#a man with the power of the god of the sea just healed you and a goblin with a divine bow and arrow is fighting right next to you

[yuansie]

a blessed bond, healed by the hands of the breaker

pairing. rafayel x fem! reader

synopsis. at one point, the love you harbored towards rafayel, so pure and beautiful, became tainted by the ink of hatred... that is what you like to believe

genres/aus. angst with a happy ending, reincarnation au (?)

warnings. crying, mentions of death

rating. sfw/pg-13 (bc of the death part?!)

wc. 2.7 k

part 1 here

a/n. ending could have been better but WHATEVAAA i will be turning this into a series saur 😈 stay tuned 😈

THERE IS A STARK CONTRAST BETWEEN YOU AND HER; it’s as clear as day and night. you, as the priestess in your first life, were someone of, somewhat, high power. you had to maintain a calm persona in front of everyone, never showing weakness nor fear. lemurians looked up to you, and you did not want to fail them. you are a lemurian, you serve their god and them. for them and your god, you would do anything. so you were always calm and benevolent, never turning a blind eye to the people. and behind closed doors, in front of the god of the tides’ eyes, would you let yourself become weak enough to share your worries with him. but that was the extent of what you showed to him. your purpose is to be there for him, not the other way.

perhaps that is why rafayel was so drawn to her in your first life. she was different: expressive in her ways and words, a curious and innocent soul. she had nothing to tie her down, yet you did. your duties as priestess tied you down and you could never explore your feelings—and those that you harbored towards him. feelings of love are forbidden, but if they are for rafayel then surely it was okay? you used to think long and hard about that, finally coming to the conclusion that your love is just that of a simple priestess that admires the one she serves. you didn’t love him as a person. but why did you try to return the sea witch to her original form? you knew what would become of you if you tricked her into making a potion that would return her to her original state, the one that rafayel fell in love with. and yet, you still tried because for the god of the tides, you would do anything for him. he is needed by the lemurians, and you may be too but not as much as he is.

in your next life as a normal lemurian, you became his neighbor. it was odd, being on equal footing as him… but it was so exciting at the same time. you were given a chance to explore who you are. you didn’t have the title of priestess holding you back anymore. so when you found rafayel blowing out your family’s sea lantern, you took the blame and waited for him to find you. and in the dead of night, he appeared at your window, looking apologetic. it was like an unspoken agreement after that, one where you were his… partner in crime, if you can even call it that. everything was perfect, things were perfect until he disappeared. you knew he went up: rafayel is a curious person whose intrigue can never be satiated. you swam up, and the sight you were met with was horrible. he was rid of all of his scales, crimson blood pouring from his chest as she held him. you cried.

it was a first. the feeling of tears, so foreign, surprised you but it didn’t match the shock you had felt when seeing rafayel die in front of your very eyes, singing his final words. was this unbearable pain something that rafayel felt when he watched you turn into sea foam? or was it akin to that pain he felt when he saw her turn into the sea witch? your heart felt heavy in your chest, aching and bleeding in pain. the man you love died.

it wasn’t your proudest moment… what happened afterwards. you wanted to end her because deep down, you knew she was the cause of everything, but you also knew that rafayel loved her. you wouldn’t harm her because it meant harming him and that was a thing that you could never do.

so you turned your back to them and sang. you sang as you faced the darkening sky, you sang as a storm hit and the waves crashed, taking you down and down. you sang until you no longer could, finally closing your eyes.

and then in your last life, you saw him again. you saw rafayel once more. it was in the desert this time, not in the waters as it had been previously. the ocean had dried up long ago and a part of you dried up along with it. you wanted to leave, to turn away from rafayel and go on your own. you didn’t want to be hurt again, you didn’t want to experience such pain tear your being apart. but rafayel, oh so loveable rafayel, melted your walls. he was still the same: guarded, speaking in ways that confused you yet you would never change that about him, still aloof once he warmed up to you. and you thought, you really thought, that this life would be different. that this life would be the one where he wouldn’t cross paths with her again. then he was kidnapped and when you found him, he didn’t want to restore the ocean.

that was the breaking point.

you were so mad. how could he betray his home? his people? maybe it was the remnants of the feelings you harbored in your life as a priestess, the love you felt for your home and the lemurians, that made you lash out at rafayel. you couldn’t wrap your head around it: the fact that rafayel still chose an ill fate over a promising and flourishing future. he sacrificed the lemurians that believed in him, he sacrificed your home and people. you cursed him and promised to never forgive him, disappearing afterwards. you never saw him after that and you don’t want to see him in this life.

sometimes you wonder if you should have made that promise with the ocean as a witness, maybe then your heart wouldn’t ache so much when thinking of rafayel on cold nights where ocean waves are still.

zayne has a soul that is just as broken as yours and you found comfort in him. an excellent friend and an even better listener. sometimes you feel bad that he just listens when you recount your memories to him, but he tells you that it’s fine.

“you know,” you pipe up, “i think you would have liked lemuria.”

zayne glances at you from the corner of his eye, his eyebrows slightly rising in surprise that quickly fades from his face, a stoic expression settling in once more. he looks back to the front as you both keep walking down the busy street.

“how so?” zayne asks just as you both leave an art exhibition you’ve been meaning to check out under the guise of work. 

“well,” you clear your throat, grabbing onto the arm that he offers you before leading you across a street. “it was filled with many lemurians, obviously. there was a nice ambiance. some… human interaction would have been nice for you. you wouldn’t have been so lonely. though, that is just my personal opinion.”

zayne chuckles at your rambling that continues on. at some point, you both stop as the stop light flashes green, cars resuming their trek down the road and preventing you two from crossing.

“thank you for accompanying me, doctor.” you smile, looking at the scene in front of you. “you really didn’t have to come with me today.”

“it is quite alright, y/n.” he replies, remaining quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “...you need company around this time of year anyways.”

and your heart aches at the mention of that because it is around this time that a lifetime ago that you said goodbye to rafayel.

you shake the melancholic mood off and instead playfully scoff and nudge the taller man. “zayne, there is no need to be formal with me. after all, aren’t we friends?”

before zayne can even reply, you hear her voice. it makes both you and zayne turn towards the sound and you feel your heart drop to the ground.

rafayel is here.

he is standing in front of you, alive and well. he is breathing the same air as you, walking on the same ground as you. he still looks the same as ever, but he carries a certain air of freedom with him. the sight of him like this morphs your initial shock into rage. how dare he? how dare he be like this after what he’s done?

you two are the last lemurians because of his selfishness to pursue something that was never blessed by the fates.

“oh! doctor zayne, what are you doing here?”

you take this chance to whisper into zayne’s ears that you’re leaving. you hold onto his arm as you leaned forwards on the tip of your toes, leaning back and smiling at him as he gave you a nod. with that, you take off, walking as quickly as you could. the tears that prickle the corner of your eyes makes you mad because you don’t want to cry over a man that never treasured what he had, a man that abandoned his responsibilities. your aching feet take you to the beach and your mind instantly calms down, shoulders relaxing. you kick your heels off and walk down the sands, eyes on the waters.

“y/n.”

your throat tightens, eyes widening as you spin around. rafayel stands not too far from you, seemingly keeping a distance from you so as to not alert you. he’s panting, his purple hair sticking to his head and chest rising and falling. you swallow the lump in your throat and turn your back to head, continuing your path down the beach.

“y/n, wait.”

the desperation in his voice makes you angry, so you quicken your pace. he continuously calls out your name, and each time you can hear his emotions in his pleas. at some point, you find yourself standing with your feet submerged into the water, rafayel still behind you. it’s then that you feel his hand wrap around your wrist and you try snatching it out of his hold.

“rafayel, let me go.” you enunciate each word with venom in your tone, eyebrows furrowed.

rafayel shakes his head and you notice that his hand trembles.

“i’m not letting go,” he mumbles, “how can i let you go after what happened?”

that makes you scoff and roll your eyes, “you didn’t have a problem letting me leave back then.”

he stays quiet and you finally snatch your wrist away from him. "i told you that i was never going to forgive you.”

“you don’t mean that,” he quickly adds, his blue-pink eyes blown wide. “you’re lying.”

“rafayel, i’ve hated you these past 800 years. do you really think i’m lying?”

“you’re bluffing!” rafayel takes a step forwards and you take one back.

“i am not.”

rafayel feels his stomach twist and churn, feels his heart getting squeezed when tears begin to flow down from your eyes. as you’re crying, he slowly realizes that you’re wearing a dress from long ago. to be specific, you’re wearing your dress from your days as his priestess, the one that has flowy, light blue material. your arms are bare and tainted with the same blue markings that he had.

he reaches for your hand again, and this time you let him grab it. you’ve given him this chance, just this chance for him to explain himself, prove himself worthy to you. he won’t let you down.

“i’m sorry.” he says, heart drumming loudly in his ears. the sound gets drowned out by the sound of your crying, the soft sobs that leave your lips. “i’m sorry, y/n.”

“are you?” you question him, blinking, “are you really sorry?”

“of course i am! i’m—”

“then what are you sorry for, hm?” he stays quiet as you ramble to him, “are you sorry for not heeding my advice when i was your priestess to not indulge in her? are you sorry for not listening to me and going to the surface when we were equals? are you sorry for sacrificing the lemurians and our home for her?” you let out a bitter laugh and look off to the side, “don’t you see, rafayel? everything you’ve done was because of her and for her, you’ll do anything. so no, you aren’t sorry.” the next words you mutter makes him want to hurl.

“i know you well enough to know that you aren’t truly sorry.”

he shakes his head, desperately grasping onto your hand and intertwining your fingers together and bringing it to his bare chest where you feel the rapid beating of his heart. you stare at him, confused. tears coat his lashes before they slowly roll down his flushed cheeks. you almost choke not only because he’s crying and he never cries, but also because of how he looks. the blue markings that are drawn onto his pale skin, the gold jewelry, his blue garbs—the god of the tides himself kneels before you.

you’re brought out of your head when rafayel’s lips brush gently over your skin, lips quivering almost as if he was afraid. and he is afraid. he’s afraid that if he leaves a bruising kiss to your hand that you’ll break and disappear. he doesn’t want you to disappear. he wants you to stay, to stay here with him.

“i’m sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry.” he whispers, keeping his head down, “i took you for granted. i don’t know—”

“yes you do, you know that it’s because you love her,” you say, “and i loved you—”

rafayel looks up, eyes wide. you loved him? you loved him? loved.

“—and that’s why i put up with it. because for you… for you, i would do anything. i turned into seafoam for you so that you wouldn’t, i died after i saw you sing your last words,” your voice cracks, “but the final straw was that you betrayed all of us. you betrayed me. how could you even do that?”

“it meant killing her and—”

“i know what it meant! i know what it meant…” you glower at him, lips pursed, “but i thought that you would see it then. how you and her are ill-fated. how does a love like that make you sacrifice everything on a silver platter?”

“i—”

“i hate you, rafayel.”

rafayel shakes his head, voice shaking, “d-don’t say that. please, please don’t s-say that.”

“i hate you,” you repeat, your sobs growing louder, “i hate you. i hate you so much.”

the purple-haired male mutters apologies against your skin and in between kisses.

“i hate you so much because i still love you,” your knees buckle and you fall into the sand. rafayel catches you easily and guides your face to the crook of his neck where you continue to cry and gasp for air in between your words. “i still… i still love you. do you know h-how terrible that feels? to love someone that betrays you and his people continuously? a-and i just… i don’t want to be hurt again.”

“oh…” rafayel now presses his lips to the side of your head, “my pretty pearl…” he pulls away just enough to grab your hand once more, this time his grip is firm as he hooks your pinkies together and then touches the pad of your thumb with his own, pressing a kiss to it and muttering, “i promise that i’ll dedicate the rest of my lives in showing you that i want to cherish you, that i won’t let you go now or ever, that… that i love you.”

“don’t make such a cruel promise,” you huff, “let me go, raf. don’t be selfish and…” you trail off, watching as a little, blue fish emerges from your joined hands, swimming into the air and disappearing shortly afterwards.

rafayel laughs, a sound so joyous that it makes your heart flutter. “see? even the ocean blesses this promise of mine to you.” he leans forwards and you stay frozen, your cheeks feeling abnormally warm when his lips land on them. “i will earn your trust and your love, my pearl.”

the oceans, ever so truthful, know that the god of the tides tells the truth. the oceans know that the promise you made eight hundred years ago was done out of spite, a promise that never held any worth. the oceans also know that the god had finally woken up, had finally realized that what he had been chasing was nothing but an illusion, something meant to take him away from who he is meant to be with.

and the oceans can now rejoice in the god of the tides finally realizing his love to the one he is meant to be with, then and now and forever.

#yuansie #drea writes #love and deepspace drabbles #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #rafayel angst #lads rafayel x reader #love & deepsace x reader #love & deepspace

[thelittlestoflives]

Thank You

soooo i sort of have a whole backstory to the Unravelling the Mystery fic and i just thought welllll i might as well post that too lol!! (i actually have lots of parts and stories)

again, very new to fic writing and i've thrown in some y/n lore in there too!! it's so vulnerable and scary to post stuff you've written (again i suck at proofreading so forgive pls)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sanji x strawhat!reader, or the story of how y/n became a strawhat and gravitated towards the chef

use of YN, afab reader

cw: stuff to do with horrible exes, forced eating of a devil fruit, being severely injured, slight angst to fluff but mostly fluff i think

wc: 2.7k

It was like a ritual. The breathing in the room evening out, slipping out from under the covers and creeping through the halls towards him. His arms were your salvation, every gentle kiss burning your skin with love, each touch so heavenly you could almost believe in a higher power.

You can barely remember how it began. It's like it's just always been this way.

But it wasn't.

Not when you were stuffed in that barrel, just you and the darkness and the splashing of the waves against the wood, the drip drip drip onto your already soaking clothes. You can't remember how you survived it, how you endured the minutes and the hours and the days you remained in there, physical wounds nowhere near the pain of the scarring on your soul.

And like words out of the holy texts, there was light. A piercing, bright light. But unlike the holy texts, soft mutters echoed in your ears.

"Shit. It's a girl."

"Dammit. So, it's not treasure?"

"She's injured."

"How long has she been in there?"

"Why does this always happen to us?"

“Get her out of there, for fuck’s sake! Why are you all just standing around?!”

Just like that, the light vanished and darkness returned.

When you came to you were in some sort of medical infirmary, the light streaming through the windows so intense that you could barely open your eyes. An assortment of smells hit your nose; disinfectant, bleach, salty sea air, and a bowl of rich chicken noodle soup that steamed as it sat on your bedside table.

Maybe that's when it started. The soup. You stared at it for god knows how long, tears streaming down your face at the act of kindness. The trauma of what you'd just been through vanished staring at that bowl, feeling the love of whoever made it poured into it. Your body had been wrapped in bandages and cleaned, and you wore soft pyjamas that weren't your own, your hair had been brushed, and someone had made you fucking chicken noodle soup.

A couple of days went by as your body slowly healed. The only interaction you had was with the ship's doctor as he tried to make you feel comfortable and safe. You didn't see any of the other crew, but each time you woke from a restless, haunted sleep, there was a steaming dish beside you. Before long, you were strong enough to walk around. Chopper held your hand as he led you above deck to meet the crew who sat around the kitchen table.

You felt shy and nervous. Sure, you'd spoken to pirates before, but always in a controlled environment, never on their turf.

But they were vastly different from the pirates you'd encountered, offering easy smiles and gentle words, coaxing you to tell them what had happened to you. You caught eyes with a man with a cigarette hanging casually out his mouth a couple of times, quickly looking away. Was this where it started?

You explained that you're a journalist on your home island. Or rather, were a journalist. Now? You were dust in the wind, not taking any sort of discernable shape, floating with no direction, no intention, nothing. You thought you had it all; a home, a job you loved, family, friends, and someone who you thought was the love of your life. In less than a week, it was gone.

You had been investigating a cult on your island and stumbled across a giant conspiracy involving the World Government. You had written a tell-all piece, ready to blow the whole damn thing wide open. But you made a mistake, you told your then-boyfriend about it. Turns out he wasn't who he said he was, he was one of them. Sent to keep an eye on the local journalists, he’d pretended to fall for you to keep you close. The cult that terrorised truth seekers from the shadowy underworld was an unstoppable and dangerous force and he was one of them.

They'd captured you, and when the darkness was lifted there was no heavenly bright light. Just a dank basement dimly lighting up your boyfriend's face, grinning from ear to ear as he told you in laborious detail what was about to happen to you. You would eat a Devil Fruit, they would drug you, and you would be forced to do their bidding. No choice, no control, this was it. They’d already done this to every other person who had been investigating them. They had a small army now, he informed you. An army of ‘nosey bastards who didn’t know what they were getting themselves into’. Despite your pleading, he laughed and said that you better get ready for what’s about to happen.

And so they did it. They had it all figured out. They forced you to eat the Devil Fruit, and as its powers flowed through your veins you realised that perhaps they didn’t have it all figured out after all. They didn’t account for the fact that you would be damned rather than be bested by a man.

Your powers erupted out of you, flowing with such a force that all you could do was let out a silent scream, as the shadows wrapped themselves around the foundations of the building they held you in and it collapsed into rubble. 

An arm roughly grabbed you, pulling you out of the wreckage. It had stuffed you in a barrel, and an unfamiliar voice hissed the words: “It’s better if they think you’re dead. If you survive, never return.” 

As soon as the last word of your tale left your mouth, a straw hat was placed on your head, and that’s how Luffy obtained another stray to add to his collection. You became the Strawhats’ Chronicler, your job was to forever immortalise the crew’s journey towards the One Piece and to document how Luffy became the King of the Pirates. Although it was a difficult adjustment at first, you became fast friends with the crew. Robin in particular was a huge help for you, as it was she who understood your plight the best.

Sanji kept his distance at first. You were so beautiful that he knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from flirting, and that was probably the last thing you needed right now, so he resigned himself to being helpful in the background, finding out information about you from Robin and Nami and incorporating it into his cooking. But the two of you were like magnets, unexplainably drawn to one another and soon neither of you would be able to stay away.

You were ripped from your nightmare with such force that you shot upright, sweat dripping down your back. It was the same as always, but tonight you didn’t want to wake up Robin with your tears.

And that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen, face-to-face with a certain chef. He tried not to make a fuss as he saw your hunched, small frame in the doorway, tear-stained cheeks and sleepy eyes. Really, he did. But he’s only a man, after all. He gave you a warm hug and sat you down, making his own special sleepy tea (“I promise you, you will be knocked out after this. No bad dreams for our sweet Chronicler!”).

“I meant to say thank you,” you said quietly as you sipped your tea.

He arched an eyebrow, a gentle blush on his cheeks. “For?”

“The food. When I was in the infirmary, your food made me feel…” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Made you feel what?”

You look up at him, an amused expression on his face. 

“Your chicken noodle soup made me cry,” you admit softly. “It was the first thing I saw when I woke up, and it’s my comfort food. And I cried. I was so touched that I forgot everything else. I can’t thank you enough for that. I could’ve lost my mind, but that small act grounded me.”

The blush was no longer gentle but furious as his eyes diverted from your face. “Ah. Well, it’s an honour to cook for a pretty girl like you, and even more so that it makes you feel something. So really, I should thank you for your high praises.” 

Your mouth twitched into a smile. “No, thank you!”

His mouth echoed yours. “No, no, thank you!”

And you continued like that, thanking each other more and more dramatically through laughs. The silliness wore off, and Sanji’s face turned slightly more serious.

“Look, I wanted to say something to you too,” he began. “I’m sorry that your ex betrayed you like that. No beautiful lady should ever have to suffer at the hands of a man, much less a man who should love her.”

You blink, suddenly remembering why it was you were here in the first place.

“It’s okay,” you say with a small shrug. “Well, no, it’s not okay but… I dunno. What else can I say? ‘My ex gave me up to an evil cult and altered my life forever and because of him my family think I’m dead and I didn’t even get the t-shirt’? I appreciate that though. I appreciate all of you.”

He blew air out of his nose softly as you tried to make light of what was clearly a horrific situation. 

“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.” “Thank you, Sanji, same goes for you,” you smile.

He grins back. “No, no, no. Thank you!” 

You laugh and lightly hit his arm. “Cut it out or we’ll be here all night!”

His grin widens. “Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do.”

And maybe that’s where it starts. Those late nights in the kitchen when you both couldn’t sleep, sharing easy conversations and trying to make the other laugh. Warm mugs of tea and knees touching each other under the table. A bubble you created with just the two of you, a sacred space, with none the wiser as to these secret meetings of yours.

It would become routine for a couple of weeks. The nightmares jolt you awake, so you pad through to the kitchen for tea, smiles, and chats. 

“You know, I reckon you’re the beating heart of this crew,” you say as you blow on your tea to cool it down.

Sanji scoffs in derision. 

“No, I’m serious! If Luffy is the soul, then you’re the heart. I see everything you do for the crew, Sanj. You’ve got a kind soul.”

You wished you could frame the look on his face to cherish forever. A mix of gratitude, embarrassment, confusion, denial, and something else. Something you couldn’t quite place. 

“In saying that,” you continue, sipping on the now-cool beverage. “You look tired. If you’re looking after everyone else, who’s looking after you?”

He froze.

Your eyes are trained on his. “Look, there’s a reason we’re both here in the dead of night. You can’t sleep either, can you?” 

He looks down.

“Let me in, Sanj. Let me look after you.”

And he does. He tells you everything, and now the bond runs so deep you’re afraid. After all, the last person you fell in love with lied about it and broke your heart. You couldn’t take much more. But this was different, somehow.

Maybe it started the first night you slept in his arms. 

It was just a normal night. As usual, a nightmare ripped you from sleep. It was a particularly bad one this time, your cheeks wet with tears as you made your way to the kitchen. But when you got there, the lights were off. Panic clawed up through your chest. You’d come to rely upon the chef in the dead of night, and now that he wasn’t here, you were scared to face your demons alone. So, fuck it, you thought. I’ll just go to him.

The men’s quarters were loud. Zoro’s snores cracked through the room, and general grunts and smells and sleepy noises were prevalent, but it didn’t matter. He was there, and he would make you feel okay again.

And once you’d crawled in beside him, and his arms automatically wrapped around you, you knew that there was no going back. You woke up in your own bed, having slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

That night when you met in the kitchen, there was a slight awkwardness that hadn’t been there before.

He cleared his throat. “Did you, uh, did you sleep okay last night?”

“I did. Best I have in a while, really. I’m so sorry if I overstepped or-”

“No! No, I’m sorry for not being here at our usual time-”

“Don’t be stupid!”

“Thank you for-”

“Thank you for-”

You both stopped and he cleared his throat again, cheeks bright red.

“Well, honestly? That’s the best I’ve slept in a while too. So, thanks. And I…” He paused as if building up some courage. “I wondered if you would maybe want to… Do it again sometime. But, you don’t have to and I don’t want you to feel like I’m coming on to you because I know you don’t want, like, romance or anything because of the situation with your ex and-” He began to ramble anxiously, bringing a small smile to your lips.

“Sanji, Sanji, stop! It’s okay! I… I would like that a lot. And so thank you.”

He stopped blabbering and clasped his hands together. “Really?” There was a sparkle in his eyes.

“Really,” you nodded. 

You both built a little routine together. If Sanji wasn’t already in the kitchen, then you’d go to him. Otherwise, you’d meet in the kitchen for your cup of tea, before retiring to his hammock in the men’s quarters. The noises of the sleeping crew around you didn’t bother you at all as you lay entwined in Sanji’s long arms.

One night, you made your way into the kitchen and stopped quietly in the doorway. Sanji had fallen asleep at the table waiting for you. You took in his sleeping figure, the way his sleep shirt clung to his arms and revealed some of his chest. His face was relaxed and peaceful, and god, was it beautiful. Shit, you thought. I’m in way too deep now.

You gently woke him up, and the look in his eyes when he saw your face sent your stomach dropping and mind shortcircuiting. 

“It’s you,” he whispered.

You nodded. “It’s me, Sanj. Let’s go to bed, hmm?”

He had that look on his face again, the one from before when you couldn’t figure it out. But now? Now you knew what it was. It was love. It was adoration. It was ‘you’re my comfort, my safety, you feel like home and I’m at peace’. He stood up and pulled you to his chest, groaning softly as he rested his chin on top of your head. You looked up at him, fondness in your eyes.

“Sanj?” You whispered.

“Yes, my darling YN?” His sleepy voice and eyes were too much. You stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a soft, swift kiss to his lips.

He stiffened, eyes wide. 

“Are you sure?” He whispered. 

You nodded.

His face brightened and burst into a lovesick grin, one hand settling at your waist, the other snaking up to hold the back of your head. He nudged his nose against yours as your lips met, the world melting around you both. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.

“I want to promise something to you right now,” he murmured. “I promise to protect you, to keep you safe, I promise I will never do anything that could possibly hurt you, and I will hunt down anyone who does. Thank you, YN, for showing me what love could be.”

“No, Sanj… Thank you for showing me.”

His eyes were brimming with tears too, but he laughed softly, unable to resist the urge to say:

“No, no. Thank you.” 

And with that, you went to the safety of Sanji’s hammock, entangled with one another as you pressed burning kisses to each others’ skin, his heavenly touch making you forget what life was like without him. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you know this will never end.

#one piece #sanji oneshot #sanji drabble #sanji x reader #sanji x yn #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #blackleg sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x you #sanji x you #op x reader #one piece x reader #strawhat reader #vinsmoke sanji x yn #vinsmoke sanji #my writing

[vonev]

Hey there! Can you do a Miguel x spiderwoman reader where during a mission Miguel accidentally hurts you pretty badly while trying to get you out of the way of the anomaly, leaving you in a medically induced coma for a couple days while you heal? I wanna see an incredibly gentle, guilt-ridden Miggy visiting you when you wake up and treating you like you’re made of glass

Calling (just to save you, I'd give all of me)

Miguel O'Hara x reader Oneshot

Words: 6.06k (yeah i know)

Warnings: Graphics depictions of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence.

Summary:

A mission gone wrong, some crying, more suffering, rocky relationships (emphasis on the rocky part)

And after all of it, you prevailed. With him.

Tl;dr: Miguel is a crybaby

It was a normal Tuesday night at the headquarters. 11 pm to be exact.

God knows why you stayed as long as you did—having to juggle missions upon missions the entire week because Miguel decided to loosely throw them at you.

Capturing what seemed like an endless sea of anomalies.

“You’re our most capable.” He had said, not even facing you when he once again sent you off on another job to fend for yourself. 

Trying to ask to be replaced was met with a sounding “No.” from the big guy himself, so you stopped trying altogether.

Less questions, more work.

Even if the side of your ribs were bruised from the last encounter with a previous anomaly.

Whatever. Bringing your injury up would just have you end up being demeaned and insulted like a school kid who skipped last week’s homework. At least that was what you assumed.

You grew tired of it eventually, wanting to have more than 6 hours of sleep per day and being able to actually live your life—the birthday cake for a friend sat comfortably inside the fridge of your apartment lingers on your mind as you swung through the familiar sight of the city; another rendition of New York, another variant of an anomaly. 

That wasn’t to say you didn’t enjoy the thrill and adrenaline that came with the job—no, you loved it. No one ever told you how fun being a superhero can be (aside from the decades of trauma you had to go through) and being able to propel yourself into the air with webs as the people below you gawked at your presence. 

The New York breeze hit your figure like a welcomed embrace, the moon winked at you behind fading beds of clouds. You continue slingshotting yourself down the streets, deja-vu splashed in your face with how eerily similar the roads were to the ones back home; shaking your head, you let out a soft sigh and relish in the cold night’s wind. 

Today’s mission: an unknown entity that plagued Earth 1610, the only information you were given via a loosely thrown together email from Miguel was that the entity could possess powers greater than we all understood—but with a limited amount of time, you would (hopefully) capture it just in time before it discovered its full potential. 

You’d think with how smart the boss-man was, he wouldn’t send a sleep-deprived Spider into such missions with how severe things could turn if everything went wrong.

“I’ll send him an email to complain later, for sure.” You promised yourself; because you were supposed to do just that days ago when tasks started rolling in for you without breaks.

Solo-tasks, might you add.

A cherry on top of the already spoiled cake, salt on the wound, a slap to the face. You grunted, and an alarm sounding from nearby caught you by surprise amidst the (somewhat) quiet of the city. In the snap of a finger, you flung yourself in a different direction, changing the tides in the waves while the wind that hit your face came to a halt once you landed on a roof belonging to a rather tall building. 

The viewing angle from above gave you a clear look into what had transpired underneath.

You squint, arms folded neatly in between your thighs as you crouched over the ledge of the building; from what you could see, nothing was amiss—everything looked to be in place. Letting out an annoyed scoff, you were about to turn on your tail before the ear-piercing sound of glass shattering into pieces hit your eardrums. 

You immediately snapped around, and panic ensued when the people on the streets started screaming, running amok like wild animals scattering away into their safe spaces. You, on the other hand, now have to clean up the mess—you had no clue where this universe’s Spiderman was, nor did anyone brief you on it.

Nonetheless you approached the bust-up shop with a wavy heart, praying to something out there that there weren’t any critically injured persons. As you stalked near the front of the shop, you could hear loud banters inside; curious, you stare into the messy excuse for an interior: broken decors, smashed up shelvings, and items sprawled out across the floor inside.

You took the opportunity and shot yourself up to the ceiling, both your soles and fingertips clutching onto the surface, cautiously crawling further into the shop. 

“Please—” a voice yelled out, “Just let me steal your ATM machine!”

Your lips part, dumbfounded.

“No! Ey! Get away from—” You finally managed to grasp the scene that played out in front of you.

The store manager was running around with a bat in his hands, and the other person that seemed to be wearing a costume with black spots, a jean jacket slung over his shoulders and a rather cute bucket hat. To your surprise, the man evaded the attack when a black hole had been summoned under the manager’s feet, causing him to fall into the portal and out of another one…

…Right above you.

You yelped at the sudden contact on your back, the manager’s weight had you both falling face first into the shards-filled floor; his body cushioned by yours.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” 

The man behind you rolled off, allowing you to take a step and collect yourself as you slowly stood up. Debris started filling up your senses, and the pain from having been cut by thousands of glass shards made you wince in response. You pushed it all down, needing to finish the job as soon as possible so you could flee from more missions when you go back to the headquarters.

You even considered retiring from your spot in the team.

Speaking of spots…

You peered up, eyes catching onto the odd appearance of the man in front of you, who was still attempting to find a way to escape with the ATM. If you hadn’t been as irritated and grumpy as you were, you’d have found the situation hilarious.

“You gotta let that go, big man.” He whipped his head around, eyes darting around before locking in on you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—wait, you look different from my Spiderman.” His head tilted in confusion; you only rolled your eyes in retort, not wanting to drag your already long day out. Webs shot out of your wrists, launching them toward the direction of his foot.

Watching in disbelief as another hole appeared right where his foot would’ve been, the webs flinging into the black void and you felt the substance land on your back, knocking your balance forward.

“What the,” confused, you feel around for it, your fingers finding the source, tracing the substance behind you. “How did you fucking do that?” You glared him down, seeing his stature falter and hands thrown up into the air in defense. 

“Whoa whoa, language!” He wagged a finger at you, giving you his head shake of disapproval. 

“Shut up.”

“That’s just plain rude, young lady—hold on, you’re a lady right?” Your eye twitched in annoyance. 

“Has anyone ever said you’re way too chatty?” 

He was fidgeting with his hands, looking away and feeling nervous, unsure of how to respond to your jab. Before he could get another word out, the bottom of your feet connected with his chest, sending his body back against the wall with a loud ‘thud’ watching as he fell on his backside.

“Oof.”

 He let out a soft grunt, rubbing the sore spot on his butt; right before you did a chain-attack, he caught your foot with another one of his black holes, your foot now appearing on the other side of the store and out of sight.

“That wasn’t very nice. Listen, I just need some money, let me go and—” He threw the ATM onto a pile of cans and started rolling it out of your way, pushing the huge machine as fast as he could. Pulling back your foot in time, your calf connected with his face, making him trip over the cans comically with his arms flailing in the air.

You quickly reached down to fetch your trap to secure your win.

That would be too easy, though. 

Side-stepping a portal of void that almost ate you up, you winced at the pain that shot through your ribs due to your rapid movements. Biting through the pain, you maneuvered to where his body laid and tackled him to the ground once more when he tried to stand up; from then on, it was a cat fight. With you trying to get him detained and him attempting to pry you off of him.

Suddenly, another hole manifested beneath the two of you, watching in horror as you both fell through and landed harshly on top of the rooftop you originally occupied prior; the back of your head collided into the concrete ground; a poor excuse for a cushion.

It fucking hurt.

You were pretty sure you smelled blood.

He tried to get up, but you tumbled the two of you near the ledge of the building; in the midst of all the actions, he found dominance over you when he had your upper body hanging off the ledge with his grip on the collar of your suit. Blood thumped through your eardrums along with the loud horns of traffic, your heart racing in a million miles, if anyone looked up, they'd think you were insane for getting yourself in the situation. 

Maybe you are. 

Call for backup.

It would be so easy; the gizmo hugged your wrist, just one push of a button and someone will be here—

Too late, his grip on you wavered and you plummet into the air.

Fuck.

You quickly attempt to shoot more webs to find purchase on something, anything. 

But terror washed over you the second you realized you had conveniently run out of webbing fuel—being the dumbass you were, you had completely forgotten to get it refilled before the mission at the station back in headquarters.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the impact; your body going limp to soften the blow.

You let out a loud yelp when something flew out of the air beside you and clashed against your body, but you don’t feel the shock at the contact—instead, the warmth of a large arm wrapped around your midsection and you feel the cold wind whiplash you.

Opening your eyes, you were (pleasantly) surprised to find that Miguel caught you just in-time, right before you could suffer any more blunt injuries. You almost cried at the sight of him, his name teased the tip of your tongue, wanting to wrap your arms around him for a hug; you pulled yourself back just in time before you could react on your impulse.

You were still mad at Miguel, you have to act like it.

Before you know it, he came to a halt around a corner into an alleyway and swung down to place you down gently on the ground, your feet now free from the feeling of being dangled in the air. His eyes flickered over your face, then down your body; his arm still pressed into your waist as he squeezed your flesh out of instinct. 

Bad move, the squeeze, no matter how gentle, pressed into your bruised rib. The pain sending a wave of shocks throughout your torso, you immediately pushed him away with a small hiss. You couldn’t see it, but hurt flashed through his eyes when you forced yourself out of his grip, his arm falling back to his side; unknowing of its purpose.

He wouldn’t willingly admit it, but the rare moments he would get to feel the heat of your body against him sent him to heaven: like that one time your shoulder pressed into his at the cafeteria, the times your naked fingers would brush over his skin, when your back used to press up on his during missions back in the days he went with you. Sinfully, he would recall that specific time your chest pushed into his torso during a stealth mission, the temptation to take you right there and then a devilish thought that circled his mind.

(Don’t ask what he had done in the shower after the mission debrief.)

That was part of the reason he had stopped frequenting jobs with you, even when you came into his office and invited him; you were met with rejections after rejections, soon enough, he noticed that you stopped trying—and the painful gnaw at his chest reminded him of your growing distant attitude with him, too. Miguel refused to let his personal life interfere with his business, and the last person he would want to hurt was you. 

Unknowingly, he had done exactly that whenever he would gradually push your presence away.

Having meals weren’t the same anymore, not when you stopped showing up to his office everyday with his favorite food like a routine, he’d eat less and less as the days passed by; without you there to continuously pester him, he found himself reverting back to his old habits—working after late hours, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, barely talking to anyone unless absolutely necessary. 

He had came to the realization that somehow, long ago, your presence had become such a grounding part of his life; the gentle yet persistent reminder that he deserved love and care too, to stop hogging all the responsibilities alone and share his burden with someone who he can trust, and it all manifested into you.

Miguel recognized he royally fucked up when you both barely see each other face-to-face anymore, you stopped showing up to debriefings, the only time he’d get to remotely speak to you was when he sent you off to missions.

He knew he was harsh, yes, but he fully believed in your capability to handle yourself—but while he was relentless, he still cared. 

Hence why he arrived and interjected your mission, wanting to extend a helping hand.

“Fuck—what are you doing here?!” You shouted over the loud traffic, emotions taking control of your mind, before Miguel could protest, screams broke out from beside you both. “Shit, let’s get this over with, big man.” 

You paused, momentarily forgotten that your webbings ran out of fuel and mentally slapped yourself in the face.

As if he read your mind, he fished out a tube from behind him and threw it your way. You caught it just in time and practically rushed to throw the lid off, tipping the mouth over to allow the liquid flow into the web gadget integrated into your suit. You threw a mumbled “thanks” his way and chucked the tube out of sight.

“Come on,” you nod toward the opening of the alleyway with an arm raised and pull yourself upward with your web. 

It was supposed to be an easy job: brawl with the anomaly, win the brawl, capture it.

But this one was starting to grate your nerves—and you were sure Miguel felt the same too, you could sense the rage radiating off of his huge stature like sirens; chasing down the guy who had re-introduced himself as the Spot when you caught up with him earlier, unintentionally finding himself falling in and out of accidental portals he materialized. 

“Stop running!” Yelling, you proceeded to jump into the portal he went through, he was always barely a hair away; yet as clumsy as he was, managed to get away every single time.  

“Stop chasing me!” Spot shouted back, tripping over the back of his foot and almost falling into one of the portals entirely. 

He managed to barely swerve out of the way when Miguel lunged at him from behind, his claws swooping in the air where Spot used to be. It became a constant back-and-forth; you would shoot yourself closer to him and Miguel would come from his back, essentially cornering him, then Spot would narrowly escape; rinse and repeat. Exhaustion crept up on you eventually, nagging the back of your mind as you tapped into your adrenaline to stay awake and alerted of your surroundings. 

Miguel noticed it, too, and he went even harder—the intensity of his ferocity grew when he realized he had to end things soon before someone gets injured; he prayed to God it wouldn’t be you. 

Somehow, more portals had opened up, and all you could do was avoid falling into them; the possibility of coming face first into the asphalt roads were too high for you to take the chance. Miguel almost got caught in one; hardly dodging a portal that conjured on the wall he stuck to. But unlike you, he was willing to test out his theory, reeling his body back to prepare launching himself into the portal. And he did just that—his reward? A high-five of his face with another set of walls. 

He grunted, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted you latching onto Spot’s back; desperately trying to push him down onto a solid surface. You both spun into another portal and crashed on a different rooftop, Miguel rushed over with claws ravaging the innocent bricks he crawled on; when he went up, he saw the two of you gasping for air on the ground. 

You clutched the side of your rib, an indescribable amount of pain overtook your senses; you were pretty sure your ankle was broken when it was caught on a pole. Spot got up earlier than you, and was about to speed off before he felt a large hand tugging at the back of his shirt. 

It all happened so fast: reeling in a punch, the adrenaline pumping in Miguel’s veins, Spot’s utter shock at the face of Death himself, the supposed impact of the fist with the other’s face…

…Only for the force to be directed to you in the heat of the moment when a portal happened to manifest where Spot’s face would’ve been.

It was an accident, really, an unintentional line of actions from Spot— he was way too out of it when he figured he was about to go through his final moment; his portals shot out in panic, lucky for him, it was the reason he evaded Miguel’s death fist.

Unlucky for you, the other end of the portal had been right in front of you the whole time; yet in the midst of you processing your surroundings, you hadn’t realized quicker that your senses were screaming for you to dodge out of the way.

The conclusion? You, having just been punched in your guts, falling down a building amongst the New York you shouldn’t have stepped a foot in if you knew the outcome at all. The gust of wind pumped in your ears as you fell, and fell.

No worries—you’ve got your handy-dandy webs, right? 

Oh how you wished you hadn’t been wrong.

Miguel had snatched a random refill off of his own shelf when he was about to depart, not bothering to check for its content after his recent use; just shy of a quarter, barely enough to last an average Spider’s fill an hour of webbing. In his defense, he had been distraught when Lyla popped in earlier to warn him of your vitals: most specifically your injuries. He would’ve never sent you out in the first place if he knew you suffered from broken ribs.

But all you knew was that you somehow fucked yourself over.

Panic ensued.

And now, you suffered the consequences of his actions.

“Miguel!” A call for help; he was your last hope.

The fall wasn’t a particularly long one, and you normally would breeze through the impact and pain like a champ—except you have never fell from a building with ribs that squeezed your organs tight, ankle that would most likely not support your landing even if you tried, the adrenaline you lived off of now benched on the side leaving you stranded for some form of strength to pull yourself together in the span of a few seconds.

Your shoulder hit the ground first, then your head; the harsh impact created a string of reactions to your already abused body: pain shooting up your nerves, the corners of your eyes dimming despite the bright lights flashing around you.

Unbeknownst to the three of you, policemen started showing up once someone reported a supposed break-in at the shop you investigated; the sound of blaring sirens filled your eardrums like honey whilst the flashing of red and blue assaulted your blurry sight. 

Barely able to distinguish what was happening in front, you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbow; but the more you tried, the more lights started diminishing in your vision. Breathing has never felt so difficult, either.

Miguel was a step too late when he came to you; after having realized what had occurred, he dropped Spot in an instant like a hot potato, prioritizing saving you instead of proceeding with the mission’s objective. He was aware of the policemen being present at the scene when they started noticing your slumped body in the middle of the road, crowding together to watch as you struggled to lift yourself up—they all stood and observed, no one reached out to help, none.

He was by your side right away, his one hand supporting the weight of your head while the other clutching at the hem of your mask, lifting it over your eyes.

His hand felt…wet.

As if things couldn’t possibly get worse: he watched the stiff expression on your face contorted with pain, you seemed to have recognized him as you slowly reached a weak arm out to caress his face, your thumb gently glossing over his cheekbone, your touches light like feathers. His mask concealed the despair in his features, the hues of red and blues still shone on his back as everyone else stayed aside and spectated. 

Your hand soon dropped to your side, unmoving, your head now heavier than ever in his hand.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Miguel held your small, delicate hand into his, the tears teasing the corner of his eye as he watched your life slipped by those eyes of yours he’d grown to adore.

-

“You can’t live like this, Miguel.” 

Lyla crossed her arms over her chest, trailing Miguel’s tiny movements on the desk. His fingers delicately move across the keys on the keyboard, imputing password after password for locked files. 

“Seriously,” Lyla sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re starting to worry me.” 

“Nothing to worry about, Lyla, get me the decoded files from yesterday.” Miguel ignored her pestering, choosing to focus on his work and his work only.

That was his routine for the past 5 days or so.

After the entire slip-up in Earth 1610, Miguel had been busting his ass to hunt down the anomaly for every hour he was awake; granted, he did take care of other responsibilities too—babysitting Mayday on Monday, depatching teams to bring back more anomalies, and visiting you every day. 

And also dealing with that kid he found out to be the Spider-man from Earth-1610.

He hadn’t missed a single day of visiting you, who still laid in the hospital bed at the infirmary he cleared out for you. 

Everyday. On the clock. 5 am when he woke up, when lunchtime struck, and in the late hours of night when he should be spending on getting enough rest.

Lyla had been there through it all, watching Miguel’s tormented back every single minute he was awake as he continuously starved himself off of the bare minimums. 

Food, water, sleep, you name it all. 

And as his assistant, his well-being was her number one priority—hence the constant pestering that would be swatted away, food that went cold despite Peter having brought them in hours ago upon Lyla’s request and his growing concern for his friend in the chair. Jess’s occasional visits to check up on Miguel, wondering if the day she stepped in would be the day she would see his lifeless body on the desk with how much neglect he reflected on himself. Even the new recruits dropped in to say hello, just to see that he was doing…okay in his book: which was not okay in everyone else’s.

Everyone was worried. 

About you, of course, and him too.

The situation had clearly taken a heavy toll on him.

But Lyla understood more than anyone else that it wasn’t because of his work, his dwelling traumatic past, or how he barely had any rest for the past 120 hours. 

No one else knew of his infatuation with you except for her—and that was only because she snooped through his things, finding the little knit-knacks he kept from all those times you came and dropped it off: the tiny Miguel plushie you made when you impulsively decided to take up knitting that one time, the shirt of yours you had forgotten to take back when you visited his office at late hours, soaked from the rain outside and sneezing everywhere. 

“Hey Mig—“ sneeze. “I came to see y—“ sneeze. “I—“ and you sneezed. 

“For the love of God,” Miguel turned around, seeing your soaked clothes that cling to your body, and having to turn away for just a tiny moment to compost himself when he caught sight of your curves. 

Groaning, he pulled out one of his drawers and shuffled through and fished out a new shirt—undoubtedly his with how large it was. 

His shirt was a sight on you, fitting perfectly yet still draping over your thighs just slightly when you went to get changed. 

The image of you that night burned into his head, forever engraved in his brain. 

Then there was the polaroid picture of the two of you when you had forced Miguel to “take a selfie with me!” when you picked up a weirdly shaped camera from a thrift store in your universe (something something you saying to be smart and conserve money). “It’s called InstaX, it—here, let me show you” and snapped a picture. 

In the picture, his expression was one of annoyance, and you were squeezed against his shoulder with a toothy grin on your face. 

Lyla saw how Miguel would come back with tiny frames that he thought would frame the film perfectly, but ultimately was defeated when he decided to just stick it in-between the pages of his files labeled: Classified.

She was the only one ever to know the content inside: mostly pictures of Gabriella’s (poor) baking, first day at school, when Gabriella won her first competitive soccer match; and then there was you.

She knew how important you were to him; yet to her complete and utter confusion, Miguel always kept to himself about his little (big) crush—even though she could clearly tell you were just as interested as he was, too. 

He was the densest man you had the pleasure of knowing. 

He never made a move; and now, he might never get another chance to.

Now you were reduced to a sitting duck, once a shell of what you were; your body laid in the bed he frequented more than his own, the lively demeanor that you carried with you before turned into a tune of stable heartbeats beeping from the machinery installed next to you: the only indicator you were still alive. 

Guilt was the only thing he knew for a while; when he’d step into the shower as the cold water bit the skin of his back, like he was willingly punishing himself for allowing that incident to happen. 

Everywhere he went, whatever he did, he was only reminded of your face.

“If only I had been there sooner.”  

He’d say to himself while he peered down at your figure, not there but, there. You were barely hanging, and part of him knew that it was your determination to fight through whatever battle was going on inside your head during the coma. 

“Por favor,” his hand held yours, careful to avoid the IV’s that pricked your skin, forehead sticky with sweat after having just come back from a specifically tough mission that day.

“Concédeme este deseo.” 

He would whisper sweet-nothings to you, praying to himself at night by your bedside that you’d wake up one of these days with that smile he yearned for. And for someone to finally share the extra empanadas he would always bring in, to hope that one day, you’d get to share this joy with him. 

The joy of eating together again.

So imagine his surprise when he walked into your room tonight, and found you sat up with the metal frame supporting your back. 

You were awake.

And most importantly, you were alive. 

He had never sprinted so fast in his life; the warm pack of empanadas he brought from the cafeteria drop to the floor, the gentle ‘thud’ catching your zoned out self by complete surprise, your face softened once your gaze landed on Miguel; who was frantically patting your face and checking your vitals to confirm that yes, you are here. 

Your hand reached up to palm his that lingered on your cheek, his eyes finally settled on you, slowly taking in the fact that you were now right there in front of him. 

“Miguel,” a small knowing smile tugged at your lips, your eyes the most gentle he’d ever seen. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

He was still so afraid, so afraid that you would just slip by his fingers again; so he held onto you for dear life, fingers gripping your one cheek and hand with the others. 

“Estoy tan contenta de que estés aquí,” You whispered. 

A soft quiver of his lips; barely there—that was when the dam broke, and his tears started flowing down his sullen cheeks. 

You panicked, wondering if you had butchered your Spanish so bad you shamed him to tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry?” You tilt your head in confusion and worry. Miguel only shook his head, a small chuckle emitted from him; as if he knew what you had been thinking. 

“Don’t be sorry, silly.” He looked up at you with those earnest eyes of his; ones that melt your heart and warm your soul. You’d taken a liking to him early on; though you weren’t sure when it started, only where it started: during a mission, when the two of you grew physically close, so close.

His breaths fanning down your face, your breathing grew heavy with each and every second; that was when you knew you were in too deep. 

You would know it’d take heaven and hell to pull you apart from this man. 

There he kneeled, lips on the back of your hand as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, enjoying the way hues of red spread out on your cheeks. 

There was no way of escaping it now: the pent up tension of a confession teasing the air around you both, and soon, one of you was bound to crack.

“I have something to tell you—“

“I have something to say—“

Only that you both did it at once, together.

Miguel stared at you, lips slightly parted with the ghost of his words and eyes widened, then he cracked into a fit of roaring laughter—and you joined in.

Laughter filled what was once a room only occupied by the sound of your heartbeats on the machine, the two of you clutched each other’s hand, the high soon dying down to mere giggles; as if you two were high-school sweethearts with muffled chuckles thrown at each other in the back of the class. 

You two were in your own little world, a bubble that secured around your bodies, forever molding the shape of what once was and what will be. 

Wiping away the happy tear in your eye, you stared at Miguel’s devilishly handsome face, and the gorgeous smile you oh-so-rarely get the privilege of seeing. The muted rhythm of his chest rising and falling, in sync to yours, like two lovers on the dance floor—not even the sky could stop your love for each other. 

“I love you.” 

You blurted out; sure, you were 98% certain Miguel reciprocated your feelings, but that small node of anxiety still tugged at the back of your mind, terrified that you misunderstood his gestures all these times.

But wouldn’t the words he whispered to you during your sleep be all washed away if that was true? 

It was a risk, and you took it; it was now or never. 

“I—“ Miguel stammered, his heart screaming at him to just lean in and—

—kiss you.

His lips were nothing like you’d ever imagine; it was all the best parts multiplied by infinity: soft, full of all the love he had to give, and passionate. 

The kiss lasted for what felt like eternity—part of you wished it did, and you’d be content to die like this, your lips forever engraved on his. 

Miguel swore he heard the choir sung to him, albeit with crooked notes; but maybe because he did.

He slowly turned around, and you, who also does the same.

His colleagues had been quietly watching all this time from behind the doors: Peter with Mayday in tow as she cooed at the sight, Jess and that motherly smile of hers—Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr all stood with heads peeking through the gap of the doors. Even Lyla was there, although she simply floated over Peter's shoulder, joining in on the choir; their mouths agape with barely harmonized tunes of a holy song slipping out of their mouths. Amateur at best, unbearable at worst. 

Pavitr carried with the vocals, as always. 

They only stopped once they realized they had been caught; thinking that you two were in too deep to notice that there were more guests coming. 

“What…are you guys doing here?” Miguel asked, his tone more of a threat than a genuine question.

“We got some food—“ Peter perked up, but was instantly cut off by Hobie.

“‘o watch some sappy romance, ‘ey boss man?” Hobie high-fived Lyla's glitchy hologram, the latter wearing a smirk too wide for her face and nodding aggressively.

“Do the shoulder trick!” Miles yelled out; Gwen looked at him in horror then back to Miguel, this time, it was her who was shaking her head aggressively while crossing her arms into a giant X shape. 

Miguel snarled at Miles, not appreciating the cheesy suggestion of a pick-up line while everything went so well for him before they all busted in. 

“Remember to host a Sangeet bro! Oh Gayatri is super good at doing Henna—“  

“Hey I wanna be the flower girl!” Gwen piped up. 

“No, Miguel told me long ago Mayday would be—“

“She’s not even old enough, Peter, can she even throw a fistful of flowers?” Gwen crossed her arms in protest.

“I’ll have you know she’s an extremely capable baby, right, Mayday?” Peter looked down, only to see that Mayday had once again been chewing on his pink robe like always, blabbering with spit foaming at her mouth. 

“Oh Christ—“ Jess chuckled at the absurdity of the sight, a hand on her hip and the other tracing soothing circles on her belly; just as Miguel had been doing it with your hand the entire time.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh knowing that the special moment between the two of you had been ruined by a bunch of nosy gremlins. 

Your hand went up to remove his hand from his face, and even with how (incredibly) noisy the room became with banters and bickering thrown around; it was all quiet with him, only the stable heartbeats of you both reached your ears.

For once, your life was complete.

Miguel glanced into your eyes, the adoration swarmed your orbs; behind them, he could see far into the future where you both exist, always beside each other like glue to a paper—with you on his hips and his on yours.

And at last, Miguel had found what he had been missing from his life. 

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

Author's note: Thank you so much for this suggestion Anon, it's my first one ever and I hope i did not disappoint u.u, I LOVED writing this and it got me tearing up reminiscing some fictional (sexy) mexican man. Hope u enjoyed!

ps: pls excuse the spanish i only have spanishdict as my holy grail (pls also DO correct me if needed!)

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel x you #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #angst #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman #miles morales #gwen stacy #peter b parker #jessica drew #atsv lyla #lyla spiderverse #mayday parker #miguel o'hara #gayatri singh #pavitr prabhakar #VONEVask #oneshot

[thegnomelord]

Shark

- 🦈

(WOBSVHDVUH. HOLY MOTHER OF SHARKS. HOW DO YOU WRITE SO GOOD. Gosh you, darn you, daum you. Fuel my god daum brainrot.

Now im thinkin of angst. DONT WRITE IT, I CANNOT HANDLE YOUR WRITING IN ANGST. THIS IS JUST A BRAIN BLURB.

Price is close to death whether it be the ultimte battle between the destruction of all that can die or of a horrid enemy, they have yet to defeat.

Price is alive, but too far to be ever saved. The boys want to summon their captain's ole friend, to say a well had goodbye, maybe even save him. But no books, no scrolls, nor anything etched in stone on the surface depicts them. Nothing.

Price dies knowing hes lived a good life, praying to all the gods that his beloved eldritch dosent destroy the surface he called home.

The only way the poor eldritch finds out, are when Prices ashes are swallowed by the waves.

In every storm, waves tower over the heights of skyscraper, to the point not even those that could fly can cross. Death is quick when it comes to the ocean, like it trying to collect all power it can withhold. Creatures are cruel when it comes to what has killed their gods beloved, relentlessly acttacting what they can. Sharks are rare, to the point their sighting have come near myth or legend. Yet, they will always come come towards any that is draconic for they miss them. Ocean creatures, humanoid or not, would cry with no control, close to fire, dragons or smoke. They grieve. They all grieve.

But, Dragons seem to live longer when close to the waves. Saving them in dire situations when the fall from they sky, wounds healed when submerged in the salty sea. Even if you were pure fire, absolute whole magma. You'd be saftely cradled in any and all water. Water is the safest, the safest they have ever felt in all of their exsistence. They know this feeling, it is old, it is familiar, it is embedded in blood.

For the ocean rembers, it always remembers.)

Okay honestly your brain farts are always so good but. . . But . . . I'm so sorry sharky. This came to before you even wrote your ask and now I have to do it, you're just the sacrificial goat. . .

CW: SFW, angst, made myself cry :/ Got some idea inspo from @heliumknife

John Price doesn't die on a notable day. He doesn't die on the day of reckoning, doesn't die on the day fire rains from the sky and blood muddles your oceans, doesn't die alongside human gods, doesn't die on the day he may meet what made him and hear he was a good man.

John Price dies on a regular Tuesday night.

Not even a blip on the radar.

Having saved the oblivious world yet again he retches a bloodied cough as he stumbles on the beach he'd ended up on. His legs give out, the course sand rubbing his skin when he falls, red blood slowly seeping between the grains. Distantly he can hear his boys calling for him, watching the waves wash onto the shore, the tide too low to reach him; too low for you to sense him.

He can feel Gaz scrambling to stem his bleeding, Soap desperately searching through the first aid kit, Ghost barking on the coms that Price is hit. And as the world begins to grow quiet, the low murmur of waves washing upon the sand filling his ears, washed up amber glittering in his blurring eyes, the scent of seaweed and brine filling his rapidly slowing lungs—

Price smiles — he'll slumber with you soon.

Only when the morning tide comes in do you sense his blood, do you rouse from the depths like lightning, waking from a nightmare to find it has followed you to the waking world.

You're too late.

Like always.

He's so still.

Peaceful — worry lines and wrinkles smoothed out and face relaxed you could delude yourself into thinking he's just sleeping. Oh those dragons with their slumber; he'll grumble when you go to wake him, demanding five more bloody minutes of your attention as if he's the god here. Cling to you like a barnacle and growling like a kitten until you give in and lay down next to him. Give a rumbling purr and laugh at how he got a god wrapped around his finger until you shut him up with a kiss.

But you can't.

Your vessel's eyes keep darting to the blood staining his clothes, the crusted red lines trailing from his lip down his chin, the stillness of his chest, the silence.

They tell you John Price died protecting his team from a brutal foe. John Price died protecting the world. John Price died protecting the very people who in your recent shared memory had been happy to sharpen sticks and melt rock into to steel all in an vain attempt at glory. . .

John Price died a hero.

Your John died.

And you weren't there.

"Hey. . ." You look at Gaz when he speaks, standing on the opposite side of the medical table they've laid his body on. ". . .I know you two were, close." He chokes up, voice rough and nasally, fresh tear tracks staining his cheeks.

You envy him for it. For once you wish you were the ant on a circuit board instead of it's maker, just so you could see the world like they do, mourn like they do — open, visible, showing you cared, showing he wasn't just a toy in your sandbox. That Price was the voice you'd hear when loosening the noose of the rope, the beckoning call beyond the reach of your waves, the one that held that wretched excuse you call a heart.

But you can't.

All your treacherous vessel manages to achieve is a small dip in the corner of your lip. "So were you." Your voice is low and garbled like you're drowning, the rumble of icebergs scraping on the ocean floor filling the silence behind each syllable.

Gaz flinches like he'd been slapped, unable to look at the man he loved as much as you did. "Yeah," His gaze flickers everywhere like fleeing fishes in a reef, "I'm sorry." He blurts out.

"Don't be." You don't look at him, your cold hand reaching out to trace Price's jaw, coarse beard scratching your flesh. "You loved him when I couldn't." A part of you wants to be angry at Gaz for harboring John's affection and attention, that it's not fair for him to be able to mourn when you've known your John long before Athenians and Spartans decided to throw hissy fits in your waters. But you can't call yourself a lover he deserved when you met him so rarely, a blink of the eye for you and a century passes.

"Are you going to kill us now?" Kyle asks, not scared, as if he's expecting it.

It shames you, but you thought about it; of sea life growing gigantic and voracious under your influence, of making the sky weep in your stead, of violent waves rising up and devouring the planet for taking away your world. What's the point of it's existence when the one who made it shine has been snuffed out?

"No," You sigh in resignation. You can't, not while there are still people and places John loved, not while vestiges of him remain. You can't kill what's left of him, protect them like you couldn't do with him.

Gaz tells you they plan to cremate him in line with dragon customs, only to take a step back when you pick your John up to cradle in your arms, his loose wing draping over your shoulder, his head resting on your shoulder, nose buried in your neck as if he's scenting you once again.

"I'll come to collect the rest of you when you pass." You say before disappearing with Price, because if you had to answer Gaz's questions — Why are you taking his body when you weren't even there when he died? Why do you act like you care when you saw him so rarely? Why are you taking him away from Gaz when he was the one who loved Price? What gives you the right? — you would have drowned a country.

Water rushes around him the moment you are back in your element, holding him in a cradle made of your waters like the first time he'd fallen into the ocean so many millennia ago. Water bubbles escape his open mouth as your waves caress and kiss each inch of him, crusted blood muddling the brine around him as you pull him as close to your real body as you can.

Searching.

You can feel his soul once your waters have kissed every inch of his skin, faint yet stubbornly clinging on somewhere in the aether, no doubt giving Death a headache.

You were once a soul too were you not? Just a dead thing too dumb to know it died; somewhere deep beneath the individual writhing sharks and decaying corpses and fossilized bone making up your body resides your original one, nothing but a chunk of rock with the imprint of what you had as a skeleton at the time.

For if Death doesn't come to claim it, a soul won't die until the body's gone. You had slipped past the cracks, grew fat and large on the other souls until Death could no longer touch you without fear of being swallowed whole.

You doubt it would let Price slip through like it had with you, fortunately you put claim on his soul long ago. You swim to the deepest part of the earth where burning geothermal vents spew minerals into freezing cold waters, where you slumber and feed on the souls of the dead.

You curl around him, living and dead bodies parting until Price rests wrapped around the oldest part of you.

Embracing you like he always wanted to.

He waited so long for you.

Now it's your turn to wait. This time you will be there.

And if the oceans above rage for months, if the season long rain floods the streets, if the weather makes it so that in the crushing depths no one can pick out your tears from the ocean brine, all the better.

#gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #trinkets from the hoard #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #price x gaz #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #eldritch reader #angst #immortal x mortal #john price cod #cod monster au #monster 141 au

[kneelingshadowsalome]

CW: LONG

World building question::: since Theseus did die and the minotaur escaped, how did that affect history and myths? Like a great demigod has been slain by a monster and a priestess not only led him out of his captivity BUT MARRIED(?) HIM!

Did the great writers write myths about them? The witch and the monster or because they were never cursed by the gods maybe it's written in a beauty and the beast style, like the priestess and the wild man? Or, desperate to hide the fact their great hero failed and the supposed monster was actually just a very large man abandoned by his family, the great writers lied about Theseus' victory over the minotaur, and Ariadne!reader + Minotaur!Konïg are just known as this really odd couple.

Speaking of which, besides being seen as very odd because of their love for each other, how else are they treated? Is reader still given the same respect as a priestess? What does she do while Konïg is gone? Does she deal with any harassment? What about Konïg? We know he sails but does he become a hero or legend? Does the crew he sails with know he's the minotaur? Or do they just regard him as this unsocialized large man and that's it?

Ahhh so many possibilities!!!! Sorry this is so long I just love these twoooo ugh :(((

Heyy! These questions are so super cute!! 💕

Knowing how crazy and unfair these myths usually are, I’d bet the tales would paint the priestess as the villain of the story, even worse than Pasiphae or even the bull himself. She not only unleashed the Minotaur but also allowed him to hit so that's like super naughty of her! :((

Also no storyteller was there to see their love or how they lived after they left Crete so these two were written down as deformed monsters who killed the king, wrecked the island of Crete, fornicated in the wilderness and probably ate children along the way. If they ever heard any of these stories during their lifetime, they must’ve laughed!

--besides being seen as very odd because of their love for each other, how else are they treated? Is reader still given the same respect as a priestess? What does she do while Konïg is gone? Does she deal with any harassment?

Reader becomes a weaver and a healer beyond the sea. She’s no longer an “official” initiate but knows that Hecate is still with her (because that's how it is when a powerful goddess claims you as her own!)

She uses her skills and knowledge for healing which makes her a respected member in their new community. Because of the influence of her dark goddess she’s a bit of a loner still, and does not easily make friends. But now that she can dabble in the so called “worldly affairs”, she wants to help others if she can, and by saving lives she gains a widely honored reputation.

If anyone harasses her while König is away–which would be rare because anyone can see her husband is a beast—she might show a darker side of herself and the goddess at her back. People will rather leave her alone than test the power of the foreign woman’s curse, and besides, most men respect her out of fear. Which of course makes König smile with pride :)

What about Konïg? We know he sails but does he become a hero or legend? Does the crew he sails with know he's the minotaur? Or do they just regard him as this unsocialized large man and that's it?

No one knows about König's past and he likes to keep it that way. If he could decide he’d rather not be perceived at all, any kind of reputation just inherently feels wrong to him. He especially doesn’t want to be thought as the true heir to any throne: king is a synonym for tyrant in his mind so he doesn’t want to have anything to do with his royal past.

König never becomes much of a legend except in his home town and with his crew, and even then he’s mostly celebrated as the big buff guy who doesn’t talk much but who always keeps his word and fucks and fights like it’s his last day on this earth. For König, it’s enough that his wife is pleased with him and that people who know him think he’s a good man. He’s very happy with this kind of legacy!

This couple wants to be left out of the history books altogether, they want to live a happy, peaceful life that's uneventful and lovely in it's simple beauty. No one remembers who they were after a few centuries have passed, and they wouldn't have it any other way. ❤️❤️❤️

#Minotaur!König #two unsocial outcasts finding love and peace in each other is always HEA in my book <3

[lina-lovebug]

Tumultuous Waters

Ch.1

Orm Marius fanfic

Warnings: allusions to abuse and sexual assault

I have lived my life without love.

I never once felt affection for my husband, nor did I ever think what he held for me was pure.

He looked at me once and claimed me to be his, but my refusal came with denial. I was his from the moment he laid his eyes upon me, and no power on Olympus nor Earth could keep him from me.

Even when he lay with me, I prayed it would be over soon. I would watch above, hoping to be struck so that I wouldn't have to hear his grunts and feel his skin on mine.

This is the life of a wife to a God.

Yet I was able to find some happiness in our marriage.

I bore a son named Triton, who became King of the Seven Seas. He bore my eyes, which I took pride in. Of course I would never blame my son for the actions of his father, but I had sighed in relief when I saw that the only relation he held to Poseidon was his strength and hair color.

Then a daughter came, to whom I named Rhodos. I feared what Poseidon may do to a daughter of our own - which God's he would attempt to pawn her off to.

But she held a fire in her that he had burnt out within me long ago. Rhodos took charge of her love and future, and found happiness and love in Helios, the Sun God. When Aphrodite had cursed him to forget all of his lovers, including her, it was the first time I found myself marching up to her in rage.

And I punched the Goddess of Beauty.

I feared her retaliation, but instead, the Goddess laughed and smiled upon me. “Finally, someone who refuses to take my shit.”

We became great friends after she reversed the curse and Helios spent many centuries honoring my daughter.

But after my children made it clear that they now had their own lives, I was back to square one. I would spend days watching Poseidon drive his ego so far up his ass that he'd be grinning like he created the universe. Centuries seemed to be slow as I stopped fighting him, and became. . .lifeless.

I missed my family.

I missed the ocean.

But I was reminded that I'm not just Poseidon's wife. I'm a daughter of Nereus, and the third of fifty Nereids who created mermaids and sirens. We are shapeshifters and in the myths and legends for assisting sailors in their journeys across the ocean.

My son created Atlantis. He was proud of his kingdom, and was so delighted to show it to me. He had learnt from seeing his father that no one should rule a Kingdom on their own, but he elected a council to help him truly learn how to be a good ruler.

And he had children.

The Tritonides, similar to my sister's. Never once did a son come from his wife but he did not mind at all. I watched with pride as my son adored his daughters and doted on his wife, despite the lack of assistance and care from Poseidon.

Yet I could not stay in this kingdom.

For Poseidon commanded I return home.

For the next eight hundred years, I stayed in Olympus and found myself slipping again.

He was never faithful.

He was never kind.

He was cruel.

But he's a God.

And I can never be free of him.

I would only hear the news that my son's lineage had no longer been on the throne through Poseidon - who bragged about such a thing. He declared that a merman who had slain King Nero and Queen Athena had taken the crown because of corruption, and laughed.

Not only had our son's bloodline been slain, but his father dared to laugh.

I know I stand no chance in fighting him, but he was our son - our baby boy. So just as I had done to Aphrodite, I had punched him in the face and watched as his eyes turned sinister.

He hit me.

He didn't stop hitting me.

My eyes stared up at him as he prepared to take me, “you think this makes you a man? In all our years together, I have seen you as less than a spoiled boy. How disappointed our son would be if he could see this view.”

He left me with his limp excuse of a cock and I allowed my body to heal through the ocean water.

I had even hoped I would be able to drown.

But as the Queen Mother of the Seven Seas, I prepared myself. The puffy eyes and the bruises vanished as quickly as they appeared, and let Atlantis prepare themselves for their guest.

A permanent guest.

Taglist: @nanamiscunt @illegalcerebral @notasadgirlipromise @cozmicwonder

#orm marius #orm marius imagine #aquaman imagine #aquaman the lost kingdom #the lost kingdom #faceclaim is anne hathaway our queen

[ravengards-rogue]

✧ barbarian + gender neutral tav, bottom/sub gale, top + dom!tav, gutting a fish, horny to horny tadpole communication lol 18+

gale daydreams too long about the rough callouses on your hands on his skin.

you answer him in short sentences when he mentions them but he's come to realize this isn't disinterest. you just aren't one for talking much, and you listen to him intently. occasionally you'll remember something entirely arbitrary he's told you - and he'll feel his heart stammer like a boy in love and not a man of middle age.

he notices your hands first when he tries teaching you the weave. the times after, you're healing him because he's been battered relentlessly in battle. calloused hands - the kind of hands that wield weapons and massacre. gale has seen you rage so often, though he's never thought anything of it. you're polar opposites in all aspects but especially that kind of raw power.

(the story of them goes that you used to tussle with bears as a child. when asked to elaborate, you shrug passively. apparently all that matters is that you won more often than you lost.)

he likes your hands. your hands are calloused and scarred. all of you is scarred, but your hands especially. split knuckles and thick, coarse skin that's been split and healed with nothing but time. strong, capable hands that carry fresh hunt into the camp and butcher them close to the water so the blood can be washed away. his are soft and smooth, a calm life in the vibrant and advanced city of waterdeep has made them so. the most violence he's ever received until recently, a paper cut from an especially feisty tome.

gale spends too long looking at them. you notice his gaze, naturally perceptive. and gale - well gale flushes. he's leering, and his thoughts are all but appropriate.

he's not prone to shyness. but you're a little different from those he kept in his past. constructed with that sort of unfamiliar grit makes his stomach churn with desire that burns white hot. gods.

it's inappropriate - entirely. together at camp with a makeshift table and cutting board (a slab of wood, really). you're cooking together, and gale is watching you gut a fish. your fingers are soaked in blood as you carefully scale and clean skin. there's also a fresh body you've so morbidly carried for astarion to eat.

you glance at him, head tilted - brow taut with interest.

"something on your mind, wizard?"

"not particularly," he replies, trying to avert his gaze. you go back to your task, the barest amusement on your face.

"you're a shit liar." and then, as if you sense that you can't pull more out of him - he feels something electric brush against his spine. the tadpole, your tadpole. you reach out to him through it. the voice in your mind is entangles with his as he allows you to touch his thoughts. you never do so without being careful.

it's...oddly euphoric, makes his stomach feel honeyed with lust. a harsh way of speech coupled by a soft whisper. stop being lewd or you'll cook yourself on a flame.

it's an instant protest, though between you is only silence.

"lewd?" he says in a whisper yell. you don't reply to his exclaiming. nor do you mask your amusement. you're enjoying this. your hands make quick work of flaying the dead sea creature. the head goes into the soup. you dunk the bloodied carcass in water leaving delicate white fish behind, then you use a dagger to carve the bones from it.

the blood stains your fingers. even with the savagery you're always committing, your delicate with the flesh.

you press into his mind, a knowing glance at the way his eyes lock onto the gesture.

gale is hesitant to let you in again. you shrug.

"even if you don't want to tell me what ways you want me to fuck you," you say, low enough so that only gale hears it. "well. you're a bit of a lost cause on hiding it."

gale is so momentarily scandalized he just stops. a smile tugs at your lips as you look at him more directly this time. heat licks at his his calves, a little ashamed as he lets you in.

(the images conjured in his mind are imperfect but vivid. all of them terribly rough. his mind desires it more than his body, to feel the roguish warmth of your palms handle his limbs in ways so untender some gods would consider it against them. a harsh first around his cock or around his throat, thumbs pressing into pulsing heart. hardened touches rounded with tender praise.

fingers inside of him. gale laid out over your lap - tucked into you in some completely vulnerable way.

there's a single undercurrent desire, one for you make a mess of him and it's louder and more attention seeking than all the rest. the need to be under your thumb makes his cock twitch so hard it's painful.

he imagines himself spent in your arms, cumming helplessly. limp against the strength of your chest and arms. the thought makes his physical body shiver.

the idea lingers so deep in the recesses of his mind he wonders if they're being projected right.)

he severs the connection when the embarrassment catches up to him, waiting anxiously for whatever thing you might end up saying. there's a smirk on your face, a salacious little chuckle as you discard bones into a metal bowl fashioned on the slab you cut on. for an elongated moment, you're unreactive. it's so strange gale wonders if he might've conjured up the entire interaction.

you walk yourself around him to put something in the pot - fresh cuts of white meat, before you blow warm air against the back of his neck. he nearly jumps out of his skin.

your words are assured.

"didn't take you for a masochist," you hum, calloused palm underneath the velvet of his nightwear. he looks at you over his shoulder. you make it clear you mean every word of what you'll say. "but i'll fuck you however you wish, lewd wizard. try to focus on dinner for now instead of ogling."

with your task now finished, you place a single long kiss on the nape of gales neck before disappearing completely - slinking off into the night to wash your hands. gale feels blood rush between his legs as he clears his throat.

he grumbles as he waddles over to stir the pot, skin painted with pink and feeling no less horny than before. "easier said then done."

#zero.thoughts #d.rogues love letters #sharess' whisper #gale x reader #bg3 x reader #he deserves to be topped and bullied but i say this about all men i like #but especially especially gale #i spent way too fucking long on this lmaoo #i have an important test in 5 hours i havent studied for at all dfkjfdkj

[gingernut1314]

Wip Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @galaxycunt !! 🩷🩷

I have so many WIPs I'm sitting on right now so this is a good excuse to show what I have brewing in the background!

Feral Attraction: Shanks x F!Reader Summary: You are an aspiring doctor, born and raised in Foosha Village when the very attractive pirate who had been making base on your island saves your village's orphan boy from a Sea King.

You needed to have this man's children. 

It was the first thought that crossed your mind when you saw the red-haired man crawling out of that half-eaten dingy. When you saw him covered in blood, having chased off a sea king so monstrous you had been able to see it from your apartment on the hill, and leave with his life. His life and the village's ophan boy, Luffy’s, life. 

It was the only thing you could think of as you watched as he made sure Luffy was taken care of, pain radiating in his eyes as blood continued to pour and pool beneath him, dripping back into the sea. 

It was a thought so guttural--so feral you had no power over it. It was out of your hands how your body reacted to the man, just how you handled it. 

And right now you were handling it poorly, seeing as you were standing there thinking up all the dirty things you would do to him and let him do to you as he slowly bled to death. Handling it terribly seeing you were currently studying in the very art of life-saving.

Makino, who was struggling to console and pull Luffy off of the red-haired man, shot you a panicked-filled look. “Y/N! He’s dying!” 

“Shit--” You cursed having to all but physically shake yourself from your horny daze as you ran over, nearly slipping and falling on your ass on the wet wood of the dock. Luffy cried and screamed at you to save the man--Shanks--only to quickly go back to blaming himself for the whole ordeal, as you passed him and Makino. 

“I’m fine--just a scratch.” The red-haired Shanks slurred. A slur that was not brought on by any fun sort of activity. You fell to your knees before him, Shanks swaying and struggling to keep himself upright, yet somehow managing to flash you a crooked smile. A smile that had your brain fuzzing again.

 Oh shit--focus. You had to focus on stopping the bleeding, not on how much you wanted him to fuck you senseless and fill you’re arching pussy wi--

“I’m sure it is.” You said sarcastically, pulling his ripped and red-stained sleeve gently up and over his shoulder to find the equally as ripped up arm--an arm left in ribbons. “Oh fuck.” You said, unable to hold it back. 

You were still just a student.

The worst amputation you had seen had been some fisherman cutting his finger off while gutting a fish. It had been an easy fix. One your mentor had let you handle all on your own, with gentle guidance when needed. 

The only thing that came close, and might have been worse, to this type of carnage on the body was the mother you had helped give birth to her sweet baby girl. A baby girl who had torn her mother’s body to shreds, nearly leaving her on death's door, had your mentor not been quick to heal her. 

“See. F--” The pirate fell forward, collapsing into you. The air in your lungs nearly gave way as you struggled to hold him up. “--ine.” He huffed out, hand grabbing hold of your hip on a stabilizing squeeze. A touch that had your body jolting. His musky smell infiltrated your nose and threw your horny hormones into a frenzy. 

Oh--oh, you needed him so gods damned bad. So bad you debated fucking him right then and there on this dirty, fish gut-smelling dock. 

On a great groan, you manhandled him onto his back, his straw hat falling off his head. His oak-brown eyes widened the slightest bit in surprise. Eyes you found to have hints of rich chocolate colors swirling within them.

Focus.

No pressure tags! (though I would love to see what you might be working on! 🩷)

@fanaticsnail , @writingmysanity , @empressofmankind , @miloonmetis

#wip wednesday #wip #shanks #red haired shanks #luffy #shanks one piece #one piece live action #opla #shanks opla #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #shanks x f!reader #shanks x female reader #feral attraction

[walkswithmyfather]

“Mathew 8:27 But the men marvelled, saying, What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him!

“There is absolutely nothing that can stand in the way of Jesus.

No enemy has the power He simply casts out demons.

No teacher or skeptic can stump him with a question.

No disease can withstand his call for healing.

Not even nature can baffle or threaten him.

He is not just a man

He is God's Son

He is Immanuel

God with us.

Until we go home to Him it is only then we will fully understand who He is. We can be secure that He will care for us and bring us to his home

Fear is not just being troubled with circumstances it also is the uncertainty about what will ultimately happen to us.

Jesus shows his disciples that their safety, their destiny, is under his command and nothing can withstand his grace offered to bless his disciples

Isaiah 43:2 When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

There are sometimes times in our lives when we have been hit by blow after blow, and we feel depleted and also defeated. During these occasions, it is easy to lose all hope. The good news is God does not want us to live out our daily existence discouraged or hopeless so He has given us His word as a source of blessing and encouragement.

Deuteronomy 20:4 For the Lord your God is he that goeth with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to save you.

One of the most encouraging thoughts for you to know is that even when things seem the worst God is in control. He easily overcomes what feels impossible to us.

Every time we struggled with feelings of loss and defeat we have to remind ourselves so our hope can be restored.

1 Corinthians 15:57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 John 5:4 For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.

God does not want us to be overcome by feelings of defeat and despair in spite of the crushing blows we receive. He has given us His powerful word full of encouragement and hope to strengthen us instead.

His will for us is that we live our lives in victory.

We all have battles that we fight every day . It might not be a physical war against other human beings, but rather our struggles may be against our own thought patterns, bad habits or weaknesses.

Sometimes these situations and circumstances that we face that are out of our control. When this occurs read Deuteronomy 20:4 this verse can fill us with hope and courage.

It reminds us that it is the Lord who goes with us to fight for us against our enemies whoever or whatever that may be. God not only fights for us but he also gives us the victory.

2 Samuel 22:18 He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them that hated me: for they were too strong for me.

Heavenly Father

Please act with Your strong power to still the storms in the hearts of those we love. Give them peace and calm and lead them to know that Jesus is their source of help. We ask You to replace our sadness with joy, defeat with victory, and weariness with praise. Help us when we feel defeated, weary or sad to focus on Your blessings in our life rather than on my circumstances. Remind us to praise You the Father at all times so we may obtain life and hope. We ask that You bring all things to our memory that concern You and Your plans in my life. Please increase our hope as we focus on Your Word. Help us to not be conformed to this world but transformed by the renewing of our mind. Strengthen and renew us in our innermost being. Destroy the fiery darts of the enemy that attempt to pierce our souls. May we always hear Your voice and obey Your will. Father, help us to overcome today fears. Thank you for the ones in our life that Love us. We praise You and Love You Lord in all circumstances. In Jesus’ name we pray

Amen.”

(Via)

[clockworkdragonffxiv]

I started my D&D campaign back in April of 2020 shortly after the COVID Lockdown hit. I was bored out of my skull and stressed, and a friend had expressed his frustration with his own D&D group and I just went "Fuck it."

I hadn't played DnD since college. I had never GM'd a tabletop game. But I had nothing better to do. So I went on to Discord into, like, the three channels I'm active in and rounded up a gaggle of friends from FFXIV and from my old City of Heroes group. For my starter campaign I used the very first Eberron campaign ever published for I think 3e or 3.5e, converted to 5e, "The Forgotten Forge."

And three and a half years, multiple cases of COVID, two rounds of cancer and chemotherapy, four or five moves, three kidney stones, multiple bouts of depression, and a half dozen job changes, we finally finished the campaign at level 16, having convinced the Lord of Blades to devote his talents to building the new Warforged nation and healing the Mournlands using the unique techno-organic warforged plants and animals we'd discovered, instead of his original plan which was to absorb the power of a Creation Engine and a Demon Overlord into himself, achieve apotheosis, and drown the world in a tide of blood.

My original plan for the final battle has in large underlined letters the phrase "Biblically Accurate Chainsaw Angel" and included a speech with lines like "LET THE SEAS BOIL AND THE SKIES FALL! LET THE WORLD BURN!"

Also probably ending up with the players picking the Red, Blue or Green endings from the End-o-Matic 9000.

But that didn't happen.

So instead, the campaign that started with our little group of heroes stumbling onto the murder of a professor with the clues to a hidden workshop, ended with the wedding of Seeker the Warforged Artificer, the man who'd talked the Lord of Blades down (despite having a Charisma of 8) and now holds the title of Maestro Seeker, is an advisor to the national leadership, and is the teacher of a whole new batch of warforged, and the warforged medic Solace, an NPC whose existence began as a joke about Seeker having a whirlwind romance with a medic in the space of about 23 minutes while the rest of the party were running errands.

Hot damn was that a lot of work. Three and a half years, and despite it starting in modules by the second I'd decided I didn't like the story as it was written, threw it out, and told my own story. Featuring friendly little fire elementals named Phil, packs of extremely patriotic and laddish mimics named Jimmy, an eight foot robotic sweetheart named Friend whose primary weapon was an equally massive tower shield and her totally-not-boyfriend warforged druid/allosaurus/swearasaurus Din, a wrestling match with a hobgoblin that nearly turned lethal when an 18 foot tall warforged titan came in with the steel chair, an alligator with a gun, and banishing the elemental dragon powering a flying battleship while A) the team was still on the battleship and B) it was still several hundred feet in the air and C) it was the only thing keeping it there... it's done.

And it was all worth it. God I love these guys. So here's to you, Katie, Jacquie, Mike, Stan, and Will. I'll see you all next week for our next adventure.

#dnd #dungeons & dragons #dnd 5e #forever DM #eberron #i want a fucking medal #anyone who runs a full campaign from 1 to high levels and herds a half dozen people into regular games should get a certificate or somethin #and for SOME REASON I'm running the next campaign too! #I mean I love GMing but still

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Iomedae: The Hand of the Inheritor

CR 15

Lawful Good Large Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 292 (image from the Wrath of the Righteous video game!)

Among the most famous of the Divine Heralds is the first one we'll be looking at during Heralds of Hope Month. I say 'most famous' for a few reasons; he's one of the most active Heralds on the planet, what with that whole Worldwound problem going on in the north. There is rarely a moment's rest allowed for the Hand of the Inheritor in the tireless battle against the Abyss' expansion, so it's perhaps no small surprise surprise that he would eventually make a terrible and tragic mistake and end up the mercy of someone without any.

There's other reasons he's famous, in and out of universe, and those reasons are why he's no longer the Herald of Iomedae.

But this isn't talking about the now, we're still in the then! When he was at his strongest, healthiest, and least corrupted most devoted to the ideals of the Inheritor Goddess. Fittingly enough for the servant of what is essentially the Goddess of Paladins, the Hand is an angel blessed with the powers of a Paladin, built for and unafraid to put himself right in the middle of a pitched battle and cut his way through Evil like a hot knife while they struggle ineffectually to harm him. Like all angels, he's protected by a 20ft "nuh-uh" bubble that shields himself and all his allies from Evil creatures, granting them and him +4 to AC and to saving throws versus Evil creatures and effects, while also hedging out Evil summoned creatures and stopping any spell of 3rd level or lower from entering this sphere of protection, stripping many fiendish minions of their ranged options.

But of course, that's just what every angel can do. Let's look at what the Hand's unique powers have in store...

HAH, gotcha! The Hand of the Inheritor has no unique powers! I wasn't joking when I said he was basically an angel with Paladin class levels. ... except not really, because an angel with Paladin class levels would actually be much better than the poor Hand actually ends up being. But we'll get to that in a moment, so first, the positives!

Perhaps fittingly for a man who finds himself fighting alongside the front lines against demons, the Hand is just as useful bolstering his allies as he is actually leaping ahead of them into the fray. He has Aid, Lesser Restoration, Dispel Magic, and Magic Weapon all at-will, can grant himself or his allies Bull's Strength or Resist Energy 3/day, can swath the battlefield in a calming Prayer up to 3/day, and give everyone around him some extra stats and 18 temp HP with Burst of Glory 3/day. Any ally that falls in the midst of battle may be re-raised with his 3/day Raise Dead, but actually killing anyone he's trying to protect in order to draw out that resurrection is incredibly hard because of his 1/days: Death Ward, Dispel Evil, Greater Restoration, and Heal.

Killing HIM is even more annoying, because he's got 15 charges of Lay on Hands, which means +9d6 hitpoints for him as a swift action, IF you manage to get past his 32 AC. With such a menagerie of protective magic, you may think he's got no room for offense, to which I answer: 3/day Flame Strike, Holy Smite AND Order's Wrath to bring down on his foes from a distance, smiting entire crowds of them at once, and of course that's nothing compared to what happens when he gets in close. His 150ft flight speed lets him cross entire battlefields in seconds and settle down to begin Full-Attacking up to four times a round with his +2 Holy Longsword for 2d6+9 (+2d6 vs Evil) damage. Not only does he have a threatening sword, but his shield isn't just for defense, and he can indeed bash someone twice a round with his +2 Heavy Steel Shield for 1d6+5 damage. Anyone slammed by his shield is subject to a free Bull Rush attempt from the Herald as well, letting him reposition dangerous enemies as he needs.

Quite the force! But, sadly, that's about where everything of particular note ends. His Protective Aura is always on, and he's also got a 10ft Aura of Courage to grant his allies +4 against fear effects... But nothing else. Why, exactly, he lacks any of the other aura abilities a Paladin of his HD would have is a question I have no good answer for, and while he DOES have Lay on Hands (9d6 HP, 15/day), he lacks any Mercies to flavor the ability in any way or make it any more substantial... and, even more damning AND more baffling, he has no ability to Smite Evil. Given where he works, you'd think Mercies and Smite Evil would have been the second things Iomedae wrote on his sheet right after she finished giving him his gear.

Fun fact on that note, though: He wasn't originally Iomedae's Herald, he was Ragathiel's, and joined Iomedae's crusade after being awed by her skills and her sense of justice. She didn't even make him! But being the Herald of Ragathiel just makes his lack of auras, Mercies, and Smite Evil even MORE glaring, because Ragathiel has all of those.

There's also one unfortunate choice in regards to his skills that feels like a pretty big weakness: His impressive flight speed goes to waste with his lack of Fly ranks, meaning anything but a straight line is difficult for him to manage, and certain weather conditions or enemy attacks can severely impact his ability to remain airborne. He has more ranks in SWIM than in Fly! SWIM!

A lot of the Heralds in Inner Sea Gods have similar design choices, which is a huge shame, because that's where almost every Good-aligned Divine Herald is found! Whoof! His showing in the Wrath of the Righteous video game was significantly more impressive, with the ability to use Wall of Force and apply Smite Evil to entire crowds of enemies at once.

I'm not saying he's weak, no, he's actually a very powerful and stubbornly resilient melee beatstick that's outright immune to most demonic tricks and tools, but he's got some design flaws and odd choices that make it hard for someone like me to be interested in him. Perhaps this is why he's eventually superseded by someone with actual Paladin levels.

You can read more about him here.

#monster spotlight #holy heralds month #CR 11 to 15 #Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

[11queensupreme11]

Since you already answered the 'who would want kids' question, you interested in giving us the Arsenic Blues edition of 'how many kids would they want' and 'best to worst dad' like tsunami? I feel like those would be a lot more fucked up since

A) They have an eternity to make kids with Percy(let's say she's immortal too) and

B) Incest. Who is to say their kids won't inherit the yandereness of their dad towards their mom? Filicide, anyone?

YOU ARE TOTALLY RIGHT THIS WOULD DEFINITELY BE SO MUCH MORE FUCKED UP HAHAHAHAHAHA 👹

Daddyseidon: this guy went from wanting 0 kids to wanting a whole army. Would prefer to have sons with Percy so he could put them in a position of power by kicking out the kings ruling the other six kingdoms of atlantis and place them on the throne instead. Let's be honest, his sons would probably be yandere for their mom too so rip to percy she is NEVER catching a break

Hades: would also want a bunch of kids. at first, he would settle with like five, but then they grow up and he'll go into his "i miss my babies 🥺" phase and then get the bright idea of just having more babies with percy. Plus, he loves how cute she looks when pregnant and how dependent of him she is

Apollo: wants hundreds of kids and would probs have to expand delos just to fit them all lmao. Unlike the other two idiots ^^ he would take his time with the babymaking because, as the god of healing, he knows how stressful it could be carrying a baby especially since Percy would still be trying to get used to her new divine status.

Beelzebub: will happily settle for like... three at the beginning of their relationship. Mans just so happy to have a beautiful wife and such perfect children. His happy little family 🥺 Genuinely never thought something so good would ever happen to him, so he just wants to take his time and bask in it all. Maybe after a century he would bring up the idea of having more kids

Okay, now... as for best to worst daddy:

Apollo: Have you seen this guy's backstory in the manga yet? He would be SUCH a good father. He would teach his kids to work hard and that they're beautiful they way they are 🥹 Unlike with Hades, he would encourage them to find love and teach them to cherish their lover (he also prays that they don't inherit his bad luck with love, he might actually start a war with Aphrodite if they do)

Hades: The only reason he's below Apollo is because Hades would have no issues in keeping his children, his daughters especially, locked up within the confines of his palace in Helheim. He's an overprotective father and knows how lovesick gods behave when they're faced with a beautiful place (he knows because he was that lovesick god lmao)

Beelzebub: You're probably wondering why he's so low. Well, it's because he's not actually afraid to experiment on his children 💀 Ya you heard me right, while he'll be a very doting and protective father, he also wants his kids to have more of Percy's features than his own. A part of him still feels self-loathing so he hates the thought of his lovely children inheriting his "ugly" features. So he would experiment on his kids while in-utero to make sure they have Percy's features (tanner skin, sea-green eyes, black hair, etc)

Daddyseidon: Bro he fucked his own daughter ofc he'd be down here 😭

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues

[quitealotofsodapop]

So in the Monkey King and the Infant AU, Guanyin and Iron Fan are sisters right?

What was their relationship like? And how did Guanyin feel about Red Son being taken from Iron Fan?

Would Guanyin put up much resistance to Iron Fan trying to take her son back or would she just kinda let it happen? It's Iron Fan's kid afterall.

It's... complicated.

I did try to draft up a rough Royal Family Tree a while back, and Guanyin/Songzi is listed as one of the Jade Emperor and Xiwangmu's daughters, aka Iron Fan's older sister.

You see Guanyin isn't biologically related to the Jade Imperial Family.

But her soul is.

Let me explain.

Guanyin/Kuan Yin is the current incarnation of the First Jade Princess Songzi - the eldest child of the Jade Emperor and the Queen Mother of the West.

Whilst studying under Bixia Yuanjun, the Goddess of Birth and Destiny, Songzi realised that she was disatisfied with her heavenly existence, and longed to experience the cycle of mortal life and death her teacher spoke of.

Then one day Zhinu the Seventh Princess; would abandon her cushy life in the Celestial Realm to be with a human man. Only for the Jade Emperor and his wife to tear the happy couple apart by literally splitting the skies open so that they could never meet. Zhinu and her husband and children were forced to become cosmic castaways in order to escape Heaven's authority.

Songzi had lost her then-youngest sister all because she loved someone.

So one day, Songzi decided to no longer eat the Peaches or drink the Wine. Many fights were had between her and her family over the matter, with them even trying to force her to consume an Elixir of Immortality just to lengthen her time.

Until one day, Songzi passed on. The details are unclear.

The Celestial Realms quaked with the sorrow that overtook the royal family for thousands of years to come.

Songzi would reincarnate many times in the proceding years. Sometimes as an animal, an asura, a mortal man, or in the case of Miao Shan; a human princess. And each time, she would choose mercy over violence or spite.

As Miao Shan, she refused to marry and instead became a buddhist nun/healer, much to the distaste of her father Miaozhuang Wang. He would then execute Miao Shan for defying him/having powers that scared tf out of him, but she still forgave him and her executioner. Even while staying in a layer of Naraka/Hell, Miao Shan managed to alleviate the pain and torment of those around her - so much so that King Yama the God of Hell kicked her out. (Bonus lore detail+ Miao Shan is frequently associated with Tigers and lions during her tale, which is the celestial animal of Xiwangmu...)

The now-revived Miao Shan would spend many years meditating and helping out lost fisherman while chilling on Fragrant Mountain/Southern Seas. Until one day she heard that her King bio-dad was dying, and that the eyes and arms of a pure being could cure him - so she offered up her own. In this great act of forgiveness she became Guanyin.

The Celestial Realm noticed this and upon recieving confirmation of who she once was; wanted Guanyin to immediately return to Heaven and retake her position as the First Jade Princess.

However, Guanyin realised that she couldn't just leave earth behind while there was still so much mortal sufferring that she could heal. So she became Bodhisattva so that she may still act directly with mortals and the Buddha.

All the Jade Emperor and Xiwangmu can do is sigh with both frustration and resignation. Thats their eldest daughter for you.

From Heaven's perspective, it's a lot like the "Steven isn't Pink Diamond, but kinda?" situation in Steven Universe. The Celestials don't 100% understand that reincarnation isn't a direct copy-paste; Guanyin isn't Songzi anymore, though she still holds her soul and her powers. If she ever truly wanted, she could become next in line for the throne.

A similar situation happens later with Lady Yin - Nezha's mother, who reincarnated as a human woman and decided to stay that way even as her husband and sons become Gods/Celestials in their own rights. Nezha is in turn considered *legally* the grandchild of the Jade Emperor, despite not having a genetic link to him.

Princess Tieshan/"Iron Fan" was born shortly after all these deaths occurred, becoming the youngest out of all of the royal daughters. She grew up hearing how perfect her missing sisters were. All perfect except for that One Little Thing that caused them to lose their place in Heaven and by-proxy; their parents love. These harsh warnings and lessons to never let her emotions rule her decisions, accidentally led Iron Fan to fall for a demon who wore his heart on his sleeve - the Demon Bull King.

As for how Guanyin felt about Red Son being taken from his parents? She felt bad honestly - but she thought that he would cause so much more damage if he was allowed to run around undiciplined. And being legally First Princess, she was allowed to make the decision for his "punishment" when the toddler Red Son did something that greatly angered/terrified the gods...

As for Iron Fan coming to pick Red up from the Southern Sea? Guanyin is literally like; "Ok sure. I'm glad you're taking initiative again. I made sure Red didn't age so you two could make up for lost parent-child time. Call me if you need anything."

Princess Iron Fan really isn't sure how to react around Guanyin. The Bodhisattva may have the soul of her eldest sister - but she acts like a younger one to her (as Miao Shan was the youngest of three), and is a neutral party in the debate of Heaven vs Everyone Else. So the best PIF can do is call her Red's "auntie" and not elaborate on the details.

One of my mutuals @dorothygale123 has been reading through chinese mythology, and was the one to open the door for me on the Guanyin origin story. I've been looking through different articles, and have decided "tired reincarned goddess" is my au's interpetation of Guanyin.

#lmk guanyin #lmk backstory hcs #chinese mythology #the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #lmk princess iron fan #lmk pif #lmk red son #hong hai'er #lmk the jade emperor #lmk xiwangmu #lmk the queen mother of the west #long post

[idreaminmugiwara]

Part 2 of 2! Alright, Dressrosa, let's talk about it. This will be SPOILER HEAVY so if you have not gotten this far in One Piece turn back, ye lousy land lubber!!! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!!

This guy. This guy right fucking here. I love him, your honor. In a show that is absolutely chock full of attractive characters, Law wins Sexiest Man in the One Piece Universe for me. The man is a SURGEON, a Warlord of the Sea, and walks around shirtless with them abs because a motherfucker CAN. His backstory is, in my opinion, one of the top three most devastating in the entire series as well (Robin and Nami are the other two). When I found out his tattoos were to honor Corazon, the tears started falling, man.

I sincerely hope we get more of him in future arcs because while he did feature prominently in this one narratively, he was either getting carried around like a sack of potatoes by Luffy or getting his ass absolutely handed to him by Doflamingo. I can't wait to see him fully powered and healed up.

Now had it already been spoiled for me that Sabo would make a comeback and somehow also have the powers of the Flare-Flare fruit? Yes. Because the internet has absolutely no fucking chill. Did I expect his return to be one of the most powerful emotional beats of the entire series? I did not. Luffy's reaction to finding out Sabo was still alive was one of the most beautiful moments in over 700 episodes of OP for me. Mayumi Tanaka knocked it out of the park with the voice acting here. I sincerely hope to see Luffy and Sabo reunited in future arcs.

After waiting and waiting....and WAITING for the final duel between Luffy and Doflamingo, I have to say that Gear Fourth did not disappoint. It was entirely extra and completely in alignment with Luffy's personality. He earned the long and several tons of meat in the episodes that followed.

Final thoughts:

I mostly loved the collaseum fight. The pacing was great in the beginning and some of the newer characters, specifically Cavendish and Bartolomeo were a delight to have on screen.

The toy soldier episode broke me in twain. Gorgeous, emotional, Kyros wins for dad of the millennium.

Bellamy may be the dumbest motherfucker on this show and that's truly saying something.

Not loving how every single arc seems to sexualize and objectify young women's bodies (Rebecca is 16, y'all)

God Usopp was one of the funniest moments in all of One Piece

Zushi Zushi no Mi, god DAMN...is that potentially another world ending devil fruit like the one Whitebeard had??

The pirates swearing allegiance to Luffy gave me the CHILLS...homeboy is building a fleet without even friggin trying

The Straw Hats are a prime example of: if you believe in something strong enough, it will absolutely manifest. They're all goddamn magicians.

I just started Zou and am already in love. It's such a shift in tone and pacing from the exhausting yet important arc that was Dressrosa. On to the next binge session :)

#one piece #one piece anime #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #one piece sabo #sabo #one piece spoilers #gear fourth #trafalgar law #law one piece #king of the pirates

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

Extremely niche post catering to approximately six of my mutuals and/or followers about how I think the GreedFall characters (in an idealised, good ending where a cure is possible and everyone is happy) would react/interact with the BG3 companions and Tav (well. my original tav, at least)

Vasco is hard to warm up to new people, but then he hears Wyll and Karlach hyping each other up and talking about their adventures, and especially with the way Wyll romanticises things so much, he's now listening SO intently. In return the two of them are enraptured when Vasco describes his life as a Naut, and the range of things he experienced on the seas at such a young age. He has an almost pained sort of reaction when he hears about Wyll growing up as nobility, and circumstances ripping him away from it, but is inspired to know how Wyll grows from that experience to be so much more than just the Duke's son. He really loves how much Karlach loves her people

Siora is also a little stressed about how she would be received but Jaheira and Halsin are super easy to gravitate towards and there is very quickly an understanding as they discuss their deep connections to the land and their people. Siora describes the Nádaig with such reverence and fear and awe and the two druids are positively spellbound. Halsin talks about Thaniel, and then both he and Jaheira take turns describing their wildshaping and giving some demonstrations, much to Siora's delight. I think she would also be quietly in awe of the other women in the group too, and their prowess and experiences

Kurt is pretty standoffish and just wants to keep an eye on De Sardet and Constantin, but at some point he strikes up a conversation with Shadowheart and Astarion. It's tense and cagey for a long while, and I'm not sure how it would even come up, but he learns of the Dark Justiciar training and Astarion's past under Cazador's heel, and then he's gently sharing his own traumatic experiences to show how much he understands. The camp, and the things they were made to do.... Nobody makes mention of the quick, but fiercely protective hugs between the three of them (I headcanon Kurt is a hugger. The man WILL crush someone in a hug). There is a wordless bond of strength and healing through action (and no small amount of revenge)

Aphra and Gale are warily eyeing each other up, but man. You can fit so many 'intense special interest in my chosen field of study' into these bad boys. If you can get one of them to shut up for long enough, the other will just as easily keep the conversation going. They don't quite understand much of what the other is talking about but there is mutual acceptance and respect from a scholarly point of view. Gale mentions the view from his tower in Waterdeep, and Aphra's resolve will crumble as she describes the observatories where she grew up

Petrus is stuck between Lae'zel and Minthara who are both ranting about power struggles and God/s in the Fanatics Corner™️. He quickly learns to keep his mouth shut unless he's asked for an opinion, but there is a great deal of intelligent theological debate, and about how to deal with hierarchy and control of a people, when what they have been told is the truth, simply. Is not.

De Sardet and Tav are passing a bottle of something STRONGLY alcoholic back and forth, lamenting the staggering amount of work that a 'Chosen Leader' has to do to bring people together and broker some sort of peace or alliance, OR make the hard choice and cut ties before things become unsalvageable. The conversation starts off pretty unhappy and painful, but ends with a lot of hope and love

Finally, Constantin has been utterly charmed by Minsc and Boo. So neither the Stone Lord nor our dear, darling ball of curiosity, Constantin, are causing any trouble right now. Boo is pulling every string and eldritch(?) favour he can to keep this duo contained

#greedfall #siora #captain vasco #captain kurt #de sardet #constantin d'orsay #aphra #petrus #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #astarion ancunin #wyll ravengard #karlach #shadowheart hallowleaf #lae'zel #gale dekarios #minsc and boo #jaheira #halsin #minthara #bg3 tav #bg3 blogging #greedfall blogging

[hyperfocuscentre]

giving disney princesses godly parents 'cause i'm bored

RAPUNZEL: I feel like Apollo is probably the most obvious option. She has a talent for singing and is incredibly creative: she sews her own outfits, makes candles and paints every blank space on her walls with colourful depictions of the things she sees and dreams of. Not even mentioning the healing powers. With the ungodly amount of time she had trapped in that tower, I'm gonna guess (using all the scenes of her completing her MANY hobbies) that she has a lot of knowledge of the most random shit. Also, the whole single drop of sunlight thing. I suppose you could also argue Asclepius as her parent, since she did manage to bring Eugene back to life but I'm gonna stick with Apollo.

MERIDA: So, not a godly parent but I'm counting it.. She'd be a Hunter of Artemis. The events of the entire movie are ripples caused by the rock that is Merida's refusal to get married (she's so aromantic, I love her). She'd much preferred to spend her time out in nature, shooting her arrows and doing everything that isn't expected of her as a princess. Again, I think it's pretty easy to place her.

MULAN: Okay, so my first thought was Ares. She's courageous and a brilliant fighter; an inexperienced woman surrounded by assumably-more-experienced men, yet she manages to be better than basically all of them. She's a victor of war. Maybe Mars, since I believe he's basically the more controlled and less brutal version of Ares? (atleast in HOO, anyway). You could also say Athena, she's strategic and seems to easily come up with strong plans mid action (the disguise herself as a man, the avalanche, the men disguise themself as women, the fan, the diy zipline. There's probably more that I've forgot). Maybe there's other obvious options but I'm lazy and sticking with my first thoughts but I'd be happy to hear other ideas.

MOANA: So, Poseidon was the first thought, for obvious reasons. She's got the whole connection with water and a longing to sail the seas that's linked towards her heritage, culture and it's history. Maybe, she's like Frank, a descendant of Poseidon with a family that's always seemed to be connected to the sea god (minus the shapeshifting powers, obviously). You could also link her to Palaemon, who I don't know much about so feel free to correct me, the protector of sailors (I believe he is a sea deity, or atleast thats what I read??). Choosing a greek deity for Moana is low-key hard cause she already has dieties (is that a word??) within her story so I'm gonna leave it at that because why not.

AURORA: So, most people's minds probably jumped to Hypnos immediately 'cause she's.. well.. sleeping beauty. Or maybe even Aphrodite 'cause, again, sleeping beauty. I can't argue against that because those are very valid ideas, though I'm more for daughter of Aphrodite than Hypnos because the whole sleep thing wasn't something she willingly wanted and was actually just tricked into doing. My mind kind of went to Pan- if thats possible- because I distinctly remember a scene with her in the woods, connecting with woodland creatures/wild (I don't know anything about this movie, help).

SNOW WHITE: Okay so I'm gonna say Aphrodite and leave it at that because I remember NOTHING about this movie other than her step-mother or someone wanted her dead for the absolutely treacherous act of being prettier.

ANNA, my beloved: Definitely not the most obvious option, but I want to go with Aphrodite again. She has an obsession with romance, she's desperate to be loved and feel love. She wants the butterflies, the pounding heart, the hand holding and the warm expanding feeling in her chest when she sees her lover. She literally tries to marry a man she just met. I also love this idea because it goes against almost every stereotype of a child of Aphrodite; she's a fighter, fierce and easily capable of defending herself; she isn't weak or helpless. She's one of the few princesses who gets the man whilst still being presented as a total badass. Furthermore, she loves so strongly in non-romantic ways too. She constantly stands at that door, trying to reconnect with a sister who suddenly refuses to talk to her. She SACRIFICES herself for that same sister.

ELSA: Boreas, he's the god of winter and ice. She has ice powers. I can't be bothered trying to think of a less obvious option but feel free to tell me about one that comes to your mind.

ARIEL: Triton. It's literally canon.

BELLE: Minerva is probably a very obvious option, if she can have kids the same way Athena did (can't remember). Belle values books and knowledge, the wisdom that comes with reading. She feels like the type of girl who would love to go to school and Minerva is supposedly the goddess of that. I'd like to be a bit less obvious and probably a lot more wrong (oh well) so I'm gonna also say one of the Muses is a possible option. Wikipedia tells me they were considered goddesses of literature, science and the arts. If I had to pick one I'd pick Erato probably, the muse of love poetry since, if my memory serves me correctly, Belle was reading a romance??

CINDERELLA: Maybe the child of Hestia? That is, if Hestia decided one day to throw away her oath of virginity or found a way to have kids without that. I'm not sure entirely why, it's just a vibe. Maybe favoured by Hera, since a marriage literally saved her from a life of abuse? I don't remember much of this movie, whoops.

I have absolutely no idea for anyone else and I give up so take what you have been given! Thanks to anyone who actually stuck with me and read through all this.

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