#rxvolutionarysabo

{Meme} • @rxvolutionarysabo

Not My Type | Alright | Cute | Adorable | Pretty | Gorgeous | LORD MERCY

“In fact, Sabo-kun, you stand in front of him for a few extra points.”

1. Bad Reputation - Joan Jett & The Blackhearts ▶

never said I wanted to improve my station / an’ i’m only doin’ good when i’m havin’ fun / an’ i don’t have to please no one

2. Breaking The Law - Judas Priest ▶

so much for the golden future, i can’t even start / i’ve had every promise broken, there’s anger in my heart / you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t have a clue / if you did you’d find yourselves doing the same thing too

3. Lunchbox - Marilyn Manson ▶

next motherfucker’s gonna get my metal

4. Fat Lip - Sum 41 ▶

as a kid, i was a skid and no one knew me by name. / i trashed my own house party cause no body came

5. My Generation - The Who ▶

people try to put us d-down (talkin’ ‘bout my generation) / just because we g-g-get around (talkin’ 'bout my generation) / things they do look awful c-c-cold (talkin’ 'bout my generation) / yeah, i hope i die before i get old (talkin’ 'bout my generation)

Send a 💓 if you’d like a kiss from my muse. || @rxvolutionarysabo

@pxrtgasdace

Poor Aya had no idea what was going on, or who the man before her was. But, well, if he was a friend of Ace’s.... She moved and reached to give him a kiss on his cheek as well, only to meet his lips instead.

Aya’s eyes shot open, face and neck going bright red. “I... what...” What had just happened?! He’d just stolen her first kiss!

“I.... um...” To say Aya was dumbfounded was an understatement.

Sanji / Sabo I cannot thank you enough for, well, everything. You’re the reason I am here, as part of the One Piece rp community. Once I got serious about it years ago, rp became one of my favourite pastimes. It’s a great way of making new friends or simply to socialize, which can be harder with when you're timid. Unfortunately, life forced to cease with that activity as a whole and though I felt like returning to it under the wing of a new fandom, I didn't feel ready. I didn't feel brave enough. But your hand was there and I was brave enough - that at least - to grab it and now I am enjoying myself. There is nothing I can do to repay you for unexpected kindness. Thanks for having motivated supported me in the first place and unlocking the door for me.

♡ sabo // pin my muse

Conflict was a must everywhere men gathered. In the land of pirates and thugs, it was particularly hard to prevent, never mind the prevailing desire for peace felt by the wrongdoers and their beloved relatives who did not go out to sea.

As a member of a fairly small and for sure closed — but civilised — community, the average Shipwrecker’s mindset was one of conservation rather than extinction aside from the wish of piracy and this meant internal tranquillity as well. Even the roughest of pirates cared not for urban vandalism and buying a quarrel with their neighbour for a cheap price.

But it was folly to think that the safe haven which was Shipwreck was not without its episodes of violence. 

The Dressrosan blood, though in diluted form, inspired passion and passion, if blinding, produced its fair share of crimes. Rum was another inciter when Man’s inborn propensity for savagery did not suffice.

Every now and then, the Lady-to-be witnessed a few transgressions mid her promenades — daggers and rapiers pointing in theatrical threatening, the sound of a shot coming from a couple of streets away, cries to chase after a thief which turned out to be a mischievous child with a stolen loaf of bread or bottle of wine under their armpit just for fun.

More often, though, Morgan took notice of the kind of misdemeanour Sabo was about to spare her from.

Taverns were easily the most successful business in the island, competing only with the shipyard enterprise. They offered warmth and quick merriment to the returned or departing sailors and a distraction to those who stayed on land. A way to pass (a good) time.

The streets they were located at would echo with the noisy rumble coming from within as men (and women too) drank more than their quota and made frivolous swears with bravado, many of these resulting in immediate confrontations.

A part of Morgan secretly enjoyed this liveliness. 

It had started with her making herself get used to it, slowly frequenting the alcoholic entertainments clandestine, protective of her identity. Not that she had to — Morgan could go anywhere on the island; even as an underage girl her stepping into bars would have been allowed, though not without reservations and urges to get her out out a “place not for young ladies”.

As it turned out and challenging the odds, Morgan felt quite well amid the unfeminine. Now that she was of age and armed with the excuse of showing Sabo around, she had no need for subterfuges and could freely enter any establishment of her fancy.

She took Sabo to what was, in her humble opinion, the quietest public house around. After his trip, he looked like he could use a pick-me-up and though the Carnahans kept a single bottle or two of whisky around and a small, private wine cellar of their own, some fresh air before twilight might be prudent.

The table they got came with complimentary bread, cold meats and cheeses, things Shipwreckers liked to snack on while they drank in a social manner. 

Morgan braced herself for Sabo’s “new” feeding habits and table manners and lowered a handkerchief onto her lap, just in case something came flying off his mouth. She attempted pleasant conversation and nibbled a piece of cheese while he filled his belly and brought news from afar.

Though the hour was early, not all patrons around the two friends were interested in light meals, thus preferring heavy drinking. From the background came grunts and blurs and men got up from their seats to threaten each other with language that would have made more inexperienced a noblewoman blush. (Applause should be given to Morgan for keeping to her goblet of wine as though it were a cup of tea.)

One man punched the other, the first threw a punch which ricocheted on a third and before you knew it the brawl was installed behind Morgan’s back. Someone shouted a word of encouragement followed by another’s pleading for it all to stop because — dash it all! — Milady Morgan was present. (What reputation would the proprietor earn if he allowed the lady to get hurt under his roof?)

Sabo was faster. With a call to “Watch out!”, he blocked a misdirected punch coming Morgan’s way; his hand, albeit slender than his attacker’s, strong and impeding as a dragon’s.

She had not flinched before and now she did not budge an inch. Though her status kept her protected whenever trouble was afoot, for no one wanted to hurt her (and hang), it did not physically shield Morgan from misfortune. This she could forget when she was home, where she knew she was beloved.

The woman looked both relieved and annoyed. Such a good time they were having! Perhaps they should have stuck with tea in the conservatory after all.

❝ …and this, I was told, is the public house with the lesser number of incidents in town. ❞ Morgan voiced matter-of-factly. 

♡ sabo // throw my muse over the shoulder meme

❝ Sabo, stop! ❞ Morgan’s pleading would have sounded believable were it not mingled with cheerfulness. He was only playing. She could never get mad at him.

They would spend hours reliving that blessed time they had shared in their childhood; doing the type of things that would vex all grown-up and nearly crowned Morgan if performed in front of an audience or in the company of another — climbing trees, stealing freshly baked goods off window sills (or from Carmen’s kitchen table), sneaking outside in the dead of the night.

By taking a look at her, no one would have guessed that, as a small noblewoman, she had been a real enfant terrible.

Should that become of public knowledge, Morgan would brush it off with long acquired intelligence and charm. So what if she had been unfeminine and she had given her nurse more headaches than anyone could count? That was all in the past and there was nothing she regretted about it.

But as things were different now, no one could know of these escapades with the former aristocrat Sabo. The same eyes which saw no harm in a little boy getting in trouble with a girl about his age did not paint so innocent a picture when the man stole the woman away for the day. (Carmen herself had made it her to duty to always remain vigilant over both of them whenever Sabo was over ever since his soft face had darkened with stubble.)

Away from the town, laughter echoed in the forest as it whipped against the encircling rock. 

Oh, what would the people say if they saw their future ruler sticking her noble butt up high as she weighed on Sabo’s shoulder? Was this the face of peace and plenty?

The thought made her panic. Morgan slapped Sabo’s back over his long coat a couple of times, with the strength of authority and leaving each blow a moment to sink in. They had just filled their quota of mischief for the day.

❝ Enough already; I said stop. Put me down now! ❞

If Sabo did not, Morgan would flounder, shake her legs in the air and kick it with her feet. He might be taller and stronger but her tomboyish past had given Morgan obstinate determination. For example, now, she was determined to feel the ground underneath her feet.

If he did, she would rest her hand over her heart and take a deep breath. 

They should be returning to the Carnahan manor soon, before supper. But there was still time to play catch first.

The incredulity. The horror. The desperation for it to end, and not too soon, either. She nearly prayed that it did.

How had it come to this? Morgan knew Sabo had divorced his aristocratic ways a long time ago, for that marriage had been one lacking affection from the very start. Still, she had expected — hoped — Sabo would have maintained a few innocuous rules such as the set of customs known as “table manners”.

To a noble, a meal was a battle. One to be fought with strategical thought: everything had to be in place, everything had a protocol; all could be lost should it not be carried out properly. Sabo had stripped all subtlety off his approach. And while there was beauty in the simple ways of living, to scoff at forks and knives as well as the prospect of gluttony-induced suffocation was, at best, poverty of spirit and civilisational regression at its worst.

Morgan wrinkled her nose and hardened her otherwise loving gaze at Sabo and his greasy ungloved fingers. Now there was a wonderful luncheon ruined and the idiot, for a moment ignorant of how committed he appeared to be in leaving his company grossed out, just kept on biting, smashing, tearing, ripping, wolfing down all fried things in sight.

Nothing, in Morgan’s mind, nothing could begin to justify such revolting behaviour. She would not condone it and, to reinforce how outraged she was, and adding to that condescending look about her, she crossed her arms over her chest.

At last, the man snapped out of his ignorance and acknowledged the deadly stare. The woman cocked her head as if to say “Well?” thus giving him a chance to redeem himself with a word of apology or a napkin pressed to his fat-shiny lips.

Instead, Sabo flashed his normally pearly, now stained and gritty teeth at her, beaming with pride in the half-eaten leaf of parsley stuck between them and spared his napkin the inconvenient of doing the one function it had been made to perform, an honour reserved instead for his sleeve. If he paid attention to Morgan’s plate, he would realise she had stopped eating long ago.

❝ Have you no shame? ❞ Her voice almost faltered, how shaky it was with the fury so scandalous a display had provoked. ❝ I shan’t even ask about ‘manners’ when it is clear you do not. Now stay still for a moment. ❞ 

Morgan corrected her posture and pointed at the items surrounding Sabo’s dishes. ❝ This at your left-hand side is called a fork. It is used to aid the food get into your mouth. At your right-hand side, you will find a knife. I trust you don’t need me to tell you what it is for. Come now, Sabo, this is basic mise en place. ❞

♠ ace’s birthday (or asks i couldn’t do in due time) | @rxvolutionarysabo

Browsing trash for salvage was Ace and Sabo’s everyday activity, at least  during the days when the two boys managed to meet.

 More often than not they would start things with a frown in what they figured was a professional attitude - as adults were always frantically worried about business and never were capable of a time-consuming, non-remunerative smile for them. Retrieving artefacts was their business, which they did for profit, and out of necessity would they browse for nourishment as well.

The first step to a successful day in Gray Terminal was to get organised.

 “You go this way; I go the other”, Ace would say in the bossy tone age had not yet earned him. Sabo would take it up a notch and add “I search the eastern heaps, you take the western and we meet here in half-an-hour” when it was his turn to be the boss, something which Ace didn’t love. Yet he’d hold no grudge and he would run excitedly to Sabo with arms full of trinkets when it was time for the rendezvous.

It was hard to keep up the act when they were only children, even if it could be argued, by a bystander, that Ace and Sabo had little reason to smile. They hardly had reasons, yes, which was why they made them. Piles of trash made good slides and even if they got home to Dadan all stinky, bath time offered another opportunity for them to play together and put the world on pause. It was not all business either - every now and then they would find items with little value to be sold or traded by the shady contacts they knew from even shadier streets and alleys of the Kingdom, but that were still good enough to be used.

This was the case of Ace’s hat.

“I want a hat”, he’d one day declared. “All pirates wear hats.” And, because there was no third boy around to tell him great seamen such as Shanks did not wear hats, Sabo believed it. Ace would only protest if he called the statement untrue anyways, and say “It’s easy for you to talk when you got a hat!”

After much sailing across the vast sea of trash, Ace got he wanted. A battered old hat with a wide brim. Its orange colour made it easy to spot among piles of the washed out stuff that was in the genesis of the place’s name, in spite of the soot covering it. Hygiene not being a concern of his, Ace patted the dirt off his hat, causing him to cough the black particles which danced around his face and attacked his nostrils and mouth. It was his favourite colour, too, and the boy eagerly put the hat on and crossed his arms in a pose. “How do I look?” Sabo made Ace furious by saying he resembled more of a farmer than a pirate.

For a while, no longer than four months in reality, this was Ace’s hat. Nothing could restore the accessory to its former glory and beautiful hue, not even the pristine water which flowed in streams across the green pastMt. Colubo, where the boys went for a swim or washed their findings before adding what was precious to their pirate savings and selling what had to be exchanged for coin. Still, he loved it all the same and he swored he’d one day have a hat of his own, wide-brimmed  and high-crowned, of the ‘orangest’ orange there was. It would be no boring farmer’s hat, either! It would have ‘some cool stuff’ too, but what Ace meant by that he did not explain.

Ace’s senses were misplaced when Sabo came running towards him. Not because of this hat or the cool new one he dreamed of, but because he was sure to have seen a fox (or vixen) around and wondering how much they could gain in their joint enterprise if they hunted it and sold it for its fur. It was a last resort to kill an enemy unless for food or personal clothing which the bandits would not fashion for him anyway, but if foxes made it a good price…

Maybe it was the collision of bodies and the scare it caused, immediately followed by a need for shielding himself. Maybe it was hearing the words he detested, that plucked a nerve and caused Ace to attack… Only he didn’t. 

Before Ace could tell Sabo to fuck off - an expression the child  threw around like a ‘big person’ - something made Sabo topple over… He’d meant to hold Sabo in a silly piggyback before telling him never to wish him a happy birthday again; not send him to the forest ground. That… that hadn’t been Ace. Had it?

As he turned around to face Sabo and answer him, the now hat-less boy realised... He had no words to explain what had happened. No theory either. Something had made Sabo lose his balance and fall but it had not been Ace’s body. It was more like an invisible force or demon, at any rate, something he couldn’t control.

With a grim expression, Ace said, before extending a friendly hand to help his only friend get up, “I dunno…”