#staples bounty

[mugiwara-lucy]

Just imagine Rika's reaction to how big her honorary big brothers have gotten! 🥹

#one piece #one piece film red #rika #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #coby #like.....one of my BIGGEST gripes of the wano arc was the LACK of hometown bounty reactions! #HOW do you miss that!? it's been a staple of the series since arlong park and you're gonna skip that!? #ugh all for film red #'

[undercoverpena]

isn't it

din djarin x f!reader

summary: at first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at. but, at some point between your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

warnings: mentions of smut/alludes to smut. bad star wars writing (probs, i'm new forgive me). no use of y/n. brief mention/allusion of hand necklace (thanks @rhoorl for the term), m!oral, p in v. loosely season one/two, although likely au. wordcount: 1.7k an: a huge massive thank you to @saradika for firstly convincing me i could do this, and then letting me show her this so i could be assured i didn't butcher him. ily so much 🤍

It’s beautiful.

The sound of wind rustling through it, how it waves in spots up and down the hill—moving side to side like a cosmic wave.

You thought you’d known green until now; thought you had known silver too, assumed you understood the way reflections worked and how quick movements could be. But that was before him.

Before you’d known the feel of his solid body lay on top of yours.

Then, you discovered a lot of things. Like how easy it was to spread your thighs on either side of him. For your fingers to seek in the dark—how they effortlessly hunt and find the parts he’ll expose to the night, but never to the light.

You even found you don’t hate the sound of your name when he says it. Somehow makes it longer, more impactful—like it has meaning when it comes from his mouth.

All of which were things you’d never known before you convinced him to bring you.

A promise, a barter—an exchange. Your hand clutching his blaster slugs, tears clutching to your lashes, flowing from your eyes—aware of what you look like, aware of the desperation you reek of.

Just take me to a different planet. A suitable one. Please.

At first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at.

A bogus reason, a ploy—all stemmed from a rising infatuation with the man under beskar. But, at some point between your cheek against the wall of his ship and your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

But, this place is a gift—it’s a slice of heaven.

It had been a stop gap you’d almost pleaded at him not to make, a pause in the travel plan. Now you’re not sure you want to leave it.

Because here is a sea of greens, a variety, a never-ending display of every shade between the letters which make up the name. Some are more saturated, some are deeper; some are tinged with yellows and others are blotted with dark spots that aim to discolour, but just make them more unique.

There’s no bounty here—no collection to be made.

Just a sight for your eyes and a moment for him. And, you think you could sit here for hours and bask in it. Take it in. Allow the air of this planet to fill your lungs and carve a space inside of you that no one will ever be able to rip from you.

Stroking your fingers through the ground, you feel how your tunic presses to your spine—how it’s held there by the perspiration on your spine. The fabric desperate to blow, to whip around your ribs and the sleeves to float around your arms.

You don’t care that it’s warm—don’t mind that you can feel your skin prickling under it.

Because you’re lost in it, the limitlessness of this place. How surreal it is that each blade points north to the sky, all upright, anchored pleasingly to the ground it came from.

Things had been beautiful earlier too, you remind yourself.

When you had been enveloped by darkness, not a slither of light—not that there’d be the space for it in the small cot. His hands, forever a staple, an anchor, to your hips, determined to pin you there.

He’s a man who chases after those who run, and you suppose it’s ingrained in him. This belief that everyone, at some point, will leave—will go. You think it’s why he holds you tightly when you’re nothing but bare; you suppose it’s why after, when he unsheathes himself, he always traces his thumb over the places his fingers have been, reminding your skin he’s kind, just in case you need another reminder not to leave.

“We should go.”

You hum because you should. Yet, your mind rationalises that the baby is still asleep and there are more minutes to sit in the silence, to not dwell—you suppose it’s why your hand reaches up, and brushes over the gloved fingers instead.

Action is easier than words when it comes to him.

A game the two of you play, one of silence and strategy—wondering who’d be the first to crack and speak more words than necessary. You suspect it’ll be you in time, likely soon enough.

It’s why you clutch, cling. Weaving and working until you’re holding his fingers at an odd angle, a silent plea there, a wishful hope spoken without using syllables or your lips and mouth.

“One more minute.”

“Okay,” you respond.

Watching the strands move again, swaying, dancing.

A content sigh rolls from you, and briefly—in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re really awake. Whether this is some form of peace your brain has concocted after the sight of him stained in crimson; his palms flat in the air, modulator expelling he’s fine, it isn’t his, he’s okay, it’s okay—

For a while, you’d believed him, until you felt the bruises—all pulsing and colouring in shades you can’t imagine. An image being drawn, shaded in—forever in black and white, just outlines and half-concocted feelings you have on what lives under his armour.

He sighs next to you, it rattling out through his helmet.

And you wait to hear it, the confirmation he normally hands you. Deep, even through his modulator that this “isn’t it” either.

It’s been a routine ever since the two of you began this dalliance. Ever since you’d smuggled yourself aboard his ship with the promise that you’d never ask him for anything else.

Neither realising how false that would be.

You beg for a lot. For more, for his lips, his fingers and his cock. You wait for the darkness, count down to it—thrum with excitement for it when he steps down the ladder and his helmet is aimed in your direction.

Somehow, no words are said, just mutual acknowledgement, acceptance. Or that's what you call it. It being seemingly better than admitting that you crave it—him. That you care, that the sight of him smeared in ruby still haunts you—lingers there, bleeds into good days and casts shadows while you wait in the hull. The child in your arms, soothing him—telling yourself you’re giving him comfort, when you suppose you gain more from the small being than you could ever provide.

“This isn’t it,” he eventually says from above.

His helmet turned, and you imagine the eyes that live under it. Question if they’re almond-shaped or hooded, whether they’re brown, green or blue. You also wonder if he looks at you with curiosity or want, whether it’s with a thousand thoughts running or none at all.

“No?”

“No. Not this one.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Let your ears do the seeing.

Allow your other senses to kick in, to swallow the lack of sight and make do. You end up lingering on the gloved hand in yours—the one which sometimes slides around your neck, lightly pinches either side as you moan at the feel of him. The same hand which slides down your spine to aid your motion, or lingers there when the terrain isn't trouble-free.

It's the remembering which makes you let go of it, of him.

Quickly managing to pretend your hand doesn’t feel cold when you do. Stuff down the emptiness that begins to drown you in the space you put between you, as you stand up. A part of you admitting defeat, silently saying goodbye to tall stands of green and the rolling hills adorned with shades.

“Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

It rumbles from you. All heavy, laced in its own metal—ready to slam into him and take him down.

It doesn’t. You’re not sure any words ever could.

You suppose it’s why he says nothing, silently following, not too far so that you’re alone, but not close enough that you can feel the ghost of his touch. The distance measured, all purposeful. It remains so until you’re back aboard, until the door closes behind you and you’re once again surrounded by metal.

A part of you knows you shouldn’t grow used to him, shouldn’t be waiting for him to flood your spine with his chest. But you do—you really fucking do.

It’s why you don’t move, don’t take a step closer to check on the baby or even unclench your hand from around the strands of green you’d stolen. The ones you���d ripped up from the ground, roots tickling your wrist—the rest remaining tucked closely between curled fingers and a sweaty palm.

Yours. The smallest piece of a place you’ll likely never see.

“You should sleep.”

It’s an order. Direct—practically thrown at you. Followed by a tight grip on your waist, fingers finding the same place they always do. His place. The one not needing a mark, but he leaves them all the same, ownership, a possession.

Sometimes in the throes of it, you hear him hiss mine, jus’ mine—your head nodding in the dark, because you are, you know you are, the same as you suspect he knows he’s yours. It’s another thing which festers behind your teeth, keeping lips clamped shut, knowing it requires no confirmation, no words in exchange for the momentary slip-up he lets escape. But then, you offer nothing when you trace mine against him with your tongue, when you muffle the words around his shaft as your mouth widens to take more of him.

It’s just pleasure, an easy-to-choose solution to another body being in proximity—a lie you tell yourself.

One you bargain with when he sleeps and you’re coated in the dark, convincing yourself until sleep carries you away and you wake to find yourself either alone or the very opposite.

Because it’s easier, simpler. Far better than admitting your heart does a double take when he returns, that you yearn for him in the days that pass when he leaves you on the ship.

It’s less complicated than asking him if you’ll ever be worthy of seeing him.

And you’re not the type of person to question. So you don’t.

And so the routine continues.

an: you don't know how long this has been burning in my head.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

[stirringwinds]

are there certain visual themes or imagery you yourself particularly associate with yao as an artist or writer? i'm trying to visualize the nations better...

hmmm, interesting question. i like incorporating nature imagery into the hetalias, especially old nations like yao. there's something mythical and compelling about the sense of age and vastness that evokes. these are some (non-exhaustive) thoughts i've had:

a. i always associate yao with rivers and water; the Yellow River in particular, which is often seen as the "cradle" of Chinese civilisation (but of course, there's also the Yangtze, and the Pearl River too). rivers are life-giving but also untameable, powerful and dangerous—the Yellow River's fertile silt birthed agriculture and civilisation, but its destructive floods have claimed uncounted lives over the millennia of Chinese history. and...that's kind of how yao is, as a nation and an empire, towards others of their kind. the source of cultural and artistic innovations, but also death. water can be fluid, life-giving and nurturing, but also as treacherous as a torrential flood sweeping everything away, no?

like the Yellow River's relationship with humanity, yao's impact on world history feels to me like this duality of life and death; peace and warfare; mentor, empire, conqueror... it's like, yao's been a teacher to many others but...i don't think their predominant image of him is as a warm and nurturing figure. maybe more so with his own people, but less so with other nations. being the old warlord he is, he'd say certain things very matter-of-factly (especially to yong-soo and kiku), about how power is the only language their kind universally understands, or about history being written by the victors (when we consider how the only surviving written sources about certain periods of asian history are only chinese ones...), inasmuch he'd talk about the importance of confucian virtue, integrity and humility on other occasions.

b. for obvious reasons; dragons—they and rivers both have that overlapping association of being serpentine, powerful and untameable. in contrast to how european dragons often took on villainous roles and were harbingers of disaster, it's important to note chinese dragons usually have far more positive cultural connotations. they symbolise prosperity, fortune and are guardians; often associated with power over water (so again; Yao and rivers and water.) many dragons are associated with a particular river or sea. they're also believed to have powers over the weather and were often prayed to. after all, the capriciousness of the rains ruled people's lives so much through natural disasters or made a difference between a bountiful harvest and a famine. so, i think at various points in history his people might also have understood him as a literal dragon (spirit/deity) walking around in a human guise. dragons are also a visual staple of chinese culture, from statues to jewellery. at the same time: while they're auspicious symbols—dragons can of course have aggressive and far less benign connotations if we consider how they became symbols of the emperor—and thus chinese imperial power and dominion over others. he evokes majesty, but also dread from that perspective.

c. plum blossoms: much like the sakura in japanese culture, plum blossoms are one beloved motif you'll see showing up in chinese art and literature throughout history. they're elegant and ethereal, also a symbol of both transience and renewal in a way, i'd say—their blossoms wither and die, but they come back each year. there's also that saying about how without a bitter cold, you won't have the sweet fragrance of plum blossoms, because they start blooming in winter. that's...very yao to me. china, as an idea, makes me think of a lot of elegant and refined traditional culture (like poetry or paintings) which plum blossoms recall—but i also think of humbler themes—the simpler idea of someone and something who is enduring, adaptable and resilient. who endures the harshest weather time and time again until spring arrives, the way my (peasant) ancestors probably did, carving their way through all the hardships of chinese history. yao might appear refined in an indulgent, wealthy way when he's dressed in his finest silk hanfu or a smart western suit in the modern day—but if you shake his hand, his palms are always callused and you can just see the weight (and hard-won experience) of centuries in his gaze.

#hetalia #hws china #hetalia headcanons #wang yao

[cebwrites]

Hiya! Can I request Law and/or Zoro x a male reader who constantly tries to work in couples/working together moves in fights as a his own kinda love language/flirting depending on if you think the relationship would need to be established first or not.

Like Reader and them are cornered mid-fight and Reader's just like, "Finally! I've been waitin to try out this new axe! Launch me, darlin! >:-)"

a/n: hi anon, I went with marimo since he's been on the brain lately <3

Zoro x M!Reader Battle Couple HCs

masc reader, transmasc Zoro word count: 0.6k

Whether Zoro meets you out in the wild as a bounty hunter (reader having to team up with Luffy and Koby to help break Zoro out of the marine compound is a cute idea though) or when he's already a Strawhat, the beginnings are typically the same - you catch Zoro's eye briefly because of his prowess but it's not until you're forced to work in close proximity that Zoro really takes interest in the your skills and you as a person overall

Beginning to care for you as one of his own, knowing that the other can kick enough ass on their own but having each other's backs not because you don't trust his strength or vice versa but because you love and still look out for one another, each of you powerhouses in their own right still

Not that Zoro would ever associate himself with anyone intolerant nor hide himself to begin with, but I think the moment he walks around topless (op or no) and you give no significant reaction, is when Zoro tells himself you're safe to be around and starts being a tad more buddy-buddy; this usually means more tussling in the bath and impromptu "wrestling" matches on the lawn, no weapons of course, just horsing around

Franky outright bans "serious" sparring matches on the Sunny after everyone comes reunites after two years, he'd heard about how much Zoro and Sanji tore up the Merry in the past with their squabbles from Usopp and has no intention to have to seriously patch Sunny up every other day - so you're both relegated to only having serious tests of strength on land (not that smaller skirmishes aren't allowed, Franky just keeps a close eye on you two so that it doesn't turn into anything more heated)

Zoro automatically has a vested interest in all the cool, sharp new toys his boyfriend brings back to the ship, whether you have a staple one like Wado, Sandai Kitetsu, and now Enma are to him, or you prefer a revolving door of weapons with no particular favorites

He helps you clean and take care of any blades you might carry, maybe even leading to cuddles and something more after the heat of battle you filthy animals, and though he doesn't know anything about guns he's willing to learn about the upkeep for your sake - and if it's anything more technological like lasers, well at least Zoro can enjoy looking at the pretty lights and the destruction that follows

Zoro doesn't let anyone else handle his swords lightly, let alone Wado, that privilege is saved solely for other Strawhats that Zoro's absolutely sure he can trust them to protect what are ostensibly extensions of himself - so when he first puts them in your care, it's a BIG deal, along with the first time he fully shows his back to you, be it in the heat of passion or something more akin to casual, tender affection

Zoro's used to fighting in tandem with other people, the chaos of the Strawhats usually forces one to adapt like that, but if you met him before all that, the level of synchronizing you'd have with him would be unparalleled, both talented blades in your own rights alone but together? Together you're unstoppable

Zoro trusts you with his back and you allow him to see tender, wounded parts of yourself that few others even know about and he protects them like a righteous sentinel, as you are with the parts of him that he seeks to hide away in shame - his guilt, his inadequacy, his mourning, you both take on each other's pain and forge it into a power that shakes the Grand Line in your combined wake

#cebwrites #one piece #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro #op zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x male reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #transmasc zoro #male reader #op x reader #one piece x reader

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 32: Oliver's New Life

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control

Oliver woke up slowly.

He was somewhere comfortable, extremely so, and he was deeply content to curl up on his side and wrap himself in silk sheets, dipping in and out of sleep. He spent a long time in that half-awake, dreamy state before finally waking up fully.

Oliver found himself in the middle of a huge, cloud-soft bed, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in fine sheets and blankets. Indirect sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the curtains, allowing him to see just enough of the room to remember where he was. 

Alexander's home. His bedroom, in Alexander's home.

The first day with his new Master.

Instinctively, his hand flew to his neck and felt around. There were no scars, no bandages, no soreness. Master hadn't taken his blood yet, and he felt an odd swirl of relief and disappointment. He had said that he would give Oliver time to settle, so it was still coming, no doubt. But the vague notion that perhaps his blood wasn't pleasing to Master... 

But no, that thought was quelled as soon as it troubled him. His Master wanted him. Oliver had felt it so clearly, and even now the thought filled him with comfort. He was wanted here.

With his mind calmed, he yawned and stretched, enjoying the comfortable bedding. He'd slept like a log, and from the ancient looking pendulum clock on the wall, he could see that it was now 3pm. He'd slept most of the night and day away, which he probably needed after all that upheaval in his life.

That upheaval was over now that he was finally in his Master's home. 

His stomach growled, an angry reminder that he hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast last night (he was still unsure what to call his meals now that he was mostly nocturnal, but that would have to do). Alexander did say he had free reign of the kitchen, so he'd best put that to good use. 

First, though, he stood up and went to the window, pushing the curtains open to reveal a sunny afternoon, the sun only just dipping below the buildings. He squinted and flinched away from the light, realizing that it was the first sun he'd seen since he'd been abducted. He hadn't even realize how he'd missed the warmth of sunlight.

His room overlooked an ordinary city street, with pedestrians milling by on the tree-lined sidewalks. He recognized it as the most wealthy part of downtown, an area where he didn't usually have much cause to visit. It wasn't all that far from his bookshop, a leisurely twenty minute walk at most.

How strange to think that he'd lived so close to a vampire lord's manor all those years. How strange to think that his former life was so close and yet separated by so much. How strange to think that just a few weeks ago, he had no idea any of this world existed.

His Master had apparently not erased his memories, just as he'd said, because Oliver was having no trouble recalling his bookshop or his former life. Who could say what other alterations Master had made while he was under? He felt so much calmer and more contented than he had the day before, so surely it was for his benefit.

He turned from the window and padded down the stairs. The house was deathly quiet, and he assumed that the other occupant was not yet awake. When he arrived in the kitchen, he opened the window there to get some more sunlight, hoping that it wouldn't disturb Master too much -- he didn't know how sunlight might affect him, but he guessed it wasn't pleasant. For now, it helped the kitchen to feel more cheerful and human while Oliver assessed the food situation.

There was the basket of fruit on the counter that he'd noticed yesterday, as well as a loaf of bread beside -- a good start. The pantry was sparse, but held a few ordinary staples, flour and sugar and salt and potatoes and carrots, as well as some canned vegetables and beans. The largest bounty was in the ice box: eggs, milk, cheese, butter, some paper packets from the butcher's that he'd have to open and identify later, perhaps when it was time to make dinner.

There were also a few glass bottles of what was unmistakably blood. He shuddered involuntarily at the sight. They were labeled "Moonlight Farm, Fancy Grade A". So there were places dedicated to farming what he could only assume was human blood. It made perfect sense -- how else would Alexander have kept himself alive without a thrall? --  but it was still repulsive. He didn't want to think about those humans in the blood farms, no doubt utterly mind wiped and treated like cattle.

Maybe Joe was there, maybe the waitress who had been in the cell next to Emily's. They'd had their minds erased, after all, and had been sold at auction. He felt guilty that he was safe and comfortable in a well-appointed kitchen deciding what to cook, while other innocent humans had probably been turned into little more than mindless dairy cows, tossed into pens and used for their blood for the rest of their miserable lives. It obviously wasn't his fault, and there wasn't anything he could have reasonably done about it, but it was upsetting all the same. The only thing that had stood between him and their fate was some intangible quality of his blood.

He'd feel better about everything once he ate, he was sure.

Since late afternoon was apparently now his breakfast time, he pulled out eggs and cheese, located a frying pan, and began to make an omelette. Starving as he was, he used four eggs, and once he was done making them, used the pan to toast some of the bread. He couldn't find any jam, but butter would do fine. An apple and a glass of milk completed his generous breakfast. Master said he'd have any groceries he needed, and the way he'd been treated in the auction house cells made it clear that vampires preferred their humans to be well fed, so there was no reason to hold back on eating his fill.

As he washed the dishes in the sink, he reflected that he wasn't just eating for himself now, but also eating to feed his new master. A strange thought.

He was still wearing the dress he'd arrived in from the auction house, and as eager as he was to return to the library, that luxurious bathroom was calling for him. Exiting the kitchen, he spared a look towards the front door.

Unlike the auction house, there were no vampire guards here to stop him. Alexander was likely still asleep upstairs. But the thought of even trying the door repulsed him, filling him with sick dread. As if he wanted to betray his new Master by leaving without permission!

Oliver turned and headed up the stairs to his bedroom, looking in the wardrobe. As promised, there was an assortment of outfits there -- more than he had previously owned. There were various frocks with wide necks, but also button-down shirts and slacks, a few casual suits, and an expensive-looking lined wool coat paired with a cheerful red scarf. This, at least, served as proof that Master intended to take him out of the confines of the manor sometimes. The nearby drawers held pajamas and soft cotton underthings. Satisfied at the selection of clothing, he took a cotton robe and headed for the bathroom.

He was clean enough, since he'd been allowed regular bathing at the auction house and in Miss Lily's care, but a nice hot bath was just what he needed to wash away any remnants of anxiety. He turned on the hot water and dumped in a generous helping of floral-scented soap flakes, making the bathroom smell heavenly.

Sinking in the warm water up to his shoulders was like a dream. And he had nowhere to be. He could relax in the bath as long as he felt like. And once he had his fill of that, he could head down to the library and read to his heart's content.

He realized that the foreign feeling washing over him was relief.

He'd spent so much of his life anxious and afraid, quietly terrified of not living up to a father who was long since dead. He used all of his time trying to keep his beloved bookstore afloat, fretting about money and maintenance and pleasing every patron who walked through the door. Second guessing every decision, watching from afar as others found love and excitement.

And now none of that mattered, because he'd found his place, hadn't he? Or rather, his place had found him, and it was bringing up a deep, buried longing to be cared for that he didn't even realize he had. His Master would take care of him and quiet his mind, and all he had to do was offer up his loyalty and his blood. A small price to pay, wasn't it?

He made sure his neck was extra clean, and used some of the sweet-smelling lotion that had been left in a basket for him. He wanted to please.

He could do this. He could be enticing to his master. And he'd be rewarded.

Returning to his bedroom, he slipped on a soft flannel frock, choosing a garment that would keep his neck exposed with no hesitation. He then padded downstairs to enter the library and await his Master waking.

He'd barely gotten a chance to look at the library yesterday, and Oliver was stunned all over again at the amount of books. He decided to occupy himself just browsing the shelves, not picking any one book to read yet. There would no doubt be plenty of time, and for now, he was fascinated by the many different subjects on display. 

There were shelves of ordinary fiction books, of course, albeit stocked with antique and rare editions of classics that would have filled Oliver with envy if he didn't have full access to them himself now. Near the shelves of books he recognized, there was another large section that he realized must consist of fiction written by vampires, the titles and authors all unknown to him. The preoccupation with blood above all other things was apparent just by reading the titles. Did the need for blood consume them so much? He supposed it must, if they were willing to pay such vast sums for thralls.

The section on vampire history that he had perused before was flanked by sections covering the histories of witches, werewolves, vampire hunters, faefolk, and a particularly extensive collection of books on merfolk. There was surprisingly little human history, and nothing more recent than the turn of the century. Vampires, perhaps, didn't concern themselves that much with human history.

He felt himself strangely drawn to a particular shelf further towards the back of the library. Half the books were bound in richly colored leather, embossed with gold and silver and embedded with jewels, and the other half were so tattered and worn that Oliver wouldn't dare try to pick them up. He flipped through one, and realized with surprise what they were. Spellbooks. Magic. And no reason to doubt now that it was real.

The sound of footsteps behind him startled him out of his reverie. "Hey. Evening."

He whipped around to see his Master there, hair and shirt disheveled, sleepy-eyed but looking at Oliver as though he were the only thing he had ever desired. A smile spread slowly across Alexander's face, and Oliver felt like his heart might stop.

Part 31 >> Masterlist >> Part 33

Role Reversal AU Part One

Next time, Oliver finally gets bitten.

Extras: Emily's Crayons || Fitz in the Snow || Fitz's Volunteer Part One

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: A Tumult in Towerford

The baron repeatedly asked the populace to bear with him through this difficult time. The malcontents took him up on the offer.

Whether through natural good fortune or some long forgotten work of magic, the lands around town of Towerford and the ancient elven spire at its center are famed far and wide for their bountiful game. In recent years, the town’s ruler, Baron Lozin Blotzco has attempted to reserve these lands for the exclusive use of the nobility, hoping to turn the bounty of his holdings into political influence. This has caused a clash with a section of the populace who’ve made their living hunting, trapping, and foraging within the woods for generations. These supposed “Poachers” have suffered increasingly steep fines, punishments, and even imprisonment as the Baron’s grip has tightened, creating a bone deep resentment that threatens to boil over just as the party stroll into town.

Adventure Hooks: 

In hopes of turning the wilderness into a place where nobles can course as they please the baron has posted several hefty bounties for various monsters throughout the region which has attracted the party and several other slayer bands. While some of these are quite run of the mill, others involve driving off otherwise peaceful inhuman denizens or culling predators in a way that any sensible hunter would know poses a risk to the environment. The party are likely to get heckled by the locals should they take one of these contracts, letting them know there’s more going on here than a simple payout.

Sometime after returning to town the party is caught in the public square as a hanging is about to commence. The old huntress Yilri Splitbough was one of the first accused of poaching, and ever since has been in and out of the baron’s cells as she flouts his laws on principle alone. Many consider her to be the unofficial leader of the malcontents, and the baron has decided to make an example out of her in the hopes of putting an end to all this rabblerousing. A last minute rescue attempt is made by the forest folk, but is obstructed by the baron’s guards, meaning the old huntress will likely die if the party does not intercede. If they do, it’s very likely that they’ll end up outlaws, but perhaps that’s worth it to do the right thing.

Early in the adventure the party will make the acquaintance of Countess Etoria of Ashfield, one of the many nobles Blotzco was hoping to win favour with and the first to accept his invitation. Charming, capable, and vivacious the countess and her hunting party might help the party out of a particularly nasty encounter in the wilderness, then treat them to drinks back in town to hear about their perspective on what’s going on. She’s a good friend to have, and a potential patron for future adventures.

Background: Constructed by a long faded elven court, the great spire which stands at the centre of Towerford is but the last of a series of constructions made to guard the river approach to the sylvan realm. While the rest of the spires have crumbled over time or become havens for unfriendly things, the towerford construction has lasted into the modern day primarily because of the non-elven population that took over the upkeep after the original owners moved on to unseen lands.

Located at the join of two rivers, the town is a minor trading hub for the region, specalizing in lumber and furs from the forest as well as leather goods and stone quarried from the nearby bluffs. While not as exciting as jewels or spices, these staples ensure a healthy stream of merchants in and out of Towerford all year round, making it a good place for adventurers to seek out while looking to pick up work or listen for some rumours.

Further Adventures:

Things escalate a week or so after the execution when the poachers ( with the help of a dryad who recognizes the risk to her forest) manage to sneak a direbear into his quarters several dozen stories up the spire. Knowing from allies within the towns craftspeople that the Baron is refurbishing his quarters in preparation for entertaining guests of a higher station, the poachers use a little fey trickery to polymorph the bear into an exact replica of a fancy chair and let the Baron’s own servants walk it past the guards. The party may hear about this account after the fact and be called upon to do something about the unbearable beast rampaging through the upper halls of the spire, though for added laughs consider the fun of having an outlaw party captured and dragged before the baron to awnser for their crimes, only to be suddenly faced with the dilemma of whether or not to rescue their enemy from a savage mauling or leave him behind as a distraction.

 After the Baron’s unexpected mauling Etoria will step up to take charge all smiles and understanding... atleast until her troops march on and occupy the town. The countess really has no issue with the poachers and sees reason in their plight, but their murder of one of the nobility provides the perfect excuse for her to lay claim to the area under the guise of putting down “rebels”. Once her men have found a few scapegoats and mounted their heads on pikes 

Unrelated to everything going on down below, it’s said that a group of elven mystics dwell at the top of the tower, having chosen to stay behind while their kinsfolk left, guarding some secret or contemplating some hidden truth. Seeking the advice of these sages could provide an excuse for why the party needed to visit Towerford in the first place.

#Forest #river #low level #settlement #outlaw #bandits #druid #fey #Assassin #monster hunt #patron #noble #politics #jailbreak #Dungeons and Dragons #d&d

[tozettastone]

More Naruto OC thoughts:

an unnamed researcher's top 5 top 6 rules for stalking Kakuzu

[A clipping of Kakuzu's wanted poster is stapled above.] Remember he is so, so dangerous. You must ensure you are never an object of interest to bounty hunters generally and certainly not to Kakuzu specifically. Kakuzu is bigger, older, and a lot scarier than you are. Anonymity is the first rule.

If you cannot be perfectly anonymous, you can embrace pseudonymity instead. That is, if there's a risk of exposure, you can pretend to be someone infinitely more interesting. Impersonating a different missing-nin has worked so far. You need to keep track of who's who in the industry, which happily is also your ongoing project. [Notes regarding assassination pricing are written, rewritten, and crossed out in the margin.]

Kakuzu is rarely oblivious as to his surroundings. He has a good chakra awareness and a lot of experience. But missing-nin who want to exchange dead bodies for money have to go through locations where drops are made, and they're frequently populated. Keep abreast of the exchange locations. Pro tip: everyone stares at Kakuzu in a town, because he's massive, wearing a giant black cloak, and, oh yes, carrying a corpse. You blend right in.

"Pein sees everything that goes on in Rain." This is absolutely true, but if you're good enough at genjutsu you can make sure what he sees and what he knows are two different things. Even Pein cannot see right through a really good genjutsu.

[Smudged with soot] Avoiding Kakuzu's young man only seems easy because he is loud and easy to track. He is by far the more likely of the two to involve random bystanders in his moods. Never remain in the same building again, no matter how well disguised you are. Hidan is indiscriminate in his violence. When is Kakuzu going to kill him? On reflection, Kakuzu may not be able to kill him.

6. [Next to a bloody half-fingerprint.] Avoid Uchiha Itachi.

#naruto oc: red #akatsuki

[dmercer91]

ebug's sister, dm91

part one / part two /part three / part four / part five /

blakefriarr_

liked by nicohischier, _quinnhughes and 5,953 others

blakefriarr_: cars in the shop, loser picked me up from work <3

view 593 comments..

jj.friar31: excuse me

jj.friar31: he came up in the elevator with you?!?!? and didn't come in!?!??!

jj.friar31: clearly you don't like him very much if you're not willing to tell your twin who he is

→ blakefriarr_: i like him a lot which is why i will not be telling my twin who he is. hope this helps!

nicohischier: perks of being in the groupchat means knowing who it is

→ jackhughes: i want in

→ blakefriarr_: no there's only room for one hughes and he is the co founder of the groupchat sorry

→ jj.friar31: i'm sorry did you tell quinn hughes who you're going out with before you told ME

→ nicohischier: and me!

→ blakefriarr_: and nico!

→ nicohischier: all i had to do to get you to call me nico was piss off jj??

→ blakefriarr_: don't expect it regularly swiss cheese

edwards.73: this is my formal application to be in the group chat: hi i'm ethan and i want to be in the groupchat

→ blakefriarr_: hmmm. @/_quinnhughes, thoughts?

→ _quinnhughes: i think if i allowed this luke would find a way to legally disown me as his brother

→ lhughes_06: you think correctly

dawson1417: nice guy you've got

→ blakefriarr_: he's precious

→ dawson1417: is he handsome, too?

→ blakefriarr_: the handsomest

→ blakefriarr_: he's taking forever to ask me out though

→ dawson1417: he better speed it up then, i guess?

drayanewman: do i know who it is?

→ blakefriarr_: squeal.

→ drayanewman: oh my GOD y/n

→ jj.friar31: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

→ drayanewman: that your sister has game and you do not

→ dawson1417: what does squeal mean

→ blakefriarr_: @/drayanewman don’t you dare

→ drayanewman: the first time he messaged her we were on facetime and she actually shrieked like a school girl

→ blakefriarr_: BITCH

ryangraves27: cute

→ blakefriarr_: the lord has answered my prayers guys he used a word that expresses things

jackhughes: wait hold on

→ blakefriarr_: 😟 what jack

→ jackhughes: did you perhaps text this guy after your shift about walking home?

→ blakefriarr_: ... what are you getting at here

→ jackhughes: i sense that we should move this conversation to the dms so that you don't put a bounty on my head

→ blakefriarr_: you sense correctly.

jesperbratt: what even occurs in that groupchat

→ blakefriarr_: first rule of fight club

→ dougieham: she argues with everyone, collects embarrassing stories about half our roster and then kicks our asses in crazy eights

→ blakefriarr_: quinn he broke the law

→ _quinnhughes: you're better than this, dougie.

→ jackhughes: kick him out and give me his spot

→ blakefriarr_: quinn your brother is blackmailing me in my dms

→ _quinnhughes: rowdy if you say anything i will personally remove your face and staple it to a wooden post like a missing persons flyer

→ jackhughes: what does she HAVE on you jesus christ

→ _quinnhughes: nothing

→ _quinnhughes: she’s like a feral cat i took in from the streets and have become unreasonably protective over

→ blakefriarr_: that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me i think i shed a tear

view more comments..

#ebug’s sister series ! #dawson mercer #dawson mercer x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new jersey devils

[3rdeyeblaque]

Today we venerate Hoodoo Saint Harriet Ross Tubman aka Black Moses on the 110th anniversary of her passing🕊

Whew! A legendary Freedom Fighter, Mama Moses wore many decorated crowns as a mammoth Abolitionist, chief Conductor on the Underground Railroad, an expert Hunte and Lumberjack, a Nurse, an armed scout & spy for the Union Army during the Civil War - becoming the 1st Woman to ever spearhead an armed military assault. Later, she opened her door to the elderly, sick, & disabled, and advocated for them until her death.

Born Araminta "Minty" Ross as the middle child of 9 siblings to enslaved parents on a plantation in Dorchester County, MD, she suffered a massive blow to the head that would spur a lifetime of seizures, headaches, deep slumbers, & visions. She went on to marry a "Free" man by the surname of Tubman & took on her mother's first given name, "Harriet". In 1849, her husband, parents, & siblings were set to be split up & sold off. Under the cover of darkness, she fled the plantation solo on foot and followed the North Star to escape the jaws of slavery by way of Philadelphia, PA. She'd survive13-19 rescue missions back into the Antebellum South, liberating over 300 souls, as the most infamous Conductor on the Underground Railroad who, over the span of a decade, had "never lost a single passenger", which dubbed her the nickname, "Moses". The bounty for her life maxed out at $40K. Freedom wasn't free & Mama Moses never hesitated to remind her passengers of that. She carried herbs to silence a crying baby and pulled a gun on any cowardly man who might give away their position.

"You'll be Free or Die. " - Mama Moses to her passengers on the Underground Railroad.

Venerated as a Hoodoo Saint to many, Mama Moses was a Seer, a Clairvoyant Dreamer, Dream Interpreter, a Revolutionary Conjurer Woman & Rootworker - born to parents of the same cloth. She received Divine messages & Ancestral knowledge/wisedom through prophetic visions & dreams. Mama Moses proudly attributed her unparalleled death defying success to her Divine guidance, Conjure, Rootwork, intuitive gifts & her faithful willingness to trust/follow them.

Folks have a tendency to grossly undermine, if not outright ignore, the significant pillars that Hoodoo Cosmology, Religion, & Tradition played in her life and in her fight for freedom. Recently, archeologists uncovered her "spirit cache" at her family's home in Maryland; these were some of the Blackbelt Hoodoo staples of her time including: glass bottles - for protection against evil spirits, a figurine made it iron nails - possibly a something akin to an Nkisi, a copper button, perfume bottle topper, and other red & blue items.

Mama Moses transitioned peaceful & free at her home/on her land in Auburn, NY where she is rests at the cemetery in Auburn, NY. She is still expected to be immortalized on the $20 bill USD, however that promise has yet to be met.

We pour libations & give Mama Moses her 💐 for her bravery & selfless service. May she bless the elderly, disabled, young, women, & Workers who seek/fight for freedom.

Offering suggestions: Milk, Apples, & Orange flowers

🌟 FINAL copies of The2023 Hoodoo's Calendar are available for purchase (once sold out, that's it)! Subscribe to the official e-newsletter for the latest updates & exclusive content access. https://thehoodoocalendar.square.site 🌟  

#hoodoo #hoodoos #atrs #atr #the hoodoo calendar #rootwork #conjure #black Moses #harriet tubman #Hoodoo History #Hoodoo Saints

[klarionthewizard]

Piett's Turn For Imperial Headcanons

Because Firmus Piett and Maximilian Veers are never far apart.

Firmus Piett:

-has a knife in his boot at all times and he knows how to use it

-will eat bugs. has failed to convince Veers that this is perfectly natural and that bug flours are a staple on Axxila.

-likes tall ships (another @musewrangler inspired headcanon. actually, they inspired a lot of my Piett headcanons)

-can and will out drink Veers. And most of his other aquaintances

-keeps small trees in his office

-hates the dentist even more than the medics

-had three sisters but they all died

-the oldest died to pirates and that's why Piett joined the Anti-Pirate Fleet

-the middle died to circumstances caused by the Clone Wars. medical and/or food shortage due to Republic cutting of trade bc of alleged seperatist leanings, after all Axxila is in the same sector as Serenno, who knows if they support the Confederacy (the answer to that is sort of and it's complicated)

-the youngest died to general Outer Rim poor life conditions

-has 20 bounties on his head at any given time, has honestly forgotten about half of them

-loves this one specific brand of tea and will Know if you try to pass off anything else as his favorite tea

-can and will climb through vents and laundry chutes

-is the reason the Executor made it to Bespin before the Falcon

-talks to his sentient ship and loves her more than almost anything else in the galaxy

-has an accent he suppressed bc Discrimination and Classism

-has a bad knee

-had slave ancestors, grandparents or great grandparents

-sees Veers as a brother and will mercilessly make fun of him, definitely the younger brother in the relationship

-can and will bite, Veers has a scar

-Veers does not regret what he did to get the scar, Piett does not regret giving it to him

-does Not like snakes. at all. Or scorpions. He won't scream but he will make Veers or Venka get even the harmless ones

-likes those mandalorian specialty spicy chocolates

-best in Death Squadron at reading the Vader helmet tips

-Absolutely Vader's favorite, he is the only person in Death Squadron who hasn't realized this

#firmus piett #admiral piett #general veers #maximilian veers #klarion's imperial headcanons #star wars

[elizabethrobertajones]

6.55 spoilers (ish)

Worldbuilders put down the torches and pitchforks, we have a detailed discussion of how all the new world foods ended up in Eorzea :P

(This has probably already been explained SOMEWHERE in flavour text, and I think some of the vegetables even say they're new world, but this absolutely unecessarily detailed discussion on it is a stop on the MSQ for the people who will always demand to know why a fantasy world has the humble tomato like it's a cinema sins. I would go so far as to say the people with torches and pitchforks may have been bothering the writers with this if SUCH a lengthy explanation showed up...)

Eorzean Cuisine: A History: It is impossible to adequately discuss Eorzean cuisine without speaking of that land from which many of our modern-day staples hail: the far-western continent of Tural.

Ogre pumpkins, ruby tomatoes, even the ubiquitous popoto - these crops and more that regularly grace Eorzean dining tables trace their origins to the "New World," as the place is known to most.

The tale of this culinary immigration begins in the year 1498 of the Sixth Astral Era, when a Lominsan sailor named Ketenramm successfully traversed the Indigo Deep to arrive and there theretofore unknown continent.

Ketenramm spent several moons exploring the inland, in the course of which he encountered the denizens of the sprawling nation of Mamool Ja. He was even granted an audience with their supreme leader, whose confidence he won along with permission to roam freely.

kenetramm would return to Tural several times, but during his first expedition he charted the land and gathered myriad root vegetables and seeds to bring back to Limsa Lominsa.

The most notable of these was the popoto, whose ease of cultivation and nutritional value saw it quickly spread to all corners of Eorzea.

Produce was far from the only bounty of Ketenramm's expeditions to Tural. Many tantalising recipes such as the bean-filled burrito and gripping legends such of that of the golden city reached our shores by way of his ship.

To those outside of Ketenramm's circle, Tural largely remains shrouded in mystery, yet its influence on our cuisine cannot be overstated. Many scholars - myself included - would relish the chance to immerse ourselves in the culinary culture of that faraway continent.

#ffxiv #6.55 spoilers #endwalker spoilers

[alexgalaxyboo]

methinks pirates au with spiderbit (and perhaps queerplatonic 4halo)😈

No... Don't do this to me... Don't tempt me for a pirate au...

Anyone that's ever had the misfortune /lh of listening to my endless ramblings about aus is very well aware that I consider a pirate au to be a STAPLE and a NEED for every single fandom.

I think I saw an uhhh. I saw a mer!Roier fanart somewhere some time ago? I don't remember by who, I'll try to find it and link it in the reblogs and I haven't stopped thinking about it since... Especially if you also throw in pirate Cellbit...

Methinks... The Brazilians should all be apart of the pirate crew :) I am flip flopping between whether they should accidentally fish Roier out of the water or whether to maybe make it so mermaids/sirens/whatever are hunted or something and they went after him for the bounty at first before Feelings™ happened.

I was a big philever enjoyer and I think he should be at least slightly obsessed with him always but then again I'm proud of Forever for deciding he's a Strong Independent Man that needs No Man and turning BBH who is... Some sorta demon I presume again. (he should have a trident I reckon it'd be cool)

But overall I'm just a sucker for QPRs (adamant believer that Jaiden and Roier are qpps) so yes I absolutely am on board with that.

#mailex #qsmpirates au #? i just came up with that lol. it sounds fun. im keeping that as a tag until further notice ig. #oh fuck here come the tags #qsmp #iroier #q!roier #qsmp roier #cellbit #q!cellbit #qsmp cellbit #guapoduo #spiderbit #4halo

[lupinus-bicolor]

Red dead gang + flowers

Arthur Morgan - Dudleya cymosa; Canyon liveforever, native to California cliff faces and craggy areas, thrives in the sun and blooms vibrant red and orange cymes. Pointed rosettes of succulent leaves form the base which sends out a delicate bloom in early summer. This flower is also the one found in the terrarium jar on Arthur's bedside table.

Tilly Jackson - Helianthus annuus; Common sunflower, a showy plant native to grasslands in the US, its undomesticated form is a branching annual plant with many flower heads. Its domesticated form is an important food crop grown both for its seeds and seed oil. It's common in sunny gardens, where its unmistakable bright blooms attract pollinators. Commonly symbolizes longevity and adoration.

Sean Maguire - Tripolium pannonicum; Sea aster, native to Ireland, a very hardy plant that requires very little to thrive. Showy purple blooms usually a bit ruffled, but all the brighter in their seaside environments.

Charles Smith - Quercus alba; White oak, a staple crop for thousands of years, white oaks of the Quercus genus are amongst the most important habitat species for wildlife in North America. These trees provide food, shelter, fuel, and fertilizer for countless native flora and fauna, and oaks are among the few trees that thrive in both open fields and sheltered forests. Their diminuitive flowers (catkins) are wind pollinated and mature into thousands of acorns per tree every 2-10 years. Traditionally associated with bounty, wisdom, and protection. (Not a flower in the traditional sense, but catkins do count and white oak really REALLY suited Charles so I'm putting this in)

Dutch Van Der Linde - Pueraria montana; Kudzu vine, a hardy, subtropical plant introduced to the US with bright sweet pea flower spikes in spring. Rapidly spreads to completely cover native flora, shading out and crushing plants and depleting habitat for mutualistic wildlife. This vine is a noxious invasive in the southern US.

Hosea Matthews - Triticum aestivum; Wheat, grown as a staple crop around the world, wheat has many uses and is considered the backbone of western cuisine. Often grown in wide monocrop fields, mature wheat's golden color makes for a striking image. Commonly symbolizes bounty and resurrection. (Yes, grass (Poaceae) is a flowering plant family!)

Mary-Beth Gaskill - Viola riviniana; Common dog violet, native to europe, its nodding purple blooms can be found along roads and creeks in lightly shaded areas. Flowers in this genus traditionally symbolize modesty and humility.

Abigail Roberts/Marston - Rudbeckia hirta; Black-eyed Susan, a popular midwest native wildflower common in gardens for its sunny florets and contrasting center. Its association with gardening is a long established one, and traditionally symbolizes encouragement, adaptability, and determination.

Molly O'Shea - Passiflora alata; Winged-stem passionflower, a species native to the south American tropics and known for its visually distinctive red petals and exotic striped filaments. A delicate looking nodding flower with an edible fruit, commonly cultivated for its medicinal benefits and its beauty.

This post got very long! I will make a part two to save you the effort of scrolling <3

#rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Botany #Long post #Arthur Morgan #Tilly Jackson #Sean Macguire #Dutch van der Linde #Hosea Matthews #Mary Beth Gaskill #Abigail Roberts #Molly O'Shea #*combines my two special interests*

[inkpot909]

When The Kids are Asleep (One-Shot)

↳ Spike Spiegel x Fem!Reader: She/her pronouns are used for the reader.

Summary: Insecurity is the poison that kills relationships before they even have a chance begin. Luckily Spike Spiegel is around to set things right; to let you know that it’s all in your head.

Warning(s): Swearing. Slight nsfw.

Sitting upright on the Bebop’s bright yellow couch, your mind is focused intently on the book you hold open before you.

Not often do you get to indulge in a new story. Although reading is a hobby you enjoy, being a member of the Bebop means your priorities are understandably elsewhere. It’s not unlike your companions to splurge on hobby items and clothes, but a soft heart makes your approach to spending different. Or more accurately- your lack thereof.

But the latest bounty was certainly a rough one- with a hefty reward to match. So much so, that Faye let out a long huff of relief after taking her share of the reward, rather than putting up an argument over the amount or suggesting to go window-shopping with you. Regardless, it just so happened after collecting your own fair share, you found a secondhand store on your walk back to the Bebop. You’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up at the large sign displaying a proud title for the quant store. Disappearing inside, you return just minutes later along with an award for a job well-done and a gleeful expression. 

And better yet, a tiring bounty calls for people to turn in early. Sleep entices you, just as it coaxed all your companions to bed. However, to hell if you aren’t going to take advantage of a silent Bebop. Staying up in comfortable quiet isn’t something you plan for often, even less does it ever actually come to fruition. In your head, tonight was decidedly different, and the universe mercifully granted you that desired peace.

There’s only one light on in the common area, just bright enough to make your book legible. With a head bent down, your hair casts a shadow over your relaxed face. Shadows dance around your body’s curves, vegged out in contentment. Just by glancing at your unmoving form, it would be easy for one to imagine the long day you’ve had.

Lost in your story, the small kinks that accompany the Bebop fly over your head. Distant sounds of machinery are drowned out by the flood your book provides, and you’re right there with them. Floating down further and further until your surroundings are completely off the mind.

“Don’t you think this Jean character is a bit of an airhead?” a voice calls from above you. Jumping, a tiny yelp escapes your lips.

Lifting your head, you find the source of the voice only when you crank your neck back further. The muscles around it and across your shoulders groan, but a pair of mismatched brown eyes keep you from listening.

Spike’s standing right behind the couch, looming over you. His front pressed to the back of the couch, lazily holding the weight of his bent torso. Your faces are mere centimeters apart, something that doesn’t hinder his bored expression. His eyes stay glued to yours, forcing your neck forward, pulling your own from his.

To think simply his body language and carefree voice is enough to make you jumpier than Ein on special mushrooms…

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you mumble, flicking the pages of your book.

“I don’t understand how you can read that crap,” Spike replies, hoisting his body over the couch. He lands on his feet and smoothly plops down onto the cushions next to you. Grinning, he adds, “What? Am I not entertaining enough?”

Your eyes widen, the answer to his question dying on your lips.

Deep inside you, a warm feeling has been growing. The foolish hope that Spike meant all the sweet nothings he threw your way. Casual flirting has long been a staple of your relationship. Spike oozed confidence around you, a trick you happily fall for each time. You stroke his ego and he flusters you beyond what words can express. Ever since the fateful day you’d stowed away on the Bebop- desperate for food, desperate for a home -your relationship with him had been far different in comparison to anyone else.

But even still, insecurity plagued your mind. Aren’t his actions all part of some game? Chasing your reactions only to pass the time; to make the life he leads a tiny bit easier. Born from boredom and nothing else.

To believe you’re special… how positively laughable.

“I didn’t hear you at all,” you sheepishly admit, “I thought everyone went to bed.”

“I tried; too pent up from today to get any shut-eye,” Spike replies, staring down seemingly at nothing. “I was practicing some fighting forms, but needed a break. Then I found your cute little silhouette curled up on the couch and the night’s been looking up ever since.”

“Even if I didn’t see you?”

Spike’s eyebrows furrowed, waving his hands up in the air dramatically. “I don’t understand what that book has that I don’t!”

For one thing, it’s both forward and honest with me, you think, not daring to say such a thing to his face. Regardless of your inner bitterness, his words bring a smile to your face and a laugh follows suit. “Keep reading and you’ll find out,” you quip, raising a brow.

“No way in hell,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’ll leave the reading to the critically gifted.”

“So you admit it- you’re completely clueless. Didn’t even know what you’re criticizing,” you test playfully, gently setting the book down on the coffee table.

“Oi! I still know an idiot when I see one- and that Jean is one hell of a brainless protagonist.”

You snort, finding his confidence endearing. Spike always tried pushing your buttons in this way, and regardless of the fight you put up, you always surrender to his occasional goofiness. Even still…

You sigh, moving your gaze from him. This isn’t the first time he’s sought you out specifically while by yourself. The whole dynamic… it makes your heart flutter with both positive and negative possibilities. Your heart desperately cries for just a chance he may think the world of you, while your head shuts down all hope.

In the moment, you feel both sides collide with one another. Without thinking properly beforehand, you finally meet his gaze head-on once again. A frown now is spread across your face, and his shoulders dip as you ask, “You do this with Faye too, don’t you?”

Spike’s lighthearted expression twists into a confused one, tilting his head to the side. For someone who hates Ein as much as he claims, he sure as hell shares some of the same mannerisms as the pooch. “What are you going on about?” he hums, keeping his voice purposefully low on volume.

“This,” you wildly gesture to both him and yourself, “This-… this…”

“This, what...?” he coaxed, clearly not about to let this go despite your flaming cheeks. This is a bed you’ve never wanted to make for yourself, far too aware that Spike would make damn sure you sleep in it. Sleep deprivation and a long day are just the straw to break the camel’s back.

“This… flirting game you play,” you go on, voice shaking, “It’s flustering… and you never do it in front of everyone else.”

“You want me to?” he asks, genuinely surprised. He puckers his lips in thought, adding in a mumble, “I thought you were the shy type.”

“What?”

“What-?”

The two of you stop speaking, baffled faces glued to one another. Maybe tiredness from a long day really isn’t to blame. Perhaps it’s the fact that everyone else is in bed that makes you so direct- an opportune time. This is between you and Spike alone, which is why you've never gone to Faye or Jet for support.

Faye... you ponder. Or maybe it’s because I’m always nervous whenever Faye and Spike are close. They had both stepped up much today, working together flawlessly despite bickering the entire time. It feels ridiculous to be so worried; it’s clear they cannot stand one another. Yet they look good together... that much you have to admit. And although they deny it profusely, they share a certain amount of concern for each other.

Whatever insecurity is specifically plaguing you at this very moment, one thing is for certain to you: I’m sick of being flirted with- frustrated with the teasing and the sly looks. What this is… it isn’t tangible. It’s not real. 

“Y/n…” Spike sighs, dropping his head and pulling you from your mind. He’s turned away now, but continues to sneak peaks at you out the corner of his good eye. “What do you think I take you for?”

Your hands tremble. Once again, you have a hard time answering. Instead of coming up with something this time around, you suddenly stand up from the couch. You know what? Maybe you can run away. Stretching, you let out an obnoxious yawn. “Don’t worry about it,” you act, “Anyways, I really should-“

“Y/n…” Spike mutters, halting your movement. His voice is quiet- soft, even. As he speaks, his hand reaches out for one of your own. “Talk to me... what's so wrong all of a sudden?” His pleading eyes leave you no choice, as well as a skip of your heartbeat.

“I- but, you…” you stutter, slowly sitting back down. Seemingly pleased with this, his grip on you loosens. If only a little bit.

Spike’s eyes travel around your face, searching. For a moment, his eyebrows knit together even further. “Y/n… you deserve more than you give yourself credit,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck and pulling his hand away.

Lifting your gaze, it’s now his turn to bashfully avoid eye-contact. Placing both hands behind his head, he kicks his feet up in a quick attempt to seem nonchalant. But Spike performs laziness as if it’s a career. To the point where if he’s not truly relaxed, everyone knows- you know.

“You always say things like that,” you huff, unable to help your bitterness. Now that the cat’s getting dragged out the bag, there’s no point in hiding your frustration. After all, if it is one big game- you won’t find it all too amusing. “But only now… only when we’re alone.”

“So?”

Frustration boils within your chest. “So!? So you need to stop. It’s confusing.”

“You’ve never stopped me before.”

His words eat you alive. Spike is right- you cannot say that you’ve ever lectured him over his flirtatiousness before tonight. But him being right isn’t on your current agenda, which means he must be wrong.

“Not true!” you huff. The face he pulls makes it clear that he is buying the lie even less than you are yourself.

Sighing once more, Spike’s body dips into the couch even further. He scoots closer to you, pausing and waiting for you to pull away or chastise him. When you do neither, he throws his arm around you casually.

“Spike…?” you ask, frustration diffusing at his facial expression. He shuffles himself even closer, both your thighs brushing up against one another. Glancing between your eyes and lips, he finally says, “When the kids are all asleep… isn’t it only natural to flirt out of sight? Trust me, you've always been worth the wait.”

Flirt…

“What are you trying to say...?”

“It's clear that you like me. I'm not oblivious, y'know,” he chuckles, “I can see how you stare, and how you react to my every action is only more evidence piling together. But you always get so shy... I thought you wouldn’t be happy with me openly flirting with you in front of everyone; they can be quite the teasing bunch.”

Blinking, you drink up his words with a baffled expression plastered on your face. In his own way, he makes it plain as day: This isn’t a game. Fun for him, certainly, but not in the sick, selfish way you had wrongfully assumed.

“Is… is that really how you see it?” you ask, voice hopeful. “You're just... honestly trying to flirt with me?”

“Of course,” he makes a face, “I dunno why you’d think I’d act this way with Faye.”

You shrug, “She’s three times the woman I’ll ever-”

A pair of heated lips cut off your words. Across the room, you hear a droplet of water fall from a creaky pipe above to the harsh floor. For a split moment, Spike stayed completely still against your lips. Your eyes are glued wide open, observing his which are screwed tightly shut. His hand had instinctively reached forward, gripping your forearm in a silent plea for you to stay put. His buttocks is lifted into the air, uncomfortably keeping himself bent down and holding his position.

Just now mentally recovering from the action, Spike’s lips gently pull away. He mutters cheekily, “You really need to stop comparing yourself to others- and stop talking about them to me,” He plants a kiss to your lips, ghosting his lips over them as he adds, “I only wanna focus on you, sweetheart.” He tilts his head to the side, nose poking your cheek as he meets your lips once more. You weakly kiss him back, lips quivering and hands sweaty. Despite your nerves, you allow him to pepper your lips with short but desperate kisses.

A minute passes before he pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he slowly sinks back into the couch cushions. He’s sitting much closer to you this time around, your legs touching and torsos twisted in each others’ direction. Something sad taints his eyes, sinking your rapidly-beating heart. Giving your arm a gentle squeeze, he tells you in a whisper, “You really didn’t get it before... did you?”

“I-... I suppose not,” you reply, breathless.

“I’m sorry I confused you,” he murmurs.

“Spike… it’s okay… I assumed the worst and-...”

He raises a hand, a passive request for you to stop your sentence there. Following along, you shut your mouth again. A smile plays on his lips, using the hand he’d raised to cup your chin. His lithe fingers brush against your skin with care, tilting your head so that you felt no other option than to look into his eyes.

“I like when you say my name…” he practically purrs, wrapping his free hand around your waist. “I don’t wanna have to hear anyone else say it.” Your cheeks turn a flushed red color, only egging him on to continue. “And…” he nuzzles your nose with his own, “And I’d love it if you'd indulge me some more.”

“S-Spike…” you sigh, heart leaping thousands of feet away from any ground surface. He bites his lip, but waits for you to finish your thought this time. Instead, you merely sigh again and lean forward.

Getting the hint, a tug around your waist pulls you towards him, and once more you're engulfed in his kisses. Lifting your hands, you rest them against his chest and kiss him back. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your head. Spike’s fingertips massage your scalp, running through your hair and making a quick mess of it. His lips move faster than before; the sound of sloppy kisses fill the common area’s late-night serenity.

Spike bites down on your lower lip, wiping his tongue over the tiny mark temporarily left behind before slipping inside your mouth. You sigh, a tiny whimper accompanying the release of air. His tongue dances around yours. “Spike…” you hum between kisses. Your hands slide up his chest, wrapping around his neck. Your body lifts as you do so, now pressed against him and radiating more warmth between you two.

He pulls away, stomach visually rising and falling. Loosening his tie first, he also releases the first couple of buttons running down the front of his shirt. His bare chest pokes out as he leans back, propping himself up only by his elbows. Grabbing your hand, he beckons you closer with half-lidded eyes, and guides your body to lay comfortably on top of him.

“Come here…” he sighs, tugging you forward by the collar of your shirt. Lips conform to one another, kissing and lightly biting. A hand travels down your side, cupping the bottom of your ass.

You use his hand to direct the movement of your hips, slowly rocking against his. A shiver rolls down your spine at the contact, making contact with something hardening against your clothed core. Spike pushes back, softly groaning into your lips, “Fuck... this is okay?”

You simply nod, not trusting your words.

Shaking his head, he trails his kisses along your jaw. Pushing you further above him, Spike plants soft kisses down to your neck. “Mmh-” you huff, tilting your head and giving him more access.

“I need to hear you say it…” he grumbles, grinding against you with added vigor. “Please, baby…”

You nod again, eyes fluttering shut. He kisses a spot where your jawline and neck meet, sucking a mark onto your otherwise clear skin. Spike grins; your neck’s a blank canvas he intends to utilize.

“Yes…” you mutter, a tremble present in your voice. “Spike... yes, it's okay…”

Biting down on your neck, his hand traces from your ass back up your side again. It lingers for a moment before moving to your front, cupping your breast through your shirt. “Say that again,” he moans, “My name like that…”

“Spike…” you sigh, giggling delicately at his desperation.

“Again...?” he pleads, pulling away from your neck. He peers up at you, eyes hazy with want. He slowly moves his hand down your stomach, tracing the hem of your shorts with a single fingertip.

You press your forehead against his, arching your back. “Spike…” you groan, bucking your hips eagerly. Smirking, he wraps a finger around the material’s waistband and snaps it teasingly against your skin. With a few more kisses planted to your lips, he gingerly slips his hand in your shorts. Moving with a sloth-like pace, his fingers reach your clothed core and gently rub against your wetness. “Mmh... Spike…” you moan, not needing a request this time.

“What the hell-?!” A booming voice shouts from the doorway leading out into the Bebop’s main corridor. A metal crash and another sharp sound follows immediately.

You and Spike freeze, clinging to each other despite the compromising position. His hand is still halfway down your shorts, his shirt is unbuttoned, and the both of you are sweating buckets. Add rosy cheeks- as well as widened eyes -and it’s no doubt the two of you look like a couple of deers in headlights.

Moving in tandem, you both turn to the doorway. Jet is standing there, just as frozen solid as you’d been a second ago. On the floor is a metal watering can, still emptying out onto the floor and getting the man’s shoes soaked. Next to it is a tiny bonsai, roots and dirt seeping from the now-broken pot.

You sit up, finally finding yourself. Spike removes his hands from you completely, and you do the same. Hastily, you trip over your words in an attempt to explain, “I-I-... Jet... we-we were just, uhh-...”

Jet waves his arms and shakes his head. “No no! I get it!” he roughly exclaims, turning back around. “Seriously! Bring it to a damn bedroom you perverts... other people live here you know!” he shouts the last few words, walking back down the hall he’d originally came through.

“Shit…” you mumble, climbing off Spike.

He sits up, pulling a cigarette box from his pant’s pocket. Watching his hands move, Spike grabs a single cigarette and shoves it between his lips. “I suppose I should’ve mentioned that the kids weren’t actually asleep; meant it as a figure of speech. Sorry about that,” he chuckles, inhaling a huff. Your cheeks flare pink.

“Spike!”

#cowboy bebop #spike spiegel #spike spiegel x reader #spike x reader #faye valentine #radical edward #ed #ed but not sheeran #jet black #ein #one shot #writing #fandom #anime #manga #slight angst #? #romance #imagine #y/n #my writing #johnny’s work

[decarabiandivorce]

(FFD au) I wonder how deca adopting nb would change the course of the rebellion. it’s obvious that there would be disruptions, but would nb escape/leave/be “saved” and the rebellion would pick back up again, the course of events being the same except pushed back a few years? or would things have been changed too much, perhaps the rebellion would dissipate, or it could have a new leader, or something else entirely? In the end, would deca, amos, and nb still end up dead or would they prevail somehow? would venti become the anemo archon, or would someone else get that title? Would deca ultimately show the same compassion towards the citizens of (old) mondstadt as he does towards nb, or would he remain just as cruel?

The rebellion dies the moment Carmen falls into Decarabian's hands. As soon as the announcement goes out that Deca has a kid and that kid is Carmen, then he might as well have a bounty on his head from angry and betrayed rebels.

They don't know him. They know him as their leader, but he never talks about his past life. He never shares anything with anyone (like a certain RHW), and he dose it in such a way that you never question it. It's like how present-day Venti doesn't get asked on where he is from. The people of Mondstadt don't look into their friends that well and in this case it's biting them back.

Imagine being them. Having hope and dreams all fueled by this rebellion. And the person that whispered and tempted you to fall is the KID the PUPPET of the tyrant? It's heartbreaking! And the kid has stopped denying it!

There is no other option for them. They were lied to. That kid is probs telling Decarabian the home addresses and family locations of each and every member!! He is a threat to the remaining rebels.

Someone needs to take out the threat.

Thus after centuries, (My hc is that the gods can make people long-lived (except when killed) (like a certain water person)(as long as it's a curse- the person is suffering from it) ), Decarabian becomes the anemo archon with his loving family right beside him

Okay so what does this do :

Lets say that FINNALLY after so long of asking Deca lowers the wind gales now he has the gnosis.

Sunny skies are back in Mondstadt, but the mountains are still rugged and harsh

Deca also caused a lot of wolves to...... There is No Way is he co-ruling with his ex Andrius

The sky is so blue but to NB its as grey as the stone walls. It's not special anymore. He is tired. So so so tired...

Big change to the world of Teyvat : No wind gliders

yeah since that is a Venti Staple, there are no wind gliders and probs a whole bunch more adventures being .... oof.

Dvalin only lives because I think it would be funny if NB and Venti were excited over a DRAGON and Deca was like "fine. >:/ "

The witches circle challenges Deca and he might die. Alice proceeds to make out sloppy style with Amos and makes Venti the new anemo archon /hj

#steel text #found family deca au #mostly joking on that last one but I have no clue how he would respond to the witches

[nobedofroses]

December 2

pairing: Din Djarin x reader

warnings: fluff, allusions to spice

words: 949

a/n: slightly grumpy Din who is also a sucker

Last, Full List, Next

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While Din had been hunting his last bounty, you and Grogu had gone into the nearby village (you were allowed to because it was in the opposite direction the bounty had gone). As was usual, you went to the market to buy food and other staples that you liked to stock up on just in case you weren’t going to be on planet for a while. 

The baby always stuck close by you and he was generally more well-behaved for you than he was with his dad. You were never sure whether it was because he felt less safe with you than his heavily armored and weaponed dad or if he thought you needed him for protection. Either way you weren’t complaining. 

Today, as you were buying things, the vendors kept mentioning a light festival in the town, asking if the two of you were planning on going. Not knowing the area, you tried to subtly get information from different sellers (probably overly cautious, but Din had influenced you). 

Apparently, there was a large garden at the edge of the village that was decorated in thousands of lights and there would be food vendors and live music. Grogu listened just as much as you did, and while you weren’t sure if he knew what the lights would look like, he was very interested at the prospect of food. And you knew that he would love the lights when he did see them. 

The festival was going on for a couple nights so you would suggest it to Din when he got back to the ship. You knew better than to try and go just you and the baby, never  being allowed to leave the ship without Din at night. Sure that between you and Grogu he would be convinced, the two of you grabbed some lunch before heading back to the ship. 

That night, Din didn’t return until Grogu was asleep and you were getting ready for bed yourself. You were in the fresher but you could hear him take the bounty to the carbonite freezer and then he knocked on the door to give you the all clear. Once you were dried off and dressed, you went out and found him in the cockpit, clearly having just finished eating, but with his helmet back on. 

You smiled at him and he held out a hand for you, helping you to sit sideways on his lap. The two of you were committed to be wed, and some days it felt like you couldn’t wait to be able to kiss him, see his face. The thought of getting to do it soon distracted you for a moment, but when he tilted his head in a clear mark of curiosity, you remembered what you were going to say. 

Grabbing his hand in both of yours, you started playing with his fingers absent-mindedly as you started talking, “So Grogu and I heard about something that sounded like fun today.” 

Din nodded and hummed for you to continue, though you also felt him shifting just a bit underneath you. 

“The town is having a light festival this week with food and music and lights, of course, and I thought the baby would love it.” 

“Just the kid?”

You smiled sheepishly, “Well, I would love it too. What do you say, can we go?” 

He hummed in thought, which you thought was just to make you sweat. “Will I love it?” 

You laughed and said, “I’m sure there will be things there you like. And if there isn’t, I’ll make it up to you.” 

Din’s hands tightened on you and he said, “I think I need an example of that right now.” 

Smiling suggestively, you readjusted to straddle him instead and said, “You can consider it a thank you.” 

___

The next evening, the three of you set out for the festival, and just as you predicted you all loved it. Even underneath his helmet, you could tell that Din was enjoying himself. He made a lot of comments about how everything was constructed and pointed out the particularly elaborate displays to the baby, all while sticking very close to you. The two of you didn’t like to display affection in public (mainly because Din didn’t want anyone to target you because of him), but he did guide you sometimes with a hand on the small of your back or the light touch of his fingertips on your elbow. 

You and Grogu got your fill of yummy food and drinks as you walked, and you made sure to pack some away in your bag for Din to have later. By the end of the night, Din had to carry Grogu back to the ship, all tuckered out from the food and excitement. 

While you put Grogu to bed, Din ate, and again you found him in the cockpit and again, you sat sideways on his lap. 

“So what did you think?” 

After several seconds, Din just shrugged and hummed noncommittally. 

For a second, you questioned yourself, wondering if he actually hadn’t enjoyed himself, but then you felt his hands sliding up your thighs and you realized what he was thinking. 

“Oh no, Din,” you said, exaggerating your worry. “You didn’t like it?” 

Again, Din just shrugged, apparently incapable of outright lying to you. 

“Poor honey, had to spend all that time walking around with us,” you gave him your best sad eyes, knowing he liked it when you babied him a bit. You moved to straddle him, again, and then leaned in, tugging his cowl down so your lips could find his neck, “I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

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#din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #smut #ish #fluff #blurb #nobedofroses #stephsdecemberwritingchallenge