[IMAGE ID: three horizontal flags with nine stripes; each flag has three gem shapes, all a very simple black outline, in the center. the middle stripe is twice as large as the rest of them, which are equally sized. the left flag has these top three colors: dark brown, brown, light brown. the middle flag has these top three colors: cool dark purple, pink, light pink. the right flag has these top three colors: yellow, light yellow, pastel yellow. each flag has these bottom six stripes: black, off-white, black, dark cool grey, warm blue, and light grey. END ID]
prisapphirinec: a gender connected to being a sapphirine prince; this gender is connected to sapphirines, sapphirine aesthetics, prince aesthetics, and nonbinary boyhood!
sapphirinecesse: a gender connected to being a sapphirine princess; this gender is connected to sapphirines, sapphirine aesthetics, princess aesthetics, and nonbinary girlhood!
royalsapphirinec: a gender connected to being sapphirine royalty; this gender is connected to sapphirines, sapphirine aesthetics, royal aesthetics, and being nonbinary!
not to be confused with prisapphiric + sapphiricesse + royalsapphiric!
@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian @drowntowns @kimeditive @revenant-coining @honey-makes-mogai @acetrappolaswife
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SUN GOD AU: LUFFY x Y/N (part 2)
part 1
originally requested by @braini-wiz
(cw: food mention/eating, holding hands, reader is a sun priestess that can't see sun god luffy, sorta spoilers post wano, slight gear 5 silliness, smut is still yet to come)
(a/n: sorry it's all plot)
words: 1.4k
Sun god Nika holds your hand all the way to the city’s shopping district. He stamps along next to you, his sandaled feet (you assume) leaving imprints in the sandy roads.
“Still can’t see me?” He asks curiously, squeezing at your hand. His palm is warm and strong around yours. His hand is so much bigger.
You squint your eyes, trying to make out the shape of his form next to you. “Still can’t see ya,” you confirm. “Is that strange?”
He shifts; you can hear the rustling of his clothes as he moves. He whines, as if he’s thinking of something he can’t quite place. Like a word he’s forgetting but can almost taste. “Sorta? Usually priestesses can see me right away.”
You stare down as dust kicks up around your feet. “Sorry,” you say.
Your voice is quiet, shy.
Ashamed.
Luffy tugs on your arm.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, slowing his pace. The sunshine filters blue through the shadow of olive trees, as you trudge downhill towards the city. The sun temple sits atop a rocky incline, facing over the sea.
Grassy tufts of shrubbery line the walkway, with an olive grove foresting the western side.
You stare at the shoreline, sapphirine and gold as it sparkles beneath the setting sun. The olives are still unripe: small and caterpillar green.
This city has always hated you.
You shake your head.
“Sorry I can’t be a better priestess,” you say, adrift. Your feet scuff the ground as you walk. It’s something you’ve always known: that you don’t have any spiritual gifts. Or any gifts at all, really.
Luffy stops, tugging at your hand.
You stumble, but gasp as you feel his strong hand steady you by the stomach. His palm presses flat against your abdomen; his fist curls in the soft fabric of your chiton.
Your blood runs hot beneath his touch. And maybe that’s not just because he’s the sun god, but you push that thought away for later.
“Stop that,” he says, voice suddenly low and serious. His breath is steamy, hot on your face as you suppose he leans closer. You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against stinging tears.
“S-stop what, master?”
He scoffs. “First off,” his index finger pokes your forehead. Your eyes spring open, staring at the space in front of you with a frown. “Stop calling me master. And second,” he squeezes your shoulder, his hand leaving your stomach. It feels cold without him. But then he’s leaning in even closer, the weight and press and heat of this man who's also a god standing in front of you, smiling at you (for you hear it in his voice) is all just so much.
“Stop saying you’re no good.”
You blink.
That’s not what you thought he was going to say.
“Excuse me?”
He starts walking again, the soft pat-pats of his sandals scuffing down the hilly sand. He stretches out, his limb's elastic space roping between you, before suddenly you’re shooting through the air and crash landing into his invisible embrace.
“What the fuck—?!”
He snickers, straight into your face, before smooching your cheek once again. But this time, you don’t feel fear. You feel brave.
You stop breathing for a second, holding air in your lungs as you lift your fingers to where you think his face might be. You feel squishy skin (cheeks?) and then the slope of his smile. Your fingers brush against his teeth, and you grin. “You smile wide,” you say, staring at nothing but feeling his smile.
“Shishishi!”
He snickers in answer, and starts trotting back down the hill towards the city. His steps turn to leaps, turn to bounds, and then you’re screaming in delight as you fly through the air. He sets you down once you reach the city gates.
****
Sighing, you set down the woven basket of goods you’d shopped for at the marketplace. You’d bargained with butchers for the best prices, the freshest goods, and the most succulent cuts of meat. Sun god Luffy seems to be pleased.
He hovers over your shoulder, somehow suspended in midair.
“Shishishi,” he snickers, poking at the paper-wrapped packages. “Let’s eat!”
You swat his hands away as the paper folds beneath his divine touch. Except you don’t know where his hands are, so it turns into you just swatting the air above the basket with two hands and a scowl on your face. You stamp your foot.
“Stop that! We have to cook it, first.”
He sighs, all dramatic, while a slide whistle sounds as he presumably sinks to the floor. You snort. “You’re silly,” you decide, stepping around the sounds of his pouts and whines. You heft the basket onto your hip, and start heading down the stone hallway to your kitchen.
It’s a simple space, all whitewashed and clean as you place the basket atop the wooden counter space. You drizzle the counter in olive oil, and start unwrapping the meat.
****
It’s a little while, before the food is ready to eat.
Sun god Nika has been busying himself by poking all around your living space. He’s knocked over seven candles, three sconces, and at least one marble statue (of himself).
The cracked-off head now sits on the altar, haphazard and ridiculous atop the golden offering dish.
You sigh, wiping your hands on a dish rag. The meat is sizzling, spiced and greasy as it pops in the skillet you’ve set over the hearth’s flames.
“S’ready yeeeet?” Luffy whines out, sinking to his knees again as he tugs on your dress. The pink chiffon crinkles under sightless fists.
“Stop acting like a baby,” you complain, swatting your hands through the air again to try and disconnect his hold from your skirt. “But yes, it’s ready.”
Luffy yelps in delight, the floorboards squeaking under his feet as he speeds to the stove. He grabs a steak—it lifts by itself—and devours it in one gulp. You watch it disappear.
“So good!!!”
He cheers, before starting to devour the next piece of meat. You smile, despite yourself, and reach for a piece yourself.
****
Later, when you’re both full and happy, you sit outside the temple’s back entrance, watching white stars pinprick through the violet sky.
“S’beautiful,” he sighs, reclining on the grassy hill next to you.
You tear a handful of soft emerald blades between your hands.
“So…stupid.”
You admit without thinking.
Luffy stops, the sound of his breathing paused as the air stills. “What makes ya say that?” He asks.
You sprinkle the torn up grass back onto the ground. You stare at the stains it leaves behind on your fingers. “It’s so restrictive,” you confess, “I wanted to become a sailor, but women aren’t supposed to do that,” you scrunch your face in disgust. Luffy stays quiet as he listens to you vent. He’s the only one who’s listened to you speak in a long, long while.
Priestess life is lonely.
“So I started training as a priestess instead,” you prop your chin in both hands, curling forward over your crossed legs. Your leather sandals are scuffed, at the soles. “Since no one wanted to marry me,” you sigh, “This was my only other option. Unless, of course,” you smile wryly, “I wanted to be a prostitute. At least that way I could own land.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Stupid.”
“That's what I said!” You say, exasperated as you lift your hands just to drop them back onto your lap. Silence stretches between you, until another spark of courage shoots through your belly. Slowly, you reach an arm over to where Luffy’s voice has been coming from. You can see the dip in the grass where he sits. Your hand alights upon his knee. “Sun god temple isn’t so bad, though.”
“What’s…not so bad about it?” He asks hopefully, a slight rasp in his heavenly voice. You shrug, snaking your fingers through his own.
“I get to spend most of my time alone,” you say, “So I can sort of do whatever I want. Except leave.”
Luffy stays silent for a moment.
“Wanna come with me?”
Stillness.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He squeezes your hand, his divinity warm and safe beside you.
“I said, d’ya wanna come with me?”
You stare at the space where your hand rests a foot above the grass. “Come with you…where?”
He squeezes, once.
“Heaven!”
****
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For the micro stories, total control or comfort food please :) -wayhavenots
36. total control
41. comfort food
Milton's good intentions are nearly foiled by the foxhound skirting his ankles. The dog bolts past him in a frenzied bid to leap atop Natalie's bed and her brother teeters, stumbles, then rights himself, blinking. The wooden tray he blessedly doesn't drop is holding her favorite foods of comfort; beef roast and pudding, buttered bread and cider. He looks to her and says blithely, "Not to worry, I have total control. Oh, down Leto, you brute."
Natalie marks her book and weakly maneuvers herself by the elbows into an upright position, accepting the canine licks to her face with fond laughter and generous scratches behind the ears. The runt of one of her father’s hunting litters, Leto had refused to latch to his mother and was slated to die by the kennel masters. That had been two winters ago, before Natalie had taken the pup in to rear with equal parts compassion and determination for him to not only live, but prosper.
"He's not a brute," she says, not for the first time, her voice rasping with the illness that clings to her. "And he's perfectly welcome here. Or anywhere he pleases."
"He'll ruin your precious book, and the linens to boot," Milton chides in good humor, eyeing the huge quantity of novels that near entomb her on the bed. "Don't feel sorry for him Nattie, he's only here for the roast."
"He's here for me - he knows I'm ailing, don't you dear one?" She clicks her mouth and purses her lips and makes sweet, affectionate sounds at the hound panting over her. Leto wags his tail with her attention and Milton chuckles - a warm, resonant noise - then hoists the dog gently from her lap to set the tray in place. The mattress dips as he settles beside her.
"I'm here for you. I intercepted the cook so I could be the one to bring you this. Aren't you glad for my company? It's better than dusty old Othello's, to be sure."
Natalie smooths an apologetic hand over the leather bound cover, and then reaches to pat the crook of Milton's arm in deference. "While Othello has been a fine companion, nothing could ever take the place of you, rabbit. You know that."
He smiles at her with slight exasperation, blue eyes shining like sapphirine brooches. "And glad I am for it. Now, where were we last? You were telling me how the scheming duke had just whisked the pair of them off to Cyprus..."
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