Livin’ in a Dream💜

Cozy Vibes | Fanfic | Girl Gamer | Fantasy Writer | Anime | Kawaii | Aesthetics | Artistic | Honkai: Star Rail (The Herta main) | Desserts | OC Maker | Animals | Wuthering Waves (Carthethiya main) | Female Fashion | Purple | Zodiac Sign: Virgo | ADHD/APD/Autism | Doffy x OC | Sailor Moon | 21-year-old

[galaxxie26]

Hiya! The name is Galaxxie. I am the type of girl who prefers to just post anything that has to do with anime, video games, writing, chill/cozy vibes (aesthetic), Kawaii (anything cute), and OC making. Hope you enjoy.😊

[yvainillapie]

Donquixote Doflamingo

Warnings: Donquixote Doflamingo

Summary: Impel down letters he couldn’t sent to his darling.🦩

BEWARE ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE! (So I can make mistakes)

Impel down is hell. I’m sure of it but you know me little bird I’ve been in the hell since that day. You were my light,still are.

I’ve been keeping an eye on the newspapers. You’re not in them, which is good. The less the world knows about you, the better. As for how I know so much… fufufu, little bird, you know I have connections everywhere. I don’t think Marines would be interested in sending this to you though.

The days drag on in this cage. Irritating, isn’t it? You should be here to make them more interesting.

The Marines think these walls can keep me contained. Fufufu. They’re more foolish than I thought.

However a cage is still a cage, I suppose. Cold stone. Iron bars and those chains I hate.The same faces every day. They stare at me as if I’m some monster from a story told to frighten children.

Maybe they’re right, yet every morning I wake up and the world is still turning exactly as I said it would. Kingdoms rise. Kingdoms fall. Pirates chase dreams. Marines chase pirates. Nothing changes.

Except one thing…You aren’t here.

Strange, isn’t it, little bird? Out of everything I’ve lost, that’s what irritates me the most.

Sometimes I find myself looking toward the door when footsteps echo down the corridor. For a moment I almost expect to see you standing there, giving me that look.

“Doffy, are you causing trouble again?”

Fufufu…Of course I am.

Trouble is the only thing I’m good at.

I wonder what you’re doing now. Whether you’re eating properly. Whether you’re sleeping enough. Whether you’ve finally learned to stop trusting every fool with a smile.

If not, I’ll have to lecture you when we meet again and we will meet again but don’t misunderstand. This isn’t hope. Hope is for people who wait.I make things happen.

Stay out of trouble. Don’t die before I get out.

I’d never forgive you for that.

— Your Doffy

[oddarette]

Gumballbasaur 🩷✨

[autisticflamingo]

Can you just fucking chill and don't be so damn adorable?? I'm trying to live my life here.

[wasabi-gumdrop]

doodling my fave strawhat fits to celebrate catching up on the anime 👒 🏴‍☠️

[theodora3022]

Yandere prompt list compilation

Feel free to reblog! All of these lists are great writing insipriation!

Prompt 1

Prompt 2

Prompt 3

Prompt 4

Prompt 5

Prompt 6

Prompt 7

Prompt 8

Will be updated!

[galaxxie26]

Did you pull for Nanally?

Yes!😍

No🧐

Voting ended onMay 11

[moncheriprompts]

nonsexual acts of intimacy

a prompt list by @moncheriprompts

wearing each other’s clothes

holding hands

washing each other’s hair

falling asleep in s/o’s lap

cuddling in a blanket fort

sharing a bed

head scratches

sharing a dessert

shoulder rubs

reading a book together

^ reading to each other or separately—just reveling in other’s presence

caring for each other while ill

patching up a wound

taking a bath together

playing with each other’s hair

accidentally falling asleep together

^ laying practically on top of each on a couch and falling asleep while watching a movie

forehead or cheek kisses

s/o adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/etc

back scratches

slow dancing

interlocking fingers while holding hands

[galaxxie26]

I completely forgot to post this yesterday… but I got Nanally!

[doflamingos-dulcet-tones]

One Piece Episode 680 - All Doflamingo Appearances (Dubbed)

(Timestamps may differ depending on where you watch it):

08:05 - 08:13 [8 seconds] (Headless body kneeling on the floor, head chuckling on Picas hand.) “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t delay this further.” 08:21 - 08:24 [3 seconds] (Body and head in front of Pica.)

08:25 - 08:27 [2 seconds] (Feathers on coat.)

08:30 - 08:38 [8 seconds] (Headless body, Doflamingo appearing behind Kyros.) “Do you want me to show you… How to properly behead a man?”

08:40 - 08:46 [6 seconds] (Slowly lifts leg, grinning.) “Just like this!” (Sweeps leg out toward Kyros’ head.)

08:50 - 08:52 [2 seconds] (Stood above Luffy with leg raised.)

08:55 - 08:59 [4 seconds] (Grinning down at Luffy.) “Damn Straw Hat!”

09:03 - 09:14 [11 seconds] (Lowers leg and turns, pulls arms back with strings at the ready, headless clone repeating the movement, both Doflamingo and his clone moving in to attack Luffy.)

09:16 - 09:25 [9 seconds] (Grins and attacks.) “Pentachromatic strings!” (Clone attacks in unison.)

09:26 - 09: 27 [1 second] (Both clone and Doflamingo miss, hitting the ground.)

09:36 - 09:39 [3 seconds] (Grins and turns to viewer.) “Heh. Armaments!” (Coats coat in armament haki.)

09:47 - 09:50 [3 seconds] (Blocking Luffys punches while grinning.)

09:53 - 09:54 [1 second] (Blocking Luffys punches while grinning.)

09:56 - 09:57 [1 second] (Blocking Luffys punches while grinning.) 

09:58 - 09:59 [1 second] (Blocking Luffys punches while grinning.)

09:59 - 10:00 [1 second] (Blocking Luffys punches while grinning.)

10:00 - 10:05 [5 seconds] (Grins.) “Heeh…” (Clone appears behind Luffy and attacks.)

10:07 - 10:10 [3 seconds] (Clone in mid-swipe, Doflamingo in front of Luffy with coat still coated in Armament.)

10:15 - 10:20 [5 seconds] (Chuckles, raises fist with armament haki.)

10:22 - 10:32 [10 seconds] (Rears fist back and punches Luffy in the face, sending him flying.)

10:41 - 10:46 [5 seconds] (Grinning, releases armament haki and stands back.) “Haah…”

10:50 - 10:58 [8 seconds] (Stood side by side with headless clone.)

11:02 - 11:04 [2 seconds] (Headless clone with string moving where the head should be.)

11:08 - 11:12 [4 seconds] (String moving from Doflamingos ring finger to the clones neck.)

11:15 - 11:17 [2 seconds] (String moving from Doflamingos ring finger to the clones neck, squats down to turn toward Riku.) “Riku…”

11:19 - 11:24 [5 seconds] (Grinning.) “A quick question. Do you remember how you felt that evening ten years ago?”

11:26 - 11:31 [5 seconds] (Grinning.) “The one where you torched the town? And sliced your beloved citizens to pieces.”

11:35 - 11:36 [1 second] (Flashback to fingers pulling strings during Dressrosa takeover.)

11:38 - 11:39 [1 second] (Flashback to fingers pulling strings during Dressrosa takeover.)

11:40 - 11:41 [1 second] (Flashback to fingers pulling strings during Dressrosa takeover.)

11:51 - 11:56 [5 seconds] (Flashback to fingers pulling strings behind King Riku during Dressrosa takeover.)

12:04 - 12:09 [5 seconds]  (Smirking.) “Compared to what’s about to unfold, that will seem like a sweet memory.”

12:12 - 12:21 [9 seconds] (Grins.) “Heh.” (Turns back toward the viewer and Riku.) “Hush now. I’m going to release you all.”

12:23 - 12:25 [2 seconds] (Smiling.) “Pica.”

12:30 - 12:33 [3 seconds] (Closeup of sunglass lens.) “I think it’s time you scattered these roaches.”

13:27 - 13:33 [6 seconds] (Smiling and standing proudly.)

13:50 - 13:52 [2 seconds] (Stood beside the headless clone.)

14:00 - 14:25 [25 seconds] (Raises hand while smiling and begins to flex fingers, strings appear from the clones neck and it slumps down to its knees, closeup of sunglasses.) “Now it’s time to watch the final act unfold.” (Raises pointer finger toward the sky and strings burst out from clones neck toward the sky while Doflamingo watches.)

14:26 - 14:32 [6 seconds] (Smiling sweetly, turns head to the side and chuckles softly.)

17:31 - 17:34 [3 seconds] (Smirks and chuckles.)

18:38 - 18:43 [5 seconds] (Pulling strings and flexing fingers while grinning widely.) “Parasite string.”

18:46 - 18:48 [2 seconds] (Hand flexing and pulling strings.)

18:51 - 18:53 [2 seconds] (Hand flexing and pulling strings.)

18:56 - 18:57 [1 second] (Hand flexing and pulling strings.)

19:00 - 19:01 [1 second] (Hand flexing and pulling strings.)

19:05 - 19:06 [1 second] (Hand flexing and pulling strings.)

21:31 - 21:38 [7 seconds] (Smiling and speaking into the receiver.) “Citizens and guests of Dressrosa. Greetings! Might I have a word?”

21:39 - 21:46 [7 seconds] (Offscreen.) “When I started my reign I could have easily ruled over you with an iron fist! Instead I was benevolent!”

21:48 - 21:50 [2 seconds] (Appearing on TV screens.)

21:56 - 22:13 [17 seconds] (Smiling on screen in the sky, speaking into receiver.) “But now that you know the truth…” (Offscreen.) “There’s no doubt in my mind that the vast majority of you would like to see me dead. That’s why I’ve prepared a little game for you.”

22:16 - 22:32 [16 seconds] (Face on screen.) “Your objective, is to assassinate me.” (Speaking into receiver.) “You can find me in the royal palace. I won’t be going anywhere. Take my life and the game ends. I die, you win. Real simple, right?”

22:33 - 22:52 [19 seconds]  (Offscreen, cuts to him speaking on tv.) “And since I’m so generous I’ll give you a second way to win as well.” (Offscreen.) “I’m about to read out a list of people, so get your pencils ready. Should you manage to bring me their dead bodies you win.” (Speaking on TV.) “Also, I will award a sizable bounty for each and every head I receive.”

22:54 - 23:06 [12 seconds]  (Grinning.) “It’s kill… Or be killed.” (Raises arm to the sky as coat flutters around him. Smiling.) “Every person in the kingdom is now a bounty hunter!”  23:12 - 23:21 [9 seconds] (Grinning widely.) “And the only way for you to survive… Is for you to take the life of another person.” (Chuckles.)

Total: 04:48

[galaxxie26]

Yes! I got her!🤩

[mlemiie]

One Piece Men + reacting to grieving!reader (short fics)

- ❝the loss of a loved one finds you once more, riddling you in a state of grief; how will your s/o react to that?❞

˚₊‧꒰ა Tags ໒꒱ ‧₊˚: Comfort, grief, SFW. Reader with vauge past of losing a loved one. Reader is she/her. 𓂃۶ৎ wc: 1.2 k for each separate fic.

₊˚ʚ Characters/status: Rob Lucci, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Roronoa Zoro, (established relationship ˖ ໒꒱)

❝ ᝰ.ᐟ Personal note: to my three little boys; i still think about you. I still love you.🤍❞

Rob Lucci

It’s that time of the year.

You told Rob you’re heading to bed early, waving it off as exhaustion, but your head have been on the pillow since evening. It’s three in the morning now. Not once catching sleep.

You were thinking about them.

Tried to recall their scent, the clang of their laughter but all you can feel, all you can hear — is a buzzing almost fading sound.

Your ear twitched.

That’s not right.

That’s not what they were like.

You try again, but their expression is not aligned, their face shifting and turning. You can’t remember them and that notion makes you sick in the stomach.

You hear Rob coming back home from work, light spilling through the bedroom floor.

He slithered inside. No sound. No steps. Almost like a shadow, a blade. He spots you awake, stopping in his tracks.

And you blinked.

Not knowing what expression to make.

“… you’re awake.” He gives you a brow, “I thought you’d be asleep considering how insistent you were going to bed at six.” He slides off his hat and undo his shirt but then—he catches the shape of you.

Your eyes are swollen.

There are small dots scattered across your face as if you've cried so hard, tiny blood vessels must have popped.

He drops immediately his undressing and strides over to you in bed.

“You've been crying.” An observation, not a question. His voice sharp, curt, straight to the point. He looms over you, tilting his head. His expression flat but there is something in his gaze, something dark. Focused. As if to catch what has broken you in your expression alone — and strangle it to death.

A cold thumb comes rubbing your cheek.

“Why.”

Rob is an agent, an assassin and a killer.

Death to him is a passionate Monday's work. He’s close to it, works with it—wields it. He feels it in ways that it becomes casual for him.

And he does not know of them.

Or the colour of their hair, and how they liked their morning tea.

He knows nothing.

They’re gone, and like a fading echo of their presence—you’ve already forgotten how they used to smile.

And it’s been so long since you last heard their name. If they were to leave your mouth now—you’re sure your voice would crack.

How do you explain that? How do you explain them? To him?

You only shake your head. Chin low. Not meeting his focused gaze.

“Rob.”

He does not bend or lean in, he just reaches for your face. Bigger hands placing on your cheek. Wiping a tear.

“I’m listening.” Tone flat, monotone. But his touch is soft, faint. That’s always how he did it — an affection not heard, but shown. It makes you sink into his touch.

“Can you just hold me? For tonight? Please?”

His brows pulls at that, face growing tense. withdrawing his warmth from you.

“Did someone hurt you?” His voice is controlled, unbearably so; a tone that only a Massacre Weapon of the World Government can carry as he tenderly takes a hold on your hand. Rubbing your fingers and knuckles. “Give me names; I’ll deal with them.”

Your chin drops lower. You shake your head and just pull back his hand to your cheek. “Please.”

And he clenches his jaw, scowling but… he obeys.

A deep inwardly sigh leaves from his chest, a rumble almost—sliding into the sheets with you.

He wraps his arms around you. Pulling you close. And you hum, burying your face into his chest, feel his fingers slither through your hair.

Taking in his scent, and warmth.

“… Your exhaustion. Was it truly just from work?”

Your shoulders tense up, and that’s all the answer he needs.

He looks down at you from his chest.

You’re not crying, or sobbing or hiccuping. But your eyes are glassy, distant—reminiscing the past.

Corner of his lip jerk, for once, not knowing what to say.

So he does the only thing he knows how.

He brings you close, let you hide your face under his chin. Nudging the top of your hair with his cheek, nose. Caressing circles on your spine. Faintly, gently. Nails grazing. You shudder.

“Tell me.” His voice is not lazy, flat or cruel but low, dark and soft. His version of soft. The kind that is restrained, quiet. A blade’s dulled edge pulled back into its sheath. And it cleaves at your heart yet again.

Perhaps, you’ll manage to find the words to describe them. Without your voice cracking.

And Rob will listen. He might not be able to truly empathise but… He’ll hold you. Console you.

Not because he’s adoring but because this is what you need. What your heart needs. He’s practical, pragmatic but with you—there is a hidden softness in his cynical demeanour. One that takes the shape of warmer hands, softer touches, slower motions.

You tell him all of them — the colour of their hair, their favourite cake flavour and how they always left their socks in the living room.

You do not cry, not really — you simply talk. Speak. Let your love for them bloom once more, and even though Rob Lucci might never understand; he knows, if he were to lose you, the last untouched parts of his so called 'heart' will shatter into pieces.

Freezing over and returning to machine once more.

He tenses at the thought of that.

And unconsciously his hold on you grows a little bit harder, a little more firmer.

Summary: After peeling each layer back and letting your heart grieve once more, he lets you rest. By morning and the next few to come, he’ll fix you breakfast. Coffee. Hattori will deliver you a satchel of flower seeds. And it’s not just any flowers, but their favourites. And you’ll press down a smile. Rob is a killer, an assassin and the best agent for the World Government but with you—he’s Rob. Your Rob. The loving one, the understanding one; the domestic, human one.

Sir Crocodile

You were assorting a pot of flowers. Clipping, tending, fixing it nutrients. Adjusting so the soil does not run spoiled.

And meanwhilst, you've faded into your mind. It was around this time they…

You clipped some dead leaves.

Straightening a stem.

You remember how they always asked you to water their plants. Back then, you always grumbled, annoyed and cranky and took it as a chore.

But now, you pressed down a smile when an inside joke you had with them resurfaces.

Crocodile spots you smiling to yourself. He was leaning against the door frame watching you. Arms crossed and face grumpy.

Your smile wasn’t the usual, beaming and happy one. There was a tone of silence in it—as if missing something, or someone. And he wasn’t far off.

“Whatever is making you smile like that; best not be about another man.”

You looked to him then, blinking, before returning a half-smile. “I was just remembering something.”

“Is that so?” He unfolds his arms and closed the distance between you two.

His steps heavy, sure.

“What was it?” He sits down next to you.

Leaning against your working table.

You advert your gaze.

Returning your focus on your pot. But there is nothing more to adjust and tend to. So you only stare for a good minute.

The shape of their eyes, the sound of their laugh—you don’t remember. Not really.

Each vision is a blur, a false one. And it makes your stomach sink.

Before you let tears sting your vision—you set your scissors down and get up from your seat.

You look to him, “can we get take-out tonight? I don’t feel like cooking.”

He gives you a brow, tilting his jaw up. Smoke swirling off his cigar.

Gaze tense, focused. As if discerning a puzzle etched on your face — revealing the makings of your heart.

“… is that a no—?”

“You’re unhappy.” He cuts you off and your bones run cold.

Of course he’d figure it out.

He knows you, sees you.

You look away and that is an answer in itself. His gaze softens, shoulders slumping. He takes your hands, and guides you back down to your seat. His grip gentle, if not almost precious.

A rough hand landing on the side of your face. Rubbing your cheek. Wiping a tear.

“Sweet doll,” he hums. "Who's the idiot, tell me and i’ll fix this—”

“No.” You shake your head, almost frantically. “not like that.” Your voice is firm but there is a small, uncertain tremble in it. As if it’s taking everything in you not to break down there and then.

And maybe, it is that, that makes him incline his head. Looking you over as to find the answer in the very shape of your figure, the pattern in your eyes.

He takes a smoke, removing his cigar.

“Very well — do you want to talk about it?” He says at last and you press your lips. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say. No matter how trivial.”

And it’s true.

You know he would so you grab onto the pot, fixing a nonexistent issue.

You say their name.

The shape of their letters, the sound of their sobriquet leaving your mouth feels all too strange on your tongue. It comes out stiff, odd and jarring. They've become a stranger in your mouth — as if it’s been ages you’ve ever said their name.

You re-adjust the leaves, fix the stem and tilt the petals as you tell him about them. Who they were and what they meant to you.

And Sir Crocodile will listen.

The scar left across his face leaves a soft ache as he listens to you speak. Even though it’s healed and aged—it still has left its mark on him.

Just like 'yours' left a mark on your heart.

If you were to start crying, breaking—Crocodile won’t hold you. He’ll offer you a tissue, a resting palm on your hand but unless you ask for it—he won't hold you.

He’ll let you have this moment for yourself — so you can mourn, grieve, feel the love you had for them bloom once again. He’s an ex-warlord of the sea; he’s scum, filth, a pirate. He takes and he deceives but, he won’t steal this moment from you. Especially not from you, his darling, his pearl.

Sir Crocodile will ask you how they looked like, if they bore a resemblance to you. And you’ll tell him. Tell him all of them. How they liked their dinner plate, and their morning tea.

You say all that you can think of, shed all the tears you've held, moments already passing and by then, after all that’s been said—a small smile has made its way to your face.

He’ll reach a hand to you. Rub your cheek with his thumb. You lean in.

His palm rough, calloused but indelibely warm. You hum, almost as if soothed.

“Hungry?”

You hold in a smile, “Yes. Very.”

“Then, let’s not dally. I’ll take you out for shopping afterwards.”

You give him a sly smile, “You made fun of me last night because I have way too many clothes.”

“Did I?” He fixes his tie, “Such nonsense. My lady deserves all and more. We’ll have to get you a new dress for dinner, don’t you agree?”

And you laugh, taking his offered arm.

Summary: The flower pot is left by the windowsill, curtains fluttering with the breeze and as you sit there with him at the restaurant—he’ll pass you the better cut steak, fix you a finer aged wine. And if you want to speak about them again, he’ll be there. Listening and listening. Not once losing patience, or interest. And between the jewels and the dresses and the heels — that is all that truly makes you smile.

Trafalgar D. Water Law

It’s been days since the crew landed at Zou, and you were just exploring the island on your own. Coming across a field of flowers.

The colours are vibrant, flushed with all kinds of herbs and blooms.

The wind rustled through the green, and the scent of grass and nature filled your senses.

Across the field; it was just you, the breeze and the field of wild flowers.

You dropped your bag and belonging, and set to making your own few bouquets to bring back to the polar tang.

As you were assorting the flowers, your mind drifted.

It was around this time of the year they…

You didn’t even get the chance to tell them you loved them before they left you.

"Ouch—” Your thumb pricked at a torn and you click your tongue. Bringing the wound to your mouth. Sucking off the blood. Frowning.

You should have given them a hug when you still had the chance. Should of told them you liked their cooking and how you shouldn’t have yelled at them that one time.

Should have... should have… should have.

The words burn on your tongue like venom.

…

You feel selfish, mean and suddenly, the bouquets of flowers become an eye sore. You toss them to the side, feeling a headache form.

You decide to just watch the clouds pass the blue skies.

But as you watch, they won’t leave your mind.

You want them back.

More than you have wanted anything else.

The clang of their laugh, the way their nose would scrunch when they smiled and joked. You’ve forgotten it all. You want to see them again. Hear them again. Talk to them again.

Your chest starts to ache, twisting and turning as you know, you’ve always known, they’ll never come back. And it’s that fact alone, that makes everything always hurt so much more.

You pull your knees to your chest. Burying your face between them.

You want to cry, want to feel tears sting your eyes—but no matter how hard you try and squeeze them out, nothing comes, and you feel so terribly helpless.

You want someone to find you here in the meadows.

See your slumped state and take pity on you.

Perhaps even hold you, take care of you—feel a hand pressed on your cheek.

Is that selfish of you to think, to feel? Maybe, but... it’s nothing but a fantasy, a harmless one.

Besides, no one is going to find you here.

Or so you thought, until you feel a hand placed on your shoulder, and you flinch. Looking up.

Your eyes widen, and breath leaves you.

“Law!?”

“There you are; I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You immediately go to your feet, petals and leaves rustling as you crash him down into the grass with you.

You don’t know if you should laugh or cry seeing him again after such a long time apart. God you missed his smell, his skin, his warmth and his pretty, handsome, dork of a face. You rub and bury your own into his neck and he lets you.

He won’t let you see it, but he’s smirking. Proud. Smug.

“It’s been so long,” Your face hovers above him as you let him go from your killer-embrace. “When did you get here?”

“Just now.” He slides a lock of hair behind your ear. He takes a moment looking at you. Tired eyes growing softer, tender.

You’re pretty.

“How have you been?” He says at last and you grin. “I’m better now that you’re here.”

“Yeah? As much as I love having you above me, feeling a stick jabbing my spine does little for chatter so er—”

You immediately sit up, feeling flustered. “Oh right, sorry.”

He sits up too, groaning, pulling that stick aside.

But he blinks when he sees the said stick being your arrangement of flowers.

“Flowers?” He pulls it into view. The petals and the stems have been crushed and tossed and bent. “Did you make these? Didn’t exactly mean to crush them; sorry—.”

You wave it off, “Don’t worry. They were no good anyways.”

Law looks them over, before looking back at you.

You’ve adverted your gaze, your face hard. Tense. As if thinking about something.

You see him put the wilted flowers inside his bag and you frown. “They’re ruined, why would you want to keep them?”

“Cause’ you made them.” That’s all he says before turning to you again.

“What were you doing out here?”

You look away. Fixing your hair from the breeze. “Nothing, just exploring.”

He spots your thumb glinting red. Law reaches out, grabbing your hand.

He looks to your pricked finger, then to your assorted flowers, and then back to you.

Your expression is guarded, rigid but beneath them, there is also a faint trace of sadness.

“You sure it was only exploring?”

“Law, you just got back—how was your time with the Strawhats?”

He pulls his brows. You’re avoiding the topic. You cannot blame him for being curious, and for worrying. He skims your knuckle with his thumb, “You must’ve put a lot of work into that bouquet. Was it for something… or for someone special?”

You pull your hand away. Shaking your head. Almost frantically.

“It doesn’t matter anymore—”

“I’ll listen.”

At that, you snap your gaze to him.

His words came fast, no hesitation, no question. And your brows pull.

He lays back down onto the grass. Hands under his head. Expression at ease as he closes his eyes, the sun catching his skin and the warmth edging across his face.

When you just sit there and stare, he looks to you. And points a finger next to him. “There’s a free spot here if you want.”

Yes, there is. And you soften.

Laying down next to him.

The scent of summer and grass filling your senses—for a moment all you can hear are the rustling of flowers, leaves, bushes and nature. Waddling bumblebees and drifting clouds. It’s peaceful. Calm. Bringing you courage. However faint.

Maybe you’ll tell him.

Maybe you’ll say their name and tell him who they were to you.

Maybe, you will lay there under the blue skies with him and let him know of their pancake recipe. And maybe, he’ll look to you, as your eyes are fixed onto the clouds above. Glinting, reminiscing. A bright, almost a dreamy look in your gaze as you talk about them.

For one split second—his sister’s face comes into view. Rounder cheeks, smaller nose. Ice cream all over her grinning face. Lami. Soft, kind Lami.

And he’ll blink, before sliding a flower into your hair.

Letting you yap till your hearts content.

Summary: He’ll walk you back to the polar tang, in both of your hands, there are flowers for you to bring back with. And if you want to talk about them again, he’ll listen, and be near you all the same.

Donquixote Doflamingo

It was in the dead of the night.

Sitting at the edge of the bed with your face in your hands.

Doffy was snoozing right next to you as you held back your tears with a frown.

The burst of panic, the wave of longing, the sudden replay of all the memories—snatched you by the neck before you had the chance to breathe.

It’s been so long, and you've been trying to lay your head down but you keep turning and shifting and it's now three A.M.

You squeeze your face into your hands.

Shuddering. Shivering.

You want to go back home.

The home before him — the home where you would taste their cooking and catch glimpse of their back by the living room. You want to see them again.

Their hands and their smile.

It hurts, everything just hurts. From your chest down to your feet, everything aches and twists — and despite this, you can't bring yourself to cry.

You clutched onto your chest, your breathing going undone, and no matter where you place your hands—they won't stop shaking.

You hold in your whines, your mewls, your tears. A head ache forming from keeping it all in.

And suddenly, you feel strong arms envelop you, hands pulling you into his chest from behind as he buries his face into your neck.

Voice laced with sleep.

“What’s the matter dove? Can’t sleep? Need me to beat up your pillow?”

You can't answer, breath shuddering. Only then does he snap himself fully awake and see the state you’re in.

You’re crying. Sobbing. Breaking.

He tries to catch your expression from behind but your posture is slumped, hands clutching onto your chest as you try and hold onto your sobs.

“Hey, what happened? Bad dreams—?”

You shake your head and he narrows his eyes.

“Did someone mess with you?” His grip on your shoulders goes hard, tight, a scowl already forming on his face and you wince. Feeling overwhelmed.

“No. No one has done anything.” You try breathing, “I just… Doffy, can you just hold me?”

His brows pulls. Softening at the sensitive tone of your voice.

But of course he can.

He brings you into his lap, into his arms. Let your head rest on his chest.

His warmth slithers into you, his scent, his strong arms holding you by the back—like always, it forces your walls down.

All the grief, the memories and pain all come at once. And you break.

You cry into his shoulder. You sob until your chest tears apart and your eyes stings with so much crying you swear they’ll swell and pop.

Snoot, drool and whimpers coating his shoulder as you continue.

And Doflamingo does not grow impatient of you. Does not flick you away and find you a nuisance.

No.

His hand cups your head, press you deeper into his skin—let’s you unravel without so much a fuss.

All he says in between your crying is:

“Shhh… I'm here.” Voice soft, almost tender.

Adding a kiss to the side of your face. “My sweet girl. I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

He’ll keep humming, shushing, but not once telling you to quieten.

He lets you weep. Mourn. In all the ways you need.

And under the pale moon watch, between the silk curtains and the quiet of the night; your heart will be to his. Thumping with longing, dying with need. When your sobs slows, and you can blink without tearing up, only then will you shift your head.

“Doffy. Can I ask you for something?”

“Of course, anything for you my darling.” He answers almost immediately, for he means it. He’ll give you anything—from a crown on your head to your own lush garden, anything and anyone, just ask him and it’ll be yours; he’ll give you anything.

“I want to go back home.”

He almost flinches.

“… Home? Is this a trick question because I don’t find it musing,” He tries a smile to hide his nerves, “Your home is here. In Dressrosa, with me—”

“Yes. It is. But… I had one before you. Before Dressrosa, before—”

“Before me?” He says it almost as if it’s a joke. A bad one. He withdraws his embrace and makes you face him. A grin on his face, one depraved of patience. Fingers digging into your shoulders as if to anchor you back to him. “Don’t be ridiculous, why would you need to go back there for? Aren’t you happy here? Are you unhappy? Why? Was it something after all—”

“Doffy.” You seethe, tears coming back up as all of his questions and statements and conclusions overwhelms you. “I just want to see their grave again. That’s all. Please.”

Hearing how your voice is shaking, trembling—he snaps out of his need to control, to adjust and possess.

Grave…?

… Ah.

Now it makes sense.

He blinks a few times. Not all that skilled when it comes to these sort of things.

For one flashing moment, his brother’s face appears—followed up with his mother.

Blonde hair, slender hands… her voice… what did it sound like again?

And the shape of her eyes… he can’t recall them. It’s just a blur. A dizzy one. It makes him sick.

He clicks his tongue and shrugs the sudden wave of discomfort off his shoulders, and focuses instead on wiping your nose.

“… I see. Of course we can, darling. Of course we can go visit your home island.”

You look to him, not sure if you can believe him. “... Really? You’re fine with that?”

He takes your hand and kisses it. “I would like to see where you spent your childhood days, why not. We can have a small vacation during the visit, no?”

A smile was making its way to your face but the idea of Doffy seeing your humble hometown didn’t exactly excite you.

Your chin drops, nodding. “Yes… I suppose. I wasn’t thinking of staying there for too long.”

“Then, we don’t have to. But I’ll come with you, I want to,” He takes your hand and places it on his cheek. Giving you a sly smile. “will you let me?”

At that—you press down a smile. Giggling. “You wouldn’t take a ‘no’ for an answer.”

And he grins back, giving your hand a kiss again. You’re right, he wouldn’t.

He brings you both down into the sheets. Hand resting on your cheek and you feel your face bristling with warmth, relief.

“What was their name?” He asks you, voice strangely kind — but you’ll tell him.

You’ll tell him all about them, this time, without tears. The colour of their hair, and how they scolded you for bringing mud in the halls. You’ll laugh when he says they sounded like a jerk, and as the night goes on, once you’ve said all that you have wanted to say — a comfortable silence will linger between you two.

The panic you felt, the burst of memories are now but a melancholic moment settling into your chest as something fond, something warm. And Doffy will place his hand on your cheek. His touch oft, and his gaze even softer.

“You’ll stay with me — even in death.”

You’ll press down a smile. “You’re so romantic, aren’t you?” You tease him.

And he’ll hum, a small incredulous smirk goes on his lips as he kisses your temples. “Only for you.”

Summary: He’ll bring you to your home island and though you worry he’d be annoyed of its rural character—he seems rather unbothered by it. Sure, he’ll make a snarky comment about the rundown lounging but other than that; he seems unaffected, unbothered. This is where you came from, and he won’t belittle you for it. Not openly at least. You’ll bring him to the local flower shop, point out their favourites, and he’ll fix them for you. At the grave sight, there isn’t much to be said. He’ll hold your hand, rub a finger over your knuckle, skim a glance to your quiet figure. Holding to his promise that he’ll listen, and be there right by your side. Even in death.

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro was steady, unrelenting.

You were anything but that.

Wavering, fidgety — emotional.

Especially tonight.

You found something in your drawer.

A letter, an old wrapped caramel, a twenty berri note or maybe even something as silly as a hair tie.

Whatever it was—it was from them.

And you haven’t had the heart to throw it out.

You didn't expect to find it; it’s been years since they left you but the wound remains the same.

A knife turns in your stomach, writhing it over and under, guttering all up to your insides, tasting nausea at the back of your throat as it finally squeezes.

You haven’t thought about them in months, haven’t heard their name in years and yet now—you can’t breathe, as if they left you just now. Just today. Just tonight. Just this hour.

You want to scream or throw something against the wall but all you can do is clutch your chest and frown in discomfort as tears presses out your eyes.

It hurts. It hurts so much you think you’re going to vomit.

“Hey,” Someone says, their voice grounding you and you glance.

It’s Zoro.

"Everything alright?”

You immediately wipe your tears. Swallowing down a cry. Trying to keep your voice from breaking. “Yeah. I'm fine. Just a.. a headache.”

Zoro takes in the shape of you — spine hunched, eyes not meeting as your fingers fidgets at something. He blinks. Striding over. Looking at the object clutched into your hand.

You move it out of view.

"Looks like it’s a lot more than just a headache. Y’know, you should leave the lying to Usopp.” He tugs his sleeve down and you step out of reach.

“Z-Zoro you’ll make it dirty—”

"I can wash it.” Is all he says, grabbing your face. Rubbing your tear stains away.

Once done, he looks you over. Tall frame looming over yours.

"You know you can talk to me, right? I’ll listen.”

And you pull your brows, looking away.

Fiddling with that object in your hand.

You know you can. You know that but… how do you talk about someone that no longer exist?

How do you say a name that now belongs to a ghost? To a memory no one cares about but yourself? One that you've already started to forget? Tears stings your vision.

Tucking their object back into the drawer.

You turn to him. “Zoro. I just want to you to hold me. That’s all.”

For a moment he takes in the shape of you.

Your chin low, eyes glassy and your posture rigid. As if you’re holding yourself from breaking apart — and that is all that needs to be said, to bring you into his arms.

Strong, powerful—holding you steady when you can not.

And he’ll stay there with you.

Letting you whine into his chest, letting you tug onto his shirt. Stain it with snoot, tears, and what not. He does not care.

He’ll only kiss your hairline when he hears you sob all too loud. And bring you closer to his waist.

"I gotchu. Always.”

And he does. He do.

He steers you both down onto the bed. And for tonight; he let’s you be.

Let’s you grieve. Let’s you mourn.

He won’t take this moment away from you, not after months if not years of not thinking about them. Feeling them.

The heart of your wound finally releases, searing itself open once more and Zoro will only hold you. Pat and be close to you. It’s calm, quiet.

His presence as steady and firm as the swordsman’s love for you. You let yourself sink into it. Let yourself unravel beneath it till all that is left are the memories of a long forgotten home; a name that does not sound real, not anymore. A face of someone who blurs and twists — a voice that echoes back into the dark. Not full, not whole, not them but a fragment of who they were.

And it seizes you at last.

You say their name. More breath than word. And Zoro looks down to you. Blinking before repeating their name. Hearing it from someone else, makes you tense, clutching your hands together.

You tell him of them. Who they were and what had belonged to them in that stupid drawer.

Zoro hums, understanding at last — looking to you as he grabs your hands. Bringing them into his palms, fondling them, rubbing them as he asked you how they left. And you tell him of that too. However strained, however odd. And when you do, he’ll squeeze your hands in his, warmth pressing into yours. Not hard, not crushing but present. Safe.

He’ll ask if they bore any resemblance to you. Where they came from and what they meant to you. He'll even ask what liquor they preferred and made a small joke of his alcoholism when you answered how they would abstain from drinking.

You had laughed at the end of it; and that look suited you far much more.

“Thank you, Zoro.” You say at last, looking down at your united hands as you speak and he gives you a brow. “For what?”

“For listening. You don’t know them but you still asked questions. It felt good. To pretend they weren’t just a ghost anymore.”

And Zoro’s gaze finds yours. “They’re not.” One calloused finger points to your heart. Nudging it. “Ghosts remain cold and forgotten. But they live on here, don’t they?”

And you’ll press down a smile. “Yes. Yes they do.”

Zoro comes close, catching your gaze, forehead pressing against yours.

Heat bristles between you two, his nose grazing yours as he sits only a breath away from kissing you.

“Wanna tell me more — then don’t hesitate. No more cryin’ in silence.”

“Zoro…”

“I mean it.” And like that, he kisses your cheek. Bringing you both down into bed. A playful gesture, not to hide the weight of his words but to seal its meaning into something sweet, kind and undeniably true. And when you both start play fighting, pillows thrown, laughter clanging into the air and light pushes are teased; there is nothing but relief easing your chest. And the object in the drawer does not remain unwanted but remembered.

In that — Zoro will hold to.

Summary: When you both exhaust yourself, and you’re cuddling with him into bed — a resting, almost soft calm has washed over you. Your cheek planted on his chest, his hand on your shoulder as he snores like an underwater earthquake. Feeling the way the Sunny rocks side to side. You’ll smile. Knowing they would be happy for you, forever and always.

‧₊˚ taglist┊@badum-tsss @fallingfortragedy @monoash @devilish-banshee @plunky-fish @lostfilmnerd @nakarinxx @vamp1catt @yunnie-fushi @notreggieanymore @brighteyedmichelle @igoontoonepiece @rizzyrisso

[highqualityonepiece]

[galaxxie26]

Can anyone please tell me what the heck this thing is from HSR?

[birthdaylatte]

One piece x animal crossing: doflamingo!

[doflamingos-dulcet-tones]

One Piece Episode 655 - All Announcer Snail + Doflamingo Appearances (Dubbed)

(Timestamps may differ depending on where you watch it):

(I had to write out the timestamps in a document because Tumblr got iffy with it for some reason. Sorry!! ~🎶🐦)

[galaxxie26]

“Pssst! Hey, you!”

“Me?”

“Yea, you. Wanna see something adorable?”

Flustered. “Umm… what do you mean by adorable?”

🥰

“ TA-DA!”