As I've Written

|Luna|level 18|requests are closed my lovelies|

[door2hevn]

welcome to my blog!

About me! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

❀ hello my cuties, my name is Aline ˙𐃷˙ but you can call me luna I go by she/her!, im also arabian and speak 3 languages!

❀ I’m 18 years old, i study graphic design! and i do photography on the side!

❀ my favorite jojos part is 5/3! mista and bruno being my favss (˶˃⤙˂˶)

❀ INTP, Aquarius, funfact! i share the same bday as kira yoshikage mwaheheheh

My Blog and Rules (˶>⩊<˶)

atleast for now i only write for jojos!!! i write for all the parts but it seems many liked my writing when it comes to part7 (i am truly honored i love you guys so much) I am willing to write for any character unless its these following characters: Cioccolata, Polpo, funny valentine (cant think of any anymore)ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

I will write for mental health and even physical as long as it's not too much gore or graphic because my anxiety can't handle that

If it's an extremely heavy topic like suicide I will not be writing it

I do not write for part 8 and 9 because I have yet to read them </3 I'm so sorry

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i will NOT write smut or anything too suggestive when it comes to ESPECIALLY minor characters

when it comes to the adults i will mostly go with something suggestive but i won’t be writing smut (virgin ass)

anything offensive like racism/homophopia/misogyny/anything hateful towards a religion or a culture will be ignored and deleted. As well as things leading to suicide I would most likely ignore and delete

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masterlist!₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾

Steel Ball Run

Artist reader drawing them!

unreadable handwriting

reader struggling with PMS

getting caught during an intimate moment

flirty reader!

sleepy reader

Gyro and Johnny with an optimistic reader

animal loving reader

child free reader

reader who’s from the future part2!

diego and gyro with a shy s/o

baby fever

when their horses like you more

reader ragebaiting them

Clumsy reader

Spy reader pt2!

Easily injured reader!!

Married headcanons!!

Selfless reader

Cuddles!!

Seeing platonic sibling!reader after a long time

Horse girl reader! part2 (side characters)!

Stand user holding a grudge on reader!

Reader with amnesia

unbothered reader

vampire reader

Main cast as pick mes

Reader with low pain tolerance

overwhelmed reader

Calm reader who snaps after they get hurt

reader with a stand that heals with a kiss

left handed reader

Reader gets a short hair cut!

Wet paint prank!

Reader with burn scars

Gyro Zeppeli

reader meeting his father

reader insecure about their nose

Gyjo with Hispanic reader

Gyjo with Hispanic reader

Johnny Joestar

The Saint Keeps Nothing

Diego Brando

sensitive reader

Reader with physical touch as a love language

Going on a ride with dino!Diego

pocoloco

The Luckiest Man (oblivious reader)

Golden Wind

jealous reader with the buccii gang

Their kid visiting them from the future (mom reader)

Giorno Giovanna

reader with bad audio processing (platonic)

Pannacotta Fugo

general hcs (male reader)

wingman mista!

Bruno Bucciarati

reader insecure about their nose

Guido Mista

reader insecure about their nose

Stardust Crusaders

Mohammed Avdol

x nurse reader

baby fever!

dad hcs!

Jean Pierre Polnareff

first kiss hcs!

Diamond Is Unbreakable

Josuke Higashikata

Diamonds and Dust (enemies to lovers)

Rohan Kishibe

reader insecure about their nose

Stroke of goodluck!

unreadable pages (friends to lovers)

Jofoes

emotional reader

Enemies x enemies

Giving them silent treatment

[door2hevn]

I JUST WANTED TO SAY I FREAKING LOVE YOUR FICS DUDE 💕 it's my bedtime rn but I love reading the stuff you create, and I adore your characterization of johnny, especially as a disabled person 💕💕

HIII THIS MADE ME GIGGLE AND JUST WOW I LITERALLY ADORE THIS MESSAGE SO MUCH U ARE SUCH A WONDERFUL PERSON THANK YOU SOSOSOSO MUCH UR THE SWEETEST EVER GOSHHH HEHEHEH, I LOBE YOUU ☹️🩷🩷

I AM SO HAPPY RHAT I AM ABLE TO GIVE YOU GUYS A CORRECT AND RESPECTFUL REPRESENTATION OF JOHNNY HES THE BEST EVER AND I LOVE HIS CHARACTER SO MUCH I TRY MY BESTTT HEHEHE

again ur so sweet I hope to continue to write for you thank you sooo much 🥹🩷🩷🩷

[door2hevn]

hello I love your writing 🪼🩷🩷 since requests are open could I ask for the sbr boys with an taller fem s/o? (Since gyro is tall as hell they can have the same height or something lol) idk why but I think it would be really cute specially for diego hehe

✿˚｡⋆ An s/o taller than them! ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: SBR boys x fem reader

Diego Brando.

Diego is a creature of pure ambition pride, and status. Initially, walking next to a woman who literally looks down on him might make his inner street rat insecurities flare up.

He hates feeling small. But Diego is also a pragmatist and a massive opportunist he quickly realizes that having a stunning, tall woman on his arm makes him look like an absolute powerhouse.

He leans into it. He loves the looks you two get. He’ll walk with his hand firmly planted on the small of your back smirking at anyone who stares, as if to say "Yes, she’s magnificent, and she’s mine."

When he shifts into Scary Monsters, he gets a bit more feral and cocky. He might use his tail to wrap around your waist, pulling you down to his level for a kiss just to prove he can.

He actually loves burying his face into your shoulder or chest when you two are alone.

He’ll never admit it, but being held by someone bigger than him gives his deeply buried, traumatized inner child a rare sense of safety.

"I don't care if you're taller. In a race everyone is behind me anyway. But... stand next to me like that again. The press is watching."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro is already a tall, flamboyant man who takes up a lot of space, so matching his height means you two are an absolute spectacle walking down the street.

He doesn't have a single insecure bone in his body about it. In fact, he thinks it’s the coolest thing ever.

Gyro is a massive dork. He will absolutely use your shared height to execute ridiculous, coordinated bits.

Expect him to put his arm around your shoulder, only for you to put your arm around his, resulting in you two just aggressively power walking like a wall of muscle and teeth.

He will definitely comment on how long your legs are and boast about how you probably ride a horse just as well as he does.

If you're the same height as him, He loves eye to eye contact. He doesn't have to bend down to tease you, flash his golden grin, or whisper one of his terrible jokes. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s perfectly level, which he finds incredibly romantic.

"Hey, look! We’re like a pair of matching towers! Johnny, look how tall we are! We could crush you!" Johnny just sighs...

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Johnny Joestar.

Johnny’s dynamic is a bit different because he spends the majority of the part in a wheelchair or on his horse.

Because of this he is very used to people looking down at him literally...However, having a tall S/O hits differently for him.

Johnny doesn't feel emasculated by your height he’s far too focused on his goals and his own internal angst to care about petty vanity. If anything, he finds your height incredibly striking and beautiful.

When he’s on Slow Dancer, he’s elevated, but when he’s on the ground, you loom over him. He loves it when you kneel down to his level to talk to him. It feels intimate intentional, and fiercely protective.

Johnny has zero shame. If he needs to get from his horse to a chair and you offer to just scoop him up with your long arms? He might roll his eyes and grumble, but secretly? He finds it incredibly hot.

"You look like a statue of a goddess. Just... don't let Gyro make any more jokes about it, or I'm shooting him with a nail."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Mountain Tim.

Mountain Tim is a traditional, old-school gentleman through and through. Because he operates on a strict code of cowboy chivalry, having a woman match or exceed his height initially throws his traditional sensibilities for a loop but in the most endearing way possible.

Tim is used to being the imposing, protective lawman. When he has to tilt his head up slightly to look into your eyes, his rugged exterior completely melts.

He will blush tip his Stetson hat and trip over his words trying to maintain his suave, bounty hunter composure.

Tim respects strength and presence. Seeing a tall, commanding woman navigate the rough terrain of the West fills him with immense pride.

He will actively boast about you to other cowboys, treating you like a legendary figure out of a folklore ballad.

Tim’s Stand allows him to slide along his rope, meaning he can effortlessly adjust his positioning. If you're standing up, he might use his rope to smoothly glide up onto a saloon railing or a boulder just so he can be at eye level with you to deliver a smooth compliment.

Despite his tough exterior, Tim is incredibly tender. When he wraps his long arms around your waist, he loves that you perfectly fit against him. He doesn't have to worry about breaking you instead, it feels like a true partnership of equals.

"A woman of your stature... it's like looking at the grand tetons themselves. Magnificent. Truly. Now, please allow me to help you off your horse, even if your legs are longer than mine."

[door2hevn]

I just had the realization I could really be yapping about anything in here so expect to see me more often. Oh and omg I also had an awakening, I now know I can’t spell for jack. Autocorrect can’t save my ass 💔

- 🍀 feeling mysterious

DUDE YES EHJEKWKWJE PLEASE YAP ALL U WANT I LOVE IT SO MUCH 🩷🩷 LITERALLY SHARE EVERYTHING IN UR BRAIN EHEHHE

what if I tell you I'm literally the same, I look up words on Google, I ask friends , I use autocorrect just bc one word didn't look "right" to me LMAO

It's genuinely so real , I always get confused with vowels when it comes to words like is it "ie" or "ei" YKYK???

[door2hevn]

Some of these anons are so freaking smart like everytime I see a cool rec like the wedding one i genuinely gain a wrinkle in my brain.. like why didn’t I think of that 👀

And!! Who’s excited for the wc finale!! Truthfully I’m only watching for bts since Brazil and Mexico are gone 😭

- 🍀

RIGHT?? LITERALLY I READ MY REQUESTS AND IM GENUINELY LIKE HOW DO U EGEN COME UP WITH ITTT IM GONNA IMPLODE EVEYRONE IS SO CREATIVE AND LOVELY I LOVE Y'ALL SOSOSOSOOS MUCHHH MWAHMWHA

I'm not excited at all 💔💔 if Argentina wins Im gonna cry AND NOT HAPPY ONESSSS THATS JUST MY OPINION IDK SO IF U DONT AGREE THATS ALRIGHT BC LAST POST I GOT ATTACKED FOR SAYING I DONT LIKE ARGENTINA ANYWAYYYY, I really wanted some underdog to get to the semi or finals but oh well Egypt got close enough and I'm vvvv proud of them

[door2hevn]

Hello! I believe I've made a similar request before, but I was wondering if you could do the Steel Ball Run characters stopping the reader from getting married. It could be an arranged marriage made by her family or some rich person saw the reader and wanted them.

I really enjoy your writing and I'm low-key unsure if this has been done before or not but if not I really hope you enjoy writing this!

✿˚｡⋆ Stopping an arranged marriage ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: gyro Zeppeli, Diego Brando, hot pants, mountain Tim x fem reader

Gyro Zeppeli.

The silk of your wedding gown felt less like a luxury and more like a beautifully tailored shroud.

Your family’s fortunes had dried up somewhere in the plains of Nebraska, and the only saving grace was the wealthy bloated railroad tycoon who had offered to clear their debts in exchange for your hand.

The chapel in this dusty, mid-route Colorado town was small, packed with local high society folks who smelled of expensive cologne and cheap ambition.

Your groom stood beside you at the altar, sweating through his woolen suit, sporting a smug grin that made your stomach turn. The priest began the liturgy, his voice a droning hum that faded into the background of your own racing thoughts.

You looked down at your hands, wishing for a miracle. Wishing for a miracle that rode a horse and wore a ridiculous wide brimmed hat.

Crash.

The double doors of the wooden chapel didn’t just open they flew off their hinges, splintering against the stone walls. The congregation gasped, turning in unison.

Standing in the dusty frame of the doorway, hands resting casually on his hips, was Gyro Zeppeli.

The afternoon sun cast a long, dramatic shadow behind him, highlighting the gold lettering on his teeth as he flashed a slow, incredibly cocky grin.

"Yo" Gyro called out, his voice echoing off the rafters. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. Actually, scratch that I completely hope I am."

"What is the meaning of this?!" your groom shrieked, his voice cracking. "Guards! Sheriff! Arrest this vagrant!"

Gyro didn't even look at him. His eyes, sharp and intensely focused beneath the brim of his hat, locked onto yours.

The mockery in his expression softened, replaced by a quiet reassuring warmth. "Hey. You look pretty in white. But honestly? It’s not really your color. You look much better covered in trail dust."

He started walking down the aisle, his spurs clinking rhythmically against the wooden floorboards. Two hired guards stepped forward to intercept him, reaching for their holsters.

In a movement almost too fast to follow, Gyro’s hands blurred. The steel balls at his hips flew from their holsters, spinning with a low menacing hum.

They didn't hit the guards directly instead they struck the floorboards right at their feet. The localized, violent vibrations of the spin caused the wood to splinter and buckle instantly, sending both men stumbling backward into the pews, completely disoriented.

The steel balls curved through the air, returning to Gyro’s hands with a satisfying clack.

"Now, where were we?" Gyro chuckled, stopping just a few feet from the altar. He tilted his hat back, looking the groom up and down with supreme disgust.

"You’ve got terrible taste in partners, sweetheart. This guy looks like a deflated sack of flour. And his posture? Terrible."

"Get out of here, Gyro," you whispered, a mixture of terror and overwhelming relief washing over you. "My family..."

"Your family will figure it out," Gyro interrupted, his voice dropping to a softer, gentler tone. He stepped right past the sputtering groom and reached out a leather-gloved hand to you.

"And if they don't, I'll pay off their stupid debts myself. I've got a race to win after all. But I’m not crossing the finish line without you."

"Seize him!" the groom roared, grabbing Gyro’s shoulder.

Gyro didn't even turn around. He simply nudged one of his steel balls against the man's arm. The subtle spin transferred instantly sending a wave of muscle spasms through the groom's entire upper body, forcing him to drop to his knees, twitching helplessly.

"Right then," Gyro said, offering you a theatrical bow. "Our ride is waiting. Shall we?"

With a laugh that felt like the first breath of fresh air you’d taken in months, you took his hand. Gyro pulled you close, lifting you effortlessly as he turned and sprinted out of the chapel.

Outside, Valkyrie was waiting, pawing at the dirt. Gyro swung you onto the saddle before hoisting himself up behind you.

As the horse tore out of the town square, leaving a cloud of dust and outraged screams in its wake, Gyro wrapped his arms securely around your waist, his laugh ringing loud and free against the Colorado wind.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

The Grand Ballroom of the Chicago estate was a sea of glittering diamonds champagne flutes and superficial laughter.

Your family, desperate to climb the social ladder of high society, had arranged your betrothal to a wealthy, influential steel magnate.

You stood on the raised dais beside your husband to be, clad in an agonizingly heavy silk dress layered with pearls.

The magnate was parading you around like a prized horse he’d bought at an auction boasting about his acquisition to a circle of laughing politicians.

You stared at the grand glass doors of the ballroom, feeling completely isolated. You hated the noise. You hated the fake smiles.

You missed the mud, the sweat, and the sharp, dangerous thrill of the Steel Ball Run race. Most of all, you missed a certain ruthless, blond jockey who looked at the world with nothing but cold ambition except when he looked at you.

A sudden, violent commotion at the grand entrance shattered the ballroom's polite atmosphere.

Several security guards were thrown backward through the gilded doors, crashing onto the polished marble floor.

The music screeched to a halt. Guests began to shriek, parting like the Red Sea as a figure walked slowly into the light of the massive crystal chandeliers.

Diego Brando stood in the doorway. He wore his blue equestrian turtleneck and his signature "DIO" cap, but there was something terrifyingly different about him.

His golden hair was slightly disheveled, his fingernails had elongated into sharp, reptilian claws, and his eyes normally a piercing blue shone with a dangerous, slitted golden yellow.

"Diego..." you whispered, your heart leaping into your throat.

"Where do you think you're going, little bird?" Diego purred, his voice carrying a low, predatory gravel.

He didn't care about the hundreds of wealthy aristocrats staring at him in horror. His gaze was locked entirely on you.

Your groom stepped forward, his face pale but trying to maintain his dignity. "What is the meaning of this outrage?! Guards! Shoot this trespasser!"

Three guards drew their revolvers.

Diego didn't even flinch. A vicious, feral smirk spread across his face. "Insignificant pests."

In a flash of blue and gold Diego’s stand Scary Monsters manifested. With blinding, terrifying speed, Diego shifted, his body taking on sleek, theropod characteristics.

He leaped across the room, completely ignoring the bullets that whined uselessly past him. He slammed into the guards, knocking them aside with terrifying physical strength.

One of the guards tried to rise, but Diego stepped on his chest, his clawed boot digging in just enough to keep the man pinned.

A tiny, transformed dinosaur no larger than a rat hissed from Diego's shoulder, baring its razor-sharp teeth.

The ballroom erupted into pure chaos. Aristocrats screamed, tripping over their own gowns as they fled for the exits.

Diego walked slowly up the carpeted steps of the dais, his tail whipping slowly behind him. The steel magnate trembling violently, grabbed your arm and tried to pull you in front of him as a human shield.

Diego’s eyes flared with a lethal, terrifying rage.

In a fraction of a second, Diego closed the distance. His hand shot out, his claws stopping mere millimeters from the magnate’s throat.

The sheer, overwhelming bloodlust radiating from Diego made the older man wet himself, his grip releasing your arm instantly as he shrank back into a corner, sobbing for his life.

Diego’s expression shifted instantly as he turned to you. The terrifying, monstrous aura vanished, replaced by a possessive intense hunger.

He reached out, his clawed hand gently cupping your cheek. Despite his scales, his touch was surprisingly warm.

"You belong to me," Diego whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "Not to some weak, bloated pig who thinks he can buy you.

I am going to stand at the top of this world, and you are going to be there beside me."

"Diego, your race-" you started, but he silenced you by leaning down and kissing you fiercely, a bruising, desperate kiss that tasted of dust, rain, and wild freedom.

When he pulled back, his golden eyes were bright with triumph. He easily scooped you up into his arms, your heavy silk gown cascading over his shoulder.

"Let them keep their money and their fragile houses," Diego laughed, a sharp, wild sound as he turned and carried you out of the ruined ballroom. "We have a world to conquer."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

The parlor of your family’s estate was suffocatingly warm. You sat on the velvet settee, dressed in an elaborate restrictive lace gown listening to your father and a wealthy, older merchant boast about the terms of your upcoming nuptials.

The merchant’s gaze lingered on you with a predatory possessive gleam that made your skin crawl.

You stared out the window, praying for an escape, though you knew none was coming. You were trapped in a cage of high society expectations.

A knock sounded at the parlor door.

Your father frowned. "I thought I said we were not to be disturbed."

The door opened anyway, and a tall, striking figure stepped into the room. She wore the austere lilac robes of a traveling priest, her face partially obscured by the hood of her cowl.

But you would recognize those sharp, intense eyes and that quiet, commanding posture anywhere.

It was Hot Pants.

"Forgive the intrusion," Hot Pants said, her voice smooth, deep, and carrying an undeniable authority.

She bowed her head slightly. "I am Brother Forest. I was summoned by a relative of the family to deliver a pre marital blessing and conduct a final spiritual confession for the bride to be."

Your father blinked, startled. "A confession? Now? Surely that can wait-"

"A marriage built on unconfessed sin is doomed to crumble under God’s wrath," Hot Pants interrupted calmly, her gaze shifting to the wealthy merchant.

There was a subtle dangerous edge to her voice that made the merchant shift uncomfortably. "And I sense... a great deal of impurity in this room. The confession must happen immediately. In private."

She held herself with such absolute, righteous certainty that your father couldn't find the words to argue. "Very well," he muttered, gesturing to the adjoining study. "Be quick about it."

Hot Pants nodded, stepping aside to let you pass. The moment you entered the dimly lit study and she shut the heavy wooden door behind you, her holy facade completely vanished.

She locked the door with a sharp click and threw back her cowl. Her pink hair tumbled down her shoulders, and her expression was tight with a mixture of anger and deep, unspoken anxiety.

"What are you doing here?" you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. "If they find out you're not a priest, or who you really are-"

"I don't care" Hot Pants said, her voice dropping to a fierce, quiet hiss. She closed the distance between you, her hands grabbing your shoulders.

Her touch was firm, grounding, and incredibly warm. "Do you want this? Do you want to marry that man?"

"No" you whispered, tears finally welling in your eyes. "But I don't have a choice. My family-"

"You always have a choice," she interrupted, her eyes blazing. "I spent my entire life believing I had no choices, that I was bound to a path of suffering and atonement. But I will not let them do that to you. I won't let them lock you in a cage."

She reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out her stand, Cream Starter. The flesh like spray can hummed softly in her hand.

"We don't have much time," Hot Pants said, looking at the window. "The carriage I brought is waiting on the back road. But they will search for you."

"How will we get past them?" you asked, looking at the locked door.

A faint, brilliant smirk touched Hot Pants’ lips a rare beautiful sight. "They think they are marrying off a daughter today. We are going to give them a very convincing decoy."

With a few precise sprays of Cream Starter, Hot Pants began to manipulate the organic matter, quickly forming a realistic, temporary flesh sculpture of you sitting at the desk, facing away from the door as if deep in prayer.

She then grabbed your hand, her grip fiercely protective. She opened the study window, the cool afternoon breeze rushing in to greet you.

"Trust me," Hot Pants murmured, looking back at you with a rare, soft sincerity that made your heart swell. "I will protect you with my life."

You smiled, the heavy weight of the lace gown no longer feeling like a prison, but a relic of a life you were happily leaving behind. "I trust you," you said.

Together you climbed out into the freedom of the wild untamed frontier.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Mountain Tim.

The wind howling through the cracks of the wooden chapel matched the storm raging in your chest.

Your father had shaken hands with a wealthy land baron from Texas, effectively selling you off to secure water rights for his failing ranch.

The ceremony was a bleak rushed affair in a half-empty church on the edge of the territory. Your groom, a man twice your age with cold, calculating eyes looked at you not as a partner, but as a prize piece of territory he’d successfully acquired.

The preacher cleared his throat, holding up his bible. "If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

The heavy double doors didn't fly open. Instead they swung back smoothly admitting a tall, broad shouldered man bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun.

He wore a Stetson hat, a fringed leather jacket, and carried himself with the quiet, undeniable authority of an official of the law.

He didn't draw his gun. He simply stood at the back of the chapel, his thumbs hooked casually in his belt, his eyes fixed on yours with a steady, burning intensity.

"I reckon I’ve got a reason," Tim’s deep, drawling voice echoed through the quiet rafters.

The groom spun around, his face reddening. "Who the hell are you? This is a private ceremony! Marshal, sheriff someone get this drifter out of here!"

Tim took a slow step forward, his spurs chiming softly. "Name's Mountain Tim, bounty hunter. And I’m afraid this wedding is officially canceled. See, the lady’s heart has already been claimed. By me."

A collective gasp rippled through the few family members in the pews. Your father stood up, pointing an angry finger. "She is promised to this man! The contract is signed!"

"A contract signed under duress ain't worth the paper it’s written on, sir" Tim said smoothly. He didn't break his stride, walking down the center aisle with the calm confidence of a man who owned the entire state.

The groom, consumed by rage, reached inside his coat for a concealed pistol. "You arrogant bastard-"

Before his hand could even wrap around the grip, Tim flicked his wrist. His lasso, Oh! Lonesome Me, flew from his hip like a striking cobra.

The rope didn't just loop around the groom it split apart, the fibers of the rope itself separating and sliding effortlessly through the air. The lasso wrapped around the groom’s wrist, binding his hand to his chest, while another loop encircled his ankles, pulling his feet out from under him.

With a heavy thud, the wealthy baron crashed to the floor, completely immobilized by a rope that seemed to possess a mind of its own.

Tim didn't even look down at the groaning man. He stepped right over him, stopping at the altar.

He removed his Stetson holding it against his chest as he looked at you. The rugged, weathered lines of his face softened into a look of pure devotion.

"I told you once before, darlin'" Tim murmured, his voice incredibly gentle, "that my rope is an extension of my own body. And my heart is tied to yours just as tightly. I can't let you throw your life away in a cage like this."

He offered his hand, his leather glove warm and inviting.

"Tim..." your voice trembled, a tear escaping down your cheek. "They'll hunt us."

"Let 'em try," Tim replied, a confident, lazy smile touching his lips. "They'd have to find us first. And there ain't a tracker in this territory who can follow my trail when I don't want to be found."

You placed your hand in his. Tim pulled you close, his strong arm wrapping securely around your waist. With a swift flick of his wrist, his rope untangled from the groom and snapped back into his hand.

Without another word, he led you out of the chapel and into the cool evening air. His horse was waiting, and as he lifted you easily into the saddle and climbed up behind you, you knew that no matter how far you had to run, you were finally safe.

[door2hevn]

Omg your last post was soo cute I love the way you write queen, it always makes me happy when you post 🩷🩷🩷 hope you're doing well

AWEEE THIS GOT ME SO FLUSTERED UR SOSOSOSOS SWEET GOSHH!!! IM GLAD THAT I AM ABLE TO MAKE YOU HAPPY WITH MY WORK IT TRULY MAKES ME FEEL SUPER SUPER SUPER HONORED YOU'RE WONDERING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE SWEET MESSAGE AND SUPPORTING MY WORK YOU ARE TOO KIND 🩷🩷

I hope to continue to write for you and for you to enjoy my work MWAHHH 🩷

[door2hevn]

hope you have a fantastic day!!

HIII HELP BRO THIS MEME I CANT, WE ALL KNOW DIO OBLITERATING THE FUCKKK OUT OF YOU IF U DO TRY TS ✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻

no gen it got me giggling for so long omg, THANK YEW ALSOOO I HOPE YOU HAVE AN AMAZING WONDERFUL AMAZING REST OF THE MONTH TWIN!!! MWAHEHEHEHE 🩷🩷

[door2hevn]

France losing semi-final of the wc on our National holiday might be the worst scenario oat 😭💔 I might aswell bomb the whole fucking Texas while i’m at it.

And if I see fucking Messi or fucking Yamal win this wc don’t be surprise if you see me on the news cuz I ain’t letting ts slide

Well uh...how you doing... cough..

Nah gen I'm so fucking pissed rn I don't want Spain nor Argentina AND THERE IS NO REASON I JUST DON'T KNOW WHY I HAVE A DEEP HATRED LMAOO ITS JUST THE TEAMS NOT THE COUNTRIES BUT STILL, holy shit man you have egotistical short man and wtv yamal is no joke man I'm so pissed

Im so sad that england didn't win today genuinely I WAS GONNA CRY AND I LIT KNOW NOTHING WBT FOOTBALL I LARP IT EVERY 4 YEARS LMAOOO, LIKE IDGAF WHO WINS JUST PLEASEEEE NOT ARGENTINAAA PLEASEEEEE

Sigh....

[door2hevn]

I read your headcanon on the characters of the SBR with a single mother. So I would like to request a continuation: How would the characters react if the reader's child called them daddy? Or mom in the case of hot pants.

✿˚｡⋆ readers child calling them dad/mom! ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: SBR x fem reader

A/n: this is so cute I'm gonna explode also you can read this without reading the first part<3

Johnny Joestar.

To say Johnny is ill-equipped for sudden domesticity is an understatement. He is a man who spent years wrapped in a cocoon of bitterness, guilt, and the cold reality of the paved road.

When you first brought your young child into the equation, Johnny was incredibly tentative. He didn't know how to hold them without feeling like his paralyzed legs made him look weak, and he certainly didn’t think he had any business being a parental figure.

On a quiet afternoon camp setup, Johnny is sitting on his bedroll, painstakingly cleaning the dirt from his fingernails and checking the leather straps of his saddle.

Your child is sitting right next to him on the grass, intensely focused on a small pile of shiny pebbles they’ve gathered, trying to stack them exactly the way Johnny stacks his spare spin steel balls.

Suddenly, a gust of wind knocks the fragile pebble tower over. The kid lets out a frustrated huff, looks up with big glossy eyes, and naturally reaches out to tug on Johnny’s blue hoodie.

"Daddy, fix it?"

Johnny completely freezes. The cloth he’s using to wipe his saddle slips from his hand. His breath hitches in his throat, and for a solid ten seconds the only sound is the crackle of the campfire and the distant neighing of Slow Dancer.

He stares at the child, his pale blue eyes wide, completely paralyzed by a word that carries more weight than any Corpse Part he’s ever chased.

He looks up at you immediately, his expression a mix of sheer panic vulnerability, and a sudden, terrifying rush of warmth. His cheeks flush a sharp dusty pink.

"I-what?" Johnny’s voice cracks slightly. He clears his throat, trying desperately to regain his usual dry, stoic composure

but he's completely compromised. He looks down at the child, then back to you. "Did they just... call me...?"

When you smile and nod, telling Johnny that they must really see him as family, the defensive walls he spent a lifetime building completely crumble.

Johnny looks back at the kid, his expression softening into something incredibly tender a side of Johnny Joestar very few people ever get to see.

He awkwardly scoops up the fallen pebbles, his hands slightly trembling.

"Yeah Okay," Johnny murmurs, a small, genuine, and incredibly rare smile breaking across his face. He pulls the kid a little closer to his side, his thumb gently wiping a speck of dirt off their cheek. "Let's... let's fix it. Here, you have to balance the flat one at the bottom first, okay? Watch... Daddy's got you."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro, on the other hand, is a natural performer, a big brother, and a man with a massive, albeit dramatic heart.

He has been playing with your kid since day one making ridiculous faces showing them absurd card tricks, and singing his agonizingly catchy songs about cheese.

He’s already acting like a proud, goofy father figure, but hearing the actual word out loud is an entirely different ballgame.

You are all resting at a small-town tavern. Gyro is sitting at a wooden table enthusiastically demonstrating a "magic trick" where he makes his steel ball hover just millimeters above the wood using the Spin. Your child is watching with absolute, starstruck awe, their chin resting in their tiny hands.

With a dramatic flourish, Gyro catches the steel ball, winks, and flashes his gold-plated teeth

Your child jumps up and down, clapping their hands wildly.

"Do it again, Daddy! Do the spinny ball again!"

Gyro's dazzling confident grin instantly locks in place. The theatrical bravado vanishes, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock.

His jaw literally drops. He looks at the child, then his gaze snaps to you, his golden teeth catching the dim tavern light.

Then the reaction hits him like a freight train.

"Ha! Did you hear that?!" Gyro practically shrieks, a massive, brilliant grin taking over his entire face. He lunges forward scooping your child up into his arms and tossing them lightly into the air, catching them with ease while laughing boisterously.

"Did you hear what they called me?! Daddy! That’s right! I am the master of the Spin, the greatest horse rider in the world, and now the official champion of this household!"

He holds the kid against his chest, rocking them back and forth dramatically while looking at you with eyes full of absolute pride and affection. He’s beaming so hard his cheeks must hurt.

"Hey, kiddo you want to see the Spin again? For my favorite little assistant, I’ll show you the super secret technique," Gyro whispers conspiratorially, tapping the kid's nose with a leather-gloved finger.

He looks over at you, his chest puffed out with a ridiculous amount of pride. "You hear that? I'm the dad now. You have to listen to me when I say we’re having sugar-roasted tomatoes for dinner."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

Diego is a fiercely independent, and highly ambitious man. Trust does not come easily to him, and tenderness is a currency he rarely spends.

He has spent his entire life fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of respect and survival. When it comes to your child Diego has always kept a slight, observant distance watching them play, ensuring they are safe from harm, but never quite letting himself get too close fearing he might ruin them with his coldness.

You are all resting under the shade of a massive sandstone cliff. Diego is knelt on the ground, carefully inspecting his horse’s hooves.

Your child, completely unfazed by Diego's sharp, intimidating aura wanders over. They hold up a small yellow wildflower they found growing out of a crack in the stone.

Without a word of warning, the kid gently tucks the stem of the flower behind Diego's ear, right into his messy blonde hair.

Diego freezes instantly, his pupils slitting slightly in surprise. He slowly turns his head to look at the toddler.

"For you, Daddy. To make you pretty."

Diego’s breath hitches. The word Daddy echoes in his mind, and it hits him with the force of a physical blow.

He has never had a father figure worth a damn, and the concept of being one himself is entirely foreign, almost terrifying.

For a moment, his expression is incredibly intense a storm of old wounds, sudden protective instinct, and a deep raw vulnerability swirling in his blue eyes.

He reaches up his fingers brushing the petals of the flower. He looks at you his expression guarded but his eyes betraying a profound, quiet shock.

"You shouldn't call me that," Diego says, his voice low, almost a whisper. It’s not angry it’s hesitant, as if he’s afraid of tarnishing the title. "I am not... I don't know how to be that."

But your child doesn't care. They just giggle and wrap their small arms around Diego's leg, hugging him tightly.

Diego's entire posture melts. The sharp, dangerous edge he always carries completely dissolves.

He slowly reaches down, his gloved hand resting gently on the back of the child's head, his fingers curling into their hair.

A small, incredibly soft, and bittersweet smile touches his lips. He looks up at you, a quiet, possessive warmth in his gaze.

"Fine," Diego murmurs, his voice rough but incredibly gentle. He wraps his arm around the kid, pulling them against his side, his eyes scanning the horizon with a sudden, fierce protective instinct. "If that's what I am... then no one will ever dare cross you. I'll make sure of it."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧

Hot pants.

Her entire life has been dedicated to seeking penance, wrapping herself in the solemn, rigid vows of her faith. She has lived as a man, hidden her identity, and kept everyone at arm's length to protect them and herself from her perceived sins.

When you and your child entered her life, she treated the child with a quiet distant kindness, treating them like a precious soul she was merely tasked with guarding.

You are sitting inside a small, abandoned cabin during a heavy rainstorm. Hot Pants is sitting on a wooden bench, quietly sewing a tear in her pink hood by the light of a single candle.

Your child, feeling chilly from the damp air, crawls up onto the bench next to her. Without asking, they lean their head against her shoulder, snuggling into her warmth.

Hot Pants pauses, her needle hovering in the air. She looks down at the little head resting against her arm.

The child blinks sleepily up at her, yawning.

"Goodnight, Mom..."

The needle slips from Hot Pants' fingers, clattering onto the floor. Her breath catches in her throat, and she goes completely, utterly rigid. Mom.

The word cuts straight through her layers of penance and guilt, striking the very core of her hidden womanhood and her deeply buried desire for a quiet peaceful life.

She stares down at the child, her eyes wide, glistening with sudden, unshed tears. She looks up at you, her face pale her lips trembling slightly. She looks incredibly small in that moment, stripped of her tough exterior.

"They... they called me..." Hot Pants whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She quickly looks away, swallowing hard as she tries to master her feelings, but a single tear escapes, tracing a path down her cheek.

You gently walk over, placing a hand on her shoulder, telling her that she deserves this love, and that the child sees the truth of her gentle heart.

Hot Pants lets out a shaky, quiet sob. She slowly abandons her sewing, turning her body to wrap her arms completely around the sleepy child.

She buries her face in their soft hair, holding them close to her chest as if they were the most precious thing in the entire world.

"I've spent so long seeking forgiveness..." she whispers, her voice muffled against the child's shoulder, a beautiful tearful smile finally breaking through her sorrow.

She looks up at you, her eyes shining with absolute devotion. "But holding them... hearing that... I think this is the only heaven I've ever needed."

[door2hevn]

HIIIIII I LOVE UR WORKKK ive had a weird concept in my head for a while so i can i request a modern au josuke abbacchio and gyro (and anyone else if ud like) with a reader whos a famous idol whos super energetic and silly when theyre in idol mode but behind closed doors is just so sleepy exhausted and clingy but still a little silly hehe im just imagining the reaction to going from out in public and them being energetic and almost performing to private and watching them kind of turn off idol mode if that makes sense <3

✿˚｡⋆ idol reader! ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: josuke higashikata, Leone Abbachio, gyro Zeppeli

Josuke higashikata.

Josuke is your biggest fan, hands down. If he’s in the crowd, he is screaming himself hoarse, holding a lightstick in each hand, and waving a custom made fan.

When you point at him from the stage and blow a kiss with a goofy exaggerated wink, he acts like he’s actually been shot through the heart, dramatically falling back into his seat. He loves how vibrant and funny you are under the lights.

The second the car door clicks shut, or the dressing room door lock turns, the sparkle completely evaporates.

Your shoulders drop your posture dissolves, and you let out a long, deflating sighhhhh. You immediately crawl across the seat or couch, face planting directly into Josuke’s chest, wrapping your arms around his waist like a koala.

He laughs, a warm quiet sound that rumbles in his chest. His chaotic energy instantly melts away, replaced by pure protective comfort.

He’ll wrap his jacket around your shoulders and start gently playing with your hair even if you’ve got styling product in it, he doesn’t care. “Rough show, huh angel? You did so good out there.”

Even though you’re exhausted, you still have a tiny bit of energy left. You might weakly poke his dimple or mutter a sleepy incoherent joke. He will match your energy perfectly, whispering ridiculous dramatic gossip in your ear just to hear you let out a tiny sleepy giggle.

He’ll happily carry you to the bathroom to help you wipe off your glitter makeup, letting you rest your chin on his shoulder while he gently uses a makeup wipe.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Leone Abbachio.

Abbacchio hates crowds, hates noise, and generally hates public attention but he will stand in the wings of your concert, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk.

He finds your idol persona incredibly fascinating. You’re a whirlwind of glitter smiles, and endless bubbly banter with the crowd. He honestly doesn't know where you get the energy, but there’s a quiet fierce pride in his eyes when he sees how much the world adores you.

You walk off-stage, skip past the staff with a bright "Thank you everyone!" and the moment you step into your private dressing room where Abbacchio is waiting your knees literally give out. You don't even fall you just lean forward, letting gravity carry you until you crash face first into his leather jacket.

His reflexes are immaculate. He catches you effortlessly, scooping you up before you can even think about hitting the floor.

Abbacchio lets out a long, heavy breath partially because he’s glad the loud event is over, and partially because he finally gets his person back. He carries you over to the sofa sitting down and letting you drape yourself completely over his lap.

He is the master of decompression. He doesn't need you to talk. He’ll slide his large, cool hands under your hair to rub the back of your neck, easing the tension from those heavy stage headpieces.

If you mumble something incredibly nonsensical into his collarbone like complaining that your toes are "vibrating from the bass" he’ll crack a rare, genuine smile. “Is that so? We might have to amputate then. Go to sleep superstar. I’ve got you.”

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro is absolutely thriving. He’s the guy trying to start a chant in the VIP section. He thinks your idol persona is the coolest funniest thing on the planet.

He will literally memorize your stage choreography and try to do it in the wings to make you laugh while you’re performing. He matches your energetic vibe 100%.

he expects you to be tired, but he forgets how clingy you get. The moment you two get back to the hotel room, you don't even change out of your stage outfit.

You just crawl onto his back while he’s trying to take off his boots, burying your face in the crook of his neck, dead weighting him.

He doesn't even try to shake you off. He’ll just chuckle, stand up with you clinging to him like a backpack and waddle around the room to finish unpacking. “Well, look who’s a heavy little sack of potatoes now.”

Even when you’re running on empty, you and Gyro share the exact same brand of weird humor. You’ll make a sleepy, half hearted attempt at one of his terrible jokes, or sing a slow, slurred version of his own songs.

He will be absolutely delighted, singing the harmony in a hushed exaggerated whisper so he doesn't wake you up.

He will literally peel you out of your stage costume, toss you one of his oversized t-shirts, and tuck you into bed. But you won't let him leave you’ll grab his wrist with a sleepy, vice-like grip. With a dramatic roll of his eyes and a huge grin, he’ll climb in next to you, letting you use his chest as a mattress while he hums a quiet, rhythmic tune until you both drift off.

[door2hevn]

why are you so filled with joy and whimsy??

JWBEKWOD THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVE YOU ONG UAJWKWKW WELL UHM BECAUSE WHY NOT?? WHY BE ENGULFED IN THE SADNESS WHEN U CAN TRY TO FJND JOY IN LITTLE THINGS, YOU GUYS ARE THE SWEETEST CUTEST EVER I LOVE YOU GUYS U MAKE ME WANNA CONTINUE WRITING FOR Y'ALL GENUINELY, LIFE ISNT NATURALLY JOYFUL IF U WANT IT TO BE THEN IT ISSSS ENJOY THE MOMENT EVEN IF UR SITTING ON THE COUCH BORED U SHOULD BE HAPPY EITHER WAY because...why not!!!

I struggle with mental health issues but I don't let them affect me or the people I love, when things get hard I remind myself who I'm surrounded with and what I love doing (drawing, listening to music, watching my fav series, editing literally anything)

When losing motivation u should be proud with what you have done even if it's a molecular size of an achievement

LOVE YOU TWIN MWAHH

[door2hevn]

Soooo, I’ve seen you are watching aott.

That’s one of my top 3 animes from all time, what season are you? What are you thoughts?? And fav character??

I hope in a future u are open to writing for aot yuhuuu

-🪷anon

AHH IM ON SEASON 3 RN!! EJEHWK IM HONESTLY SCARED TO CONTINUE LMAOOO

I have been spoiled with a few deaths mainly because I was a huge larper back in 2020 and larped the hell out of aot LMAO

So I know some deaths and I tell you I AM NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO THEM AT ALLLL , MY FAV CHARACTER IS ARMIN HES SO AJEKENEKKE I LOVE HIM SOSOSOSOSO MUCH U DONT UNDERSTAND THIS BOY IS THE BEST EVER, coming in second and third is Hange and Reiner genuinely I love them so much omg IM GONNA EAT THEM.

SPOILER WARNINGS FOR EVERYONE WHO HASN'T WATCHED

I loved Reiner more when I found out what his identity is GENUINELY MY FRIEND WAS LIKE UR WEIRD BUT VRO U DONT GET IT I LOVE THIS DEPRESSING ASS MANNNUHU

Ugh I love this series so much everything is just so wonderful really I WISH I WATCHED IT WAY EARLIER CRIESSS,

FUNFACT MANY TIMES I GUESSED THEORIES AND STUFF AND MY FRIEND ACTED CLUELESS UNTIL IT WAS REVEALED 8 SWEAR I FELT SO SMART I GUESSED THAT YMIR WAS A TITAN AND ANNIE ASWELL, also for now I have some theories I won't share bc I don't wanna be stupid later on LMAO

I really wanna start writing for aot once I am done but I'm not sure if I should because I ONLY WANT TO WRITE CANON UNIVERSE Because the influx of modern is crazy but not complaining I JUST WANNA FIGHT TITANSSSS WJNEKEKW

WHAT ABT U WHO ARE UR FAVSSS

[door2hevn]

Hello, 🪷anon here. I saw ur post about how is the situation in Lebanon, now this is not something you have to respond if you don’t want to but I just wanted to give my biggest good wishes on you, your family and the people of Lebanon.

The world right now is going trough so many horrible changes, it’s crazy to me how some people don’t even bet an eye on this modern occupations from this illegitimate state that we all know the name of.

All people with with a decent IQ stands with the people of Lebanon, we’re going trough really dark times and that’s why I feel like hope is really one of the greatest things we have today on the day.

I’m also happy that you’re currently watching aot!! On my favs out there, if u don’t mind I would send u another yap yap about this

🫶🏼

This genuinely made me tear up thank you lovely

It is genuinely frustrating to see how people can go on and not know/talk about what's happening not just to my country but sadly many many others who suffer the same fate at the hands of this occupation, nothing can describe the things I hear and see on the daily basis but my faith that things will get better is strong I'm never giving up not on my country nor my people, alot of people have been cleansed into thinking that they think like their fate is sealed and we will never grow again which just isn't true, I am well aware that we can't do much against people who basically control the whole world, but I am certain that one day all this will change maybe not soon but one day even when I'm no longer on this earth I'd be so happy to see my country thriving

Many people in my country blame each other for the start of the war bc of our resistance group which to be fair they irk me alot sometimes people should understand that this is what the enemy wants at the end of the day chaos injustice hatred towards people of your own because then it'll be easier to take control , I've seen people from my own country claim to want peace with the occupation not knowing that there is no peace when it comes to them, never

Thank you so much pretty<3 genuinely this made me soso happy and I loved reading this so much you are truly wonderful please stay safe and take care of urself 🩷

[door2hevn]

yellooo im here again since reqs are opened!! you write these all so fast like it genuinely takes me ages to think of one word 😭 but anyways i hope your taking care of yourself well because you are COOKING with these ✌️guelp anyways can i request another random thought with sbr and reader that is very independent or has hyper independence? thank ayou 🦭

✿˚｡⋆ hyper independent reader! ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: SBR x gn reader

A/n: YAYAYAYA this is old back in the olden days when I was actually writing LMAO IM SORRY, I've been losing motivation bc of the state my stupid country is in but YOLOOO, THANK YOU POOKIE ILYSM

Johnny Joestar.

Johnny understands the drive to rely only on yourself. He spent a long time trapped in his own head, feeling like a burden, so he recognizes that fierce defensive "I can do it myself" look instantly.

But because he knows where it comes from, it actually makes him incredibly stubborn when he sees you doing it.

If you are struggling to lift a heavy pack, stubbornly dragging it while your knuckles turn white

Johnny will walk Slow Dancer right up to you. He won’t make a big scene or coddle you. He’ll just reach down and grab the strap, hoist it onto his own saddle.

If you snap at him that you had it under control, he just stares you down with those hyper-focused eyes

"I know you did. But the horse has four working legs and a spare hook. Don't waste your energy on pride when we have Stand users trying to kill us tomorrow."

He won't push you to talk about why you're like this. But if you’re injured or exhausted and trying to hide it, he will literally get his horse in your way and refuse to move until you let him or Gyro check the wound. He treats your hyper-independence like a challenge to trick you into accepting help.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro is a loud, expressive guy who thrives on partnership and shared burdens. Your hyper independence doesn't just confuse him at first it genuinely ruffles his feathers. He views a refusal to accept help as a lack of trust, and Gyro prides himself on being reliable.

You’re trying to set up camp in a freezing desert evening, your hands shaking too hard to spark a flint, but you keep swatting his hands away.

Gyro will literally sigh dramatic as always, roll his eyes and just crowd into your space anyway. He’ll take the flint out of your hands, light the fire in two seconds, and flash a gold toothed smirk.

He will absolutely call you out, but with his classic ridiculous flair. "Hey, look at me. Are these steel balls just for decoration? Am I a ghost? No! So stop acting like you're crossing the American continent entirely alone. It’s insulting to my capabilities!"

He works around your defenses using humor and routine. If he knows you won't ask for food, he won't ask if you're hungry

he’ll just make a massive, bizarre pot of "Zeppeli-style" coffee and soup, hand you a bowl, and say, "Eat it, I made too much and it's making the horses nervous."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

Diego is the king of hyper independence, so seeing it in you is like looking into a twisted mirror. He grew up learning that the world gives you absolutely nothing and that relying on anyone else is a fast track to getting stepped on.

Because of this, your self reliance actually earns his respect but it also makes him highly tactical about how he interacts with you.

Diego won't argue with you. If you insist on tracking a target alone or fixing a thrown horse shoe by yourself in the mud

he’ll just sit on Silver Bullet, chin resting on his gloved hand watching you with cold calculating reptile eyes. He’s measuring your limits.

He only steps in when your independence crosses the line into genuine danger. If you’re about to collapse from fever but you're still holding a knife, ready to defend your tent, he will disarm you so fast it makes your head spin. He won't be gentle, but he will be efficient.

He’ll hold you down or force you to rest, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous hiss

"You're no use to me dead or broken on the side of the trail. If you want to survive this race, you utilize the tools you have. Right now, I am the tool. Let me handle the perimeter, or I’ll leave you behind to freeze." Spoiler: He won't actually leave you behind, but he’ll die before admitting he cares

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

Because of her past and her secret mission, she completely understands the mentality of "If I don't do it, it won't get done right" and "No one can know my weaknesses."

However, in a survival situation, she has zero patience for pride getting in the way of efficiency.

Hot Pants will watch you struggle silently for a bit, evaluating whether your independence is a strength or a liability.

The second it starts slowing the group down or putting you in danger, she steps in with icy precision. If you’re nursing a bad sprain and trying to limp along without a word she’ll simply block your path Cream Starter already in hand.

"Sit down. You're bleeding through your boot and your pace is dropping. Do not lie to me and say it's fine."

If you try to push her away, she’ll firmly pin your shoulder down. She won't argue with your stubbornness; she will just out stubborn you.

She won't offer sweet words or gentle comfort, but there’s a deep, unspoken respect in how she treats you.

Once she patches you up with her Stand, she might sit beside you for a rare quiet moment. "I know what it's like to trust only yourself," she’ll say quietly, looking into the distance.

"It's exhausting. You don't have to trust my heart, but trust my utility. We keep each other alive. That is all this is."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Mountain Tim.

As an experienced bounty hunter and a man of strict cowboy chivalry, Tim’s entire instinct is to protect and assist.

Seeing someone completely refuse to lean on anyone else doesn't annoy him it breaks his heart a little.

He knows how cruel the frontier is, and he immediately assumes you’ve been deeply let down by people in your past.

Tim won't force his help on you aggressively because he respects boundaries, but he will utilize Oh! Lonesome Me to subtly make your life easier.

Trying to reach something heavy or secure a stubborn knot on your saddle while refusing to ask him? A stray length of rope might just "happen" to snag it and pull it closer, or give you the exact leverage you need.

When he does step in, he frames it so it doesn't feel like a blow to your pride. He’ll never say "You look like you're struggling."

Instead, he'll tip his hat, flash a warm, reassuring smile, and say, "Mind if I take over a spell? My hands are itching for something to do, and a capable partner like you deserves a breather."

If you snap at him because your hyper independence makes you defensive, Tim doesn't get angry.

He just looks at you with those steady, calm eyes. "I know you don't need me to survive out here. You've proven you're tough as nails. But a campfire is warmer when two people are keeping it fed. You're allowed to let your guard down around me."

[door2hevn]

girl i saw on the news that lebanon got bombed and i wanted to check: are you okay??? you not posting for days is scaring me, with the fact that the country you live in is actively getting attacked 💔💔 please give us some news 😭😭

Hi lovely before I say anything you are literally the sweetest ever for checking up on me , truly you are a wonderful person, thank God nothing is happening directly near me for now atleast, it is very hard to not feel safe no matter where we go but what is there to do

I am safe and my family is too, let's hope it ends soon! I know I haven't been posting much no only have I lost motivation alot is happening soo might take a while between every post

Plus I have been watching aot and been obsessed

So I really wanna try and write for them mwahehe

In general I love you so much pookie you are wonderful thank you for ur message it make me so happy

[door2hevn]

Hello!! I really love your layout!! I'm not sure if you take requests like these and if you don't you can completely ignore/delete this but I was thinking sbr characters x Native American reader with a Fluttershy personality?

(I got the idea from a Tiktok I saw of the mlp characters as humans irl and I loved the idea of a native american Fluttershy and I just love her)

(⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

✿˚｡⋆ Fluttershy reader ⋆｡˚✿

♡‧₊˚✦ Pairing ✦˚₊‧♡: SBR x fem reader

horizon, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and gold. Johnny sat on a fallen log meticulously cleaning the gears of his wheelchair, though his eyes kept drifting over to where you stood near the edge of the brush.

A wild pronghorn antelope, skittish and notoriously fast, had wandered near the camp. Anyone else would have startled it, but you stood perfectly still your posture small and unthreatening.

You extended a hand, palm up, humming a low, repetitive melody a traditional lullaby your grandmother used to sing to calm restless spirits.

Johnny watched completely transfixed as the wild animal hesitated twitched its ears, and then took three delicate steps forward to press its wet nose directly into your palm.

A soft, breathless laugh escaped your lips, your shoulders finally relaxing.

"You're a miracle worker, you know that?" Johnny’s voice was quiet, stripped of its usual sharp edge.

You startled slightly, stepping back as the antelope bounded away into the shadows. Your cheeks flushed a warm dusty pink

and you pulled your woven shawl tighter around your shoulders, looking down at your moccasins. "I just... I could feel how thirsty she was. The land is dry this week. She was just looking for a safe place."

Johnny rolled closer, his blue eyes softening in a way they rarely did for anyone else. He reached out, his calloused hand gently wrapping around your wrist to pull you down to sit beside him.

The weight of the Steel Ball Run race, the gruesome battles, and his own dark determination usually left him tense as a coiled spring. But the moment you sank against his side, your gentle, grounding presence washed over him.

"Sometimes I think you're too good for this place," he muttered, resting his chin on your head. He tangled his fingers in your dark hair, feeling the intricate beads woven near your temples. "The world out here is cruel. But when I’m with you... it’s like the noise just stops."

You leaned into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Then I'll keep it quiet for you," you whispered, your voice barely louder than the desert breeze. "As long as you need."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

"Look, look! I tell you, it’s a masterpiece!"

Gyro was practically vibrating with excitement, sitting cross-legged by the campfire with his acoustic guitar resting on his knee.

He had spent the last two hours trying to cheer you up after a rough encounter at the latest race checkpoint, where a group of rowdy trackers had gotten far too loud sending you retreating into the safety of the tent trembling.

You peeked out from under the canvas, your large, expressive eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and lingering anxiety.

"Come on out," Gyro coaxed, his gold teeth flashing in the firelight, his usual bombastic swagger dialing down into something incredibly tender. "I wrote a new song. Just for you. No pizza, no mozzarella. Pure artistic genius."

Slowly hesitatingly, you crept out and sat beside him on the blanket. You still looked tiny, your hands tucked into the sleeves of your tunic.

Gyro immediately shifted closer, his large frame acting as a physical shield between you and the open, dark expanse of the plains.

He cleared his throat dramatically and began to strum a surprisingly sweet, lilting melody. Then, he began to sing a ridiculous, improvised song about a brave Native girl and a brilliant, handsome executioner who conquered the desert together. His vocals were over-the-top, complete with dramatic winks and hand gestures.

A tiny involuntary giggle escaped your lips. Then another. Within seconds you were burying your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with quiet melodic laughter.

Gyro stopped strumming, a look of profound satisfaction settling over his face. He reached over, gently pulling your hands away from your face so he could look at you.

"There she is. I was worried those idiots at the town completely broke your spirit." His thumb stroked your cheek bone, his expression turning fierce.

"If anyone ever makes you feel that small again, you tell me. I’ll show them exactly how a Zeppeli handles garbage. Understand?"

You nodded softly, placing your small hand over his. "Thank you, Gyro. For the song... and for keeping me safe."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

The scent of copper and rain hung heavy in the air. Diego was crouched in the shadow of a rock formation, his body halfway caught between human and reptile.

Fangs jutted from his jaw, and long, striped raptor scales coated his forearms. His breathing was heavy, his golden eyes slitted and paranoid, scanning the dark for any threat. The race was driving him mad, and the beast inside him wanted nothing but to tear something apart.

Then he heard the soft pat-pat of your footsteps approaching.

Diego let out a low warning hiss, his tail lashing against the dirt. Anyone else would have run for their life. But you didn’t run.

You stopped a few paces away, your heart hammering against your ribs, but your love for him overrode your natural instinct to hide.

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the ancestral earth beneath your feet. You knelt in the dirt completely defenseless, and held out your hands.

"Diego," you murmured, your voice a soothing, velvety balm. "It's me. You're safe. The race is paused for the night. No one is coming."

The raptor-man froze. He stared at you, searching your face for any sign of deceit, but found only pure, unadulterated devotion and tenderness.

Slowly, the tension began to bleed out of his hyper-alert muscles. He crawled forward on all fours, low to the ground, until his snout was inches from your face.

You didn't flinch. Instead, you reached up and gently placed your palms against the cool, rough scales of his cheeks.

You began to stroke them softly, whispering sweet words in your native tongue words of comfort, calling him a protector a king of the land.

Diego let out a sound that was half-purr, half-sigh, collapsing his heavy head entirely into your lap. His long tail wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. As the scales slowly receded, leaving his smooth, blonde hair behind, he gripped your waist tightly.

"You're the only thing in this godforsaken country that belongs to me," Diego growled softly into your stomach, his voice rough but fiercely possessive. "And I will tear the throat out of anyone who tries to take you away."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

The rain was relentless, turning the trail into a thick, treacherous mud. Hot Pants had managed to find a small, abandoned hunter's cabin for the two of you to seek shelter in.

Inside, she was a whirlwind of stoic efficiency building a fire, checking the supplies, her expression locked in its usual severe, guilt-ridden frown.

She was so wrapped up in her own head, carrying the crushing weight of her past sins, that she barely noticed she was shivering.

But you noticed.

You approached her quietly, carrying a thick, dry wool blanket you had kept protected in your pack. Hot Pants didn't hear you until you were right beside her, gently draping the warmth over her shoulders.

She flinched, her hand instinctively flying to the Cream Starter at her hip before she realized it was just you. Her gaze softened though her brow remained furrowed. "I'm fine. You should use this for yourself."

"You're freezing," you said, your voice barely a whisper, yet holding a rare, stubborn firmness. You reached out, your trembling fingers gently taking her hand.

Your skin was warm, a sharp contrast to her icy fingers. "Please Hot Pants. Let me take care of you for a moment. You always take care of everyone else."

Hot Pants stared at you, her throat suddenly tight. She looked at your gentle features, tracing the beautiful, rich tone of your skin and the deep empathy radiating from your eyes.

You didn't know the horrific details of her past, yet you looked at her as if she were someone worthy of grace. Worthy of tenderness.

Slowly, the rigid posture she held like armor crumbled. She allowed you to guide her down to sit by the fire.

She didn't say a word, but as you sat beside her, she reached out and pulled you into the blanket with her, burying her face into the crook of your neck.

Your hands found her hair, gently untangling the damp strands. You didn't press her to speak. You just held her, offering her a sanctuary of absolute peace in a world that had given her none.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Mountain Tim.

The wind howling through the canyons was fierce, kicking up dust storms that made it impossible to see three feet ahead.

Mountain Tim had guided your horses into a narrow cavern, shielding you both from the worst of the gale.

Even inside, the howling wind and the cracking thunder outside had you completely on edge. You were huddled in the corner, your knees pulled to your chest, your hands trembling as you tried to block out the noise. Your anxiety was taking over, making your breathing shallow and panicked.

Tim noticed immediately. He didn't make a fuss, nor did he loud-talk you out of it. He simply tipped his cowboy hat back walked over and knelt down so he was at your eye level.

"Hey there, darlin'," he said, his voice a deep, slow, molasses-thick drawl that instantly cut through the panic in your brain. "Look at me. Just focus on my voice."

You lifted your head, your tear-brimming eyes meeting his steady, sky-blue ones.

Tim took off his heavy leather coat and wrapped it securely around your shoulders. It smelled of tobacco, leather, and rain a scent that had quickly become your ultimate comfort.

He then took your small, shaking hands into his large, calloused mitts, rubbing them gently to bring the warmth back.

"The storm's just the sky clearing its throat," Tim murmured, smiling softly, his mustache twitching.

"It's got a lot to say, but it can't touch you in here. I've spent twenty years tracking these canyons, and I know this rock is as sturdy as they come. And as long as I'm standing here, nothing is gettin' through that entrance."

He shifted so he was sitting right next to you, letting you lean your head against his broad shoulder. He began to tell you a slow meandering story about a comedy of errors during one of his old bounty hunts, his voice rhythmic and calming.

With every word he spoke, your heart rate slowed, your breathing matching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Out here on the frontier, surrounded by danger, Mountain Tim was an unshakeable fortress and you were the only one who held the key.