#which now that I think about it is probably the very definition of adult life

[kickbutts-singsongs]

“Y’all I have had a DAY”: part 2 electric boogaloo

Soooooo I just got back from winter break last night right? Yeah so um I went to check on my bike last night and take it back to my dorm when I discovered that its front wheel was missing and there was a lil official college sticker on it that said that it would eventually be impounded unless I called a certain department and so I did but it was Sunday night so no one answered lol so I left a message and just continued with my night (cuz what else can u do?)

WELL

I went back there this morning to take it to the bike shop across campus (after I got off the phone with the department people who said that no they did not take my bike wheel it was def stolen and to please file a police report) when I discovered that not only was the front tire gone, but apparently so was the entire seat and post

(:

As well as the bike rack that my aunt had bought me for bringing home groceries

(((((((:

Sooooooo uh fuck my stupid baka life ig

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝓎𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑜𝓎𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo has officially claimed the spot as my second favorite character in TKATB. Honestly, It’s well-deserved. As an asexual person writing about an asexual-coded character, I have to say—there’s something about him that just hits differently.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

It’s like he sees me in a way that most characters don’t. And let’s be real, when Geo looks at you, it’s not just some fleeting glance—it’s intense, calculated, almost suffocating. But romantic?

Nah. With him, it’s something else entirely.

Okay, so let’s talk about Geo as a boyfriend. First of all, congratulations on making that happen. Like, seriously, how did you pull it off?  If you’re dating Geo, consider yourself very lucky. Nah, he's lucky for dating you

Because let’s be real, Geo is not the type to just open his heart to anyone. This man’s walls are practically made of steel, and I’m sure it took some serious patience, persistence, and probably some sorcery to get him to even consider letting you in.

But hey, you did it. So now you’ve got yourself the most stoic, broody, and incredibly hot boyfriend. So let’s break it down! 

✑ The Silent Observer

Like said, getting close to Geo? Oh man, that was like trying to break into a vault without the code. And let’s be honest, at first, you probably weren’t even trying to get to him—he just happened to be standing there while you were hanging out with Crowe. But of course, Geo being Geo, he’d hit you with those cold, piercing stares that made you question every single life choice.

And don’t even get me started on his bluntness. He’s the definition of the strong, silent type. He only speaks when he thinks something needs to be said, which means you’re never getting any filler or small talk from him. It’s not that he’s rude—he just values words and doesn’t see the point in wasting them. 

He’d just say it. Straight up. No filter. 

However, he does talk—pretty much one sentence though, it’s worth listening to because you’ll quickly realize how sharp he is. Geo’s intelligence and observant nature are on another level too… 

The kind of observant where he notices everything. He’s like that one friend who knows all the drama without ever saying a word. While Brittany would spill the tea loudly and proudly, Geo keeps it all locked away in that steel trap of a brain. He’s always watching, analyzing, and probably always two steps ahead. It’s part of what makes him such a great strategist but also why he’s so cautious about trusting anyone.  

So, instead of running for the hills like most people would, you stayed. And honestly? That’s probably what made him start noticing you. You didn’t back off, didn’t try to fix him, didn’t push him to be someone he’s not—you just… stuck around.  

Geo doesn’t do well with people who pry or force their way in. But the fact that you respected his space and still made the effort to be there? Yeah. That got to him. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.  

What’s crazy is how much he notices. Stuff about yourself that even you haven’t realized? Yeah, he’s already picked up on it. He’s the kind of guy who remembers your favorite drink, the way your fingers fidget with your sleeves when you're anxious, or that offhand comment you made weeks ago about something you wanted. It’s honestly a little unsettling how much he takes in, but at the same time? It’s one of the ways he shows he cares.  

Geo’s not the type for over-the-top romance or constant sweet talk, but his actions? 

Louder than words. 

He’ll fix something before you even realize it’s broken, hand you exactly what you need before you think to ask, and make sure you’re taken care of in ways that feel so effortless it’s almost unfair.  

And when he does say something heartfelt? You know it’s real. Because Geo doesn’t just say things for the sake of saying them. When he speaks, he means it.  

Again, he picks up on everything. The way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, the exact moment you start zoning out because you're tired. He stores all that information away like it’s second nature—and then he *uses* it to make your day without you even realizing it.  

Like, don’t be surprised if your favorite snack just magically appears when you’re having a rough day. Or if you casually check your bag one day and find tickets to that movie you’ve been dying to see—no note, no explanation, just Geo making sure you get what you want without making a big deal out of it. If you ask him about it? He’ll just shrug like, “What? You wanted it, didn’t you?” 

And let’s not even get started on your birthday. Geo is ridiculously rich—it’s not even funny. He pretends he might forget (just to mess with you), but he’s had a reminder set forever, not that he needs it. 

At the end of the day, Geo’s way of showing love isn’t flashy—it’s in the details. He pays attention. He remembers. He knows you probably better than you know yourself. And honestly? 

That’s what makes it so unfairly attractive.

✑ Low-key Romantic

Alright, let’s be real—Geo isn’t the kind of guy to wear his heart on his sleeve. If anything, he’s probably got it locked away in a vault with a “Do Not Disturb” sign and a security system to keep everyone out. But when Geo cares? He cares. No half-measures, no second-guessing.

If he lets you in—which, let’s be honest, is a miracle in itself—you have his full, unwavering loyalty. And why would he want anyone else? Geo’s not the type to jump from person to person. When he chooses you, he chooses you.

That said, he’s also not about to make a big spectacle out of it. He keeps his love life locked down tight—partly because he’s private, but mostly because he refuses to let you deal with the chaos that comes from his fanbase. He hates the idea of you getting swarmed by fangirls the way he does. But that doesn’t mean he hides your relationship entirely.

Once in a blue moon—maybe once or twice a month—he’ll drop a little something on his Instagram story. Just a picture of the two of you together. Your face? Hidden. No tags. No captions. But his fans lose their minds over it every single time. Because let’s be real—you’re both ridiculously attractive, and they eat it up.

Listen, Geo isn’t about that over-the-top romance or dramatic love confessions. He’s not the type to shower you with sweet words or be all over you in public—PDA? Yeah, not really his thing. Hate is a strong word, but let’s just say he’s not a fan.  

When you first start dating, physical affection is practically nonexistent. But the closer you get? Oh, ohhh, you realize real fast—this man is touch-starved. Like, embarrassingly so. He won’t outright say it, but he’ll quietly melt into your touch when you play with his hair. His favorite spot? Your lap. Geo lives for lying there while you run your fingers through his hair, soaking up your warmth like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. After a long, exhausting day of archery practice? Yeah, that’s his go-to way to unwind.  

Now, when it comes to kisses, this man is sneaky. His favorite spot to kiss? Your neck. Why? Because he likes watching you absolutely malfunction. Geo loves getting a reaction out of you, and nothing flusters you quite like that. As for him? He likes being kissed on the cheek (if you can reach it, that is). There’s just something about it that feels so innocent and genuine—a rare, pure moment in the mess of a world he deals with daily.   

Also, let’s talk about his jewelry: Necklaces, for example. Not as much or for any deep reason—he just thinks they look cool, and he likes looking cool. But here’s where it gets cute: he buys you a simpler ring to his that matches your vibe. Nothing fancy, just a simple little reminder that you’re his, and he’s yours. You wear them every day, and they become something sentimental.  

And the best part? Before archery matches, Geo’s been caught kissing the end of his necklace for good luck. And when you tease him about it later? He doesn’t even flinch. He just deadass looks at you and goes, “Yeah, I thought you’d send me the luck I needed to win. Not like I needed luck though—I’m just that—”

Just shut him up with a kiss already

✑ Protective But Not Overbearing

Oh, Geo’s insanely protective—like, the kind of guy you just know has your back, no questions asked. But don’t get it twisted—he’s not clingy, not overbearing, and definitely not the type to smother you. That’s just not his style.  

He’s more of a silent guardian type, always watching, always aware, but never in your way. He trusts you to handle yourself, and honestly? That says everything. Geo knows you’re capable, and he’s not about to hover like some overprotective watchdog.  

But let’s be real—if someone steps out of line with you? 

Oh, it’s game over. 

Geo may seem calm and composed most of the time, but when it comes to you? That sharp tongue of his? Lethal. He’s not loud, he’s not dramatic—he’ll cut people down with a single sentence and leave them wondering where they went wrong.  

And let’s not forget—this man is an archer. If someone really pushes their luck, they better hope they’re nowhere near a target, because one glare from him and a perfectly-placed bullseye is all it takes for people to get the message loud and clear. No threats needed. Just precision.  

The best part? Geo doesn’t do theatrics. He doesn’t need to puff up his chest or cause a scene—he shuts down nonsense with a few choice words and an energy so cold it could freeze the air around him.  

That being said… he might keep you away from his older stepbrother, Hyugo, just as a precaution. Probably for the best.  

At the end of the day, Geo’s brand of protection isn’t about control—it’s about making sure you’re safe without making you feel caged in. And honestly? That kind of quiet, no-nonsense loyalty?

Unmatched.

✑ He Knows, always.

Geo? Oh, he knows exactly how you’re feeling at all times, and he absolutely uses it to his advantage.

Like, this man is fully aware that you think he’s hot, and he weaponizes that knowledge. If you’re mad at him? He’ll just stand there, nodding along to whatever you’re saying, but his eyes? Locked onto your face with that look—so intense, so unreadable—that it completely throws you off. Suddenly, whatever you were scolding him about doesn’t seem as important because, holy hell, why does he have to look at you like that?

And if you somehow manage to keep your train of thought? He ups the ante. Without a word, he’ll cup your cheek, tilting your face up so your eyes meet his. Just like that, every rational thought in your head evaporates. Because how are you supposed to stay mad when Geo is staring at you lgike that? Impossible. He knows it. You know it. Game over.

But it’s not just about teasing or flustering you—Geo listens. Really listens. When you’re upset, he’s not the type to drown you in empty words or force you to talk. Instead, he just sits beside you, quietly handing you tissues, and letting you lean on his shoulder without saying a thing. His presence alone is grounding, solid, and unwavering.

It’s not that he doesn’t care—he just has his own way of showing it. A slow, silent walk to clear your head. A softened tone when he speaks. A steady hand on your back when words don’t feel enough.

And look, this is just something I find insanely attractive, but when you’re just having a normal conversation with him? Geo will hit you with the ultimate power move—leaning back in his seat, raising an eyebrow, smirking just enough to make your heart stutter. He’ll hum, all low and lazy, like “mhm? Oh, really?” And the worst part? He’s fully aware of how your face heats up when he does it.

Yeah. He’s the worst. And also so unfairly hot.

✑ Tailored to You

Geo and the five love languages? Well… Spoiler alert: this man is low-key okay at all of them, even if he’ll never admit it.

— Words of Affirmation? 

So… Compliments? Yeah, don’t hold your breath. He’s not going to gush about how you’re the most incredible person on the planet. 

But when he does say something nice? Oh, it means something. If Geo tells you, “That was impressive,” just know he’s basically screaming, “I’m so proud of you” on the inside. And if you ever compliment him? Expect a half-hearted shrug and a muttered, “I guess,” but deep down, you know he’s preening like a cat that just caught a mouse.

— Acts of Service? 

This is where Geo shines. He’s not going to say, “I love you” outright, but he’ll carry your bag, or make sure you’re eating when you’ve had a rough day. 

Dating Geo means having someone who sees you, even when you think no one else does. He’s a protector, a confidant, and someone who keeps things real—all wrapped up in a broody, mysterious package. 

Need something heavy moved? Done. Can’t open a jar? No problem. He’s like a one-man life support system, quietly taking care of you while pretending it’s no big deal.

— Receiving Gifts?

Geo doesn’t do flashy gifts, but when he gives you something? It’s weirdly specific and thoughtful. Like, you’ll casually mention liking a certain anything once, and boom—it’s sitting in front of your door the next day. He’ll pretend it’s not a big deal, though. “Oh, I just saw it at the store,” he’ll say, even though you know he went out of his way to get it.

— Quality Time?

This one is Geo’s bread and butter. He’s all about meaningful moments. Forget big group hangouts or extravagant plans—he’d rather spend a quiet evening with you, just existing in the same space. You could be doing something as mundane as grocery shopping, and he’d still find a way to make it feel special. And if you’re both just sitting in silence, reading or scrolling on your phones? That’s peak romance for him.

— Physical Touch?

All right, let’s be real—Geo isn’t big on touchy-feely stuff. He’s the type to freeze up if someone hugs him unexpectedly. But with you? He warms up to it. He’s still awkward as hell at first, but over time, he’ll start initiating small touches—a hand on your shoulder, brushing hair out of your face, or even holding your hand when no one’s looking. And if you hug him? He’ll grumble about it, but he secretly loves it.

In conclusion? Geo’s love language is basically Geo Language—quiet, understated, and 100% tailored to you. He’s not going to shout his feelings from the rooftops, but if you pay attention, his actions scream, “You’re my person, and I’m not letting you go.”

✑ Tailored to Him

So you wanna know Geo’s love languages? As unique as he is and if we had to rank them, here’s the holy trinity that makes this stoic archer tick:

Geo is an independent guy, but even the most self-sufficient people need someone who understands them. He craves someone who respects his need for space but knows when to step in with the right kind of support.

— Acts of Service (His #1, obviously)

Geo isn’t the type to ask for help—he’s too independent for that. But when you step in and do something thoughtful for him without being asked? 

That’s how you win this man over. 

He’s got this quiet appreciation for when people notice the little things, like brewing him tea when he’s had a rough day or cleaning up his gear after practice. Bonus points if you surprise him with something related to his hobbies, like a rare Japanese opera recording or a new pot for one of his plants. Acts of service show him that you’re paying attention, and trust me, he notices.

— Quality Time

Geo doesn’t want loud, over-the-top outings or big social gatherings. In fact, the less noise and chaos, the better. What he really craves is quiet, intentional moments with someone who just gets him. 

Sitting together in a cozy home, tending to his potted plants, or watching the intricate art of shadow puppetry—these are the things that speak to his soul. Geo thrives in these quiet spaces where he can relax, reflect, and enjoy meaningful companionship. 

Just don’t interrupt if he’s hyper-focused on something. He’ll side-eye you into another dimension.

— Receiving Gifts

Okay, hear me out—Geo hates getting gifts, right? I mean, he literally burned the random Valentine’s Day presents people gave him that one time. Absolute menace behavior, but honestly? It’s kind of funny in a this-man-does-not-care way. But here’s the twist: Geo’s not against all gifts. He’s just very particular.

See, he doesn’t want over-the-top, flashy stuff. No giant teddy bears, love letters, heart-shaped balloons, or anything that screams “cliché.” If you even think about giving him something generic, he’ll give you that deadpan look that could shrivel your soul. However, thoughtful, personalized gifts? 

That’s a whole different story.

Picture this: you show up with a sleek, modern pot for one of his beloved plants, or maybe a rare variety of seeds that he hasn’t gotten his hands on yet. Geo would never say it out loud, but inside? He’s lowkey impressed. Or let’s say you score him tickets to a Japanese opera—something you know he’d appreciate but would never bother getting for himself. Now, that would leave him quietly staring at you like, “…You actually get me.”

And don’t even get me started on shadow puppetry. If you found a book about advanced techniques or a vintage lamp to use for creating the perfect shadows? You’d probably see the faintest flicker of a smile—like, barely there, but it counts.

With Geo, it’s not about spending a ton of money or going big. It’s about showing that you know him—that you’ve paid attention to his quirks, his hobbies, and the things that make him tick. When the gift reflects his personality and interests? 

That’s when you see the softer side of him, the part of him that’s secretly thinking, “How did I end up with someone like this?”

And yeah, he might not say that, because Geo and verbal affection are basically strangers. But the way he takes care of that plant pot or treasures that opera ticket? 

That’ll tell you everything you need to know.

✑ Cultural Depth 

Geo’s all about his Japanese roots, but he doesn’t go around making a big deal about it. It’s in the small things—the quiet traditions he carries, the way he’ll casually drop some next-level cultural knowledge.

— Sharing His World (Quietly)

Geo isn’t the type to throw you into the deep end of his culture, but if you hang around him long enough, he’ll start to let you in. It’s like a slow reveal in a really good book—you don’t even realize you’re getting hooked until you’re deep into it. 

He’ll start small, teaching you a word or two in Japanese. Nothing too complicated at first—basic phrases like arigatou or ohayou. God writing this is killing me…

But if you’re patient (and don’t butcher the pronunciation), he might hit you with the poetic, meaningful stuff. Like, “The moon tonight reminds me of home,” kind of poetic.

And food? Oh, he’s low-key a food snob, but in the best way. If he takes you out for sushi, don’t embarrass him by drowning it in soy sauce, okay? He might roll his eyes, but deep down, he’ll think you’re a lost cause. 

Bonus points if you ask him to show you how to make something traditional, though. Watching him calmly explain how to roll onigiri while being so exact about it? Weirdly cute.

— Secret Nerd Side

Geo doesn’t advertise it, but he has a soft spot for traditional Japanese arts. Shadow puppetry? Yeah, that’s a thing he knows. He won’t just show you for fun, though—you’ll have to ask and even then, it’s going to be, like, the most casual display ever. He’ll make a crane with his hands in the middle of a quiet moment, the shadow falling perfectly on the wall, and act like it’s no big deal. 

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, wondering if he’s secretly an 80-year-old trapped in a hot college guy’s body.

Oh, and don’t even get him started on Japanese opera. It’s his go-to when he needs to vibe or think. You might catch him with his headphones in, looking all stoic, and he’s probably listening to something hauntingly beautiful and dramatic. But good luck getting him to admit it.

✑ Such Spa Days

If there’s one thing you should know about Geo, it’s that he takes self-care very seriously. This man isn’t just about keeping clean—he’s practically the ambassador of flawless skin. His routine is a whole event, and don’t even think about interrupting it unless you want to be met with one of his signature cold stares.

Geo’s all about precision, from his perfectly tied low ponytail to his smooth, glowing complexion that looks like it came straight out of a skincare ad. He’s the guy who has a shelf full of serums, toners, face masks, and creams, all neatly organized by purpose and ingredient list. Oh, and he definitely uses products with names you can’t pronounce but that sounds expensive. He’s from the rich side of the society anyway…

Sunday nights? They’re sacred. You’ll find Geo in full spa mode, complete with a fluffy towel draped over his shoulders and maybe even some calming Japanese opera music playing softly in the background. He’ll light a candle (something subtle, probably sandalwood or green tea) and go through his routine like it’s a religious ceremony. Cleansing, exfoliating, masking—he’s got it all down to a science.

And don’t get him started on baths. Geo’s baths are an experience. He’ll fill the tub with just the right temperature water, toss in some herbal bath salts or a soothing bath bomb, and relax like he’s starring in a luxurious retreat commercial. He even has a book propped up nearby or maybe a cup of tea to complete the vibe.

The best part? Geo’s love for spa days isn’t just about himself—it’s an extension of his personality. He values control and discipline, and his skincare routine is a reflection of that. Every step, every product, is carefully chosen because it’s his way of staying grounded in a chaotic world.

Now, if you’re lucky enough to be part of his life, he might invite you into his sacred self-care space. Don’t expect anything over the top, though. Geo’s not going to gush about it, but he’ll casually hand you a face mask or suggest a product he thinks you’ll like. It’s his way of saying, “I care,” without actually saying it.

But be warned—if you touch his stuff without asking, he’ll probably give you a look that could freeze fire. He’s protective of his skincare collection, and for good reason. You’ll never forget the day you used his serum without permission and had to endure a five-minute lecture about “proper application techniques” while he looked genuinely offended.

Now, let’s get one thing straight: Geo’s devotion to skincare doesn’t just stop with himself. Oh no, if you’re doing it wrong, he will notice—and he will step in.

Say you’re casually applying his skincare collection one day, just slapping it on like it’s sunscreen at the beach. Geo, from across the room, will stop dead in his tracks, narrow his aquamarine eyes, and calmly say, “What are you doing?” in a tone that sends shivers down your spine. Before you can even protest, he’s already approaching with that look—the one that says, “I didn’t want to get involved, but you’ve left me no choice.”

Geo doesn’t offer to fix your skincare routine; he takes over. He’s not the type to sugarcoat it either. “You’re wasting product,” he’ll mutter, carefully squeezing the perfect amount of serum onto his fingertips before gently patting it into your skin. “And you’re supposed to press it in, not rub it like you’re sanding wood.”

And honestly? He’s ridiculously good at it. His hands are steady, his movements precise, and for someone who doesn’t talk much, he somehow explains every step with just enough detail to make you realize how little you knew about skincare to begin with.

Geo is not one for half-measures, so don’t be surprised when he starts rearranging your entire routine. Suddenly, you’ve got a multi-step process you never asked for, complete with double cleansing, toners, serums, and a nightly mask rotation. You didn’t even know what a niacinamide serum was before, but now you have one, and you’re using it correctly, thank you very much.

The funniest part? Geo never complains about doing your skincare. He acts mildly exasperated, sure, but you catch the tiniest flicker of pride when your skin starts glowing like his. 

And while he’d never admit it out loud, he secretly likes having an excuse to take care of you. It’s his way of showing he cares without all that messy emotional talk.

But if you dare to slack off? Oh, you’ll hear about it. “You didn’t put on sunscreen today, did you?” he’ll ask, his tone low and judgmental as he crosses his arms. “Don’t come crying to me when you age prematurely.” And yet, despite all the teasing, he’ll still hand you his favorite SPF because, deep down, he can’t stand the idea of you not taking care of yourself.

At the end of the day, Geo’s skincare obsession isn’t just about looking good—it’s about discipline, self-respect, and now, begrudgingly, making sure you’re glowing just as much as he is. 

In the end, Geo’s love for spa days isn’t just a quirky habit—it’s part of what makes him who he is. It’s his way of maintaining balance, staying composed, and, let’s be honest, looking damn good while doing it. 

✑ He's a Meance

Geo is a menace. Don’t let the whole “stoic, too cool to care” act fool you—this man is criminally competitive. Like, sure, he looks all calm and collected, but the second you break out Uno or a board game? It’s over.

He plays to destroy, not just win. And the worst part? His trash talk is so casual yet devastating. “Huh. Interesting move,” he’ll murmur, placing his piece exactly where it ruins your entire plan. Trivia night? Good luck. This man is a walking encyclopedia and will hit you with random facts just to flex.  

And yeah, he lets you win sometimes—just don’t expect him to admit it. You’ll catch him accidentally fumbling a Jenga piece or conveniently forgetting an easy trivia answer, but what if you call him out? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Straight face. No shame.  

But when he loses? Oh, it’s personal. Beat him in a cooking challenge? Suddenly, your pancakes aren’t “fluffy enough.” Outshoot him in archery? Now he’s muttering about “beginner’s luck” like you didn’t just humble him.

Speaking of archery—yeah, he tried to teach you. At first, you sucked. Arrows were flying everywhere, and you could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating off him. But instead of roasting you (too much), he’d sigh, adjust your stance, and mumble, “It’s not that hard.” 

Then, one day? It clicked. And suddenly, you were hitting every bullseye. Geo just stared at you, then the target, then back at you. “You’ve been practicing without me.” You hadn’t, but he refuses to believe it.

Now he challenges you constantly—bullseye races, trick shots, anything to reclaim his dignity. And when you win? That subtle crease in his brow tells you everything. But despite the wounded pride, he’s secretly proud as hell. If anyone else tries to challenge you, he’s the first to brag: “They’re best shot here.” Deadpan. Like he wasn’t just sulking five minutes ago.  

Oh, and Geo’s not just competitive—he’s annoying. He lives to mess with you. Comes back from practice all gross and sweaty? Yeah, that’s the perfect time for a surprise hug. If you try to push him off, he gets pouty—and dealing with a grumpy Geo is way worse, so you always cave. The hugs are elite, though, so it’s a win for you. 

If you’re shorter than him? You’re an armrest now. He will not let it go.  

And don’t even try to be romantic. Send him a sweet text like, “Good morning! Please have a great day, ily <3”? Left on read. Or worse, ‘k.’ A minute later? ‘simp.’ you send back, ‘bruh’  

He prefers video calls over texting anyway. If he’s away at a match—out of state, he debates calling you while you’re asleep—doesn’t want to wake you, but also kinda wants to see your face. Instead, he wakes up at stupid o’clock just to call you when you’re up, but if you ask? “Nah, just had practice.”

Yeah. Sure. Keep the act up, Geo. We all know you’re down horrendous.

✑ He's Asexual

Geo’s sex drive is… complicated, but in the most Geo way possible. He’s asexual, meaning he doesn’t experience sexual attraction, and honestly? It’s not something he actively wants or thinks about.

Morning wood? Yeah, it happens—he’s human. But is he waking you up to "fix" it? Absolutely not. Man’s already in the cold shower, dealing with it like it's an inconvenience because to him, that’s exactly what it is.  

For Romantic stuff, though? That’s on the table. Kissing, cuddling, slow intimate touches—he enjoys all of that when it’s just the two of you. It’s never about escalation with him, just the closeness. If anything, he finds more satisfaction in making you feel loved rather than anything physical.  

That said, Geo loves your body—but not in a sexual way. More in the “I like how soft and warm you are, so I’m just gonna hold you forever” kind of way. When is he in cling mode? Oh, you’re done. You will be trapped under his weight while he mutters something about how comfortable you are. 

You could be wearing the most revealing outfit ever—something that would have most guys tripping over themselves—and Geo’s reaction? A single glance, a slow nod, and a casual, “Huh. Looks nice.” That’s it. No gawking, no flustered stammering, no immediate change in demeanor. He acknowledges it, registers that you look good, and then goes right back to whatever he was doing, completely unfazed.  

But let’s be real—just because he’s not reacting outwardly doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Oh, he notices, and while he won’t say much, he’s definitely thinking about it. Not in a possessive or jealous way, but more in a “Tch. now I gotta keep an eye on every dude within a 10-mile radius” kind of way.  

Because at the end of the day, Geo is still protective. He might not be the type to hover or make a scene, but he doesn’t like the idea of other men staring at you like you’re something to be claimed. And if he catches someone looking a little too long? They’re getting the look—that sharp, unreadable stare that says, “You don’t want to make this a problem.”

Not that he’ll admit any of this, of course. If you ask why he suddenly pulled you into a cuddle pile, keeping you locked against his chest with an arm draped over your waist, he’ll just shrug. “What? You’re warm.” But you know better.

Geo doesn’t need sex, doesn’t crave it, and sure as hell isn’t driven by it. But if it’s something you want? He’ll do it for you—no rush, no pressure. He takes his time, always reading the moment and making sure you’re on the same page. If you’re not feeling it? Cool, neither is he. If you are? Just give him few days.  

And honestly? It hits at the most random times.  

You’ll be chilling—scrolling through your phone, curled up with a book, maybe zoned out watching a show—and then, boom. Arms around you. No warning. Just Geo pulling you in, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. No words, no explanation—just him pressing close like he needs you there.  

It’s his way of saying, “You’re so pretty.” But instead of saying it, he just shows it.  

He turns you around, his hands lingering on your arms, slow and deliberate. His fingers brush against your skin, light as a whisper, giving you a second to realize what’s happening. His gaze meets yours—steady, searching—before flickering down to your lips. A pause. A silent question.  

Then, he leans in. No rush, no hesitation—just a slow, lingering kiss, deep enough to make your breath hitch. It’s soft at first, testing, then firmer as he presses closer, like he wants to memorize every second of it. His forehead rests against yours when he finally pulls away, breath steady, hands still holding you like he’s afraid to let go too soon.  

This is how he tells you everything. No grand speeches, no dramatic confessions—just touch, just presence. His way of saying “You matter” without ever needing the words.  

At the end of the day, Geo’s libido exists, sure—but you are what drives him, not sex. And trust me? When does he decide to show it? 

It’s worth the wait.

✑ Flaws? There’s a few…

Now nobody’s perfect—not even our polished, broody archer. Geo’s got his fair share of flaws, and honestly? They add to his charm in that I-don’t-know-why-I-like-this-but-I-do kind of way. 

First of all, he’s stubborn as hell. Geo’s stubbornness could rival a brick wall and spoiler: you’re not winning an argument against him. Once his mind is made up, that’s it—game over. Whether it’s something as simple as how to fold laundry (he has a system) or something as big as life choices, he sticks to his guns like they’re glued to him. 

Convincing him to budge? Good luck; you’ll need it.

Second, he doesn’t believe in second chances. Mess up once, and that’s it—you’re done. Geo’s not the type to forgive and forget; it’s more like, “You did what? Cool, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” He’s incredibly selective about who he lets in, so if someone breaks his trust, they’re out for good. 

It’s harsh, but for Geo, it’s about protecting himself.

Third, picky with a Capital P. Geo’s the kind of person who knows exactly what he wants, and if something doesn’t meet his standards? Nope. He’s picky about everything—his appearance (always flawless), his environment (no mess, no chaos), and even the people he surrounds himself with. 

If you’re lucky enough to pass his “quality control,” congrats, you’ve made it to the inner circle.

Lastly, Geo’s got walls on walls. He’s not about to open up to just anyone, and even once he does, it’s a slow process. He’s constantly watching, analyzing, and second-guessing people’s intentions. It takes someone special to get through that, and even then, he might still keep certain things locked away.

So, What Does This All Mean?

Geo’s flaws can make him seem intimidating and hard to approach, but they’re also part of what makes him so uniquely him. His stubbornness shows his determination, and his lack of second chances highlights how much he values loyalty and his pickiness. Well, it’s just another way he shows that he’s got high standards—whether for himself or the people around him.

At the end of the day, Geo’s trust issues are a double-edged sword. They make him fiercely loyal to the people he *does* trust, but they also mean it takes a long time for him to get there. 

Still, if you’ve made it into his inner circle, congrats—you’re probably one of the few people he truly feels safe with. And that? That’s priceless.

Is he perfect? Nope. 

But would we want him any other way? Nope.

✑ Thoughts + Ranting

Okay, let’s get this out of the way again: Geo has serious trust issues. And honestly? Can you blame the guy? He’s been through (we don’t know about) so much that his walls aren’t just up—they’re basically a fortress complete with a moat, a drawbridge, and probably a dragon or two guarding the gate.  

Here’s the deal: nobody really knows Geo. Like, we know he’s loaded, he’s ridiculously good with a bow, and he has a death glare that could probably stop traffic. But beyond that? Nothing. It’s like his life story is classified information, and we’re all just stuck guessing what’s in the classified files.  

So anyway, Geo used to be High Class—fancy, untouchable, the whole package—but then bam some kind of near-accident happened, and he got booted down to the Low-Class building. Can you imagine the whiplash? Going from being at the top of the food chain to the bottom? That kind of thing doesn’t just bruise your ego; it leaves emotional scars. 

And let’s be real, Geo doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to sit down and talk about his feelings and thoughts.

And then there’s Hyugo, Geo’s stepbrother and certified mortal enemy. 

If you’ve played the game, you already know the vibes. Mention Hyugo’s name around Geo, and boom—instant disgust. Like, man doesn’t even try to hide it. His whole face scrunches up like he just smelled expired milk. And then, he hits you with the classic, “Nope, we’re not talking about that.” No explanation, no backstory, just vibes. It’s lowkey hilarious how much he’s committed to pretending Hyugo doesn’t even exist. For me.

I feel like Hyugo has something to do with Geo’s big fall from High Class. Like, maybe Hyugo was the one who caused whatever accident messed up Geo’s status. Was it on purpose? Was it an accident? Who knows! But Geo clearly decided, “Yeah, you’re dead to me.” Now, the name “Hyugo” might as well be a four-letter word in Geo’s dictionary.

And then there’s Crowe—the only person Geo actually trusts. And you know that didn’t happen overnight. Crowe probably had to work overtime, chipping away at Geo’s defenses like he was mining for gold. It was probably like:

Crowe: “Hey, let’s be friends.” Geo: Stares in suspicion for six months straight. Crowe: “Alright, cool, I’ll wait.”

If it took Crowe that long to get through, what does that mean for literally anyone else? Good luck, because Geo ain’t handing out trust like candy.

Now, let’s talk about you. Geo doesn’t say much to you, but the way he just… stares at you? Constantly? It’s like he’s trying to solve some crime scene in his head and you’re the number-one suspect. You’re just standing there like, “Uh, did I do something wrong? Or do I just look suspicious?”

Honestly, it’s so awkward and funny. Like, dude, either spill whatever you need to say or stop looking at me like that. But nah, Geo’s gonna stay quiet, because why use words when you can silently judge someone instead?

That’s the Geo experience in a nutshell.

Maybe he doesn’t trust you because of something to do with Crowe—like, maybe he thinks you’re toying with Crowe’s feelings ouch, judgmental much?. Or—plot twist—he’s onto something way bigger. What if he already knows you’re being stalked by whatever creepy thing is lurking in the shadows, and he’s just keeping tabs to figure out why it’s after you?

Who knows?

But here’s the thing about Geo: in the game, he’s not super complicated to figure out. He’s more of a supporting character—like that mysterious friend everyone secretly simps for but who tragically isn’t dateable. Pain. He’s just this quiet, chill dude with sharp words, killer aim, and a ponytail that probably smells like fancy shampoo. And somehow, he’s still everyone’s type. Go figure.

So yeah, Geo’s like a locked box made of solid silver—fancy, mysterious, and absolutely refusing to open. Respect the whole “keeping it classy” vibe, but come on, man—just crack the lid a little!

We’re starving for answers!

[cum-aside]

Ok it’s not like I go here really, but I’ve been reading a bunch of DPxDC recently because it’s very good, and I had an idea that won’t go anywhere

The various gangs in Gotham have callsigns/uniforms or something right??? If not, they should, and imma say they do. Anyway. Redhood I think didn’t think too hard about what people in his gang on his turf should wear for identification purposes, but they sure did. And what they came up with was Red.

Wearing red in the vicinity of the ‘Bad Part’ of Gotham?? Part of the red hood gang. Generally head gear is the preferred method of wearing red. Red hats and beanies, red head scarfs and hijabs, red headbands, red masks. The idea has been communicated. To a certain point, wearing red even if you aren’t officially part of the gang is a great way to get an in with them, or be under protection if you’re the right age in the right area, as long as you’re willing to risk getting roped into low stakes gang activity, which can range from working the counter at money laundering sites to community service (guarding clinics and shelters and volunteering) to making deliveries to destroying certain hostile architecture. (Hood saves the real jobs with cops and shootings and turf disputes for actual members, that he knows the names faces and skills of, and who are at least above 18, but preferably over 20, and who wear real gear he supplies them with, not just whatever’s in their closet that’s red) (this does not entirely stop the smaller ‘members’ from getting into their own fights with the cops and turf wars, but Jason has found that giving them Something to do that feels like direct action helps curb those tendencies. And it’s not like those things aren’t things that don’t need doing, so it’s a win win. Mostly)

Danny, bless him, does not know any of this. But has been staying in the sketchier areas of Gotham because that’s where people don’t care how old you are or if your papers are real or not, and he absolutely does not want people looking into how old he is and wether his papers are real or not. He is also wearing an inadvisable and vaguely conspicuous amount of red. His converse are red, his signature baseball tee is white and red, and his hoodie is also red.

Clearly, this kid (he’s like 17) really wants in with the hood gang.

And eventually, they oblige him.

Random people will approach Danny and ask/tell him that them and a couple others are going somewhere to do (insert vaguely/definitely illegal job or act of community service here) and Danny, who is deeply directionless in life currently, and also pretty assured in his ability to eat danger for breakfast, and has never met an institutional authority he doesn’t disrespect at least a little bit, is totally down for some civil disobedience and chaotic good shenanigans.

And then it spirals from there. Like. A worrying amount.

It takes Danny actual months, almost a year, to realize that he’s been low key slow cooked into the criminal underbelly of Gotham, and like… he’s not really mad about it?? Honestly if he had a choice when he came to Gotham, he probably would have picked the redhood gang anyway. He just seems to vibe with them on a… Spiritual Level…

Hm

Anyway

Years go by, and while Danny doesn’t have the most going for him in terms of a normal person life, vis a vis higher education, official employment, health insurance, dating life, or any other benchmark one uses to measure the trajectory of their lives— Danny’s feeling pretty good! Jazz, Tucker, and Sam have all finagled their ways into Gotham, (Tucker has a WE internship, Jazz is working/doing work studies at Arkham, Sam does what she likes now that she is a legal adult and has her inheritance, and what she likes is environmental activism, and occasionally being spotted with fellow activist Damian Wayne, and someone who may or may not be poison ivy, sources differ) and Danny finds his obsession suspiciously well served as a hood goon. Hood hench? Redgoon? Hench hood?? Name pending, who cares.

Danny is also suspiciously good at, well, his job. One of the best runners, even when he gets caught and frisked they never seem to find the goods on him (they never do check IN him, but then why would they) very well liked at every volunteer spot they have, patient, kind, funny, good with old people, kids, bitter people, addicts and the homeless, the sick and injured. And yet also very competent in the field, when they finally let him do actually dangerous things. Act as protection detail to the working girls in the red light district, he’s very respectful, and very good at intimidation, de-escalation, and when push comes to shove, excellent in a fight. Knows when to keep pressing his advantage and when to make a retreat with whoever he’s guarding. Not afraid to fight scrappy, and presses through pain and fear like a true gothmite.

He gets so good at his not really a job job that he becomes essentially, Redhoods right hand man.

The rest of the bats are skeptical of this for several reasons. Because generally speaking, the people in Jason’s turf are not fans of the bats, but Jason does a lot of coordinating with them, and someone so close to him is going to pick that up eventually if they’re half as sharp and useful as Danny is. Other than that, secret identity issues, plus pit rage, plus the fact that Jason trusts pretty much nobody. But Jason has great feelings about this guy, he always feels more clear headed and even keeled when he’s around, and he helps Jason remember the community he’s trying to build, and the community he serves. Also he delegates and mother hens like nobody’s business, but Jason just really can’t seem to work up too much irritation about it.

It is around this time, however, that the past, and shady government organizations come knocking.

Perhaps the GIW has also noticed how ecto-contaminated and lawless Gotham is and decided that they could start doing research and experiments with its live and undead denizens instead of amity, where the portal has closed, and ghost activity is down since phantom disappeared. Or maybe the GIW has finally located phantom specifically and is interested in what they’re always interested in. Or maybe it’s various ghosts harassing Danny to take up the throne, which he’s been avoiding successfully, but having settled into a life routine that suites him his core has finally ‘settled’ (halfa cores fluctuate more than other cores due to the transient nature of being alive, but halfa people settle into lifelong patterns and relationships quicker than other people because of the static nature of being dead) he is mature enough by ghost standards to assume the throne, or at least begin preparing for it.

Regardless, danny is being tracked down for his childhood baggage’s extended warranty, and brings the entirety of the JL and almost all associated sidekicks, hero group spin-offs, and organizations into the thick of it.

Idk. I just got through Secretary Danny by DeathlySilent13 on ao3 and I thought man oh man wouldn’t it be neat if Danny got to be Jason’s second in command instead??? That could open up a lot of avenues I haven’t seen yet. I’m also just very curious about how the Jason’s runs his gang according to the fandom, and I think that with all the ACAB energy Danny has been assigned, he should have a little bit of community focused organized crime. As a treat. Like I said I don’t go here thou, I just needed to put this somewhere and see if it vibed with anybody besides me

[physics-of-one-piece]

Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 1

(AO3 link)

Summary: Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.

Tags: Doflamingo x Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Murder, Mentions of Fratricide, Emotional Breakdown, Grief, Angst, Hurt, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Celestial Dragon Traditions, Donquixote Brothers, Adult Themes, New Tags Added with Each Chapter

A/N: It's finally here. The Red Suit Doffy fic I've been working on since... (checks dates of the first chapter) September 2024. Damn. I've only got the first two chapters written, everything else is vibes, but I want it to be 8-10 chapters. I also wanted to explore Doflamingo's way (or lack thereof) with showing/wanting/offering physical affection. This post is great analysing it and is the one that inspired me to even start thinking of writing it deeper and Doflamingo's lack of offering touch, and his use of touch when he does choose it/want it. It just confirmed to me back then that Doflamingo is INCREDIBLY touch-starved and very very not aware of it which has the potential to be very dangerous. Especially North Blue Doflamingo. (shudders) Also... I'm not sorry about the GIF. If I had to suffer making it, you have to reward my suffering by suffering while watching it. It's only fair 🥺

Word Count: 11.7k words

Chapter Navigation: 1 (you are here), 2

Chapter 1

The moment you and Rosinante moved into your house in North Blue for Rosinante’s mission, you had no disagreements over furniture placements and colour configurations. You both adored white and blue, and light colours, so there weren’t a lot of disagreements. The one thing you and Rosinante immediately agreed upon was the colour of your bedroom’s walls, both the ceiling and the surrounding four walls — sky blue.

To Rosinante, it was his favourite colour, and to you, it reminded you of the sky and the sea. It reminded you of the sky blue dress shirt Rosinante wears under his white waistcoat when wearing his marine uniform as a Navy commander — the uniform he wore when you met him.

It’s the sky blue ceiling you wake up to.

You’re laying in the bedroom you share with your husband, no weight of your clumsy blond husband on the other side, drooling away and snoring — silently thanks to his Devil Fruit — in his sleep.

That’s the first thing you notice.

It’s silent. Unnervingly so.

You roll over, half-asleep, glancing toward the alarm clock on your desk beside the marine transponder snail.

It’s way past the time Rosinante should have contacted you to tell you of successfully healing Law by making him eat the Op-Op Fruit.

Aren’t they back yet?

They should’ve been back by now.

Rosi would have called you that they’re on their way by now. You could heat up the dinner leftovers, or… No, you’d start on another dinner! Minion Island is cold this time of year, and although you’d bought Law the warmest cloak you could find in the town, he would probably still feel an unpleasant chill. You’d make them warm soup easy on the stomach.

Or... or...

A cake! A cake to celebrate Law beating his disease for good, and Rosi’s official last self-given assignment as Corazón. He could finally remove that mantle for good.

You were definitely going to convince him to keep his black feather coat, though.

The weather must be bad. The North Blue Sea was infamous for its waves during the winter months. Or maybe they're laying low on Minion now that the marines have arrested the Donquixote Pirates.

But Rosi would have called you if they were staying low; he’d promised to call you.

The yellow transponder snail with the white and blue shell rings.

You lunge across the bed to reach it, lifting the receiver by the time the second ring sounds out, your heart leaping in relief — Rosi must be calling to tell you they’re okay, that Law is healthy now, that they will come home soon —

The voice that said your name wasn’t Rosinante’s.

“Vice Admiral Tsuru,” you said, eyes wide. You cleared your throat. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Your husband, marine commander Donquixote Rosinante…”

Why does Tsuru-san sound in pain?

“...is dead.”

The world stopped, turning completely silent.

All you could do was stare blankly.

What?

The last two words repeated in your head like a broken record.

Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead.

Rosinante… is dead?

Those words didn’t belong with Rosinante’s name. Rosinante and the word dead didn’t belong in a sentence.

Shock left you mute, your head completely empty.

“We found him in the snow, with twenty bullet wounds. Sengoku confirmed his identity,” Tsuru’s voice sounded pained and hoarse. Then, the marine vice admiral abandoned her white coat, and said to you, woman to woman, “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled with tears. It can’t be… it can’t be Rosi… not Rosi…

“He’s right here with me.” said Tsuru, while your hand around the receiver started to tremble. “We’re taking his body to Marineford. We’re sending a ship to escort you there tomorrow.”

Body. Body. Rosinante’s body.

Rosinante’s corpse. Your husband’s corpse.

“Understood.”

You put the receiver on the snail, its “Ga-chak.” filling the silence.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. The sound of it echoes in your head. Your sight blurs, and you lose sense in your legs. The next moment, you’re sitting numbly on the floor in the bedroom which you and Rosinante painted together, surrounded by the sky blue walls, tears running down your cheeks.

What just happened? What…

Seconds ago, you were thinking about what food to warm up if Rosinante and Law managed to come back at this time late at night.

Seconds ago, Rosinante was alive.

You shuddered, crying more tears.

Now, you'd just gotten a call he’s... dead? That they’re transporting his body to Marineford?

Shock numbed you. That didn’t make sense. Just three days ago, Rosinante slept beside you, his large body wrapped around you, keeping you tucked into his chest, keeping you warm. He’d been beside you, breathing, talking, smiling and alive.

In the snow? Twenty bullets in him? Twenty? Rosinante never got that many bullet wounds.

You grab at your throbbing head.

This can’t be real. It doesn’t make sense. Rosinante had been right here, which only felt like hours ago. He'd been right here with you, in this very room, his warm, soft lips kissing yours, his face snuggling in your neck, his blond curly hair between your fingers, his long arms wrapped snugly around you, his angelic laugh tickling your ear.

It’s not real. It’s not real, this is a nightmare, it’s not real. You’re having a nightmare. This isn’t real. It can’t be, it can’t —

“Rosi…” you whisper shakily, trembling. You choke on a breath. Your chest hurts.

Your mind struggled to catch up to your body, which was shaking, panting, tears streaming down your shocked face and open, wide eyes.

You realise your lungs are hurting, your breathing rapid — alarmingly, so.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

You’re going to suffocate in the wave of your grief.

You rush outside. The air is cold. You inhale it greedily, foggy clouds sifting out of your mouth. Your chest felt painful while you gasped in the air. Your ribcage was squeezing in on itself. The cold air made you realise how warm the tears on your cheeks were.

You couldn’t stand anymore. You fell to your knees, and the sounds burst out of you; you started crying openly, loud, uncontrollable sobs leaving your mouth.

You screamed, howling into the sky, crying uncontrollably. The sounds your body produced, your lungs released, were heart-wrenching, full of agony.

You wept and wept, sobbed and screamed, hiccuped and choked, looking up at the starry night sky without really seeing it, tears streaming down your face as you howled in agony into the sky you used to watch together with Rosinante, crying toward the far-away stars.

All you could see was Rosinante, smiling brightly at you, his voice saying, “I love you!” filling your ears.

And your heart was wrenched open and killed.

Dead with your husband.

All you could do with the unbearable agony inside you was weep and howl like a dying, mourning animal.

***

How does betrayal feel like?

It feels like silence.

Silence of four years, a gap battled with taps on the den-den mushi and ink on paper.

It feels like the silence being broken by a voice. A voice not as deep as Doflamingo’s but sounding godly all the same, confident and calm, a softness Doflamingo’s didn’t possess.

His little brother’s voice, which Doflamingo mourned the loss of, not knowing he was mourning an empty lie. So many nights he spent thinking how Rosinante's voice would sound like as an adult, how his laugh would sound like, hoping maybe with time, he would hear it - one day, one day, one day — not knowing it was there all along and Rosinante had denied him all of it, had given it to the marines, to Law, to strangers Doflamingo didn't know.

Doflamingo hated them all.

Why did they get to have it and he didn’t?

Rosinante was his little brother, his family, his only equal, the only one who understood, the one who’d been through the same hell as he had... And yet, Doflamingo never got Rosinante back, never truly met his brother as an adult, not really. All Doflamingo got from Rosinante was a mask and silence, while they got everything.

All Doflamingo was given was a scrap, and lies.

So many lies.

Rosi — the one who gave his nickname to him because he couldn’t pronounce Doflamingo’s full name when he was two, shortening it into a harmless nickname full of fondness — didn’t even call him Doffy.

The first words Rosi said to him after four years of silence, after eighteen years of nothing, was his fucking marine code.

Rosi talked to him like they were strangers.

“You just had to go and screw everything up! Why did you come back just to mess with me, Corazón?!”

What Doflamingo meant by those words was: Why? Why did you come back? You should’ve stayed away from me if you hated me. Then this wouldn’t be happening! I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d stayed away from me!

The pain of betrayal is sharp and agonising.

Like a bullet.

Like red blood on white snow.

Doflamingo wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding in the same places Rosinante had, too.

Vergo’s words rang out in his head.

“Corazón has a wife.”

Doflamingo stared at the picture of you on the file Vergo sent him, staring down at your face.

At the one Rosinante gave everything to…

Finding out something like this...

It felt like... Like the first inhale of the fresh, clear sea morning, like the first bite into a feast after starving for a week, like the most pure, fresh water after a long trek in the desert.

Doflamingo thinks he understands now why Rosi didn’t stay away from him, why Rosi returned.

Because Rosi couldn’t stay away. If not for himself, then for his wife. Would Doflamingo be able to stay away, if he knew his brother was alive somewhere, with a wife, and hell, maybe planning to have a family? Would Doflamingo be the one considering a choice; stay away or meet? Cursed if you don’t, cursed if you do.

Would Doflamingo be able to do it?

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to stay away from Rosi, or from Rosi’s family. Because Doflamingo was family, too. Rosi’s family was Doflamingo’s family, too.

Just like now, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you. It was impossible. It felt like his own threads were pulling him toward you, urging themselves forth from his fingertips, reaching out to wrap around you, no matter how much he was sure you didn’t want them to.

Just like how Rosi couldn’t stay away from Doflamingo no matter how much he hated him, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you no matter how much he knew you hated him.

He just couldn’t. The thought was painful to bear, the mere image of staying away threatening to shred the last remaining piece of Doflamingo’s heart held together by strings.

“Doffy?” Vergo’s voice across the snail pulled Doflamingo out of his thoughts; he was still staring at your file, at the picture of you, at your name. “What do you want to do?”

Doflamingo got out of his chair, grabbing the pink feather coat that laid on it.

“I’m going to go get her,” he said, swinging the pink mantle over his shoulders. He grabbed a quill and parchment, writing down a note for Trebol and the others to find.

He looked outside. It was early in the morning; Vergo's call and documents he sent had woken him up. It was still dark out on the sea.

“Understood,” said Vergo without question. “Safe travels, Doffy.”

Doflamingo hummed in response, and put the receiver back down on the snail. He exited his cabin, walking to the balustrade of the ship, putting his right foot atop the rail. The wind was chilly, brushing at his face.

He still had a family. Rosinante had not only left Doflamingo behind.

He left a wife behind, too.

Doflamingo took to the sky.

***

Something burns on your skin. Your eyelids flutter open; the morning light sneaks in through the curtains, casting your eyes in the ray of gold. Your brows furrow in pain from the light hitting you.

You feel empty.

You woke in the puddle of your own misery. You've cried and howled yourself into sleep on the white carpet. You don’t know when you entered inside again after releasing the howl of agony into the night sky.

The house is empty.

Rosinante isn’t home yet.

That’s okay. You’ll wait. You’ve waited before. You can wait a bit more.

Rosi will come back.

He’ll come back.

It was just a bad dream.

You curl into yourself, tired.

Rosi always comes back, no matter what.

You’ll make pancakes… and you’ll wait for Rosi. You’ll make a lot of batter so you can make him and Law loads when they come back. They’ll be hungry after their trip.

Early dawn was outside, and the blue sky was painted with clouds.

A knock came at your door. You dragged yourself to it, and opened the doors.

A dark-skinned, handsome man dressed in marine uniform and coat towered above you, twice your height, nearly three meters tall. His dark, charcoal eyes were red-rimmed, revealing he’d been crying. His usually slicked-back, tidy white hair was rumpled and untidy, as though he’d wrestled with someone.

“Wulf,” you say, staring at the tall navy commander.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse and morbidly quiet. “Can I come in?”

You open the doors wider, letting him in. Wulf closes the doors behind himself, locking them with the key in the keyhole.

“I’ll go make you some tea,” you offered, hurrying to the light blue kitchen to place the kettle on the stove and grab a tea bag

“No,” he said. “I’m not here for…” He clenched his eyes shut. His large body shuddered.

“You can sit down while I —”

“I don’t want tea, dammit!” snapped Wulf.

His yell made you flinch, and you turned still.

“Fuck,” Wulf breathed, full of pain, tears glistening at his eyelashes. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, quieting his voice. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Wulf’s large body slumped down, landing on the large white couch. He lowered his head to the floor. His large, dark hands lifted up to his hair, grabbing at the thick strands tight. He closed his eyes, a look of pain on his face.

“It’s okay,” you offered quietly.

There was no emotion in your dull, lifeless eyes, empty of any spark. You could see how tired Wulf was. He probably didn’t sleep a wink. He looked an absolute mess. You weren’t ready to look in the mirror to see how much of a mess you were.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Wulf spoke up. “We need to send a search party out for Law. He wasn’t the boy the Minion marine patrol took into custody.”

Search party? For Law? But that would mean… that would mean Wulf would have to explain to Sengoku who Law was.

“No,” you breathed.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you dare tell them about Law!”

Wulf’s eyes widened at the sudden surge of life in your dull eyes. You were tightly gripping the collar of his white dress shirt with both your hands, staring at him with a numerous amount of emotions filling your eyes, your face.

“If Law’s alive, they’ll go after him because he’s got the powers of the Op-Op Fruit!” you yelled at him. “Don’t you dare make Rosi’s death be for nothing!”

You froze.

Oh.

You said it.

Death.

That’s right.

Your fingers let go of Wulf’s collar.

Rosinante…

Died.

A chill swept through your body, making you shiver.

“Law,” you whisper, trying to keep yourself together, keeping your sanity stitched with the thoughts of the little boy. “We need to find Law.”

“Minion -”

“Why aren’t you and your team setting sail for it already?!” you asked desparately. What if Doflamingo sent his agents to scour the island? What if Law was...

“If I’m to ask for a marine ship, I need to give them a good reason!”

“You never did shit by the book, Wulf! That was Rosi!”

“Yeah, and I always got sent flying across Marineford by Sengoku for it, or did you forget that part?”

“I’ll call the patrol on Minion and tell them to look for Law.”

“No!” you yelled. “Doflamingo’s got a spy in the Navy! He’ll find out Law’s still there and find him before you!”

You could see Wulf’s thoughts racing in his head. “Then, I’ll send Hibou -”

“Hibou doesn’t fly fast enough! You can’t send him there alone! Law doesn’t trust marines!”

Wulf hesitated. “It took me and Rosi longer than a day to activate our Devil Fruits… Law might not be…”

“Law is a genius!” you yelled. “He’s going to be the best doctor in the world! Some stupid disease won’t kill him!”

Law was not dead. Your husband believed in Law, and you believed in Law, too. That kid was strong. Stronger than you were.

Law had fallen asleep reading on your lap. You put a blanket over him, but anytime you tried to remove yourself from him, the boy would murmur disagreeably, clutching onto your pants with his tiny fingers in his sleep. Rosinante cooed over him, snapping a few pictures of Law — and some of the two of you — with the camera snail because you two were the most adorable sight on the planet, according to the younger Donquixote. But you could see it in his brown eyes. Rosinante was worried sick for Law.

“Don’t worry, Rosi,” you said, reaching out with your free hand — the other one was running gently down Law’s dark hair — to take your husband’s much larger one, settling it over his scarred, pale palm.

“Our boy is too strong to die,” you said firmly.

The touch and words appeared to break Rosinante out of the pit of his thoughts, the blond man sitting beside you turning to look at you, wide-eyed.

“Our?” asked Rosinante in a whisper.

“What?” you asked, blinking.

Rosinante sniffled. His eyes glazed over, his lips trembling. Before you could see what was wrong with him, the blond turned away from you shyly.

“Rosi, are you crying?” you asked, worried.

“N-No!” squeaked the big, blond man, hiding his face in the pillow of the white couch of the home you shared, wiping at his teary eyes. “No, what are you talking about? I’m not crying!”

You smiled softly, a swell of affection blooming within you, overwhelmed by love you felt for him. Rosinante was so kind and gentle, with a truly bleeding heart. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him on first sight — his kindness and clumsiness won you over right away.

“Our, huh?” murmured Rosinante softly.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, making sure there was no question about it. You were willing to die for the boy sleeping on your lap. You were willing to fight the entire world for this boy, were willing to die for him. “He’s our boy now.”

“Yeah.” The smile lit up Rosinante’s face, casting him in heavenly light; he looked like an angel, his soft brown eyes staring gently down at the sleeping boy. “He is.”

“Our treasure.” whispered Rosinante, reaching down to caress Law’s cheek with his fingers.

Wulf took a breath.

“Okay. If there is a spy, as you say, I’ll call Sengoku-san directly to lock down Rosi’s file.” Wulf shuddered. He looked down at you, full of worry. “If Doflamingo finds out about you, he’ll come to kill you. I’ll put Nietzche and Hibou on patrol around this island, and the rest of us will head to Minion -”

“No,” you said, something burning inside you. The next words came out of your mouth on instinct. “Use me as a lure.”

Wulf’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Use me as a lure,” you said, meeting Wulf’s gaze. “It’ll keep Doflamingo’s attention off of Minion Island long enough for you to get Law away. If Doflamingo comes, he comes. I know how to shoot a gun.”

Wulf frowned, disliking the idea entirely. “You don’t know what he’s -”

“Doflamingo killed him.”

The words are out. Because both of you knew. You and Wulf knew Rosinante wouldn’t get killed so easily. Nobody could kill Rosinante except Doflamingo, because Rosinante would have fought them tooth and nail, and there was no way anyone on Minion Island could have given Rosinante trouble — not even those top executives — except Doflamingo.

If it came down to having to directly hurt Doflamingo, you knew Rosinante wouldn’t be able to do it. You never faulted him for it. In fact, you loved him for it. You would never ask Rosinante to do such a thing, even if your own life was on the line. You’d rather die than force him to make such a choice, to even think about it.

Rosinante loved his brother more than anything, no matter what.

But it seemed Doflamingo loved power more than he loved Rosinante.

It sickened you. It infuriated you. Rosinante could never hurt Doflamingo, not for duty, not for revenge, not for anything. So how could Doflamingo hurt Rosinante?

“His only family… And Rosi told me enough to get a glimpse of what his brother is like. So if he finds out, he finds out. He’ll come here, and you all - all six of you, will go to Minion Island while he wastes time coming here, and you’ll take Law away from there.”

For a moment, Wulf said nothing, simply staring at you with his dark, black eyes, momentarily surprised by your words.

“You… aren’t trying to follow Rosi, are you? Because you know… you know he’d want you to stay alive, to take care of that kid.”

Chills rose on your spine, but they weren’t of fear. You didn’t raise your head. You simply lifted your eyes to Wulf’s, and let him see what was within them.

It wasn’t sadness, or a wish for death. It was determination, burning and fierce, mixed with burning fury.

Wulf sighed in defeat. He could tell by your eyes you weren’t going to back down from this.

“I’ll call in some favours for a ship. I’ll call you when I have everything ready.”

Wulf said your name.

“He killed my brother in arms.” said Wulf darkly. “It’s not just you or me who wants him dead.”

Wulf turned his head over his shoulder to gaze at you, his eyes full of bloodlust. “The crows are hungry for Doflamingo’s blood.”

“Shut the door after me,” Wulf said, then left.

You did just that. You walked back to the kitchen, breathing in and out. Your stomach felt empty. You needed to eat something.

Pancakes.

If it’s going to be your last meal, you want it to be a good one. Therefore, the pancakes with chocolate syrup is the best decision for the last meal. An easy, simple meal.

Your fingers tremble.

You can’t believe Rosinante is gone.

Simply… gone.

How are you supposed to wake up tomorrow knowing Rosinante will never be lying beside you again?

Tears well in your eyes. You take a breath, swallowing them down. You’re not allowed to cry again. Not yet. Not until you know Law is safe.

You head up the stairs to change from your night dress, heading back to yours and your husband’s bedroom. You survey your wardrobe.

Before you know it, you’re opening Rosinante’s part of the wardrobe, taking one of his blue shirts from the hanger, hugging it tight to your chest.

You kept holding on to the calm you got with him. You hold onto the scent of him you’ve come to know; coal and citrus, woody smells that he always wore that felt like a hug around your shoulders.

For a while, you sit on the bed, holding your husband’s shirt, trying to pretend he was there when you knew he wasn’t. Eventually, you returned back to the terrible reality, and put his dress shirt back on the hanger.

Light blue. You decide if you are going to get killed by your brother-in-law today, you want to die in light blue. It was Rosi’s favourite colour, and you grew a love for it over the years. You need somewhere to conceal a weapon. You grab black pants, put the light blue blouse over yourself, and get dressed.

You open the drawer in your night table, staring down at the small, black revolver. You pick it up, check the safety hammer is on, then check the cylinder holding six sea stone prism bullets. Loaded, ready to be fired.

You holster it under your blouse, making sure you can reach it quickly.

It’s silent. So silent.

You’ve never heard silence quite this loud.

You head to the kitchen to make the pancakes. You wished you’d made them before Wulf arrived; he needed something to eat.

The day is sunny, the birds are chirping in the trees. But there is a somber, mourning silence in your house. You gather the bowl to crack the eggs in and make the batter.

Rosi would already be stumbling out of your bedroom by now, dressed in his blue striped pyjamas, his blue sleeping hat atop his head, his sleepy face endearing in a handsome way, his blond waves of bed head swept in all directions, his hands rubbing the sleep off his eyes before he stretched his arms out and yawned to the point tears edged at his lower eyelashes.

Then, he’d see you and smile like the sun before greeting you with a happy, sweet, “Good morning!”

You look out of the window. The scenery in front of you is so vibrant, green forest and blue river. Doesn’t it know all your life has died? The most colourful painting is worthless to you.

You make the batter without having to think too much about it, so used to the movements they became second nature to you, just as fighting was second nature to Rosinante. You start the stove, listen to the clicking sound of the fire, adjust it, and set the frying pain on it, spreading butter along it. Then, you pour the batter in. The smell of the pancakes soothes you, and once the side is fried well, you flip it, and wait for the bubbles again.

They remind you of gunshot wounds.

Twenty gunshot wounds. Were they all from Doflamingo’s flintlock? Did the fucking bastard put twenty bullets in your husband, treating your husband like he was swiss cheese?

You set the first pancake on the plate, and make twenty more. You take the chocolate syrup and spread it over each one thoroughly with a butter knife, then roll the pancakes. You sprinkle sugar over them, and serve them at the center of the table.

“Look, Law! Pancakes!” cheered Rosinante happily to the little boy with the spotted hat trailing after his long legs like a baby penguin after its father; you held back a giggle at the two sleepyheads, smiling gently at them. 

Rosinante greeted you with a kiss, getting a “get a room!” from Law, and then he sat down at the table and inhaled the smell of the pancakes. 

“Ah, they smell so good, dear!” said Rosinante, smiling brightly at you.

“Come on, Law! Don’t be shy!” said Rosinante, patting the chair next to his. “This is my wife’s masterpiece! After you taste her pancakes, you’ll never want to eat anything else for the rest of your life! You can live on pancakes!”

“You can’t live on pancakes,” grumbled Law.

“Well, if you do end up liking them and want more, I’ve got more batter in the bowl, so I’ll make you more if you want, okay, Law?” you asked.

Law blushed. “Thank… you…”

You glanced at Rosinante questioningly, speaking with your eyes to him. Did Law not have pancakes with the Donquixote Pirates? Rosinante shook his head sadly, in a way that told you Law didn’t let himself be a kid, so he never ate ‘kid stuff’ like pancakes. 

Tentatively, Law took the rolled up pancake, and after glancing to Rosinante, who was eating his own with his hands — the pancake looked miniature in your husband’s fingers, almost like a toy — chomping down on the roll enthusiastically, Law did the same.

You nearly squealed from the cuteness as you watched the two eat.

Law’s eyes widened after the first bite, and then they lit up, filling with light. A small, tiny smile bloomed across his face, and he stared at the pancake with child-like joy.

There he was. A little boy, not a tough, pirate apprentice.

Law quickly devoured the pancake, the little smile on his face filling you with joy. You smiled happily.

Once Law realised he’d eaten the single pancake he took, he glanced from the plate, then toward you, and asked, “Can I have another?”

Rosinante cooed. “You can have my entire plate, you cute little pancake!”

To prove how much he meant it, Rosinante slid his plate of a pile of rolled-up pancakes to the little boy.

Law scowled, though to you it looked more like a cute, indignant pout with his cheeks puffed up that way.

“I’m not a pancake, Cora-san!” Law protested, for which he got a fond chuckle from Rosinante, who simply beamed down at him.

You giggled. They were so cute.

“Of course. You can have as much as you want, Law.” you said softly, smiling gently at the boy.

Law nodded, that little smile sneaking onto his face again.

You stared at the plate loaded with twenty rolled-up pancakes.

You made too much.

Tears started flowing down your eyes again, uncontrollable and wet. You wipe them from your cheeks, sniffling. But they keep coming out, so you let them cascade down your cheeks, letting them roll in silence as you sit down, murmur a sob-filled, “Thank you for the food.” and grab one pancake from the plate and force yourself to eat it.

The taste is great. But your taste buds can’t appreciate it. You start sobbing halfway, and your hands slide up to your face, covering your eyes. You rest your head on the dining room table and cry your eyes out into your forearms, hiccups and sobs shaking your body.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this. You can’t, you can’t...

It hurts too much. You're going to be sick —

Rosi... Rosi!

Your cries and sobs echo across the kitchen tiles, creating a tragic symphony.

After you’d cried yourself out to the point your chest hurts and your throat feels sore, you eat the pancake to the end.

Outside, the azure sky is impossibly clear. The cicadas are so loud. They make the loss of Rosinante’s silence more deafening. You’ve always had too sensitive and too precise of a hearing; you could hear droplets from a well ten meters away, and the slightest rustling of the leaves in the wind. You could pick up who was approaching you by the sound and weight of their footsteps — a thing that freaked some people out. It wasn’t any devil fruit; you stayed away from devil fruits because you had no need of them working as a translator for the marines, and you liked to swim.

Rosinante told you it could be a form of Observation Haki. Apparently, the advanced, one-in-a-million Observation Haki users are able to hear people’s inner voices. That sounded absolutely terrifying to you. How didn’t people go insane with that? It wasn’t an ability you wanted, and thankfully, your hearing didn’t seem to reach that crazy, abnormal level.

Rosinante was practically your sound therapy with his Devil Fruit. He made the world around you go silent, muted all the noises, be it the spinning of a washing machine, the shrieking of the birds, the insistent meowing of an alley cat, the barking dogs, the annoying cicadas that you thought about committing arson over by setting the entire forest on fire…

“Honey, that’s illegal. Also, I’m the one usually setting fire to stuff, it’s my whole thing!” Rosinante was genuinely distressed. He gave you a pleading look, pursing his lips, which started to quiver and tremble, his eyes filling with tears as he cried — his sad puppy look,which immediately melted your heart, making you coo internally. He was absolutely adorable. “You can’t do my thing!”

Rosinante snapped his fingers. “Silent!”

A purple sphere came alive, momentrily floating above his finger, and then enlarged, pulling the two of you into its space. All sound from outside vanished.

You launched yourself at him and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your legs around his wide waist. “I love you, Rosi! I love your Devil Fruit!”

Rosinante’s face grew deeper shades of red by the passing second, until, quite literally, the gathered temperature exploded in a burst of steam out of his ears, and your husband combusted into flames.

“I love you!” he yelled, peppering you with kisses, pulling you onto his lap, making you giggle and laugh. You squeezed your tall husband’s back as much as the length of your arms allowed you to.

“I love you more,” you said, staring up at him lovingly.

“Nuh-uh,” said Rosinante, his face turning serious. “I love you mo —”

You shut him up with a kiss, burying your fingers in his soft, silky golden hair, pulling him down to you.

Rosinante smiled into the kiss, admitted defeat, and enveloped your lips in a deep, long kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your head, his fingers warm and sweet on your cheek.

In the end, with how breathless and flushed Rosinante left you, you thought you were the defeated one in the end.

You can’t take it anymore. You want out. Out of this house that is full of memories of the happiness you two had, of so much potential, now silent like a grave.

You get your bag, grab some cash to buy groceries to make for lunch. Rosinante wouldn’t want you to wallow in misery, much less not eat. He was always fussy about making sure you ate, always insisting on serving you seconds, and you knew why. It broke your heart.

You reach the small port town, passing by people, your eyes unfocused, lost in memories. Your feet are leading you somewhere, a familiar path which you and Rosinante took many times.

You remembered when he surprised you the first time he managed to sneak away after completing his first mission for Doflamingo ahead of schedule, bearing you gifts, unaware his presence was the greatest gift to you of all.

In the early morning, your husband dragged you out of bed for a “surprise”. It would have been a normal, endearing, funny wake-up call if your husband’s arm wasn’t nearly the length of your entire body. Being dragged out of bed by Rosinante’s excited arm felt like being launched by a slingshot from one point to another.  And of course, the landing point ended up being Rosinante’s body, and because it was Donquixote Rosinante, he failed to consider his own pull strength — once again, slingshot fast — and that was how you ended up falling on his chest. He, of course, as the good marine he was, caught you so you don’t get hurt, and once more failed to take another of his natural skills into account.

His clumsiness. 

With a shriek as panicked as your own — albeit for different reasons — Rosinante moved to catch you, tripped midway and fell forward at the same time as you impacted him, and you ended up crashing into him midway on his fall, and he fell on his back rather than his front, you atop his chest. 

After you two looked at each other to check the other was okay, the two of you burst out into giggles on the floor.

Rosinante excitedly told you to get dressed (you chose a white summer dress), brought his backpack and led you through the island by the hand, still dressed in his pirate outfit of white trousers, pink shirt and black feather coat, smiling the entire way. You loved the feather coat, and you couldn’t help but comment how he and Doflamingo were now truly “bird brothers”. The look Rosinante gave you at that comment made you laugh for a minute straight, especially when he dramatically pulled off his purple sunglasses to blink at you repeatedly.

You two walked for a while. You told Rosinante about your days, how everyone was very helpful and welcoming, and let him know about the invitation for a barbeque party tomorrow, and Rosinante agreed — he did have to meet the other marines on the island, along with their families. 

Rosinante came to a stop in front of a steep hill. 

“It’s right up this way,” said Rosinante, smiling in that adorable way that made him even more handsome. “I’ll carry you up.”

You gulped.

“Are you sure you can trek this, Rosinante?” you asked, holding some doubts. You’d seen your husband fall down the entire fifty meter flight of stone stairs of Marineford like a bouncing ball many times when you met him, and this hill had plenty of rocky, dirt-covered terrain.

You could already imagine Rosinante rolling down it like a pancake covered in black feathers. Or... Like an ostrich.

This hill and forest looked like something for hikers, and no offense to Rosinante, but he and hiking don’t go hand in hand, so your hesitation was well-founded.

“Yup,” said Rosinante, beaming down at you. “Up you go, mi amor.”

Without much arguing from you — because you’d never refuse being carried bridal style by your favourite man in the world, falling to your death be damned — he perched down, bending his knees to be at your height, and picked you up carefully, one hand under your knees, the other on your back.

It’s comfortable. Rosinante is warm, his long, strong arms cradling you close to his chest like the most precious treasure, and you feel like a princess swathed in the black feathers of his feather coat and his embrace. You close your eyes, resting your head on his chest, on the soft fabric of his pink dress shirt scattered with hearts.

Rosinante started uphill, trekking upon the soil with the confidence of a man who braved deep snow, heavy rain and thick mud many times throughout his life. Large, lush pine trees towered around you, the forest rich with fresh air that mixed with the soft coal scent of your husband. You pass by moss-covered rocks, glimpse squirrels curiously looking down at the giant, lanky blond man from their branches high above, chipping away at pine cones and walnuts in their tiny fingers. Their big brown eyes reminded you of Rosinante’s. After five minutes of Rosinante climbing uphill, the terrain turns flat, and he walks through the thicketed vegetation, the leaves of high bushes and branches brushing across his waist. Sunlight sneaks through the canopy of the trees, touching you and him occasionally, dappling you two in warm light.

“Okay,” said Rosinante. “I’ll put you down now.”

After he puts you down to the ground, Rosinante takes your hand, twining his long fingers between the spaces of yours, and leads you through the maze of greenery, further and further, deeper into the forest, where it becomes more quiet with every step. His long fingers, tucked between yours, holding your hand tight, chase away any anxiety or insecurity you might feel in the new, unknown surrounding.

A high, towering wall of leaves and shrubs conceals your view to whatever lies ahead.

“Close your eyes.”

You chuckle, but do so.

“Wait here,” Rosinante told you. “Don’t open your eyes!”

You laugh. “I won’t.”

You put your free hand over your closed eyes to reassure him of it.

Rosinante’s long fingers — calloused from training, falling and scarred from all the battles he won and survived — slide out of the embrace of yours.

You wait for a few minutes, wondering what sort of surprise he must have for you. You couldn’t hear anything. Rosinante must have used his Devil Fruit so you can’t hear what he’s doing. All you can hope for is that your sweet husband’s ‘surprise’ doesn’t involve anything flammable.

“Okay!” Rosinante chirped behind you, making you shriek and leap at the sudden revelation of his presence, which made him chuckle. “Ready?”

You peek through your fingers to look at him. Rosinante’s smile and excitement is infectious, making you smile to the point your cheeks hurt.

“Yup,” you said.

“Hey!" your husband scolds when he notices your eyes between the tiny space of your fingertips. “No peeking!”

You huff, but relent, covering your eyes fully again.

Rosinante takes your hand, and leads you forward. You keep your eyes closed. Leaves brush over your face, and you feel the warmth of the sunlight on your skin again.

“Okay... Three... Two...”

“One.”

You opened your eyes, gasping at the sight. In front of you and Rosinante was a blooming field of blue forget-me-nots, forming a large circle around the pine forest.

There, among the blue flowers, was a picnic blanket, a picnic basket filled with food atop it.

A giddy smile on his face, pleased with your joy at his successful surprise, Rosinante led you by the hand toward the picnic blanket where all the food awaited.

You two sit down beside each other. You can’t speak; you’re completely speechless.

Rosinante had made you an entire feast; there were rice balls, black bean soup, chocolate cream cakes, muffins with chocolate chips, grilled toast with melted cheese that made your mouth water at the mere sight of it, blackberries and black risotto with chopped cuttlefish meat. 

Rosinante was by no means a lousy cook, in fact, he was quite good at cooking (you were surprised by it the first time, too, especially when he told you he spent a lot of time cooking with Sengoku when he was a kid) but he had to be monitored so he doesn’t set the entire house on fire.

When you opened the container holding the black risotto, hot steam surged out. The black risotto smelled absolutely heavenly. It tasted heavenly, too — it was the perfect amount of ingredients and flavours that you moaned aloud.

Dear gods, Rosinante’s black risotto was to die for. It was one of the meals both you and your husband enjoyed, eating it at a restaurant in Marineford every Friday on your lunch break together even before you’d started dating. The black colouring of the food was due to the squid ink used in the recipe. You both loved it so much that it became your go-to food to make.

Rosinante pulled out a champagne bottle from the basket, further impressing you.

“I snatched this one from Doffy’s liquor cabinet. 1480.” Rosinante smirked smugly, waving the bottle victoriously. “He should’ve drank it while he could.”

You laughed. Rosinante may not talk good things about his brother, but stealing liquor from his brother was a very sibling thing to do. It was clear Rosinante loved pulling pranks on Doflamingo.

While Rosinante said this, removing the golden foil, distractedly unwinding the cage, his eyes focused on you, he forgot to move the bottle away from himself.

The cork launched out of the seal with a loud pop. By some stroke of luck, the cork missed hitting Rosinante’s head, but the golden liquor bursting with bubbles did not. After you heard the satisfying pop, all you could do was stare in shock as champagne sprayed your husband in the face.

His golden waves of hair sogged like a wet dog’s, sparkling liquid running down his cheeks, trailing across his pale neck, sliding down his collarbone and over his chest, staining his wet shirt.

“Rosi!” you cried. “Are you okay?”

Rosinante laughed softly, rich and warm.

“I’m okay,” he replied, looking down at you in that tender, gentle way that filled your heart and made butterflies fly in your stomach.

His long tongue flicked out, licking along his lips, tasting the champagne he spilled. You feel your face flush when you realise you’d looked at his tongue attentively.

“Tastes good,” he said.

You chuckled fondly, watching champagne drip from his golden bangs. “I’m sure it does.”

“Does it smell good?” he asked as you reached for a towel in the basket. You sat between his sprawled, spread out, long legs, brushing off the liquid you could spot.

“Yeah,” you said, chuckling, continuing to pat his face and shirt. It smelled fresh. “It does.”

Rosinante smiled goofily. He gave you your glass, then poured the champagne, and next poured it to himself in his own.

“What do we toast to?” he asked.

“Love and health?” you suggested.

“Love and health!” agreed Rosinante. “Salud!”

“Salud!”

The two of you clinked your champagne glasses together, then drank a few sips of champagne. Rosinante took two large gulps of it instead of humble sips.

When the plastic plates were all cleaned up and the food was gone, stored away in your stomachs, you asked him the question you had since the start of this surprise date, “When did you cook all this?”

“After you fell asleep.” Rosinante’s long arms wrapped around you, a movement he started doing by instinct with how many times he’d done it. You leaned back into him, sinking into his embrace, comfortable between his legs. “The muffins and chocolate cakes are bought. I bought them first thing in the morning, while you were still sleeping.”

You smiled; your husband had always been sneaky, both literally and figuratively.

The blond hung his head sullenly, looking like a sad puppy. He puffed out smoke to the side, mindful not to blow it in your face. “Sorry, my love. I’m no good at baking…”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you said, leaning into his strong body and planting a kiss on his cheek, which made him perk up, a sweet blush painting his cheeks, soon followed by his goofy smile. “And what you did cook is delicious, as were the cakes and muffins you bought.”

“Thank you, Rosinante.” you said, full of joy. “This is beautiful.”

Rosinante chuckled, a charming, gentle, yet deep sound. It made your heart race in your chest. It still didn’t feel real that this wonderful man was yours. The knowledge of it rushed goosebumps up your spine.

To think you’d find a true prince charming in this world. He had come straight down from heaven and accidentally bumped right into you. He was straight out of a fairytale, brown eyes and golden locks of wavy hair tickling his earlobes.

Rosinante looks so pretty, like an angel.

“It’s nothing to thank me for.” Rosinante’s long fingers laced between the spaces of yours, his wedding ring pressing against yours. “You always take care of me. It's my job to take care of you, too, you know. It’s nice to be away from Marineford. I get you all to myself.”

Rosinante’s lips lifted into a sly, flirtatious smile, his eyes lowering to your lips, a hint of hunger flashing in his brown eyes. “And we’re all alone… this place is pretty well hidden.”

You picked up on his meaning and smiled brightly. Your hand slid up his chest, carefully tracing along the hearts on the pink fabric, along his strong, firm shoulder, brushing against his nape, sliding up into the blond, golden curls of his soft hair, running your fingers through it slowly. All the while, Rosinante’s body leaned closer and closer to yours like a magnet of north finding its south, his large hand settling on the middle of your back, pulling you flush to him, towering over you, until all you could see, smell and breathe was him.

“Is that so, commander…” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze with half-lidded eyes.

Rosinante cradled your chin between his thumb and index finger, brought your face up to his, his half-lidded eyes soft and hungry, a charming curve of his lips rendering you breathless. Your breath hitched, staring into his intense gaze — in that moment, you saw the heavenly, commanding intensity inside your husband’s seductive eyes, lighting a fire in your chest. You were being looked at by a real god.

Rosinante kissed you, soft and deep.

“I’m back,” you say to the empty field of blue flowers.

You lay down among the field of the blue forget-me-nots and close your eyes, hoping the flowers will swallow you. Hoping they will enter your lungs, suffocate you, and end you, give you your last, final, living breath. Your tears soak the blue petals of the flowers you and Rosinante used to lay among.

Rosinante used to lie right here beside you, the halo of his blond curly hair shining among the blue blossoms.

Now, there is only the gaping hole of sorrow, a void. An emptiness. You don’t feel anything.

You closed your eyes, clutching Rosinante’s picture tightly between your fingers. You lay there on your side, crying silently among the blue petals where you and your husband once laid together.

No one ever told you that grief feels like fear. You are not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same terrible sinking in the stomach, the same restlessness, the same yawning hole.

It sinks in.

Rosinante isn’t coming home to you.

***

“Excuse me?”

The owner of the flower shop jumped at the deep voice. She turned, and had to look up, and then had to look up more, and then some more, and stared at a handsome man with blond, spiked-up hair, dressed in a red suit with a red tie, sunglasses concealing his eyes.

“Do you know where the Donquixote residence is?” the man asked.

“If you’re looking for Commander Rosinante, he’s away on marine business.”

The stranged blinked - or at least, she assumed he did, by his expression.

“You don’t know?” the exceptionally tall man asked.

“Know what, sir?”

“Rosinante is dead,” the blond man in the red suit delivers the terrible news bluntly, calmly, without any deep emotion, as though he’s telling her about the weather; it reminds her of veteran marines who have seen too much death and have grown used to it. He is staring down at her, into her eyes, with a serious look.

“Oh goodness!” the florist cried, eyes wide. “That poor man... When did it happen?”

“Yesterday evening,” said the blond man blatantly, his voice still calm, his expression still serious. “The news coo hasn’t flown out yet, so only the marines and family know for now. He’ll be in the obituary today or tomorrow.”

“I see... So you’re looking for —”

“His wife,” said the man.

The florist pursed her lips. The man with the unnerving resemblance to Commander Rosinante, despite being devilishly handsome and appearing not to have a single evil bone in his body or hold any malicuious intent, was still a stranger to her.

“Please,” the man with the hair the colour of the yellow primroses says, a desperation in his face. “I’d like to surprise her. Cheer her up. We haven’t seen each other a long time. She shouldn’t be alone.”

The flower shop owner’s heart throbbed at the words and the look of raw pain on the tall man’s face. She had no idea Commander Rosinante had died… and yesterday evening, at that… That was why you’d been wandering around aimlessly, like you were a ghost not meant fo stay in the world. You must have gotten the news… you poor thing.

“Mrs Donquixote lives in a house near the river,” said the shop owner. She pointed to the right end of the cobblestone street. “You take a right there, then a left. It’s a bit farther in the richer district, but that’s the sort of accomodations a Commander and his wife deserve. I can’t believe he's gone… He was such a wonderful man. His son will be devastated.”

The tall man tensed up, flinching.

(In that moment, Donquixote Doflamingo experienced a small heart attack thinking he was an uncle and there was a baby with you — his brother’s baby.)

“...son?” he breathed; his entire tone of voice changing, he sounded shocked and hesitant.

“This little boy. Law, I think. ” The man’s body slumped, as though he was relieved. “He was the sweetest thing. Quiet, but what sick child wouldn’t be? He always clung to Commander Rosinante when I saw them in town. No doubt Commander took him from the battlefield. I suppose he took the boy to the marines to try to find his parents, or to ensign him into the force.”

The blond man’s lips twitched slightly. “I see… Thank you for the help.”

The man turned to leave.

“She likes primroses,” blurted the shop owner. She glanced to the man’s glazed-up hair, and then to the yellow primroses - Mrs Donquixote’s favourite flowers - and was struck dumb.

The sharply dressed man’s blond hair was the exact same colour as the flowers.

“Like your hair, sir.”

“My hair?” asked the man.

The florist nodded. “Yellow primroses.”

The man smiles, and once more, the woman is hit by how similar to Commander Rosinante he looks - so similar he could be his brother! What a strange resemblance!

“Then, a bouquet of yellow primroses, please,” says the man dressed in the merlot suit, handing over a bill of five thousand berri. “And keep the change.”

“Oh, no, no, dear.” she said with a shake of her head, arranging the bouquet of yellow flowers, not taking the offered bill. “You keep your money. Just get her these, all right?”

The man’s mouth opened in a slight ‘o’, and he stared at her in surprise. He looked goofy, and so similar to the same expression Commander Rosinante made when he was shocked or taken by surprise.

However, he nodded, accepting the flowers.

“And... stay by her side.” The florist said. “Don’t let her be alone.”

An emotion crossed the man’s tanned, handsome face; he looked like he was in pain.

The blond man pulls the bouquet of yellow flowers to his chest, his long, puppeteer-like fingers holding them protectively.

“I will,” he promised.

He turned and left in the direction of the Donquixote residence. The florist was unable to keep her eyes off of him. What a sharp-looking, well-dressed man…

And so handsome! Oh, if she was only thirty years younger, she would have definitely asked him for his transponder snail number, or whatever the youth use these days.

***

The moment he was out of the small town, Doflamingo used his strings and flew high into the air, using the same basic of given directions to locate your house.

It didn’t take him long to find the river, and as he approached the flatlands of the island, he saw many houses scattered around. Probably those of families of retired high-ranking marine officers and their families. likely from other high-ranked retired marines and their families.

Doflamingo landed in front of the wooden fence surrounding a garden. A white, two-story house stood down the garden.

Doflamingo saw rows of cabbages beside the dirt path, their green leaves shielding the plant’s head. There was a roofed porch leading to the entrance doors. The garden fence didn’t even reach to his knees. Doflamingo stepped over it.

It looked rather a lot like a farmhouse, but without the farm — Doflamingo would have heaved if there were farm animals around being used for sustenance — and with the garden and yard.

A crow gave a caw. Doflamingo turned to the sound, and nearly cut a human-like silhouette’s head off with his strings.

It was a scarecrow. Not any scarecrow. Doflamingo stood eye-level with it, staring at the shiny red sunglasses, white dress shirt and white capri pants with red flame patterns the scarecrow of hay wore.

Doflamingo’s lips twitched; he felt like laughing, and barely withheld it not to make any noise. It was certainly a likeness.

Corazón must have stolen one of his sunglasses for it.

Chuckling, Doflamingo prowled toward the porch, and stood in front of the entrance doors.

Should he knock?

Doflamingo smiled maliciously, full of menace.

No.

Donquixote Doflamingo, hands in the pockets of his merlot suit pants, kicked down the doors of his sister-in-law’s house.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called.

The only sound in the space lit by the windows letting the light in was the whoosh of the curtains.

“Huh…?”

She isn’t even home to be surprised!

Scoffing in annoyance at his entrance being ruined by not having you witness it, Doflamingo entered through the door frame into the living room lit by natural light coming from the curtains.

“Tch.”

Guess she’s still in town. Did she go to buy groceries for lunch?

“Hm?”

A large picture caught his attention.

Oh.

You’re beautiful.

It was a picture of you, Rosinante, and Law. All of you are smiling at the camera, showing the peace sign. Doflamingo stares at his little brother’s big smile, because it’s the first time he sees it on him, having never seen it on his brother as an adult.

Doflamingo’s mouth forms into a sneer.

Thinking you could have your cake and eat it too, huh, Corazón? You bastard. You liar. You traitor.

Doflamingo exhaled. It didn’t matter anymore. Your husband’s sins were not yours. His brother already paid for his betrayal, and Doflamingo had forgiven him for it. You were a Donquixote by marriage with his brother, therefore, you were under Doflamingo’s protection, and the only real family he had left. As the head of the Donquixote family, since your husband was gone, your care, happiness and health were Doflamingo’s responsibility now. In Mariejois, the head of the family is expected to care for the close family members such as this. Celestial Dragons leave no family behind. If you and Doflamingo were in Holy Land, he would do the same; do anything to provide for you, take you into his home, care for you.

By Celestial traditions and rules of the Holy Land, you belong to Doflamingo now.

Doflamingo frowns. It’s an entire life here, in these pictures. A life Doflamingo never knew about, never asked about. Because he’d trusted his little brother.

A life Doflamingo was completely left out of.

Reading about the Fleet Admiral adopting his brother was one thing, seeing his little brother, dressed in marine cadet garb, shyly looking at the camera with Sengoku’s hand on his shoulder was another. More people started appearing in the pictures as his brother grew, as he got leaner and stronger, as he cut his bangs not to cover his eyes anymore, and eventually, you were in the pictures with his brother, too — it was so unbearably obvious you two were going to be together by the way you two smiled, by the way you held each other, your body languages speaking with the way you leaned toward each other — that when he arrived to the single photo of the two of you in the living room in Water 7 (undoubtedly tyour honeymoon destination), it felt like you and his brother had been married way before he wore his wedding suit and you your wedding dress.

Doflamingo climbed up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He needed to know what sort of clothes you liked to wear.

The master bedroom was large, walls painted sky blue, with a large three meter long bed in the middle, and a large white wardrobe.

Doflamingo scoffed, unimpressed. What a dump of a master bedroom. Is this where the magic was supposed to happen? It wasn’t very magical to Doflamingo. It looked like any plain bedroom in the taverns he stayed in.

Doflamingo walked to the closet, and opened it. There was no walk-in closet here. What a disgrace. This isn't how their mother raised them to treat their spouses.

The clothes in your wardrobe were so ordinary... so plain...

Well, it didn’t matter. Doflamingo was going to buy proper clothes for a beautiful woman like you.

Curiousity got the better of him, and he opened his brother’s wardrobe.

Ten pristinely white marine coats hung from the clothing rack, paired with blue dress shirts.

That was a lot of coats.

Doflamingo let out a snort, shaking his head at his brother’s affliction to set his clothes on fire. Some things never change. Whoever thought giving his little brother a lighter was a good idea must have been a madman.

Donquixote Rosinante, commander of the most deadly assassination and spy unit of the marines, the Crow Corps. Doflamingo had heard about them, but never knew their identities - they were thought not to exist, really. For all his years in the underworld, Doflamingo never encountered them — or maybe he had, and was not aware of it.

The Crow Corps were a myth, a story to scare the sailors with, a marine legend pirates talked about when something went incredibly amiss in intelligence gathering and the underworld.

“Must’ve been the Crow Corps.”

“Beware the Crow Corps, they’re the marines’ eyes and ears; they can hear you through the thickest walls and see you in the darkest shadow.”

Doflamingo would have felt proud of his brother’s achievements if he didn’t see how dim-witted his baby brother really was, throwing all of his hard work away to save Law.

After checking your shirt, dress, skirts, pants and shoe sizes, he also pulled out a few bras to get an insight on your bra size — he needed to know it be able to buy you proper, nice undergarments, not this cotton, wire bullshit — he started scouring boxes in Rosinante’s wardrobe. Maybe he’d find some information on the marines there, a blueprint, a floor plan, sailing routes, anything really. Instead, all he found was Rosinante’s official documents, and the copy of the marriage contract. You two had even gotten a house in Marineford free of charge. He was surprised how well the marines took care of their families, but it wasn’t new. Better to encourage families and support them so they give you more little marines to train and send out to get killed in battle.

Doflamingo took your personal documents from your nightstand’s drawer. You’d need those with him. Registrating your identity again would be a risk — he didn’t plan on letting you off the ship the first two weeks, little less to risk taking you to a registration office for you to get your identity card again. Putting them into his pocket, he also folded the only single good file of clothing that fit his standards — a beautiful light blue silk dress — and put that into the pocket of his feather coat, too.

With that done, he left the master bedroom, and headed back downstairs into the open living room and kitchen, and started scouring through the drawers in the living room, too. He paused when he found a video snail, with writing on its shell.

Our Wedding

Footage. Of his little brother’s wedding.

Doflamingo took the snail from the shelf, pulled down the projector screen on the wall opposite of the large white couch, and set up the snail. He sat down on the couch and turned the snail on.

The first thing he saw was the man standing beside his brother as his brother’s best man.

That was the crazy zoan shithead that attacked him ten years ago.

Doflamingo clenched his teeth, his chest inflated as he inhaled in fury. The blood vessels on his forehead exposed themselves, throbbing along with his rage. He wanted to break something.

That one? That half-Lunarian scum was Rosi’s best man instead of Doflamingo?

It seemed Rosinante had abandoned him as a brother way before he tried to destroy his life.

But Doflamingo had never abandoned Rosinante. He’d trusted him. He’d loved him. Rosinante was his precious, sweet little brother, the one he trusted the most in the entire world, the one person nobody — nobody — was allowed to hurt. And what did Doflamingo get for trusting him, for protecting him, for loving him, because who else if not his brother by blood, who else if not his equal, his fellow god?

All his plans nearly ruined, Law fleeing after eating the Op-Op Fruit, and his little brother pointing a gun at him.

In the end, after all that, after screwing everything up, aware of what he’d done, how he’d betrayed him... Rosinante didn’t even have the guts to do it to the end and pull the fucking trigger.

Doflamingo returned his attention to the projection on the wall.

His brother was dressed in the usual wedding marine outfit; soft light blue suit, light blue waistcoat, white dress shirt and light blue tie with floral prints of small forget-me-not flowers.

However, Doflamingo found his eyes pasted to you, staring at you intensely, taking in your wedding dress. It complimented your figure, hugging your delicate curves, with an open back, off-shoulder, with flower-patterned lace sleeves. The off-shoulder dress revealed your delicate collarbone and shoulders, temptation in white lace.

What a beauty you were.

Doflamingo was impressed. His brother cleaned up well. No wonder you were all over him — his brother finally dressed as was proper for his godly status. If only his brother dressed like that all the time, and not like a clown…

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” the cheering of the guests filled the room.

Doflamingo could tell by the way your eyes looked at his brother. You loved his brother deeply.

Rosinante leaned down, and you met him half-way, hugging him around the waist happily — oh yes, you very much loved his brother, thought Doflamingo, amused — and the two of you shared another kiss as newlyweds.

Applause and cheers erupted. More confetti rained down on Corazón and you, a few scraps of it landing on your heads, strewn over his brother’s golden hair.

It didn’t escape Doflamingo’s notice how close Corazón held you to himself, and kissed you again, more passionate and deeper this time, making the crowd cheer and whistle.

Doflamingo chuckled. Who knew his quiet, sweet little brother was so passionate and possessive with his wife… he sure liked playing the good marine boy, but he was certainly a greedy, selfish man.

Just like Doflamingo.

Doflamingo heard a whistle from behind the video snail, “Leave some for the honeymoon, Rosi!”

“Oh, shut up, Wulf. Gimme that!”

His brother’s face entered the frame, his light brown eyes looking at the recorder snail, blinking. Doflamingo blinked back, staring at his brother who was without his make-up and beanie.

Rosi.

“Why’re you taking pictures?”

“It’s a video snail, Rosi.”

“Oh!”

“Hiiii!” said Rosinante, waving at the snail’s eyes, smiling wide and bright like the sun, golden and white, truly like a god. “We just got married!”

Doflamingo stared at the screen, watching his little brother smiling and waving at him.

You laughed, and Doflamingo felt his breath hitch at the sweet, gentle sound, staring at your smile; it was like an angel smiling.

“Well,” murmured Doflamingo, lounging back on the large white couch, staring at you; you looked beautiful in that wedding dress, like an angel. How on earth his brother held himself back from taking you and ripping your dress off your body was anyone’s guess. “You got something right.” The pirate smiled darkly. “What a pretty thing your wife is, fufufufu!”

“What are you doing, recording all the time? Hibou is stealing your ladies, you know.”

“Not that I mind!” came another man’s voice.

“I’m putting my flirty boy hat down for tonight!” announced Wulf determinantly. “I’m your best man, it’s my duty to record everything!”

“Isn’t that the photographer’s job?” asked Rosinante.

“Not when you promise the photographer a piece of this,” said Wulf with a grin, touching his body clad in the sky blue suit from the waist up to his white slicked-back hair, giving the snail a flirtatious wink, “in exchange for him giving you the video snail.”

“Wulf…”

“What? You two aren’t the only ones fucking at the end of the night!”

Rosinante’s face turned a deep pink, while you chuckled.

Doflamingo skipped forward, past the procession and the feast, and over the speeches. He stopped to watch the couple’s first dance.

Rosinante took you by the hand and led you onto the podium of leaves. The band started playing a slow, romantic song mainly focused on piano and violin. Rosinante pulled you close (with surprising elegance Doflamingo never thought him capable of, clumsy as his brother was) and pulled you into a slow waltz. For long minutes, you two danced, spinning and swaying, blue and white blending together perfectly, like the sky and the clouds.

The music continued, and Doflamingo watched you rest your head on his brother's shoulder when he bent down, resting his forehead against your temple, kissing your hair. You pulled your head up from his brother's shoulder, and that sweet look would have made Doflamingo bend down and kiss you. Instead of doing that, Rosinante laid his forehead against yours, and as you two swayed together to the slow music, staring into each other's eyes, your lips moved, forming words Doflamingo couldn't hear from the music. Rosinante smiled gently at you, his lips moving, making the same shape of words as yours did.

The music muted it, but Doflamingo could tell. He knew the shape Rosi’s lips formed, what words they whispered to you, pressed together with you as his brother was, the two of you like swans entangled in each other’s wings.

“I love you.”

Getting hungry — and wanting snacks to watch the show — Doflamingo headed to the kitchen to get some beer and chips.

Doflamingo paused in the dining room, his eyes catching onto the plate on the dinner table. It was a plate with a tower of pancakes, covered in chocolate syrup. Were you expecting someone? A marine guard to take you away from the island and to Marineford for the funeral?

Well…

Doflamingo grinned.

Finders keepers.

He snatched one and devoured it in one bite.

The chocolate syrup and chocolate filling inside created a wonderful flavour in his mouth.

Delicious.

Doflamingo grabbed the next pancake, feeling absolutely no shame in eating the pancakes you made for someone else.

As Doflamingo eats the full plate of pancakes, he walks around, surveying the pictures of you and his brother atop the fireplace. There is a large, binded book, and after cleaning his gloves from chocolate and sugar with a napkin, Doflamingo picks it up.

It’s a photo album. He grins. Bingo.

Doflamingo gets himself comfortable on the white couch, puts the flowers and the plate of pancakes on each thigh, opens up the photo album, grabs another pancake from the plate and looks through the pictures of you and his brother as he waits for you to come home.

***

Whenever you had nightmares, Rosinante used to say, “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

Those words feel empty and meaningless now. Rosi is gone. He can’t protect you anymore, no matter how much you wish he would.

You open the doors of the house, enter, and close them behind you, locking them from the inside.

It takes you a moment, but you notice it.

There is something in the darkness.

A tall, shadowy figure of a man, hunched over, long spine bent, his long, lanky legs crossed over each other, and…

The darkness outlined the silhouette of dark feathers of a massive coat upon his broad shoulders, covering his back.

Hope blooms within you.

“Rosi?”

A sinister, deep, wicked laugh resounded in the darkness, breaking through the silence. The malice within it sunk your gut, shivering your bones with fear; you felt like you were going to be sick. It sounded like evil incarnate.

That isn’t Rosi’s voice. That isn’t Rosi’s laugh. Rosi never laughed like that – ever.

You didn’t know how you managed to flick the light switch on to see which madman it was, but you did.

The first thing you saw when light illuminated the living room was…

Red — merlot red.

For a moment, the colour blinds you. Your focus returns, and you make out what the merlot red is. It’s a tailored, merlot double-breasted suit jacket with golden buttons with a black dress shirt tucked underneath it, a crimson tie tucked neatly in the collar, all of it paired with merlot suit pants.

A man was here. It wasn’t Rosinante.

Golden rings dangled from his tanned earlobes, their shiny reflection lost in the dark shadows of your home, their glitter extinguished. He had a long neck, similar to a flamingo’s, thick and muscular. White-framed sunglasses obscured his eyes. Their tinted, reflective lenses coloured like a bloody sunset stared right back at you, coated crimson in the darkness.

A wide, crescent-shaped, demonic smile bloomed on his face, stretching ear-to-ear, baring all of his white teeth.

That smile froze the blood in your veins.

Your husband’s older brother, Donquixote Doflamingo lounged on the white couch, legs spread wide on each side, grinning at you.

****

Let's say Doflamingo fixed the doors he kicked down, bcs... He wanted that element of surprise. This fic (this chapter particularly) has been in the works for a long time, I just wanted to share it already. If there are any missing scenes connecting between paragraphs - no there aren't. Actually, I appreciate if you guys say to me if there are. There are so many times I can proof read 11.7k words before my brain explodes. Some notes for the chapter and references.

Reader howling to the sky in mourning after finding out about Rosinante's death - for imagination purposes, it's literally Luffy screaming after Ace dies. It was a direct reference to it, and that's how I imagined Reader looking - same expression as Luffy.

The "Rosinante is dead." Doflamingo delivered the news the same way Luffy said "Ace is dead." to Tama in Wano.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @daydreamer-in-training @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @pinejayy @tellynojelly @capycapy-bara @dilf-destroyer-04 @yataidiot @orioncipher @isebauwolf @r-amenegg @skullfacedlady

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Ooo hii can I please request a Bucky x fem!reader where Y/n has had necromancy powers ever since she was a little girl (definitely made growing up hard because it’s hard to tell the difference when she’s talking to a ghost and when she’s talking to a living person , and the adults in her life never believed her). Now, as an adult, she lives with the Avengers at their HQ (not officially an Avenger, though Steve has been trying to convince her to become one for years). She had met Steve not that long after Loki’s attack on NY, he found a very overwhelmed Y/n talking to herself in an alley (a lot of people died after the attack so she would’ve had a lot of ghosts trying to talk to her), her eyes glow when she’s using her powers so Steve put two and two together that she’s probably a mutant. He convinced her to live with the Avengers and said he believes her when she tells him what she can do. Anyways, one day she somehow runs into The Winter Soldier (before CA: Winter Soldier), and Bucky has briefly woken up from being brainwashed and ran away from Hydra, and the two of them fall in love, only for Hydra to find him and force him back and Y/n ends up finding out she’s pregnant after he’s gone🥺. She refuses to tell her friends (The Avengers) who the father is and what happened to him but they promise they’ll be there for her🥺 She has a daughter and the Avengers help her raise her (Steve can’t help but think that this little girl is the spitting image of Bucky, but he knows it can’t be true because he “died” in 1945). Fast forward to after Steve finds out his best friend is alive, and he tracks him down to Romania, Steve brings Bucky back to the Avengers Compound (The Avengers never broke up) and the first person he sees is Y/n, with a 4 year old little girl who looks just like him🥺 (they’d both start crying and be so shook and run into each others arms🥺)

They’d have a lot of explaining to do to the other Avengers lol

Spitting Image Of Him » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America, the Avengers, and daughter Lucy

Summary: Bucky somehow manages to briefly escape HYDRA and meets you, which results in you and him falling in love and you having his daughter and Steve can’t help but notice how much your daughter looks like Bucky and you eventually explain everything to the Avengers.

Warnings: Fluff, language, pregnant!reader, mom!reader, dad!Bucky, HYDRA, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the beautifully descriptive request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

A/N #2: Bold text is note from HYDRA.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Not long after Loki’s attack on New York, you could still hear the voices of the people who didn’t make it. You’ve had necromancy powers since you were a kid. Meaning, you can hear the voices of the ghosts of dead people and sometimes it’s hard for you to know if you’re talking to an alive person or not.

Today was one of those days of you. You could hear the voices of the people who didn’t make it from Loki’s attack. You made a beeline to an alleyway. You sat down on the concrete, leaning your back against the brick wall. You covered your ears to try to tune out the voices of those people, which works sometimes.

“Not real.” You kept repeating to yourself.

Steve’s enhanced hearing picked up the sound of a voice as he was walking down the street. He heard it coming from the alleyway he was about to walk past. He followed the sound of the voice, leading him to you. Steve saw you sitting on the ground with your ears covered.

“Ma’am, are you ok?” Steve asks softly.

You yelped when you heard a new voice. You uncovered your ears and looked up at the man. Your mind was all over the place that you couldn’t tell if he was a ghost or not.

“Are you a ghost?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“No.” He answers.

You continued to stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s alive or a ghost. Steve crouched down in front of you. You pressed yourself more against the brick wall.

“Can I see your hand?” He asks.

You silently stared at him for a few seconds before extending your hand to him. Steve gently put your hand on his chest where his heart is. You relaxed when you felt his heartbeat.

“I’m not a ghost.” He assures. “What’s your name?” He asks.

“Y/N.” You answered quietly.

“I’m Steve.” He introduces himself.

Steve watched your eyes glow. That was enough to tell him that you have powers of some kind.

“Come with me.” Steve says, standing up and holding his hand out to you.

“Where?” You asked, looking up at him.

“I’m going to help you out and give you a place to stay.” He says.

You slowly put your hand in his and stood up. Steve took you to the Avengers compound. You’ve seen the building from the outside, but you’ve never been inside before.

“What is this place?” You asked, looking around.

“Avengers compound.” Steve answers.

Steve lead you to the lounge room where the Avengers are.

“Guys, this is Y/N. She’s going to be staying with us.” Steve says to the Avengers.

The Avengers introduced themselves to you. You gave them a smile and shyly waved at them.

“I’ll show you to your room.” Steve says.

You nodded and followed him to the floor where the bedrooms are. Steve opened the door to an empty bedroom, allowing you to walk in the room first. The bedroom was already full with a bed, nightstand, dresser, and a TV. There was also a closet and a bathroom in there.

“My room is right next door if you ever need anything.” Steve says, pointing to the right.

You smiled and nodded.

“I’ll let you rest now. Let me know if you need anything.” He says.

You nodded and he left the room.

It didn’t take you long to adjust to living in the Avengers compound. It took a few weeks for you to adjust to your new living arrangements.

“Hey, Y/N.” Steve smiles as he walks in your room. “Have you thought any more about becoming an Avenger?” He asks as he sat down on your bed.

“No. The thought of it is cool, but I need more time to think about it.” You say.

“That’s ok. Take all the time you need.” He says softly, putting a comforting hand on your knee.

You smiled at him.

Later that same day, you were walking down the street. You weren’t sure where you were going. You just wanted to clear your mind. You were looking down at the ground as you were walking and you accidentally bumped into someone. You lost your balance and fell to the ground, making an “Oof” noise.

“Sorry.” The man says.

He holds out his hand for you. You looked up at him and put your hand in his. You gave him a smile as he helped you up.

“Thank you, sir.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles back. “I’m James, but everyone I know calls me Bucky.” He introduces himself.

“I’m Y/N.” You introduced yourself.

You couldn’t help but notice how handsome Bucky is. Bucky admired your beauty as well.

“You’re handsome.” You blurted out.

“Thank you, doll. You’re gorgeous as well.” Bucky says with a smile.

You blushed when he called you gorgeous. Goosebumps appeared on your skin when Bucky’s right hand cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your skin.

“I have a strong feeling that we’re going to get along well.” He says softly.

“Me too.” You say, smiling up at him.

Over the next few days, you managed to sneak out of the compound without any of the Avengers noticing. You went to the small apartment Bucky is currently hiding out at. You and Bucky have your own knock when you two knock on the door so you two know it’s each other and not anyone else.

“Come in, doll.” Bucky whispers, taking a quick peak left and right to make sure you weren’t followed.

You quickly went inside his apartment. Bucky closed the door and locked it. He then greeted you with a sweet kiss. He put on his hands on your waist and pulled you against him. You smiled against his lips and put your hands on his chest.

“I was wondering when you were going to come by.” He says softly.

“I have to be sneaky around the people I live with when I leave.” You say with a small giggle.

You told Bucky that you live with a few people, but you didn’t tell him that they’re the Avengers. You don’t want him to think you and them are after him, in which you’re not. You and Bucky are still getting to know each other and have a good thing going.

“You know how much I love you?” He asks softly.

“The kisses you give me tell me how much you love me.” You smiled.

“I’ll give you more kisses to show you how much I love you.” He murmurs, kissing you sweetly and passionately.

You ended up losing track of time and spent the night with Bucky that night. As you were sleeping peacefully in Bucky’s arms, he heard all too familiar footsteps outside the door. His heart started pounding. He was expecting HYDRA or whoever was outside the door to break down the door, but it was just the opposite. He seen a folded piece of paper slide under the door and inside the apartment. Bucky carefully and quietly got out of bed so he didn’t wake you up. He picked up the paper and unfolded it, reading what it says. He used the street lights shining into the apartment as light to read.

Soldat, we know you escaped. We also know you got yourself a girlfriend. If you want her to stay unharmed, you return to us. If you don’t, you’ll see her all bruised and bloody. We will use force to make you return to us if we have to.

Bucky’s jaw clenched at the part of the note where they threatened to beat you bloody and bruised. He crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it somewhere in the apartment and ran his fingers through his long hair. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Bucky?” You mumbled.

“Sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Bucky apologizes softly.

“It’s ok.” You rubbed your eyes and sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. “What are you doing up?” You asked.

Bucky walked over to the bed and sat down in front of you, putting his hands in yours.

“Remember when I told you about HYDRA?” He asks.

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“Well…” He starts in a shaky voice. “They found out I escaped and they threatened to hurt you if I don’t go back to them.” He explains.

“No.” You said, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. “Please don’t go back.” You pleaded, your voice cracking.

“I don’t want to go back, but I want you to be safe.” He says.

Bucky watched a tear roll down your cheek.

“It’s going to be ok, doll.” He whispers, pulling you in for a hug.

He let you cry it out for a few minutes before kissing you passionately. He wiped your tears away with his thumbs and looked deep in your eyes.

“I want you to know that I love you more than anything, babydoll.” He whispers.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You whispered back.

Bucky went back to HYDRA immediately. He didn’t want them to lay a finger on you so he did what they told him to do.

A few days later, you were staring at a positive pregnancy test. You were in shock that you didn’t know what to do at first. You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open.

“Y/N, are you ok?” Natasha asks softly.

You yelped and jumped when you heard her voice, dropping the pregnancy test on the bathroom floor. Natasha picked it up for you, her eyes widening when she seen that it’s positive.

“You’re pregnant?” She asks.

You nodded your head yes, nervously fiddling with your fingers. You were caught off guard when she hugged you. You hugged her back.

“Congratulations!” She smiles.

“Thank you, Nat.” You say quietly.

“Do you know who the father is?” She asks curiously.

“No.” You lied.

You then went to the conference room where Steve and the rest of the Avengers are. Natasha followed you behind you.

“Y/N has something to tell everyone.” Natasha says, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

The Avengers stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to you. You felt nervous as hell under their stares.

“I’m pregnant.” You announced to everyone.

Everyone jumped up from their seats to hug you and congratulate you. You smiled at them and thanked them.

“Do you know who the father is?” Steve asks.

“No.” You lied again.

You feel bad about lying to the Avengers about not knowing who the father is, but you don’t want them to know that it’s Bucky. Especially Steve. How do you tell your friend that you’re pregnant with his best friend’s baby? For now, you’re just going to keep it to yourself.

The Avengers were very helpful throughout your pregnancy. They got you what you need for the baby. They also set everything up in the nursery, putting girl stuff in there. When it was time for the baby to be born, Steve was right by your side during the whole thing. You had a baby girl and named her Lucy. Steve held her as you took a nap.

“You’re adorable.” Steve coos at Lucy, smiling down at her.

Steve hums to himself when he notices something interesting about Lucy.

“You know, you look like someone I knew years ago.” He says to her.

The more he looked at Lucy, the more he notices a resemblance of Bucky. His eyes widened.

No… could he be- no. Bucky fell off the train in 1945. He witnessed it.

4 YEARS LATER

The more Lucy grew and got older, she resembles Bucky even more. She just turned 4 and looks like a spitting image of him. Steve noticed it and it blew his mind how this little girl looks like his best friend. Lucy’s hair and eyes are the same colors as Bucky’s, along with her facial features.

“Are you sure you don’t know who the father is?” Steve asks you once more.

“I don’t know who he is.” You lied once again.

Steve didn’t want to keep badgering you on it so he dropped it. He still thought about his suspensions though.

If Bucky is alive, why didn’t he come find Steve? How did he even survive the fall off the train? No one can survive that.

“Uncle Steve!” Lucy shouts, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Steve smiles when he sees his niece running toward him. He picked her up and hugged her.

“I want to go to the park please.” She says, giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

��It’s too cold to go to the park, princess.” Steve says softly, referring to the snow outside.

Lucy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest with a pout on her face. Steve couldn’t help but smile at how cute she’s being.

“Why don’t you go color?” He suggests. “I have to talk to uncle Sam and aunt Natasha.” He says, gently putting her back down on the floor.

Lucy nods and runs to the lounge room where she left her coloring books and coloring supplies. Steve went to find Steve and Natasha, finding them in the conference room talking.

“Hey guys, I need your help with something.” Steve says.

“With what?” Sam asks.

“Tracking down someone.” He says.

“Who do you need to track down?” Natasha asks.

“My friend Bucky.” He says.

“I thought you said he fell off a train in 1945?” Sam says.

“I did, but now I’m thinking he somehow survived it.” He says.

“What makes you think that?” Natasha asks.

“Y/N’s daughter looks a lot like Bucky.” He says.

Sam and Natasha stared at Steve like he’s crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’m thinking that Bucky is Lucy’s father.” Steve says.

Sam’s and Natasha’s eyebrows shot up at his theory.

“Are you guys going to help me or not?” He asks.

Sam and Natasha agreed to help Steve. After a lot of research, Steve finally found the answers he was looking for. Bucky is alive and is hiding out in an apartment in Bucharest, Romania. Steve’s mind is blown. All this time, he thought his best friend was dead when he’s actually alive.

“Hey guys. Have you seen Lucy? It’s her lunchtime.” You say, poking your head in the conference room.

“She’s coloring in the lounge room.” Steve tells you.

After a couple days, Steve came up with a plan to get Bucky from Romania and bring him home. He told the Avengers to keep an eye on you so you didn’t suspect a thing. Steve was about to get on the quinjet, but Lucy stopped him before he could.

“Uncle Steve, where are you going?” Lucy asks before Steve got on the quinjet.

“I have something important to do.” Steve tells her.

“Is it a mission?” She asks curiously.

“Kinda.” He says.

“Can I come with you please?” She asks.

“I wish you could, but you can’t, sweetheart.” He says.

Lucy huffed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest with a pout on her face, sitting down on the floor. Steve crouched down in front of her.

“If it makes you feel better, I have a big girl mission for you.” Steve says.

“Big girl mission?” Lucy asks.

Steve smiles and nods.

“Your mission is to protect mommy till I get back.” He tells her.

“I can do that!” She says loudly.

Steve smiles and kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll be home before you know it, peanut.” He says, playfully ruffling her hair.

Lucy gave him a hug for good luck before running to find you. Steve smiles as he watched her to find you before getting on the quinjet.

“Mommy!” Lucy shouts throughout the compound.

“Yes, sweetie?” You say, walking out of the kitchen.

“I have a mission!” She announces, standing tall in front of you as if she were in the Army.

“Oh yea? What might that be?” You asked curiously.

“Uncle Steve gave me a big girl mission to protect while he’s gone.” She says.

“Ooh! I’m definitely going to be protected, princess.” You say.

“It’s Sergeant Princess!” She says.

“Oh, my apologies, Sarge.” You say, playfully saluting her.

Meanwhile, Steve found where Bucky is currently staying in Bucharest. The apartment Bucky has been staying is small, but it looks like he tried to make it as homey as he could. After a few minutes, Steve turned around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind him.

“Do you know who I am?” Steve asks.

Bucky stared at him silently for a few seconds before answering him.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in the museum.” Bucky finally answers.

Steve nods.

“I’m not here to fight you or anything. I’m here to bring you home where you belong.” Steve says.

“Where’s home?” Bucky asks.

“New York.” He says.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m staying here.” He says.

Steve didn’t want to have to resort to you as an option, but it looks like he has no choice.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” Steve says.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks softly.

“Yes. Do you know her?” He asks curiously.

“Yes.” He said. “Is she ok?” He asks with worry in his voice.

“She’s more than ok, but she needs you more than you think.” He says softly.

“Take me to her.” He says.

Steve felt relieved that Bucky finally agreed to go home with him. Meanwhile, Lucy is being the mini Avenger Steve said she could be while he was gone. You, on the other hand, are curious to know why Steve went on a mission without any of the Avengers.

“Do you guys know why Steve went on a mission without any of you guys?” You asked the Avengers.

The didn’t say anything. They just shrugged their shoulders. You stared at them, narrowing your eyes a bit and crossed your arms over your chest, giving them the mom stare. They know that look all too well from when you give that look to Lucy.

“No matter how long you look at us like that, we’re not telling you where Steve went.” Tony says.

You sighed and went to see what your daughter is up to. You found Lucy in her bedroom playing with her stuffed animals and drawing on blank pieces of different colored construction paper.

“Hi, mommy!” Lucy smiles up at you. “Do you want to color with me?” She asks, holding up a piece of paper and a marker toward you.

“I would love to, sweetie.” You smiled.

You sat down on the floor across from her and started drawing doodles on the paper that Lucy handed you.

The next day, Steve brought Bucky to the compound. Bucky was nervous, but excited to see you.

“Sam, where’s Y/N?” Steve asks.

“She’s picking Lucy up from preschool. She should be back any minute.” Sam says.

“Who’s Lucy?” Bucky asks, looking from Sam to Steve.

Steve and Sam stayed quiet. Steve so desperately wanted to tell his best friend that Lucy is his daughter, but it’s not his place to tell him.

“Let’s just wait for Y/N.” Steve says.

You and Lucy walked in the lounge room a short moment later. You stopped in your tracks when you seen Bucky.

“Bucky?” You say, completely speechless.

“Hi, doll.” Bucky says softly and smiles.

You walked over to him and hugged him tightly. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. Tears of happiness rolled down your cheeks, along with Bucky. Lucy was standing a couple feet away in a state of confusion.

“Mommy, who is he?” Lucy asks, pointing at Bucky.

You pulled away from Bucky and looked at your daughter. Bucky looked at her too, his eyes widening when he noticed that Lucy is a spitting image of him. Steve and Sam left the room, leaving the three of you alone so you can explain everything to Bucky and Lucy.

“I owe everyone an explanation and I might as well start with you two.” You say.

Bucky and Lucy sat down on the couch while you stood in front of nervously and fiddled with your fingers. You took a deep breath before saying anything.

“Bucky, I found out I was pregnant with your baby shortly after you went back to HYDRA. Lucy is your daughter. She’s 4 years old.” You explained.

Bucky’s eyes went wide when you said that. He’s in complete shock from what he just heard. Lucy looked up at him with a curious look on her face.

“You’re my daddy?” Lucy asks.

“I guess I am.” Bucky says.

Lucy crawled onto Bucky’s lap and hugged him. Bucky hugged her back. He felt a new warmth in his heart. You smiled at the two of them as they hugged.

“I’ll let you guys get to know each other while I explain everything to everyone else.” You say.

You left the room and went to the conference room where all of the Avengers are. All of them turned their attention to you when you walked in the room.

“I owe all of you an explanation.” You said nervously. “This may be a surprise to all of you, especially Steve.” You began. “First of all, let me start off by apologizing for lying to all of you. I do know who Lucy’s father is and her father is Bucky. Before I got pregnant with Lucy, him and I were in love.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Natasha asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled and shrugged.

You looked down to avoid eye contact with any of them. Steve walked over to you and hugged you.

“It’s ok. We understand.” Steve whispers.

“You do? You’re not mad at me?” You asked.

“I’m not mad.” He says softly.

You smiled and hugged him.

“Thanks for understanding.” You murmured. “I’m going to check on Lucy and Bucky.” You say.

You went back to the lounge room to see Lucy and Bucky getting along perfectly.

“I see you two are getting along very well.” You say.

“Me and daddy have the same color eyes!” Lucy says.

“That’s right, sweetie. You do.” You smiled.

You sat down on the couch next to Bucky.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You apologized to Bucky.

“You don’t have to apologize, doll. I’m just happy you’re giving me a chance to be a father to Lucy.” Bucky says.

You smiled and pecked his lips softly.

“I love you, Bucky.” You murmured softly.

“I love you too, babydoll.” He whispers.

“I love you guys too!” Lucy chimes in.

“We love you, princess.” You and Bucky say in unison and gave her lovings.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[lilislegacy]

Okay, I’ve been thinking about something lately

All the time I see people make statements about Percy that start with “Percy would never…”

Some examples I’ve seen: “percy would never kill someone/something in front of his mom” “percy would never yell at someone he loves” “percy would never get drunk” “percy would never let his child go to camp-half blood”

Now if you passionately believe one of those, hear me out. I’m not necessarily saying I disagree!

I’m saying… who would have ever thought Percy would torture a goddess and choke her on her own poison? And…. enjoy doing it? If someone had said that on tumblr pre-HoH, every single comment and reblog would have been “PERCY WOULD NEVER!!” I mean, who would have thought Percy would do a million things he’s done? He’s done some very not so ‘silly little guy’ stuff. He is an extremely complex character. In his own head and to some people, he’s sweet and fun and silly, but to many people he’s reckless and scary and dangerous. Some people see him as someone who’s very gentle and relaxed, but some people see him as someone who’s quick to get very angry and cause destruction. And the truth is, he’s all of it. It depends on his mood. Consistency does not apply to him in many aspects. He has consistent traits, like loyalty, humor, and bravery, but his actual actions and reactions are NOT consistent. I understand why we think Percy would never do certain things. We think we know based off of his past and his history with his mom, or with Gabe, or with Luke. And I’m not saying I think he would do those things, but unless he specifically states it, we can NOT, ever, infer what Percy Jackson might or might not do.

Like for instance, the drinking thing. I am not saying percy would be a big drinker, if one at all. And he probably does have an aversion to the smell of beer because of how the apartment used to smell when he was young. But we have no evidence that Percy associates all alcohol with Gabe. Alcoholic drinks aren’t just foul smelling hard liquors. There are a million different forms that you can consume alcohol in - some of which don’t even smell like alcohol, and barely taste like it. And in The Chalice of the Gods, it’s said that Sally drinks a glass of wine every night. And Percy thinks Sally hangs the freaking moon. So if his mom drinks, he definitely doesn’t believe that alcoholic beverages = the enemy. And here’s the thing, if Annabeth and Piper and Leo were all drinking and having a good time, like college students do, and they go “Hey Percy, come sit and have a drink with us!” there’s a very good chance that he’s so comfortable with his best friends, and just wants to let loose and be a college kid, that he wouldn’t even think about Gabe. He’d just be like “Sounds fun! Count me in!” But I don’t know. That’s the point. I don’t know. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. I truly think it could go either way. And even if he does drink, maybe he never - not even once - gets drunk. Maybe he’d drink in college and as a young adult, but when he becomes a father one day, he decides he doesn’t want his children to ever smell so much as a drop of alcohol on his breath, and therefore completely stops drinking. Or maybe he doesn’t ever like it, even in college. Or maybe he’s like his mom, and he and Annabeth just have a glass of wine with dinner. Who knows?

Not us. That’s what I’m saying. WE don’t know.

I’m not saying we can’t have headcanons based on what we know about him. I have a million. But the point is, I feel like we can’t try to pretend like we actually know what Percy wouldn’t do. As a fandom, we analyze him and his choices WAY more than he ever thinks about a single choice. He definitely does not think about his life and his actions as much as we do. (I’m not saying that he’s dumb or doesn’t contemplate his life and his actions, but he doesn’t nearly do it to the degree that we do.) Us, we pretend like it’s simple math. (Our first mistake, since math is consistent and full of rules, which is the exact opposite of Percy’s character.) We go “okay luke did this and gabe did this so therefore percy would never do this.” But Percy doesn’t think that way most of the time, especially not in heat of the moment matters. The only thing we 100% know about Percy is that he will always be loyal to his loved ones. But even then, we don’t know what that loyalty will look like. Is it sacrificing himself for someone? Is it murdering the enemy? Is it manipulating someone else? Percy lives in the moment. He doesn’t often think too much before he acts. He just acts. Whether it’s in a life of death situation, or his after school activity for the day. He is unpredictable, like the ocean. It’s one of his defining traits.

Honestly, I think that’s why annabeth is so drawn to him. With everyone else, she can read them super easily and know their next move. But with Percy, she has no idea. Which is frustrating to her, but also exciting. It’s a big part of her initial attraction to him. It’s also why many of us like him so much. We don’t know what’s coming next, and we never know what he will do in a situation. Like, how could we possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do when HE doesn’t even know? Half the time I don’t think Rick himself even knows.

We become so sure that Percy wouldn’t do something because we understand his character so well, right? But I think the truth is, the minute we become certain about what Percy would or wouldn’t do, is the minute we don’t understand his character at all.

Thank you for reading my analysis of Percy on why we can’t reliably analyze Percy

[azaharinflames]

Sorry I need to rant for a tiny, little bit, because...

You know what I find particularly funny?

Their version of Buddie simply does not exist.

And I am not talking about how it is not canon, that is a given. But their version of it. The things they've claimed they do, or feel about each other, or think of each other.

(Disclaimer: I have my own opinion of their friendship and I do believe there are way better friendships within the show, including for Buck. But I do acknowledge they do love each other as friends and deeply care about one another. And that Chris is important for Buck. That is not up to discussion here. Okay, we can go on)

They have this whole "Buckley-Diaz is a family" that consists of Buck spending 99% of his free time at the Diaz house, of them having weekly movie nights, and of Buck taking Chris to school almost as much as Eddie does. And this is simply not true.

We do see Buck spending time at the Diaz house, of course. When he's hanging out with the Diazes (something that, might I point out, has not really happened since Season 4, as the few scenes we got of them hanging out since have been at Buck's loft - correct me if I'm wrong), helping Eddie out, in a group setting, and hiding from his sister and her helicopter babysitting. Movie nights- when is it even mentioned this is something they do weekly? Not once. And please correct me if I am wrong. Buck does not take Chris to school almost daily, not because he did after Eddie's breakdown does it mean this is a normal and usual occurrence. It doesn't mean it isn't, to be fair, but nothing in canon tells us otherwise. I will give them the zoo, however, because in canon we do have Eddie saying Buck takes Chris there all of the time.

What we got, however, was scenes showing how Buck has his own independent life. He has lots of scenes in his loft, as much as Buddies hate it, as we have never gotten an off-handed comment on how little he's spending there because he's at the Diazes all the time. We've gotten scenes of Buck reaching out to people who are not Eddie for help. And oh, of course - we have gotten scenes of his family (whether you like the Buckleys or not) having a family dinner. And guess who was not invited? Oh, right.

(We have, also, gotten enough scenes with Tommy that we know post-going official, they spend most of their free time with each other. Thank you to Bobby for also confirming this. We love you, king)

With the Diazes, we got scenes that showed how Eddie and Chris exist on their own, without needing Buck there to complete their family. We got a whole ep where Eddie was dealing with Chris's new crush, and instead of making that be a Buckley-Diaz 'family' storyline, Carla was the one accompanying Eddie and being the other adult in the situation. We can say whatever we want about the dating debacle at the end of Season 6 (I also think it was a mess, but for the way they rushed it), but Eddie did not say: oh, Chris and I are fine, we have Buck. And he did not say it because it simply would not have made sense.

And oh, I could go on and on on how the Eddie they have in Fanon is also not the one we have, but this is way too long already. Do let me know if anyone wants to hear it though. Although I will probably write it down whenever I am bored enough.

Short story very long: Buck and Eddie are good friends. They respect each other and clearly enjoy each other's company. And the show has definitely played with the concept of family for them (looking directly at the elf from season 2 here), but never too serious. Never in canon. Outside of the 118 being a family (which I am not denying), at least for me, it has always been obvious how Eddie and Chris were very valued by Buck, but his close-knit family (nuclear family, if you will) is and has always been Maddie (now extended to Jee-Yun and Chim as well), and Bobby (something he's admitted in canon, before someone comes at me for this).

Now, thankfully, we have Tommy to join in in there as well ☺️

[cool-thymus]

Obito's reading list

[if this post is about Obito's taste in literature then why is he asleep, and it's Kakashi doing the reading, you might ask? Well, i believe Obito's reading habits are healthy, while our boy Kakashi here can't simply put his smut down in the dead of night. Also, Obito might be woken up soon by... y'know]

Anyway, i was typing a reply to @hairybeardtongue 's idea about what books Obito would enjoy reading and got inspired ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶ (my personal post-war Obito headcanons below the cut)

Definitely! I can see Tobito going a full-blown Machiavelli mode. He must've read it in his villain era (that would explain some of his evil-but-proficient management choices).

But if we speak post-war, Obito will have to find his place again in the ninja world (which is still a mess despite Kakashi's impeccable hokageing). He'll need to catch up on all those years of denying the reality, break the delusions and prejudice he's been fostering all his adult life. I like to believe that he'll find solace in the written word and try to challenge the existing dogma. He might've lost his chakra privilege, but his mind is as sharp as ever, so why not have Kakashi deliver all the books and scrolls he requires to figure out the world he chose to save. In one of my post-war obkk aus Obito becomes a philosopher and provides valuable theoretical basis for Kakashi's and Naruto's executive hokage decisions. What if the guy who almost destroyed it all found a way to end the war-is-all-you-need dictatorship peacefully? (that would make more sense than brutally killing him for the second time, Kishi!)

As for leisure reading ("Pleasure reading!" Kakashi, please don't interrupt), I believe Obito'd enjoy stories about a wanderer who is always on the move and contemplates the world in all its beauty and messiness. (i'm thinking about Mushishi somehow xD) If the Sage of Six Paths published an autobiography, Obito would want to read it too probably. He might even enjoy Jiraya's Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi! Can you imagine how happy Kakashi'd be to learn that Obito finally decided to read his favorite author?! (he is this close to making him read the Icha-Icha series, who knows, maybe one day...)

Another curious aspect is Obito's seal-free heart, from now on vulnerable and open to compassion and strong emotions. Would that prompt him to read tragic novels to experience the catharsis of vicariously reliving grief, sadness, desperation, or hope? I think he might ("Return of the Crybaby!" dude, please). And whenever he's overwhelmed with his ideas destined to fix the society or sheds too many tears over some dramatic fiction, there's always Kakashi to lean on and rest while those nimble fingers massage his head so very soothingly.

[i-cant-sing]

PLS PLS WRITE THE PLATONIC YANDERE MIGUEL OHARA FIC IM BEGGINF 🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️WE NEED MORE PLATONIC FICS OF THIS MAN

(Thank you for reading this and have a great day!!)

I definitely see dad Miguel treating reader like a child, no matter what age you are. You could be a strong, independent woman, and to Miguel... you're a baby🥺 Everytime you get frustrated when he tells you no, or doesn't allow you to do what you want, he thinks you look absolutely adorable, your brows furrowed and your nostrils flared, and Miguel just has to just lean down to your level and you think that he's gonna offer you an explanation and in his mind, he does, but all he really says is-

"I know what's best for you, mija."

And if you dare to say "you're not my dad!", he won't say anything because yeah, you're right, but he will stare at you intimidatingly until you either take your words back or change the topic.

I think Miguel is not someone who talks much (but he still expects you to converse with him regularly) and so when he doesn't wanna argue with you, he may or may not shoot a web to seal your lips shut, just so that you give him enough time to explain (which again he doesnt), but he does use this time to tell you that you're grounded and then again, uses his strength against you to pick you up like a little bratty kitten and drop you back to your room.

I also think that Miguel definitely sees you as this helpless creature that would absolutely DIE without him. It doesn't matter if you're a spider-person like him, no. To him, you're just a frail kitten that needs papa Miguel's help to shelter her from the pouring rain and bubble wrap you and cuddle you and just- protect you from this all too harsh world.

And you could be trying to break free from his grasp, going of about how he didnt need you to pull you from your universe, how you had your life under control and what not, and Miguel would just sigh and shake his head and mutter "Teenagers🙄" EVEN IF YOU'RE AN ADULT.

Miguel isnt someone who talks about his feelings, definitely not at first, he just bottles everything up until the lid pops off and someone else has to face his fury. BUT that doesn't he doesn't expect you to talk about yours. He's super observant so the moment he notices the slightest change in your mood, or the way you breathe, oh he's bugging you to tell him whats wrong. I mean he's breathing down your neck, which as you already know isnt great because he is the only person you're allowed to talk to (minus Peter B Parker and Mayday), and eventually, he may even tie you upside down with his web to make you talk. And he's just nodding and offering up solutions/therapeutic advices (not really, they're just compromises) while you're getting blood rush from hanging off the ceiling for so long.

Also going back to the "you're not my dad!" thing, I think if you say it enough times, it does start to hurt him and eventually he reaches a breaking point where he does end up getting mad and bares his teeth at you as he yells "I AM, NOW! AND IF YOU DON'T START LISTENING TO ME MIJA, YOU WILL REGRET IT! NOW, MARCH OFF TO YOUR ROOM!" And sure, you get spooked enough to run off, but not before you yell like a very cliche, angsty teen "I hate you!" and you slam your door close before he could scold you again. He still comes right up to your door, probably to ground you even more, but he doesnt have the heart to open the door when he hears your sobs. Damn, now you just broke his heart. So, Miguel leaves, deciding its best that you two get some space to cool off.

Now I see Miguel as the type of dad who doesnt really apologise (mostly because he doesn't feel like he's done anything wrong) but instead offers a parley or a white flag of sorts in the form of food (like some cut up fruits and veggies, or even your fav takeout) and sure, his heart is still heavy with guilt, even more so when he sees your swollen red eyes indicating how you've been crying for days, so he clears his throat, maybe shifts in his seat a little and asks about your day or something random, heartbreak intensifying 100X when you refuse to talk to him, making him resort to something thats... uncomfortable for you both.

A hug.

I mean this has to be the most awkward hug in history, because Miguel just swoops you up and places you in his lap, pulling you to his chest and telling you that he's not letting go until you talk. STILL NOT APOLOGISING, I mean there is a greater likelihood that you may end up apologising to him but Miguel sure as hell isnt saying the word "sorry" (unless you're dead, specifically if u die in his arms hehe).

[libraryofgage]

Meddling Kids

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two | Three 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two Scooby Gang One (you're here!) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three Leverage Crew One

From the girl that brought you that silly little Spicy Six Scooby Movie post (I've been thinking of making that post into one of those social media series things on Tumblr but imma let that cook a little longer actually lmao) is a brand new Stranger Things and Scooby Doo crossover

Anyway, we're here for good vibes and fluffy Scooby gang, so definitely don't point out any typos hfjkds

Have fun reading!

---------

People coming.

Steve freezes, looking at the possum that's scurried into the room and sidled up next to him. He takes a deep breath and forces his shoulders to relax. People have come to explore the abandoned lab before; usually, it's just older kids daring each other to stand inside for a few minutes. There's been that lady recently who likes dressing up as a weird rat-thing, but she hasn't bothered Steve or his friends. Actually, she may not even realize Steve is here.

"Is it the lady again?" he asks, his voice low as he places a hand on the possum's head. He feels its nerves flow through his palm, and it pushes its head against him, snout nuzzling against the 004 on his arm.

No. Four big ones and a beast.

Four adults and a dog, probably. Steve frowns slightly and gets up, carefully making his way across the dirty floor toward the window. He lifts the corner of the curtain and stares at the bright blue, green, and orange van parked in front of the building. Four adults are standing around with a big dog, which isn't looking too happy about being near the place. Steve can't blame it.

He slowly pushes the window open a crack, straining his ears to hear one of the adults say, "Okay, gang. Daphne, Velma, and I will look around downstairs. Shag, you and Scooby will take the second floor. We'll meet back in the lobby in an hour."

"Can't we just, like, not explore the creepy abandoned lab for once?"

Steve assumes this is the one called Shag, and he hopes the other man agrees to just leave. That would make his life so much easier. He hears the dog, Scooby, agree with the sentiment and hopes the other people can understand him, too.

Unfortunately, one of the women says, "C'mon, guys, the monster isn't real. Here, I'll give you some Scooby Snacks for the road."

And that seems to be the end of that. The man and dog accept the snacks, the people enter the building, and Steve resigns himself to hiding for however long they stick around.

He bunkers down, leaning against the wall beneath the window, and goes back to coloring the floor with markers. This entire room is covered in drawings that reach only a few feet up the wall. Steve isn't tall enough to go any higher.

Right now, he's drawing all the animals in the building. There are the ones that were there to begin with (mostly rats and rabbits) and the ones that moved in after the bad people left (possums and raccoons and cats and more rats). He doodles them marching across the floor, a relaxed smile tugging at his lips as he colors a cat purple.

He's putting the finishing touches on the final animal in the line (the very same possum that came to warn him about the people) when he hears a scream from down the hall. Steve blinks, looking up just in time to see Shag and Scooby throw open the door, slide into the room, and slam it behind them.

They lean against it, sinking to the ground, and finally notice Steve sitting against the opposite wall. "Like, Scooby, please tell me I'm imagining that kid over there," Shag says, his voice wavering and cracking near the end.

Scooby starts out looking as scared as Shag, but then he tilts his head. He hesitates for a few seconds before dropping low to the floor and slowly moving toward Steve. "Scoob, what are you doing?" Shag asks.

Not a ghost, Shaggy!

"Not a rhost, Raggy!"

Steve blinks, frowning in confusion. Scooby talked. Like, actually talked. He talked out loud and Shaggy (it makes as little sense as Shag in Steve's opinion) understood him. "There, like, can't be a kid here!"

By the time he says this, Scooby has reached Steve, looking up at him from the floor with hopeful eyes and an eagerly wagging tail. Steve holds himself back for all of two seconds before reaching out and scratching behind Scooby's ear.

The dog lights up and tries to squeeze into Steve's lap, licking his cheeks and covering him in slobber. Steve laughs, trying to evade Scooby's tongue and utterly failing. "Stop, stop!" he shouts breathlessly, still giggling even when Scooby finally gives him a break.

"Oh, man," Shaggy says, slowly moving from the door to approach Steve. When he's a few steps away, he stops and crouches. "What are you doing here, little guy?"

Steve blinks, glancing at Shaggy before turning his attention back to Scooby. He reaches up, scratching under Scooby's chin and trying to ignore his nerves about talking to another human after being alone for so long. "This is my home," he says.

Your home?

"Your rome?"

"Like, man, this is not a good home," Shaggy says, looking around at the dust and the cobwebs and the possum in the corner of the room. "Don't you have, like, parents or something?"

"Not really."

Can we keep him, Shaggy?

"Can re keep him, Raggy?" Scooby asks, his tail wagging hopefully as he looks at Shaggy over his shoulder.

"Gee, Scoob, I don't know," Shaggy says, frowning slightly as he finally sits down on the floor and hunches over. "A kid's a lotta responsibility, man. We gotta feed him and clothe him and, like, make sure he doesn't get sick."

Steve looks between the two and can't help a slight smile. Shaggy is nice, and Scooby is a dog, which automatically makes him good to Steve. He doesn't mind helping them out a little. "You're here about that lady, right?" he asks.

Lady?

"Rady?"

"Like, what do you mean lady?" Shaggy asks.

"The one dressing like a rat," Steve says, wondering how they didn't make that connection themselves. Haven't they already realized it's not a real rat-thing?

"Oh, man, I guess Velma was right," Shaggy says, a relieved laugh bubbling out of him as he slumps even more. "We gotta tell the gang, right, Scoob?"

Yeah, yeah!

"Reah, reah!"

"Are you trying to catch her?" Steve asks, looking between the two once more.

"Well, like, the rest of the gang's gonna want to."

"I can help with that," Steve offers, smiling reassuringly at the concerned looks that Shaggy and Scooby give him in return.

------------------------------------

Hawkins is supposed to be a vacation. Sort of. There's a possible mystery in the town, but even Velma couldn't confirm for sure, and Daphne had encouraged them to just relax.

Steve is inclined to agree with her, especially when she buys them a house with a pool that Scooby immediately launched himself into.

Still, he can tell that Velma won't relax unless she gets a chance to look around, so he finds her to go on a grocery run. "Oh, you're right," she says when he points out the lack of food in the house. "We'd better get something before Shaggy and Scooby start chewing on the walls."

"We'll set up the bedrooms while you get groceries," Fred says, grinning at them from across the living room. He digs in his pocket and pulls out the keys to the Mystery Machine. After making sure Steve is ready, he tosses them over.

"Please just don't put me in that plaid room," Steve tells him, catching the keys and passing them to Velma.

"I think that would count as cruel and unusual punishment, Steve," Daphne calls, her voice coming from down the hall where she's no doubt started setting up her room. She pokes her head into the hall, smiles at him, and adds, "Don't worry. We'll put Shaggy and Scooby in that one."

"Knowing them, they'd like it," Velma says.

As if he was just waiting for his queue, Shaggy leans over the second-floor railing and shouts, "Dibs on the plaid room! It looks groovy!"

Steve snorts as Velma rolls her eyes with an amused smile. "Come on, Steve, let's get going."

The drive to the grocery store is quiet, with Steve paying more attention to the town around him and Velma focusing on driving. He notes anything that looks weird, like the lack of people walking around. They pass other cars, of course, but even when they drive past what could be called Downtown Hawkins, he doesn't see anyone walking around.

He tucks that away for later, seeing nothing else of note until they park near a pile of bikes at the grocery store. "They're not locked," he says, nodding to them.

"It's a small town, Steve," Velma says, unbuckling as she turns the radio down so their ears aren't blasted when they get back. "They probably don't feel the need to."

"I guess," Steve mumbles, hopping out of the van and waiting for Velma to round the front. He walks next to her and holds the door open when they reach it. "Maybe we can get sandwich stuff."

"We'll have to wipe out their entire deli section," Velma says, sighing as she grabs a cart and pushes it towards the produce aisle. "At least we never have to worry about food waste."

Steve hums in agreement, easily falling into their normal routine of Velma calling out items and him grabbing at least five of them if there's enough in stock. "What do you think about that mystery?" he asks, placing a bag of apples in the cart.

"I think that forest out there is prime real estate," she replies, leaning on the cart's push bar. "Get a watermelon, too, Steve. Anyway, demon dogs aren't the weirdest we've run across."

"They were demodogs. Not demon dogs."

"I still think that was just a typo. Either way, I'm sure we can walk around the forest later and, you know, learn what the squirrels have seen."

Steve crinkles his nose, glancing at her as they make their way towards the deli. "You know the squirrels are too flighty. We're better off with the raccoons. Or, like, the sparrows."

He looks over to see her smirking and realizes she was just teasing him. Steve huffs and grabs as many sandwich meats as he can, getting everything but ham since Velma can't eat it and it gives Daphne migraines.

"Well, whichever animals you interrogate, I'm sure they'll clear up this mystery in no time."

Steve hums in agreement, follows Velma into the cereal aisle, and is about to say they should consider focusing on field mice when a voice from the other side of the shelf says, "Dude, spray cheese isn't gonna help us against the demodogs."

He blinks, pauses, and looks at Velma. She tilts her head, holds a finger up to her lips, and waves off the smirk he gives her at being right about demodogs not being a typo. "Yeah, I know," another voice says, followed by the clatter of grabbing a few cans, "but I want Cheez-Whiz."

"That stuff is gross," a girl's voice says, her tone flat in a way that Steve almost recognizes. He frowns slightly, tilting his head as he silently places a few cereal boxes in the cart. "It tastes fake."

"That's the point, El."

"Shouldn't we focus on lighters and hairspray?"

"I mean, this is technically a spray, right?"

Steve glances at Velma, raising an eyebrow before gesturing to the end of the aisle. She nods once and starts pushing the cart in that direction, huffing in amusement when Steve drops in a few more boxes along the way. "You'd think we're feeding an army," she says, tone dry.

"We might as well be," Steve replies, feelings his shoulders relax at the routine exchange.

They round the corner to see three kids down the aisle, two boys and one girl. One of the boys has curly hair and a baseball cap while the other is wearing a basketball jersey, and the girl has short hair that falls to her shoulders. They're all looking at the shelf, but the girl glances over when Velma and Steve enter the aisle.

She meets Steve's eyes, and he wonders if he's met her before. Her eyes narrow slightly, more in confusion than anything else, and her gaze travels down. He feels it on his arm as she lands on the 004, and her eyes widen as she steps away from the shelf.

Steve glances down at her arm in turn, sees the 011, and feels like his breath has been punched out of him. "Eleven," he whispers.

Next to him, Velma shifts closer, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'm here," she says, her voice low and more reassuring than she'll ever know.

"Four," Eleven says, walking up to him without another glance at her companions. "Are you here to hurt me or my friends?"

Steve blinks. "What?"

"Are you violent? Kali, Eight, was violent. And angry. Are you angry?"

As she talks, the two boys move to flank her, looking between Steve and Velma with something between suspicion and confusion. "Is this one of your siblings, El?" Basketball Jersey asks.

"Yes. Four. He was...transferred a year before the Upside Down. Four, these are my friends Dustin and Lucas"

"I go by Steve now. And, uh, no, not violent. We're grocery shopping," Steve says, awkwardly gesturing to their cart.

"Steve? You can name yourself and you choose Steve?" Dustin asks.

Steve blinks and frowns. "I didn't name myself. I asked the smartest rat I knew to name me."

The two boys blink as El nods in understanding. "The rat chose well," she says.

"Dude, how many people are you feeding?" Lucas asks, seeming to finally notice the shopping cart.

"Well, one of them is a Great Dane," Velma says. "Hello, El. I'm Velma, one of Steve's...guardians, I suppose. How would you like to come by for dinner? El and Steve can catch up, and you can tell us about those demodogs you mentioned."

"Were you spying on us?" Lucas asks.

"You weren't exactly being quiet," Velma tells them.

Before Lucas or Dustin can start arguing, El cuts them off, "We will come by for dinner. I am glad we met again, Steve."

"Yeah. Me, too," Steve replies, smiling at El and wondering if they'll have to explain how Scooby can talk.

----------

Tag List (please let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@romanticdestruction,

[usercelestial]

buck and tommy and josh and eddie have weekly game nights together. just simple couple activities, double dates and such. they're innocent, light hearted nights. but josh has always felt something like looming tension between all of them.

josh knows eddie has had thoughts about buck, knows he's definitely had thoughts about tommy, has woken up in the middle of the night to eddie bucking his hips against the mattress and moaning their names enough times to know that eddie has plenty of thoughts. and he's pretty sure buck and tommy have whispered dirty things to each other while watching josh and eddie dance together in those dimly lit gay clubs they used to visit more frequently. he's pretty sure they're all on the same page about this but he's about to tear his damn hair out because no one's doing anything about it. they just keep having long, lust-filled looks over monopoly and connect four. so he does what eddie always accuses him of and he schemes.

it's 8 o'clock and they're hosting tonight. josh gets the drinks and makes the little platters and pays chris 20 dollars to ask if he can sleep over at a friend's house (which he finds out later he was already planning on doing anyway so now he's out 20 bucks and chris is lucky josh loves him). he makes eddie put on that pink button up that makes his arms look good and is very fun to take off (mi corazón, it's just buck and tommy, why am i not allowed to wear my sweatpants?" "they don't match the button-up" "okay so why am i wearing a button-up?"). he himself throws on his tightest pants and a ribbed polo (they get a little distracted and let their chicken burn but buck always brings over an extra dish anyways so they carefully deposit it into the trash and continue groping each other.)

when buck and tommy finally knock on their door, he doesn't miss the sharp breath that buck sucks in as he looks eddie up and down. he also doesn't miss the way buck's eyes refocus when tommy's hand comes around to pinch buck's elbow a little. they share a glance and tommy bites his lower lip.

they exchange their normal pleasantries as always, rib each other, talk about their shifts, a few hilarious calls, the delicious food buck brought over and politely ignore the burnt smell coming from the kitchen. josh makes a point to let his hand linger on tommy's shoulder for seconds too long and watches eddie's throat bob as he swallows. then the games begin.

it's some card game tonight that josh is half paying attention to. he decides when eddie brings back the third round of beers for the night that it's now or never. he suggests a light game of truth or dare. ("what are we, russo? 12?" "what are you, diaz? chicken?")

they start easy ("who was your first guy crush, buck?" "hm, probably my gym teacher from middle school, mr. hudgens" "buck's old person fetish strikes again." buck and eddie throw pillows at each other for a second, tommy feigns offense but pets buck's hair with a sickeningly sweet smile, josh is mentally high fiving himself.) he tries to gently guide buck and eddie away from childish dares to more adult truths. he locks eyes with tommy while buck and eddie argue over how many marshmallows buck could hypothetically fit in his mouth (not exactly what josh had in mind but they're going in the right direction here).

he knows he's been figured out and for a second thinks tommy is about to slap his thighs and say "well im beat, let's go before he can try to seduce my partner any more" but tommy squints his eyes, then raises his brows as if to ask for confirmation, and when josh nods, tommy licks his lips and nods back, turning back to watch the love of his life smile at him with spit and sugar falling out of his mouth (the answer was 20 marshmallows for those keeping score).

tommy lets josh guide them, but aids by steering the questions and dares in a leading direction and kissing at buck's neck every so often to keep buck flushed and blushing. josh decides to ramp it up when eddie chooses truth for the first time the whole game and josh pushes his foot up against eddie's leg and asks "what's the most recent sex dream you've had?"

eddie stutters and shakes his head. josh doesn't think buck realizes he's leaning forward or that tommy's hand is gently massaging his thigh. tommy's gaze flickers to josh with a nervous expression ("did we push too far? was it too much, too quick?")

"you don't have to answer, babe," except josh knows eddie, "you know, if it's too much of a challenge, of course, you can always skip it."

eddie's posture straightens and he eyes josh up a bit. it's a challenge, as always, a threat, a proposition, a loving exchange of harshness.

eddie clears his throat (good boy, josh thinks to himself, he'll tell eddie that later) and starts speaking. "well, obviously you were there."

"anyone else?" tommy asks, trying hard to sound bored and a little patronizing. (josh kinda wants to suck his dick about it, he knows eddie does too because he stutters a little and shakes his head and starts over).

"obviously, you were there, josh. of course. um- and, you know it was just a dream but-"

out of the corner of josh's eye, tommy starts to kiss buck's neck again. buck tilts his head to give him more room, closing his eyes and gasping when josh assumes tommy sinks his teeth in a little. he doesn't look, he's too busy watching eddie watch them.

"uh-" eddie starts again, and josh takes that opportunity gently run his fingertips along the back of eddie's hairline, which always gets him purring.

josh is starting to think maybe eddie needs a little push, so he leans in close and bites his ear, turning his soft traces in eddie's hair to a firm tug in buck's direction. he points, "was he there, baby?"

eddie nods, cheeks flushed red, "buck and tommy," his knee jerks and his legs fall open, "they were both- and we were all-"

tommy's hand moves from buck's thigh up to palm him through his jeans, buck's eyes are half-lidded and glazed over as he watches eddie struggle to explain.

eddie looks over to josh, finally, and josh doesn't know what good deed he's done to deserve the look eddie gives him but he'll thank whatever god deemed him worthy of it.

eddie whispers low and quiet, just for them, "baby, you know i wouldn't- you know you're it-"

josh kisses him sweetly, trying to say "you don't have to explain, you don't have to justify anything when you're with me, we can love each other and love other people and come home to each other every day. our house can just be filled with love, not obligation or rules. just let yourself enjoy this, you're so beautiful when you enjoy yourself, you're so beautiful when you let yourself be loved."

but that's a lot of emotion and there are far too many things to say that he just doesn't have the vocabulary for and he thinks that if he tries to say any more than three words, he'll burst into tears and not in the sexy way. so instead he rubs his thumb over eddie's cheek and says, "i know, love."

eddie nods and looks back to tommy, "i think it's buck's turn, now, right?"

buck, dazed out of his mind, wrinkles his forehead, "huh?" is all he gets out while tommy continues his attack on his neck.

"truth or dare, baby." tommy supplies.

buck smiles, "jesus, okay, so we're doing this. uh, dare."

eddie gets on his knees and shuffles forward until their nose to nose, he briefly puts a hand on tommy's neck and there's a small exchange that passes between them. something like permission. josh makes a mental note to revisit that. tommy bites buck's ear once last time and looks up at eddie through his lashes, resting his chin on buck's shoulder.

"what's it gonna be, eds?"

"kiss me."

josh watches buck and eddie take out seven plus years of tension and emotion on each other, biting each other's lips and digging fingernails into each other's waists. tommy pets buck's hair and rubs his back until buck turns and kisses him quick and dirty, whimpers out "daddy" which makes eddie's jaw drop before leaning back and out of the way so eddie has full access to his partner. buck beckons josh over while eddie and tommy wrestle each other on the ground. he slides between his legs easily and when josh tastes him he suddenly understand why tommy's always walking around, looking like he's got his heart outside of his body. they get lost in each other, the four of them. they get lost in their mouths, skin, and heat; lost in their love and friendship and romance.

they collapse together on the floor of eddie and josh's living room.

"so, uh, game nights?" tommy comments, tracing over buck's ribs.

"hm, yeah i like this game." josh adds.

"same time next week, right?" buck turns to face josh and eddie, but josh gives the floor to eddie.

eddie licks his lips, "can't wait. but, uh, you guys are hosting next time."

[glitter-stained]

Ok sooo don’t know if you’ve ever already been asked this but-

I’m like a sucker for cute baby robin Jason interactions with the Teen titans. In my own wonderful world I like to imagine that Baby Jason had (has) a crush on his older brother’s cool older friends (cough cough Roy).

How do you think that would go? (I’ve thought of these scenarios soooo many times)

Especially when he meets them again when he’s older, and ripped, and ohmygodthosethighs

Just asking Fellow Jason Todd Stan to Fellow Jason Todd Stan :)

Tysm for the ask!

Hmmm

I think the more Titans Jaybin had a baby crush on the cuter it gets.

Dick: so hey Jay how was it what did you think of my team?

Jaybin, who spent way too many hours surrounded by the coolest and prettiest people he's ever seen smiling and talking to him: I think I have arrhythmia.

As for his comeback, I'm gonna be honest I'm very critical of villainous Jason, I think UTH an intelligent, enjoyable story but I personally can't get over its flaws so I'm gonna answer using some AUs of mine, please bear with me. Mostly it's just hard to analyse and make hypothesis about a characterization you disagree with.

Antigonish : that's my personal UTH rewrite where Jason is still a villain/antihero/rogue but the way I'd have written it. In this, Jason (17) looks around 17 years old at most in UTH so he's still not exactly a sexy adult but I don't think the Titans know he's back yet. At the end of Antigonish, Jason leaves Gotham and Dick only finds out from Bruce after he left that Jason's back. So I think the way Dick learns it and passes it on the Titans is "there is a very deeply traumatized highly skilled teenager wandering across the country who needs urgent psychiatric care if lost please return to Batman." I don't know when he first meets the og Titans afterwards (though he maybe meets Roy first since I kinda want him to wind up in Star City for a while, make friends with Mia), but I think there would be that "best friend's undead little brother, handle with care" vibe going on on the Titan's side. On Jason's side, I can see him annoying the fuck out of Mia lmao -"wow your older brother is so handsome I wanna use these biceps as pillows for the rest of my life", "have you seen him with Lian, I wanna bear his children" she would be SO DONE with him

Now in an AU similar to Antigonish, but also closer to canon (aka trying to mash my version of Jason into various dc canons held together with glue to have in character!Roy with an older version of Antigonish!Jason teaming up) which I will call the Jayroy AU as its sole purpose for existence is that I want these people to date, Jason and Roy meet as adults (Jason is 22 and Roy 29). Why did they never meet before? Eh, raising a kid who definitely doesn't get exploded is hard work. Anyway the point is Roy doesn't recognise Jason. Jason is using a pseudonym (probably something stupid like Harper Teal) because of legally dead reasons and just assumes Roy recognised him and followed along, but he looks nothing like the cute little guy who blushed like a tomato every time Roy talked to him. At some point Jason casually mentions the adventure he had with the Titans and Roy goes through several kinds of shock and has to reboot like a computer.

> + bonus lantern AU:

Red Lantern Dick: "hey guys remember my first little brother Jason? He asked if he could get some help on an intergalactic issue."

The titans: "that cute kid? Didn't he die? And why would the second Robin need help with intergalactic threats anyway?"

Jason, thighs and tits on display, in his Star Sapphire uniform, with a machine gun construct under the arm: "Hey guys who wants to help me take down a space wide trafficking ring?"

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

Thinking about the "Do you Feel Safe Tape"

Honestly we should talk about the different reactions to 'who do you trust' a bit more.

Wooly - Wooly seems surprised that you trust him. I couldn't help but think it's partly because we like seem to like Amanda and Amanda hates him. Also considering Amanda doesn't trust him, he probably hasn't had anyone say they trusted him in a very long time and it was probably shocking. Then Amanda tells us she felt that way a long time ago and Wooly looks sad. I've noticed throughout the game that he seems to get sad whenever Amanda talks about not liking him anymore. He gets immediately sad when Amanda says that you have to think about who you can trust, before she even mentions. I think whatever he did to break her trust, he might actually feel really bad about it. (I can point out other moments he's done this too if you want). But what else is interesting is that Amanda trusted Wooly at some point. She didn't hate him from the start, something happened to change their relationship. I can't help but feel it was "recent" considering the events of the first game. Considering both Amanda and Wooly's reactions to Wooly coming back to life, I'd assume Amanda has never hated Wooly enough before to try killing him. When I say recent, I mean possibly during the years that Kate was watching the tapes and talking with Amanda.

Personally, I think both Amanda and Wooly unintentionally played a part in Kate's death and Hameln finding her. Considering Amanda's reactions to us saying "Hameln" I think they might still be monitoring Amanda and Wooly. I think that by interacting very directly with her (saying her name and stuff) could have helped them discover her identity and put her in danger. Which is not directly related to anything in this post (I mean it could be, but I'd need more evidence). That said, it's possible that him getting in the way of them remembering (once they started to gain back their memories) was exactly why she stopped trusting him. . But I think the important takeaway here is she did trust him at some point, and he feels bad that he broke that trust.

Kate: Amanda trusted Kate, and wishes she could still talk to her. Kate was one of the last people who knew Amanda when she was Rebecca. (well, positive relationships at least) Think about it. Sam is MIA. All the other librarians who knew her are DEAD. Any friends she had in school or whatever are definitely full grown adults if they didn't get trapped in the show (idk, like if they were watching it cuz it was their friends show or whatever). Every person we know who knew Amanda is probably dead now. Kate was the last one. Now that she remembers, she keeps saying she wishes she could still talk to Kate whenever we mention her, and Wooly looks like he feels bad. Now that she remembers who she was. Now that she remembers Rebecca, she wants to talk with Kate, maybe the way they used to. That could be why she's so angry with him. Why she tried to kill him AFTER they found Kate died (in the Wooly's birthday tape) but had only hurt him when they realized Riley was watching the tapes and not Kate (in the original in your neighborhood tape). Wooly might've caused her to miss her chance to talk to one of the few people who knew her as Rebecca. That was recent though, I think she lost trust in him over time as he kept blocking her attempts to reach out to Kate

Sam: She says Sam was trusting too, and that can be a mistake. She sounds so sad here, like she is going to cry. I think this confirms that Amanda doesn't hold any malice towards Sam about what happened. She understands that both of them were tricked. So idk, I guess any theories involving Amanda hating Sam for what happened are debunked now?

Hameln: Saying Hameln immediately makes Amanda stop trusting us. Wooly looks scared of Amanda yelling (as always) but I noticed he also looks kind of angry? Offended? Annoyed? I can't really tell cuz the tape gets really blurry. I've seen people say that Wooly doesn't react to the meatman or Hameln, but I think he does it's just more subtle. I don't know what else to say here, the clip goes by so fast.

Meatman: Again, both of them react to this. Amanda immediately gets pissed. And like, reasonably so. I've heard that the game won't let you progress past this point if you do this apparently, so like... the meatman is serious. Wooly looks shocked and then immediately motions at us not to say that. But like, it's a different surprise then when you answer "Wooly" he seems horrified. Like this is a pretty messed up thing to say. I'm not 100% sure what the meatman's deal is but like... both Amanda and Wooly seem to dislike him in the first and second game. Also is it just me or is it kind of odd that they only dislike the butcher? Like, there are variants of him in all the shops in the first game and Wooly and Amanda don't really seem to mind him, but they both don't like being in the butcher's. When only the meatman's buildings appear, Wooly looks pretty concerned, and then really scared when they enter, and asks her to take them someplace else. Amanda has a full-blown meltdown over not wanting to go in and when we enter she screams at us to let her out. I find this scene interesting because I don't think either of them are in control. Wooly is trying to distract her from Kate's death (or at least that's what I think the "something bad happened" means) by going a bit off-script and controlling the story a little. It doesn't seem like he was the one who messed with the stores. Amanda didn't either. What if this was the meatman? Like... punishing them for going off script by like reminding them of his looming presence or whatever? Idk. That whole scene was WEIRD in hindsight. Even though we never enter the butcher shop in the second game, his presence looms over us the entire time. Almost makes me think he's the real one put in their too keep the kids under control. They are both terrified of him after all and he seems to be connected with the surgeon who trapped them in there. Sorry this got a bit on topic but I think I might be getting somewhere.

But let's move on to the answers for the "what scares you" question.

"Amanda" or "you" - Question, has anyone tried Rebecca? I've only seen the answer compilations use "amanda" or "you". Amanda breaks our heart here by being hurt that after all this time we're still afraid of her. Ouch.

Hameln - Amanda gets terrified and says not to bring them up. I think Hameln is definitely watching these tapes.

Meatman - Wooly finally reacts to something, and bro is freaked out. Idk if it's by the mention of the meatman, Amanda's anger or both. Honestly, I have no idea why her anger spells still freak them out. I guess it is pretty scary, but I feel like he should be used to it at this point. Also she can't kill him, so what is he afraid of? He doesn't seem to be worried about being the one who makes her angry anymore, but he still gets freaked out when we do it? Weird. Anyway, I find it interesting that Amanda has spent the whole first game trying to tell us all about what happened, but she draws the line at the meatman and Hameln. Wooly wasn't there to stop her before, and she still didn't want to discuss it. Honestly, it doesn't feel like she's been as eager to tell us much in this game, despite trusting us. I mean she's told us plenty about Sam and Kate, so I don't think it's that she doesn't trust us. I think she doesn't want to remember things about Hameln or the meatman. She wanted to remember who she was, she wanted to remember Sam, she wanted to remember Kate and she wanted to know what happened to her... but somehow she draws the line here. Then we see the glitches of the surgery room and the mouth. I really do agree with the theories that the meatman is connected with the people who put her and Wooly into the show. That said... why is he there? That's what I don't get. I think I might be cooking with my earlier theory though no?

Wooly - Odd. He doesn't even look hurt, just confused. We can clearly see here that Amanda is not at all afraid of Wooly, so like I don't think he's like a Hameln worker. The meatman absolutely is though. We are not hating on the meatman enough guys. DOWN WITH THAT- Anyway.

Actually the whole point of this post was to talk about what Amanda says about how we were a stranger when we met her. I think this is really important to note. Because Amanda knew Kate long before she was Amanda. Possibly before "Amanda the Adventurer" even came to be. Of course Amanda trusted her. But she didn't know Riley. She tells us that she trusts us. This is HUGE. I mean, considering everything Amanda has been through. She barely knows us. She has EVERY DANG REASON not to trust us. Heck, I think that could be what Wooly means when he says she shouldn't talk to strangers. Because "not talking to strangers" doesn't make sense in this context. The viewer is a stranger, but if they didn't ever interact with the viewer they wouldn't have a show so Wooly's comment makes no sense. And yet, despite everything, she trusts us. Wooly looks kinda sad when she says she trusts us, probably because she trusted him once too, now she won't listen to a thing he says.

Then Joanne (I swear to god I got so mad at her in this scene) calls us and Amanda looks kind of sad when she hears that. Then looks really sad when Joanne says "that thing" I think Joanne was referring to the Wooly monster but Amanda doesn't know that. Then the possum appears and they both get really mad at it (and us for letting it mess with them). It's made very clear that both of them genuinely don't know who this guy is. It's funny because usually Amanda is the one asking us to get rid of him but this time it's Wooly.

And then let's talk about how COORDINATED THESE TWO WERE OMG. All it took was a look and a nod and they were already on the same page. If we don't help them, they manage to beat this guy up all on their own and mind you, not a single word is exchanged of a plan, they just work together. They just do it. And they do it so freaking well. Remember my Hameln theory? About how Hameln doesn't want these two on the same team because you know... two kids who can control demons who have every reason to hate Hameln and then there's THIS. When they get along they work so freaking well together. Could you imagine if they both decided to team up with their demons and beat the crap out of Hameln? Is there even a chance to be stood here? Honestly, I was also thinking, I think Hameln picked whoever Wooly is specifically for his avoidant personality, knowing that these two would clash. But clearly they don't have to.

Oh yeah, then they both get pissed AT US. I don't think we've actually seen Wooly get THIS mad at us. Like there was the time in the storybook tape but like he was not this mad. He's like... Amanda level mad here. Then they pick up the possum and throw him in the trash with still very minimal communication and ALL THE COORDINATION.

Then in the version where we do help, Amanda actually agrees with Wooly's sentiment that some strangers CAN be scary. Then without a word they both pick him up and throw him in the trash. BRO THE COORDINATION BETWEEN THESE TWO WHEN THEY WORK TOGETHER IS INSANE I NEED MORE OF IT ITS SO SMOOTH AND PLEASANT TO WATCH. Then Wooly asks if they can go home and Amanda playfully teases him "What are you scared?" Then he kinda makes this face like "yeah kinda" and she's like "c'mon let's go." she sounds a lot less annoyed with his presence then usual. Like still annoyed but also like she's kinda okay with it?

This deserves it's whole entire own post but like... I feel like gradually their relationship has improved over the course of this game. Like Amanda still doesn't trust him, there's still some rough stuff they need to work through, but she's starting to let him in again. Just a little. She's more okay with him being there. And I think people tend to overlook this when they say Wooly is evil. If Wooly was evil, why are they starting to get along again, (I mean they aren't besties again but like it's definitely a start and you can't ignore that.) Shouldn't Amanda continue to hate his guts? Instead she's actually agreed with him on some things, and they've helped each other out a bit. Like I said this is probably going to get it's own post at some point so I'll leave it here for now.

Holy crap did you actually read all this? OMG thanks. I did not realize I wrote so much WOW. BTW, I was watching those "all answers" videos along with a zero-commentary playthrough of the original so like, I'm not pulling this from memory at all.

[wisteria-lodge]

What are your thoughts on the Dursleys, but specifically Dudley and and Petunia?

There's a pretty dramatic tonal shift between books 1-3 and books 5-7. Book 4 transitions between them, and it functions like a magic trick. A lot of careful misdirection and hidden elements.

The characters hit the hardest by the tonal shift are definitely the comic villains. JKR solves this either by kinda writing them out of the story (Lockhart, Filtch, Fudge - after book 4 they don't do anything, and barely show up on the page.) Or, she goes through the trouble of adapting them for the less cartoonish, more adult world. Draco and Percy are probably her *most* successfuls example of a comic villain seamlessly aged up into a more serious one (and there are definitely issues there...) Snape... kinda works. Although I do think Book 5-7 Snape is just a different character than book 1-3 Snape. He basically disappears from Book 4 so the shift isn't as obvious.

Vernon remains his Book 1 comic villain self the whole time, in a choice I think is just a *little* cowardly. I understand why it was made though. If you want to write Vernon as a villain to be taken seriously (which the Cursed Child low-key does...) then he becomes REALLY bad, you have to unpack that, and it becomes partially a story about Harry's relationship with Vernon, which you don't want. So he gets slotted into the "ignore them" category, along with Lockhart and Flitch.

An attempt was definitely made to humanize Dudley and Petunia, and it... kinda worked? I mean the ideas are there, even if the execution is faulty. Dudley gets some perspective on his life and on Harry, the narrative is okay with treating him as big the way a heavyweight boxer is big, instead of Fat, Piggy (sigh.) There's also a couple fascinating little hints about the Dursley's family dynamic when Harry isn't there, and I think it's very correct that without a family scapegoat that group of people would turn on each other. So we see that Dudley's diet in Book 4 is *really* a conflict between Vernon and Petunia, and I love that kind of stuff.

(If JKR hadn't been a coward, the Epilogue would have involved Dudley dropping his magical kid off on the Hogwarts Express. ~Just saying.~)

Petunia stays angry and bitter, but now in a way that's framed as a little tragic, and I like that. I think you could have leaned a little more into the way that she's basically reliving her childhood (with her sister's special magical child and her own normal child), kinda re-traumatizing herself and making herself worse? I also would have liked it if a *little* bit more thought had been into how much Dumbledore and Petunia communicate/how they are able to communicate? There's got to be something better than the mysterious Howler Dumbledore sends when Vernon is about to kick Harry out of the house. Because like, if he's focused in enough to do that, it raises issues about why that sort of thing didn't happen before.

[wixenburr]

Saw some ppl talking about Reverse Robins and i had thoughts

Talking abt u guys @eldritchdreamss @brucewaynehater101

Why kill Tim when you could kill baby Jason? What I want is for all of them to keep their own backstories and personalities (Developed in line with the story of course) So ofc i had to write a 1,000 word brainrot abt it.

(Also i'll only be going over the main 4 batbros for now i will add more later but these guys are the ones im most passionate about so here we go)

Damian

Let Damian come in, desperate to be of use and be worthy of his father, only for a softer, less jaded bruce (since jason hasnt died yet) to help him open up his heart and let him act as a kid. With no competition for so long, I imagine he and Bruce get along very well while he works with him. Yeah, they need to work on the no killing deal and Damian's... i guess impulse control? But i think it would be easier with very intensely focused reparenting; no distractions of other kids you know? No favoring or anything.

I see Damian growing up as a stoic, jaded adult. He's had a rough life. Maybe he sticks with the vigilante business. but I really love headcanons where he gets out of it, and focuses on something calmer, like his art. (I do appreciate and love the veterinarian Damian AUs, but im going for FULL calmness, you know? And doctor/vet work is Not calm lol)

So yeah, maybe he grows a real passion for heroism, maybe he doesn't? Maybe he goes on to be an artist and that's just what he does. Bro is ready to settle down as a scarred, veteran trophy husband and i adore him for that.

(Sorry lol i just love Damian and i love the idea of him growing out of both of his parent's legacies. Let him live his own life!!! He fights so so hard for at least 15 years. ALL 15 years of his life. He deserves to have some peace.)

Tim

Tim i think would need a much different story to join the Batfam. He still starts out as a stalker who follows batman and. . . . . . . Redimar (meaning Redemption iykyk (I just spend 17min researching names rip)) at night, takes photos, etc... Since Damian doesn't die, maybe he finds Tim? and like, tim is like 11 and Damian is 17 or 18. He's started going out as Redimar less and less, not that B really minds? In fact hes probably happy for his son so...

But then Damian finds Tim, and now he has to keep going out because he can't let this kid get himself killed like this. He would hold himself accountable since hes the only reason Tim keeps going out so much- also i imagine Tim follows Redimar more than Batman.

Cue a classic Tim Joining The Batfam plotline. They get to know each other better, get a grasp on Tim's situation, Damian finally introduces Tim to Bruce... (Probably something like Dami: "Father, this is my new brother. Timothy, say hello to Father," Tim: "Hello, Father," Dami: "Perfect." Bruce: "*falls off the batchair*)

Anyway, so, Tim ends up kinda just merging with the Waynes. They start training him, its all good and nice, and Tim makes his own little hero team unlike Damian, which is actually pretty interesting here; its Tim who made the first young hero team. Damian only ever had Jon (Superboy 1 in this!!) and he finds Young Just Us and becomes a great leader and its all fine and dandy.

Tim and Damian get along well. Damian is the sage older brother whos kinda distant, but only because he has such high emotional walls (but secretly a softy). He is very much like Bruce- nope, nevermind, hes definitely worse than Bruce in this AU, since Bruce is depicted as being much more agreeable before Jason's death, you know? So yeah, Damian is the emotionally constipated bitch in the fam and we love him for that. But hey!! Tim does manage to get through his walls! And Bruce does sometimes too!! (Tho i imagine Bruce and Damian's relationship to be very.. idk let me try to expalain. Dami: "Father." Bruce: "Son :)" Dami: "Tt." Bruce: *nods* "Hrn." Dami: "Hmph." Bruce: "Hm.") DO U PICK UP WHAT IM PUTTING DOWN--- lmfao. They hardly need words.

Tim ends up growing up very very capable. Once his parents die, he gets a little jaded, but hes still Tim. He and Damian become kind of an... ice prince duo? If you get what I mean. But Tim is the one whos actually the ice prince, Damian is secretly a HUGE softie. He is Delicate and Tim protects him lmfao.

Jason

Jason comes along like he does in canon. Has the same backstory. Tries to steal the Batmobile's wheels. Tim is sleeping over at Damian's flat for the night, so its just Bruce. They bond. Shit happens. Jason joins the fam.

I don't imagine them not getting along, but they don't immediately hit it off either. Jason is wary of all of them for a time, but he ends up warming up to Damian pretty fast after realizing what a softie he is. He pokes fun at Damian and Damian just freaking takes it lmao. Hes an adult he cannot be disturbed. Bro has seen too much and he finds Jason adorable. (Dami: "You were never this cute, Timothy." <- he is lying. Tim: *offended* "What the fu- flip!?" Jason: "Lmao Tim just say fuck." Dami: *deadpan stare* Tim: "JASON NO DONT SAY THE FUCK WORD-") ahem.

anywho and then Jason dies rip skill issue ratio.

The whole batfam is heartbroken. Genuinely shattered. Jason was a light in their lives. Not that they were WITHOUT any light, but Jason was the epitome of a sunshine child.

It's been too long since Damian has killed someone. Bro's god oodles and oodles of trauma. He can't bring himself to kill the Joker.

but Tim can.

It's a whole dramatic thing; Damian feels awful that he made his- now only- little brother kill. Bruce is hella upset but feels responsible for not seeing how badly both of his kids were handling the death of their brother. Tim goes a little off the deep end.

Things turn out.... okay. sort of. but not really. Tim changes his hero name to Red Cardinal. He feels pretty lost. Maybe he stumbles into Ra's al Ghul or smthn idk maybe smthn happens there perhaps. Maybe Damian has to put on Redimar again and rescue him? But its less of a rescue and more of a "Stop joining the dark side Tim jesus christ-" (and it does work).

They go home. Tim gets a boyfriend or two. Damian falls into his art. Bruce is throwing himself into work. They're all kind of a mess, but they keep moving.

and then

Dick

(lmao that sounded wrong)

ahem; and then the circus comes to town. The batfam- well, Tim, Damian, and Bruce- all decide to get together to do something fun. Take the opportunities given, yk? So they go to the circus together.

Wham bam rip the falling Flying Graysons.

They see Dick, breaking apart, and they know they have to do something. Bruce is the first to move. Then Tim. Damian is the last.

It's pretty quick getting Dick home, since Bruce is already a foster parent cuz of Tim yk. So Dick doesn't have to suffer in Juvie at all really. But that doesn't change the fact that he is ANGRY.

Dick is SO angry. he wants to kill the person who murdered his parents. He knows what he saw.

The fam of course do their best to investigate. Mostly Tim, who feels unworthy of being around an innocent little kid after his whole.... villain era, i suppose lol. (ofc Dick thinks Tim doesnt like him lol misunderstanding arc GO)

The whole "Dick accepts that justice is better than murder kinda maybe FOR NOW" storyline happens, and Dick becomes the conniving, bright, little Robin we all know and love. (Thinking of the Young Justice Cartoon Robin (but not the characters- just Dick's character) aaaand

Womp womp GUESS WHOS BACK

Jason's Back

but i'll leave that for later.

[riririnnnn]

I have this foreboding feeling that while we are prepared for Sae's and Shidou's backstory, Nagi's backstory is going to sneak from behind and punch us in the gut.

No, I don't think it's going to be straight up depression like Kaiser's, but I do think that it'll hit close to home.

You see, Nagi got Laissez-faire parents which means they never really interfered with his life. Like, these type of parents—as I have read on some websites—will basically set their child free and let them do whatever they want with no or very few rules/restrictions. They will not tell you, "Oh! You should do this!" or "Oh! You shouldn't do this!" They will simply let you figure out your life all by yourself.

I'm not an expert on this and I'm not calling this type of parenting bad in any way. Every child is different with different needs, and I'm sure there are many who grew up in this kinda family and liked this parenting method. However, I do think that Nagi didn't like it that much, and I got two reasons to think this way:

1. "That's nice."

When Reo said that his family constantly meddles in his life, Nagi's immediate reaction was, "That's nice" instead of being surprised or disgruntled. If Nagi really liked his parents NOT meddling in his life, then he should've said something like, "Really!? Sucks to be you, Reo. I can't imagine living a life like that!"

You getting me?

Also, we all know how Nagi is—he definitely feels that telling someone to do or not to do something is a hassle, so he, probably, feels that if someone is doing all this for you, then you are important for them.

And before any one says, no, I don't think Nagi was tying up his tongue thinking, "They are his parents. They wouldn't want anything bad for their own child, right? I shouldn't say anything against them and should say good things about them just to be safe." I don't think he has this kind of filter in him.

2. "Don't die ."

So, why would you not want someone to die? Of course, because you care for them and want them to be with you.

"Want"

That's really what I'm tryna highlight.

It's a pretty common knowledge that some children are just naturally more independent while others are a bit more dependent and seek guidance from the elders. Considering Nagi's first reaction to knowing about Reo's parents' meddling, I think that Kiddo!Nagi falls into the latter category—someone who likes to be guided and helped by the adults. Now, place Kiddo!Nagi with his Laissez-faire parents... You are getting where I'm going with this one?

That's why I think that Kiddo!Nagi, probably, thought that his parents didn't love him/care for him. And what happens if someone doesn't love you or care for you? Yeah, they don't care if you die which, somewhat, explains why Older!Nagi was happy to hear, "Don't die [before us (probably)]" from his parents.

I have already talked about his potential backstory before too, so it was actually when I heard he had longer bangs as a child that made my head turn to him again—something felt odd.

I understand that having long bangs is not a big deal—Niko's bangs literally cover his eyes, but having it as a kid is way different, y'know. Once you are like 12-13, you somewhat become capable of doing your own hair and clothes by yourself, so you can manage whatever aesthetics you prefer. However, for a kid younger than that, it's the parents' responsibility to look after his/her hair and clothes, and we all know that long bangs are quite bothersome—blocks our vision, sometimes stabs the eyes, and even irritatingly itches the nose.

All in all, till his backstory drops, I'd firmly believe that he was, though unintentionally, a neglected kid—at least, emotionally.

Now I can't get this image out of my head where Kiddo!Nagi is longingly staring at other kids in a park where everyone is learning things like riding a bicycle or maybe playing baseball and stuff with their parents while he is just.. there, probably, all alone.