at this moment.

“Have a good sleep.” Fitz lets her lean against him, holding Sophie tight as she drifts off to sleep for the first time in days.

Fitz drops his head to red on top of her’s, closing his eyes as the cold that runs through her soaks up his warmth. Opposites in some sense but a comfortable sense.

[ionomycin]

my favorite pieces from 2024

[yujateaandpi]

Dandadan sketch dump of the codependent duo ever. Quiet boy who loves yapping and loud girl who loves listening, my beloved.

idiots idiots

[trauma-bot]

sin eater

[vampire-caprisun]

So I have a wholesome hc. Im trying to work out how Astarion stays fed in the Shadow Cursed Lands and the Underdark and I'd like to think the tadpole gang has started a donation system for the team vampire. Tav does most of the legwork and is the only one he'll actually bite, but on week 2 of being in the shadowlands Tav is looking pretty exhausted and Astarion is foggy and irritable. Shadowheart and Wyll are the first ones to figure out why, and the next day theres a jar by his tent and Wyll has a bandaged hand. This continues when Shadowheart is seen healing her wrist by the fire while on watch and then Halsin leaves him two large jars the night before they take Moonrise Towers so Tav can save their strength. Astarion doesn't ever say anything about it, but he rendomly offers to fix a tear in Wyll's shirt when it got caught on his horns. He goes out of his way to help Halsin up despite the man being twice his size. He even tosses a pair of purple gloves Shadowhearts way, claiming he has no use for them. He may reluctantly yowl and hiss about it at first but he's slowly learning how to be cared for and care about others.

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[wis-art]

Not a big fan of capitalism

[aspen-charminghearts]

The First Time Chloe Got Red a Gift:

Chloe, clearly excited, running up to Red: Red look what I got!

Red, giving Chloe her attention: What is it Bluely?

Chloe handing Red a bracelet she made: This is for you!

Red eyeing it suspiciously, holding it in her hands gently, eyeing all the sparkles on it: Chloe- I uh-

Chloe, taking it the wrong way, thinking Red hates it due to her hesitance: [A little choked up because she’s upset] Fine! If you don’t want it I’ll take it back! [Reaches for the bracelet]

Red, putting the sparkly bracket on and holding her arm out of Chloe’s reach: NO! MINE! I WANT IT! ITS MINE!

[klanced]

when adam met 11yo keith he immediately knew that keith was gay and was like i have GOT to support this kid!! (runs into traffic) meanwhile shiro spent years operating under the assumption that keith had like a gender thing going on

[meamiki]

worn and cherished all the same

[petrichorium]

also on my hands and knees dying to know about ur divorce (and perhaps reconciliation maybe…) with sir croc

Firstly I wanna say croc is THE reason for the divorced tier I had everyone in the husband/fiance/bf (and cusp + complicated) tiers I had the list downloaded and then I looked at croc in the husband tier and I was like no. Divorced………

Anyway I think you’re a marriage of convenience at first. Crocodile needs a wife to look more like An Upstanding Citizen Ready To Settle Down for his plans in Alabasta, you need the stability and rapport for your own reasons. A deal was struck (including a nice shiny prenup and an easy way out for both of you), the wedding goes off without a hitch, and now you’re cohabitating.

You’re all but a stranger, truthfully, though he’ll admit you were one of the most beautiful brides he’s seen walking down the aisle. And he finds your presence in his home less distracting than expected—you stay out of his way mostly, though the pair of you eat meals together and sleep in the same bed and you are always expected to be on his arm for formal occasions. You’re more than decent company, slowly warming to him and growing more open; willing to give advice on occasion, even, and it’s good advice he’s prone to heeding.

Which is why he’s blindsided when you drop the papers on his desk. There’s little he can do—they were practically already signed before the wedding, and in the surprise he can’t compose himself enough to think up a proper protest. All he can do is fold his hands together as you turn to leave, clear his throat, and call out, “Might I ask why?”

You shrug. It almost seems sad. “I want something more. You’re a very busy man, I don’t think you can give that to me.”

And those words haunt him, all the more because every trace of you is gone in the span of a few days. He lays in his bed, alone, pondering how much you truly lived in his home and how much he truly had to give you. He thought he made sure you wanted for nothing—but, clearly, that wasn’t the case. And if he’d known you’d be gone in the span of a few years…

In hindsight perhaps he’d been a bit distant. His work took up the vast majority of his time. All those meals were more often than not spent in silence, with Crocodile leaving long before you finished your food; you were often asleep before he came to bed, still slumbering when he woke; he’d arrive to those formal events with you on his arm and part ways almost immediately, drawn to meet with some politician or another and leaving you on your own.

The bed feels empty.

And then he gets a report about Nefertari Vivi. It all goes downhill from there. The empire he spent years building crumbles beneath his feet, toppled by that godforsaken princess and the upstart pirate with a straw hat. And as he’s carted off to Impel Down… he still thinks of you.

It’s perhaps a good thing that you left when you did. In a certain sense it saved you, severing ties with him when you did. But foolishly he wonders about the timing—wonders if it would have happened at all if you’d stayed. Logically he knows the rationale is anything but sound.

Instinctively… whenever he gets out, whatever he intends to do next, he thinks he needs you at his side again.

So when the break-out happens, and Crocodile is given a freedom he’d nearly given up on, the first thing he does is begin to track you down.

It takes more than he thought it would. His web of informants isn’t half of what it once was, and his name no longer pulls as much weight, forced to remain in the shadows as he now is. You, meanwhile, catch onto the mystery person trying to keep tabs on you far too quickly for his liking—flighty thing, never quite setting down roots, quick to flee at the first sign of danger. A trait that has only seemed to worsen in his absence, it seems.

But it’s only a matter of time. He’s Sir Crocodile after all, back from banishment to the depths of the ocean, sure to see the sun again. His men close in on you within a year as he builds up his numbers again, but Crocodile ensures he’s the first to make contact.

He intends to show you immediately how things will be different this time.

You’ve made temporary home on a quaint little island, sharing a house with a little old granny who lets him in eagerly when he presents a bouquet and says it’s for you. There he waits, served tea and biscuits that he doesn’t taste.

And then the door opens. You pause when you see him, eyes wide—donning a breezy sundress you’d never have worn for him in Alabasta, your hair wind-tousled so unlike the meticulous updos he always saw you in, with a basket of produce under arm—and the sight of you has his chest unwinding. It’s like he can breathe again.

Not that he had any intentions to before, but the smell of your familiar perfume steels his resolve to never let you disappear again.

[canisalbus]

I have to ask what drew vasco into falling in love with machete?

His snivelling runt ways were just that irresistable.

[not-with-you-but-of-you]

Milo Ventimiglia as Jess Mariano in Gilmore Girls | 3.21 "Here Comes the Son" (9/?)

[ministarfruit]

"my oshis graduated" outfit swap

[nukudraws]

If you're feeling particularly pathetic, remember:

at least you didn't spend centuries planning, arranging, rearranging plans, having anything you cherish taken from you by your own fault, traumatizing others, getting traumatized back, reincarnating continuously, naming your secret organization after an upper body part that none of your important members - including you - seem to be able to keep both of for the life of them, doing everything and anything to achieve your goals only for a guy to destroy it all in like two years because he wants to laze around in peace and proceeds to stab you with what might as well have been a very op chopstick

also- making a statue of 'yourself' only for it to look like the guy mentioned who brought upon your downfall

also also- sharing the same first name as him in case it wasn't enough

[beannoss]

Twilight headcanon

Inspired by this super lovely art by @roucaelum-art 😍! (brief mood spoiler: roucaelum's art is so soft and so sweet! This hc has a touch of the bittersweet 🫶)

After Strix, when the Forgers are well established, no secrets between them, Twilight starts journaling. Obviously this is a security risk, so he creates an elaborate cipher. He tests it on Franky. He tests it on the cipher-breakers at WISE. He even feeds some to the SSS. None break it. Satisfied, he starts to journal. Twilight's journaling time is something he starts to jealously protect; given how much it means to him and helps him process things, Yor starts to protect it jealously, too.

Later in life, when he and Yor have been together for decades, he teaches the cipher to her in case she wants to read and/or share his journals after he dies. It takes time, of course, but not as much as someone might otherwise think, knowing Yor and looking in from the outside. This is in large part because Twilight creates the cipher with Yor in mind. Rarely one to do something for a single purpose when multiple are available, creating it with the intention that Yor can easily learn it also works to confound others in his profession. You see, he’d never met anyone who thinks the way Yor does, and certainly it's far outside espionage or intelligence norms, a way in which no one in those professions would expect a cipher to operate. This revelation he saves for his final journal, and Yor only learns it had been intended specifically for her after his death.

To that point, Twilight does (peacefully) predecease Yor, but she finds she can’t share his journals with the outside world, not yet. They're too precious, too close, touch her too deeply, to share outside the family.

She teaches Anya the cipher, so their daughter can read and share his journals after Yor passes away.

Anya does: she reads her Papa’s journals. Spends a few months, a couple of years, keeping them between herself and her parents' memories. Twilight’s accounts, unsurprisingly, have incredible detail about Yor and Yor’s life and Yor’s opinions and Yor’s views and Yor’s daily life and the way Yor moved through the world. There’s an incredible amount of detail about Anya too: Twilight hadn’t started journaling until years after Strix ended, nearly a decade after he adopted Anya. But, of course, his memory was impeccable, and once he started writing, he never stopped.

Anya reads about herself, about her mother, about their loved ones and their enemies. She reads his words about politics and the news and Twilight's opinions on literature, film, various cuisines. The bakery down the street and the neighbour with the lush roses. Spycraft, war, and international relations. Parenthood, partnership, friendship. Every other idiosyncratic thing he chose to write about. All of it written in her father’s matter-of-fact style from his matter-of-fact perspective, which was always more full of love than he would admit or accept.

She grieves anew, softly, and in her own time.

One day, when she's ready, Anya goes to her father’s favourite archive. She asks to speak with the archivist team. She asks if they would like the journals of the greatest spy in Westalis history: had they ever come across the name Twilight in their research?

She teaches them how to decipher his code (it is, of course, the most complex and creative cipher the lead archivist has ever seen. Anya thinks of her mother, and smiles). It takes them time to go through everything; it takes them time to verify it. But of course, they do. Because Twilight was thorough and he was precise and and he was an excellent planner, prescient more often than not. He ensured there were enough careful points of reference that diligent researchers would be able to confirm his identity and the veracity of what he wrote. And he would only trust the most diligent of researchers.

It's a small archive; the launch of the display of Twilight's journals is similarly small. Anya thinks he would prefer that. The idea of hoards of people reading his words all at once, even if he had intended their being made public, might be enough to revive his stomach aches from beyond the grave.

Anya attends the opening with her loved ones, and later, at home, she shares her own memories of her Papa, and her Mama, and the times they saved the world.