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fanaticsnail · 7 months

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Remember Me

Hello Shanks fans!

This work was requested by @aishabbbb, which I linked back to here for the full description of the prompt. This is my third (technically fourth because my thoughts ran away with me!) requested work that I've completed.

I'm not currently taking requests, but if you do want to see my writing style depict a specific idea, I will honestly most likely hyper-fixate on it until the idea consumes me if you do ask me nice enough. I do appreciate a good prompt! And seriously, who doesn't love an amnesia trope!

Word Count: 6,636

My Masterlist is here!

Echoes of gruff laughter lingered in the air as tankards of ale clanged against one another. It had been a while since the Red-Hair Pirates had made port and as they viewed a rowdy port full of lively music, contagious laughter and bursting at the seams with a variety of pleasurable company; they could not resist.

This port had been known for some time to be a lawless town, accepting of any journeymen as they resupplied their vessels, sailors selling their wares and even the odd Marine here or there had graced the town with their presence. The World Government paid no mind to the comings or goings, knowing should the port be shut down; their supply of rum would slowly dwindle away.

The Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates sat upon a stool at the rear of the room as he stared into the bottom of his tankard, watching the amber liquid slosh from side to side. He withdrew into himself; his former joy and carefree attitude no longer present on his features this night.

A woman with a painted face sauntered over towards the captain, swaying her hips as she overemphasized her intentions.

“Care for some company, sweetheart?” she asked him in a sultry tone as she took his hand in hers that still clasped the tankard. He made eye contact and smiled from the corner of his mouth before withdrawing the hand from her grip and drew his drinking vessel to his mouth.

“Not today, love,” he said, taking a drink from his tankard, “but I can point you in the direction of someone who would be more than happy to share your time.”

She smiled as Shanks gestured to his senior officer, who had a black bandana featuring a white jolly roger insignia atop his lengthy blonde hair. His expression was one of a displeasing grimace, black glasses concealing more of his irritation behind them.

“See if you can bring a smile to his face, would you?” he laughed slightly as she nodded as she made her way to her next target.

Plonking two fresh pints down on the table before him, Benn Beckman sighed as he sat on a stool facing his Captain; taking one of the pints and gesturing for Shanks to do the same.

“You turned her away?” Beckman questioned his Captain, “I thought you’d enjoy a pretty blonde giving you attention this time.”

“I’m not as open today as I have been any other day to the company of a painted lady,” Shanks laughed in response raising his pint and clanging it against his First-Mate’s, “or any other man or woman you’ve since such sent my way. You know this.”

“Oh,” Beckman uttered, eyes widening before looking down at the table, “I didn’t realise it was today. Sorry Cap’n.”

“Don’t apologise, Beckman,” he smiled at him before drinking from the tankard. He moaned slightly as the cool, bubbling liquid hit his lips and he tasted the bitter flavour of the hoppy amber ale.

“How long has it been since-?” Beckman began, halting his words in search for the more appropriate way of phrasing it.

“How long has it been since my bride was claimed at sea?” Shanks offered to complete his First-Mate’s sentence. Beckman nodded in response, gesturing with his pint for Shanks to offer his answer.

Shanks sighed and leant back in his stool, his back thumping against the small railing at the back.

“This day marks ten years,” he added with a sad smile. A silence fell between them as they reminisced the day the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirate’s wife was lost to him.

After a brief pause, they commenced their drinking as they surveyed the movements of the patrons and crew interacting with one another.

Beckman raised his tankard to his lips and begin to gulp with gusto at the frothing liquid. He trailed his eyes throughout the bar as he did so; looking to Limejuice as he grit his teeth tightly at the blonde woman’s incessant and unrelenting flirtation was thrust upon him.

He continued his assessment of the room before his attention was caught by a group of sailors laughing amongst each other, a woman throwing her had back at the joke uttered by one among them. Benn Beckman spluttered into his tankard, coughing as the amber ale entered into his wind pipe and corrupted his lungs with it. He continued to draw in his breaths while maintaining visual contact on the situation unfolding before him.

“Benn,” Shanks addressed his choking crewman, “you alright?”

The First-Mate continued coughing and spluttering, managing to relieve his lungs of the bitter substance and gasping in a long breath. His pigment all but fled from his face as he continued staring blankly at the bar in horror.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Shanks laughed, placing his tankard down on the table before clapping a hand against the upper arm of Beckman’s shoulder.

“I-I think I have,” Beckman stuttered slightly before bringing his attention to his captain, “look to the bar and tell me if you can see her too, Captain.”

Shanks furrowed his brows in confusion, laughing lightly at the confession of his crewman before turning and immediately having the playful expression pulled from his lips.

“You see her?” Beckman asked him in a voice just above a whisper.

The Captain wordlessly rose to his feet, almost toppling the stool over in the process as he made his way to approach the woman. His bride, his queen. His whole world was carelessly and unaware of his presence as the melodical laugh fell from her lips; a sound Shanks never thought he would once again experience.

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

You tapped the chest of the older sailor in front of you as you continued to laugh at his joke.

“Harold,” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye, “and that’s the reason you only have three toes on your left foot?”

“Honest to goodness, lass,” he continued to rumble laughter, his eyes twinkling with utter mischievousness, “the bloody crab nearly carved the whole lot off, if not for my quick thinking!”

He imitated the pinching movements of a crab’s claw and crooked his head to make himself look as crab-like as he could, prompting another roar of laughter to erupt between the sailors and yourself.

“Alright, I’ll get you that drink then,” you teetered your laughter and turned to address the bartender you had come to know, “Mary, give us a couple schooners of ale- the pale stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right you are, my love,” she acknowledged your order and began pouring the foamed liquid into two smaller cups.

It had been ten years since you found yourself lying upon the shore with no recollection of who or what you were before your arrival. Thankfully enough, your body was strong. You knew how to hold your own when it came to unwarranted and unreciprocated attention, often brawling with men to assert yourself among them.

As you needed a job to afford food, you managed to bully Captain Harold of the Angelfish Shepherds Fishing Crew and would accompany them out to sea, bringing in several catches a day and selling their many items throughout town. It was only when the sun would disappear behind the horizon, you would come home to the tavern: "Mary’s Resting Track" and make yourself comfortable with your crew at the bar; drinking well into the night.

Just as Mary had finished pouring from the keg, you felt an arm placed upon your left shoulder, prompting you to turn to face it's source.

“My bride,” a tall, red-headed man gasped in a voice above a whisper as he drew you in to place his lips against yours. You squealed at the tender impact, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth at the sudden softness and passion you felt from the unknown man. You pushed on his chest slightly before creasing your brows in confusion.

“Steady on, Sailor. Save it for your wife,” you laughed at him, collecting the two schooners from the bar and placing one into the hands of Captain Harold, “or at least buy me a drink first!”

You laughed, prompting your crew to do the same as they raised their glasses and took a drink. You rose yours to your lips and drank from it, keeping playful eye contact with the sailor before you.

He was handsome, his red hair immediately drawing you in. He had a black cloak shrouding his left arm from view and a three-point claw mark over his left eye. His face held a shocked, sobering expression on it as if he was staring at something extra-terrestrial in make.

“Y-You,” he stuttered out, “Y-You’re.”

The words caught in his throat as he again reached his right hand up to attempt to secure a fallen strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You swatted his hand away from completing the action.

“No,” you said firmly, playfulness leaving your face as your eyebrows collected themselves with a frown, “no one touches my hair. It’s out of bounds to even those who know me, and know me; you do not.”

You swiped his arm away fully away from your face while keeping a warning, reprimanding look on your features. He continued to stare at you, his eyes swelling slightly as they fluttered between your own; pleading with you and searching within them for a small shroud of recognition.

“She’s saving it for her beloved,” your crewman mocked you in a high-pitched tone, bringing humour once again to the room. You laughed at his jest, prompting you to turn away from the red head to scold his imitation.

“I don’t sound like that,” you laughed at him, prompting your crewman to again mock you by wobbling his head from side to side and scrunching up his face.

You turned back around to see the man again gazing with a fierce intensity born deeply into your eyes and managed this time to tuck a strand of your hair behind your left ear with his right hand. At this, you brought your own hand firmly up and struck the side of his face, all humour once again leaving you.

At the crisp strike, chaos erupted at the bar. A crew of pirates drew their pistols, pointing it towards you; while your crew of sailors pulled their own from their belt and aimed it at them in response. You kept your eyes completely fixed on the red-haired pirate as his face continued to hold a yearning expression.

“She gave you a warning, Sailor,” your Captain spat at him, “I don’t care how much ale you consumed, you respect the wishes of a lady.”

This seemed to shatter whatever illusion was held on the redhead in front of you as he looked to the assortment of pirates behind him. He held up his hands in defence of himself, taking a step back from his proximity near you and nodding his head in a deep bow.

“Easy, lads,” he smiled, “put them away. We don’t bring out our guns at one little slap.”

The crew focussed their attention on you as you shook your head and creased your brows at his address. He again turned to you, and bowed his head slightly deeper as an apology.

“You’ll have to excuse me, miss,” he uttered, “I didn’t mean to cross your boundary. It was reactionary, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies.”

Your gaze softened at his words as you gently used your pointer finger to raise his chin to look at you once more.

“Apology accepted on the condition of buying me and my friends a round of drinks,” you scrunched your nose with a small wink. He laughed at your remark, shaking his head and smiling once more.

“I would have to agree, miss. Definitely the next one on me,” he continued to gaze into your eyes as you withdrew your finger from his chin and tapped his nose with it playfully.

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

You didn’t remember him. That must be the only reason you didn’t hoist yourself into his single arm and cling yourself against him. Why you didn’t lean into the kiss and allow him to lace his hand into your hair and relieve your face from it shrouding your vision. The act so intimately solidifying your relationship in the early days, holding onto it as you spoke your wedding vows.

No-one was to ever touch your hair apart from yourself and your beloved were the words you spoke while dressed in your white, lace dress aboard the Red Force; Beckman performing the ceremony all those years ago.

You were married in your youth, relationship blossoming from friendship to something more on the Oro Jackson under the watchful gaze of Gol D. Roger. The subtle glances turned into subtle touches, turning into kisses stolen from within the hidden halls of the Oro Jackson as you would press each other against the walls and roam your hands along your bodies.

He was obsessed with your hair, and with each caress, each embrace, he would find himself absent-mindedly playing with it. You vowed alongside your commitment in matrimony that only he and he alone would be allowed to tuck your hair behind your ear in adoration; and you be the only one permitted to place a kiss atop the crown of his head.

Shanks had to contain himself as his soul screamed within the chasms of his chest to embrace you, to hold you against him and cry out in joy at your return. He didn’t touch another woman in the ten long years it had been since your last departure; the notion turning to ash in his mouth at the mere suggestion. It had only been until recently that Beckman prompted him to seek out someone to relieve his tension, but he felt it would’ve been an insult to the beautiful memories you shared with one another.

You were even in the process of early conversations on what starting a family would look like aboard the Red Force with his assortment of rowdy crew.

You would bicker at having the ship make birth permanently at a port, returning every two weeks to the solid shore as Shanks refused to halt his travels. He wanted you and the children aboard, rearing them alongside his crew; an idea you immediately shot down as you understood infants waking and crying at every interval and the disruption would not be fair to bring to the crew.

Shanks remembered Beckman adding to that conversation with: “We’re already getting sleepless nights from the sounds echoing the halls originating at your quarters!”

He chuckled at the memory before he remembered the fear on your face as the storm threw you overboard in your attempt to raise the sheet from the topmast and secure it in place. The black sky and torrential winds making it impossible to see your form as you struggled against the waves. He didn’t see what happened, only noticing your departure once they successfully made it through the storm and into the central eye of it.

The roar-like scream rumbling throughout the chest of the Red-Haired Captain still reverberating within the ears and memories of the entire crew as they recollect it every year. The pain shared amongst them as their captain bore his grief openly; drowning in rum every night before Beckman pulled him out of his rut with the reprimand: “this is not what she would have wanted.”

It mattered not what happened to him from that point. The pain of loosing you was far greater than any earthly injury could bring forth. He didn’t even bat an eye as his arm was claimed by a great Sea-Beast; consuming his flesh within it’s belly. He was more upset by the fact his golden wedding band perished at its disappearance.

And here you were, not a scratch upon you; laughing as if you had not a care in the world.

You had no memory. That was the only explanation Shanks had as he gazed lovingly at you, drinking your free ale at his expense.

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

You shook your head at a comment made by one of your crewmen as they suggested to hold a drinking competition between the red-haired pirate’s crew and your own.

“I don’t think I have enough booze in the house for that,” Mary laughed from behind the bar.

You smiled at her comment, turning back around to see the far off look in the red-head’s eyes.

“You know,” you nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention back towards you, “for someone that leads in lips first, you’re awfully quiet.”

He chuckled at your comment, expression softening but with a hidden depth you couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m not usually like this,” he scrunched his nose up with a smile.

“Rough time at sea, then?” you asked him, gesturing to Mary with two fingers to indicate your intentions of purchasing the next round for you and the red-head.

“Not particularly, its just-,” his words trailed off, prompting you to gaze your eyes; flittering them between his own two deep brown orbs before he took a deep breath and looked forward at his crew interacting with your own.

“You gestured for the good stuff, right?” she asked, placing two short, round glasses down on the counter; spiced rum swishing in the base as she did so.

“That I did, love,” you replied, placing down your berry on the counter and taking the glasses from it. You went to place the glass into the red-head Captain’s hands, noticing it was already occupied with a half-drunk tankard of ale.

“You keen on a rum?” you asked him, bringing his gaze up. He gasped out a quick hum, raising the tankard and downing the remainder of his ale with haste and placing the empty vessel atop the bar. He rose his hand to accept your offer and his fingers brushed against your own as he claimed the drink from your hand.

He looked down to your collar bone and noticed a single gold ring hung from a piece of fine leather around it. He furrowed his brows at it as to inspect it from his great distance.

“The gold band around your neck,” he gestured down to your left hand, “are you married?”

“Not to my knowledge, Sailor,” you laughed at him, “I was found with it.”

You sipped at the rum and creased your brows as the heavy alcohol entered your system.

“I apologise for slapping you,” you uttered, “I, uh. I made a promise, you see. I don’t really know what about or to whom, truthfully.”

He hummed at your comment, fixing his eyes on your face as you spoke. He trailed his eyes over your body, looking at you with an expression completely unreadable. Somewhere between: bewildered, surprised, great sorrow, relief, curiosity and apprehension.

“I don’t actually have a lot of that – knowledge, I mean,” you reiterated with a smile, “For the better part of ten years, I’ve been building back what I think I used to be like. I have no idea, though. I could’ve been some prissy young lass with a string of twelve children; or some standoffish, uptight cow-.”

“-You were never like that,” the red-head interrupted you, prompting you to snap your gaze up to meet with his.

“Do you know me, Sailor?” you asked him, your brows creasing together.

“Shanks,” he corrected you, “my name is Shanks.”

“Alright, Shanks,” you corrected yourself, “Do you know me?”

He sighed, drinking a small amount of liquid from his glass and looking to the rowdy crowd as their boisterous laughter echoed throughout the walls.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m going to need two things,” he said, downing the remainder of alcohol from his glass in one quick swell, “another drink, preferably a bottle this time.”

You laughed at him, before asking; “and the other thing?”

“Privacy,” he uttered with a small hint of sadness. You expressed concern within your eyes before patting him on the back and rubbing small circles in comfort to him.

You weren’t sure why you brought your hand up to comfort him, it seemed almost reactionary. A natural instinct of familiarity; organic.

“Alright, Shanks,” you began, making eye contact with Mary once more, “I’ll buy you a bottle under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he chuckled warmly.

“That you give me a small glint of information before we proceed to the beach,” Mary placed the bottle on the counter and you placed down more berry in response, “I need to know if you are threatening me with a good time, or if you plan on executing me to reclaim some debt.”

“Were we enemies?” you asked him, bearing your gaze at the wall behind the bar.

“Sometimes,” Shanks shrugged his shoulders, prompting you to snap your gaze back to his. He erupted a full belly laugh from his diaphragm at your reaction. He let out a deep sigh before he suggested; “let’s make to the beach and I’ll fill you in.”

Mary smiled, looking between the two of you before the beckoning of Captain Harold and several bottles of the cheapest rum called her from her place before you.

You nodded, neglecting to collect glassware while you grasped the neck of the bottle; not once removing your eyes from the red-head next to you.

You made your way down towards the beach, walking in step with Captain Shanks, as the crew bid him goodnight. You noticed several members of his crew gawked at you as if they had seen a phantom or something of the make.

Once gazing into the open sea, the Captain plonked himself unceremoniously on the sand, legs spread wide as he sat with his knees bent upwards. You smiled at him before crouching down to sit beside him, uncorking the fresh rum bottle in your hands and offering it to him. He smiled as he took it from your grasp and brought it to his lips.

You trailed your eyes over his form, trying to conjure a whisp of memory from the recesses of your mind. After having no image return to you, you rose up your voice.

“So-,” you began, only to be cut off my Shanks.

“You were – are,” he started to relay, laughing at the fact he spoke over you. You nodded to him to continue.

He paused, sighing before again voicing what he was attempting to confess to you.

“It’s been ten years to the day since I lost you,” he sighed, looking down to the sand near his knees, “and not a day went by that my thoughts were not drawn to you.”

You looked at him, puzzled at what he was telling you.

“Your gold band,” he gestured with his hand towards your neck grasping the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the sand below him, “was gifted to us by our former Captain we served under: Gol D. Roger. He had a lot of love for you and I.”

“The King of the Pirates?” you asked him, eyes wide before adding, “and us. What do you mean, us?”

He sighed again, this time bringing his head to slouch back as he gazed at the dark and cloudless sky above you.

“I can’t tell you what happened right now. It’s-,” he paused between the words, prompting you to inch forward and look at his face. He turned his face away from you as you attempted to gaze into his eyes; “-it’s too painful today.”

You frowned and instead reached down to the hand placed upon his hand, and swiftly reclaimed the rum bottle from within his grip. He turned his head towards you at this and trailed his eyes up to yours as you placed the lip of the bottle and downed two large gulps of the liquid. You squeezed your eyes as the strong alcohol burned its way down your throat and into the pit of your belly.

He laughed at your actions, finally the forlorn expression eclipsed by glee.

“You haven’t changed,” he uttered, reaching his hand up to your hair before recoiling it back again. You watched him do this, as processing the boundary you expressed earlier still lingered within his thoughts. Instead of reaching your hair with his hand, he fell his grasp to your hands as they held the rum bottle.

“Is there truly nothing you remember of me?” He asked you, looking down to where his single hand rested upon your own. You furrow your brows and search your mind through closed eyes, willing yourself to remember any aspect about him. You hissed out a growl in frustration as you found no recollection.

“I want to,” you whispered to him, “you seem a decent kind of man, if not a little forward with the kiss and all.”

He chuckled at your comment, his laughter building to a rumble. His shoulders began to quake lightly as his laughter died and morphed into soft sobs. He attempted to conceal them from you by raising his hand up from where it rested atop his knee and turned to face away from you. You were overwhelmed slightly by this man becoming wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, bringing yourself to rest on your knees as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You opened your arms and shimmied your legs forward, hoisting them over his bent knees and found a comfortable spot on the sand to rest between them. Your arms circled his shoulders as you felt his right arm wrap beneath your waist and hook up your spine. He held his face flush with your stomach and squeezed his hand to grasp at your body as if you were to slip away at any moment. You felt his shoulders begin to relax into your embrace while inhaling your scent. You looked down the top of his head before absentmindedly bringing your lips down to place a chaste kiss against his hair. He flinched slightly at this impact, tension building in his shoulders before he slumped them forward.

You heard him sigh into your diaphragm as you did so, bringing his face away from its hidden position against you and resting his chin atop your chest to bring his sights to look up at you. For some reason, this man as he held you in an intimate proximity did not have you thrusting him away from your with excessive force as you did with so many others.

You unwrapped your left hand from around his shoulders and set it against his cheek. His youthful smile returning as you caressed him. You warmly smiled in response, feeling the gruff of his stubble against the palm of your hand before he turned his head and placed a brief kiss atop your inner hand.

“I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to getting you to fall in love with me once again,” he whispered against your hand before turning his head to meet your gaze, “this I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the comment with a small smile toying at your mouth.

“I gather my undying devotion is overwhelming for you,” he chuckled, prompting you to move your hand away from his face and place both hands atop his shoulders.

“It is, to be perfectly candid with you,” you giggled at him, smoothing your arms over his shoulders and tracing circles against them with your thumbs, “I have tried everything to bring a small fragment of the person I once was to the forefront of my being.”

He trailed his hand from its place at the small of your back and rested it atop your left hip, grasping it firmly within his palm and kneading the flesh beneath it.

You brought your attention to the gold ring on your leather necklace as you held onto his shoulder, narrowing your eyes at the metal slightly; pleading within your own mind to bring forth any memory of the man cradling himself against you.

“To put myself in your hideous sandals,” you uttered, prompting him to quirk his head slightly to the side, “you found me, and it’s almost as if you did so only to lose me again.”

“Aye, it is,” he nodded, looking down again and meeting his eyes with the flesh of your forearm. He ghosted his lips over your left arm, dragging it higher within the crook of your elbow. Your hair follicles stood on edge under his ministrations, as he continued to not kiss your skin; but rather feel the way your body tasted below his lips.

“And you looked lovely in my highly practical sandals, last time you wore them,” he smirked his lips against your flesh before placing a kiss against it. He trailed kisses varying in intensity back down your forearm and against your wrist, prompting your breath to hitch in your throat.

That comment was it. After a variety of interpersonal and intimate words shared regarding your prior relationship with the man beneath you; it was the ugly sandals that brought a flitter of memory to grace behind your eyes. Any other comment; the hand in your hair from earlier, the wedding ring gifted by Gol D. Roger before he was executed, anything else; it was the ugly sandals he found in the run of the mill town that he purchased and, much to your horror, wore in public.

You remember taking them from his room and fleeing above deck with them in an attempt to throw them overboard to rid yourself of their ugliness forever, only to have your waist caught by your husband as he twirled you around to face the deck again with playful reprimand in the process of doing so.

At the request of your husband, you placed them on your feet and experienced the absolute comfort they bore you; almost shrieking in disgust at yourself for relishing in the feeling; as he belly-laughed at you.

“We’ll get you some at the next port” you heard his voice within your mind, “then we can be matching.”

You remembered him wiggling his eyebrows, prompting you to place your closed fist against his chest and tap him slightly.

“We can even get tiny little ones for when you relent and let me put a child in you,” you remembered his tone, causing a blush to rise presently to your cheeks.

“Something the matter, love?” Shanks' voice brought you from your singular memory and back into the present moment you were sharing so intimately with your husband.

No other memory sprang forward, only a few whispers of certain smells: sea water, spiced rum and stagnant drinking water with the natural smell men aboard a boat. You circled your arms around his shoulders and again pressed him against yourself, smothering his face against your sternum between your breasts. Your mouth fell slack as you pressed your face into his hair and inhaled the aroma of the fragrance he favoured to utilise in his red locks: sandalwood and ginger prominent with his natural scent lingering beneath it.

You began to feel a rough flurry of taps from the man beneath you as he indicated for you to release him. His laughter was unrestrained as his eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“As happy as I am to once again have my face pressed between your breasts,” he heaved his laughter, “I do require air to sustain me.”

He brought his eyes to meet yours as you stared your eyes on the crashing waves of the beach as the tide began to come in further. Your eyes remained wide as you continued to will a semblance of recollection to come to you.

Once you offered no rebuttal at his comment, he again reached his hand up towards your hair only to halt it once more.

“What is it?” he asked you, now placing his right hand atop your left arm, holding it lovingly.

“I-,” you began, the words now halting between your lips. You brought your eyes down to look down and you continued to flitter them between each of his own.

“I-,” you again said, leaning in closer to him; prompting him to have a sense of seriousness overcome his features, “-will never own a pair of those ugly sandals.”

Immediately his seriousness fell away and his face split into a wide grin as his laughter rumbled within his chest one more.

“Yes, you always hated them. I think they’re wonderful,” he gasped while stifling his laughter. You continued to hold his shoulders as his laughter teetered off into a dull rumble.

“I tried to throw them overboard,” you uttered almost inaudibly, “and you threatened me with buying more of them.”

“You remember,” he gasped out a breathy sigh, “you remember me.”

He brought his torso up further to bring your foreheads to rest against each other. He nuzzled your nose slightly at the impact and squeezed his eyes shut with delight. He began to lean in to graze your lips with his, only to be halted by your gentle touch to bring him back.

“I don’t remember anything else aside from your disgusting sandals,” you whispered, closing your eyes before reopening them again and looking at him half-lidded, “and the way you looked at me when you suggested we begin trying for a child.”

A small gasp left his lips as a single tear fell from his right eye. Immediately he pulled your head against his further, seeking out your lips with his own. He moved his hand from its place at your hip to snake around your waist and hold you firmly against his lap. You felt him moan against your lips as you reciprocated his enthusiasm by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging lightly at the new growth at the back of his neck.

As your proximity was so flush against one another, you had no choice but to press your full weight against him as he laid with his back against the sand; his hair sprawling out atop the course surface. He expertly maneuvered his right leg beneath yours without breaking the kiss, gasping into it as he darted his tongue out to meet with your own.

A soft whimper flung itself from your lips as he relentlessly attacked your mouth with his own; flittering deep and hungry kisses while trying to taste as much of you as he could with his tongue. You unlaced your fingers from his hair and raked them down his shoulders to his chest, massaging the hard muscle beneath them as you continued in your exploration. He gently rose his hand from its place around your waist and drew itself beneath your shirt and groaned when he felt your tender flesh beneath the material.

Placing your right hand below his cloak, you raked your fingers further along his ribcage and drew them up towards his left arm – halting your movement as you found none residing there.

You squealed into his mouth, feeling him smirk against your lips. You attempted to break from the kiss, only to feel his hand climb higher beneath your blouse and lie flat against your spine between your shoulder blades and continue passionately exploring your lips.

“Shanks,” you murmured a warning reprimand against his lips. He smiled while maintaining his lips against your own, feeling the soft pearls of his teeth as they made contact with your mouth. He continued to chase your lips each time you attempted to flee from his embrace.

You brought your hands up to ball the material of his white shirt within your fists and held him further against yourself, prompting him to let down his guard as he whimpered into your lips at your sudden domination. As soon as you felt him relinquish a small spectrum of control, you pushed hard on his collar bones and pried him from your lips. He first groaned in frustration before his body was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. He collapsed against the ground, prompting you to roll your body from above him to onto your own back in the sand as his laughter became contagious.

And as earlier, the heaving of your shoulders in fits of laughter evolved into heavy sobs from the both of you as you mourned the time lost between you.

“My bride,” Shanks called from beside you as he placed his right hand upon his eyes in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Yes, my groom,” you said as more of a whimper than an address.

He rolled over onto his side and hovered his face above yours, as the tears freely fell down the faces of the two of you; the moonlight cascading over your lover’s hair. Hesitantly, he reached his right hand up to your hair and slowly brought some loose strands from your face and wove it behind your ear. He sighed in relief as he watched you close your eyes and lean into his touch, taking your quivering lip between your teeth as you did so.

“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered with a slight hitch of his voice. You reopened your eyes to watch him smiling through his sorrow. You returned his expression and caressed his chest and ghosting your fingertips over his left shoulder.

“And you are one arm less than I remember,” you beamed a wide smile and giggled a little at your prod. He joined you in your laughter and pressed a chaste kiss against your hair before rising to his feet and offering you his right hand to hoist you up to meet him. You took his hand and allowed him to hoist you to your feet, before he dipped his shoulder down to make contact with your waist and lifted you over his right shoulder. He secured you in place with a crisp slap upon your left ass-cheek as he effortlessly crouched down to retrieve the forgotten, half-drunk rum bottle. He rose again to his feet and began to walk with you over his shoulder, using his teeth to uncork the rum bottle and spitting it against the sand.

“Is this quite necessary?” you asked him, mock annoyance in your tone.

He laughed and took a long swig from the rum bottle and gasped in joy as the liquid burnt its way down his throat.

“Not only is it necessary,” he called to you over his left shoulder, “it is also compulsory.” You laughed at him as he almost jigged back towards the tavern, him joining you in your laughter upon arriving at its steps and flinging open the door with his feet.

The arrival of the two of you had cheers erupting and reverberating from every corner and crevasse of the wooden building. Tankards were thrust into the air, foam sloshing carelessly from the top and onto the floor; much to the many protestations of Mary.

Shanks placed you on the floor after setting aside the bottle of rum atop a cylindrical raised bar table.

“Alright lads,” he addressed the room, “let me reintroduce you to my wife!”

He extended his right hand out for you to place your left hand within. As soon as you did so, he effortlessly spun you into him, your left arm laced over your front as he cradled you against himself.

You looked up to his face, your neck laying against his shoulder as he brought his lips down to meet your own for the first time publicly in a decade. Applause, shouts of glee and delight, more sloshing of ale and verbal reprimands from the tavern keeper echoed the hall as you smiled against the lips of your beloved. Your husband, and his bride.

#one piece #opla #x reader #shanks opla #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #one piece live action #opla fic #amnesia trope #my playlist broke me #angst #angst with a happy ending

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sixosix · 4 months

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i want you for worse or for better | aether

synopsis your ex, aether, asks you to be his plus one; you were doomed from the very beginning.

tags wc 2.8k, gn!reader, modern au, profanity, getting back together, exes to lovers, humor bc i cant take my own writing seriously, ft 4GGRAVATE!!!

notes ty to @earthtooz and @naosaki helping me brainstorm w this one… our big brains were on the same wave while cooking.

Aether moved around a lot. He was never the type to settle down. It was in his blood to explore the world and leave only a trace of him behind. He was something like a hero, coming in at the worst time and leaving them better than before. You couldn’t say the same about his effect on you, though.

You told him of this before, and he slumped over and rested his head on your lap, “I don’t even mean to. Are you at least swept off your feet by my heroic deeds?”

“I was so charmed I only dated you because you have overthrown the government,” you said.

Aether had laughed then, and kissed you sweetly. You couldn’t fool him for a second—how you melted to the kiss spoke for itself. You loved him for so much more than that.

But you also knew that it wouldn’t last long. Aether warned you about it, too; you couldn’t even be mad. How could you blame anyone but yourself when you deliberately brushed past all the warning signs?

“I don’t stay,” Aether told you, at the time. “If you want to do this…”

“I know,” you said, at the time. “I know what I’m getting myself into. So will you just kiss me already?”

Well, you should’ve known, too, that falling out of love with Aether wouldn’t be as easy as falling in love with him. Not when he kissed you like he would never leave, anyway. You were doomed from the very beginning.

“You’ve been staring at your phone for a worryingly long time now,” Tighnari said, eyeing you from the top of his cards.

You were seated on Alhaitham’s living room couch, the four boys lounging on the floor playing TCG. Cyno was winning effortlessly against Kaveh, but against Tighnari, he found himself at a loss. Alhaitham was continuing Cyno’s winning streak on his behalf, while Cyno was down two rounds from playing with Tighnari. You had been playing, too, but your phone lit up and displayed a name that had you dropping your cards and hiding your screen from your friends’ view.

You bit your lip and reread the message for the third time. The previous texts had been months ago, with him wishing you a happy birthday. You replied with a Thank you and a red heart emoji, because the <3 emoticon felt too intimate.

“Aether texted me,” you murmured, then braced yourself for the explosion.

It was Kaveh that did. “Aether? As in your ex, Aether? That Aether?” Kaveh demanded.

“Do you know other Aethers?” Alhaitham quipped, then placed a card that had Kaveh clutching his head and groaning.

“Shut up,” Kaveh hissed, mostly because he lost. “The point is—that’s your ex! What did he say?”

You buried your face on the couch pillow, hating how your heart was racing. Like you were still in high school, or something, and not a full-grown adult who was having a crisis over their ex texting them. “He said hey are you up?, all lowercase, no comma.”

“No comma,” Kaveh repeated with a suspicious look on his face.

“No need to be so wary,” Cyno said. “His intentions don't appear to deliberately cause any 'comma-tion’.”

Tighnari’s ears dropped along with his face.

“Do you get it?” Cyno seemed proud that he was able to come up with that one right away. “There was no comma. It was a wordplay on commotion—”

“Did he also say what he was texting you for?” Kaveh interrupted loudly. “If he wants something, send a picture of us and tell him you’re busy.”

“Aether’s not like that,” you murmured in defeat.

Kaveh was making him out to be some sort of playboy. Aether wasn’t, which made you worry more. You didn’t want to entertain someone who left you, but you still cared enough to wonder if something came up and he needed you.

“You’re going to reply?” Tighnari asked.

“Yes,” you said, typing out a what’s up? and hitting Send. You didn’t know why you had butterflies in your stomach—you used to shower with Aether back when you were still together; there was no need to be so nervous. “He’s your friend, too, you know.”

“You were our friend first,” Kaveh said. “And he broke your heart. That’s not something to be taken lightly.”

You felt warm, a smile blooming on your face. “It’s okay. I wasn’t that affected.”

“You were,” Kaveh, Tighnari, and Cyno chorused.

“Fuck you,” you said, smile dropping.

Aether was typing again. You sat up straight and watched the three dots do the worm on the bottom of your screen.

hi :) how are you?

Ugh. Furiously, you typed, aether spit it out. did something happen?

okay okay

You expected that he just wanted something. Something had to have come up for him to text you after months. That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. Maybe Aether was a playboy; the way he played with your feelings almost qualified him for it.

But then you think back to when Aether was still in Sumeru, lighting up the room, lighting up a fire in your heart. He was everyone’s favorite, too, not just yours. And even if Kaveh and the others denied it now, they hadn’t been able to deny him back then. Aether helped them out in ways they didn’t know how to repay. Aether made you so happy, to be thinking so negatively about him like this.

Aether sent: i’m invited to aymar’s wedding and i wanted to ask if you would agree to be my plus one

why me?

you’re the first person i thought of.

Perhaps he wasn’t in trouble—he was trouble enough. What were you getting yourself into?

i thought you didn’t want to get involved with Aymar anymore

i can’t turn down an excuse to eat free at a buffet

You sighed. You wouldn’t, either.

You frowned at your screen, wishing it was Aether in front of you instead. Maybe if you could read his expressions instead of reading between the lines of his texts, you could figure out why he invited his ex, of all the people he knew.

besides, Aether continued to text, this is probably aymar’s way of showing us that she’s over me. she has a groom now and all that

Aymar had the biggest crush on Aether, and she never hid it, even when you and Aether were dating. But despite her advances, she was a sweet girl who was just as infatuated with your ex as the rest of Teyvat was. Maybe this was her way of apologizing.

However—

she didn’t even invite me wtf

haha well is that a no?

“Guys,” you spoke up, grabbing your friends’ attention. Kaveh was still losing miserably. “Have you heard news of Aymar’s wedding?”

“Oh,” Kaveh looked thoughtful, “yes. We were invited.”

“What? Was I the only one not invited?”

“Maybe it’s because you got to date Aether and she didn’t,” Tighnari said.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, Aether’s asking me to be his plus one—and I’m going to say yes don’t look at me like that.”

Alhaitham, Cyno, and Kaveh wordlessly clear their expressions.

“Oh,” Tighnari frowned. “We weren’t planning on going.”

“We have to now!” Kaveh said. “We have to, if Y/N’s going.”

“Is this too much?”

You checked yourself out in the full-length mirror, performing a little twirl that had Kaveh clapping. Alhaitham sat beside him, briefly looking up from his book. Tighnari and Cyno were elsewhere, picking shoes for you that would be in the range of ‘cheap’ and ‘expensive, but not because I care about what Aether would think’.

“Of course not,” Kaveh said, giving a thumbs up. “You look great!”

You turned to Alhaitham next, who didn’t hesitate: “Looks good. Might as well wear yellow, too.”

You flushed hotly at his implications. “I’m not dressing up to impress him! This is a formal event, which he happened to invite me to—as friends.”

“Right,” Alhaitham drawled. He could at least pretend to believe you, but that would probably be asking too much from him already.

Kaveh nudged Alhaitham, with a bit more force than necessary. “Cut Y/N some slack.”

Alhaitham sighed imperceptibly, turning his full attention to you. “This would probably be the closure you needed,” Alhaitham said, and you recognized his way of comfort for the way it is. “You’ll find out that you’re over him after this.”

“You’re right,” you said, breathing in deep. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So,” Kaveh stood up. “Is that what you’re buying? Let’s make haste—Cyno reserved a spot in the line for you!”

Excitement bubbled in your chest as you held the fabric to your chest.

You were definitely not over Aether.

As soon as you felt yourself fidgeting nervously a block away from the ceremony, you knew. As soon as a car rolled in and he stumbled out of the car, tripping because he was waving at you, you knew that you were so not over him.

You tried to blame the heat of the sun for how warm you suddenly felt, but you could be referring to the other sun making his merry way to you, his smile bright, all teeth. His braid could almost be a tail from how it waggled as he jogged over.

“Hey,” Aether, charming and beautiful Aether, gold and warm—your ex, Aether—breathed out, “you look great.”

“You, too.” Aether looked maddening in a suit, in the best way possible. You felt lightheaded and choked out, “Very dashing.”

“Yeah?” He grinned.

“Yeah,” you said, then turned away in case he saw the raw, unfiltered want on your face.

“Shall we?”

How cheesy. Still, you felt yourself flush as you linked your arms with his, like you were a couple. Kaveh was going to kill you—after he killed Aether first.

Aymar’s wedding was startlingly grand. You think she might just have invited the entirety of Sumeru; you might even find Lesser Lord Kusanali here, maybe.

You found your friends and settled beside them while Aether awkwardly sat on the far edge. He seemed reluctant to have space from you, so you pulled him closer.

“Hey,” Tighnari greeted him. “How have you been? You stopped sending us letters.”

Aether looked extremely uncomfortable. He must be feeling Cyno’s stern stare. “Haha. Well, yeah.”

The ceremony went as usual. The groom was someone you didn’t recognize; he looked like he was from Sumeru, all big and intimidating—the complete opposite of Aether. Aymar’s tastes changed drastically. All the same, you cheered along with the crowd when they kissed.

You haven’t been able to attend many weddings yourself, though you could always appreciate how emotional the newlyweds got. Vows were always the sweetest to hear. You’d never seen Aymar smile so wide before; then again, it was only fitting. This was her wedding day. Not that you’d know, though.

You glance to the side, catching Aether looking at the newlyweds kiss with an unreadable expression on his face. He looked like he longed for it, but that didn’t seem right. Weddings tied you down. Aether didn’t want to be tied down.

Kaveh clapped the loudest, which snapped Aether into clapping along as well.

You wondered what Aether was thinking. You wonder if he was thinking the same. Looking at the happy bride and the teary groom—could this have been you and him in another life?

Hah.

That’s a funny thought.

You bit your bottom lip to distract yourself from feeling your eyes go hot.

Aymar beamed at you two as she bounded over. “You came!” she said, though it was directed at you.

You wanted to tell her you weren’t even invited, but you felt like that would ruin the moment. Plus, it was literally her wedding. You were glad you ended up here after all the years you spent knowing each other. You smiled back, genuine, and leaned into her hug.

“Of course,” you said. “You look beautiful.”

Aymar blushed. “Thank you. You two look great as well!”

Aether shuffled beside you. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Aymar had that look in her eye that spelled suspicious.

But the past was the past. You weren’t going to get jealous when Aymar was quite literally married, and Aether wasn’t even your boyfriend anymore. “I’m glad you’re happy, Aymar,” you said.

Aymar glanced between the two of you, then finally at you. “I hope you find happiness, too, Y/N. Soon, hopefully.”

The reception started. While your friends were busy hoarding the food, you and Aether were left alone. He looked uncharacteristically nervous—it made you pity him. He was the one who asked you to come with him, but he must have felt out of place the entire time. Everyone thought he would never return, after all.

You traced the rim of your glass, hoping to appear nonchalant. “So, what have you been up to while at Fontaine? Finally moving off to Natlan?” you asked, then bit back a Find any other flings, too?

Aether sighed, twirling his champagne flute before taking a long sip. “Didn’t do too much, honestly. I spent most of my time there thinking.” His eyes flicked up to yours. “Lumine already found her place here in Teyvat, and I…”

Oh.

You were glad you held back from being petty while Aether was genuinely distressed over his journey to self-discovery. Again, you weren’t an asshole. And you still cared about Aether, despite everything, because he was hard to hate. With a sad face like that…

“Sorry,” you muttered. You didn’t mean to make him remember Lumine.

Aether laughed softly. “It’s not like that. It took me a while, but—I had already found my place, too. I was just too dumb not to realize it sooner.”

You wanted to chide him for calling himself dumb, but he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to get something. You blinked, feeling lost.

Aether tilted his head. “It’s with you.”

Your mouth hung open. “What?”

Aether went to repeat it, but Cyno and Tighnari had come back with plates heaping with food. Cyno had one on each hand, unabashed. He sat on his seat and said, in all seriousness, “We might have finished all the catering.”

Tighnari chuckled, “We didn’t, but you two should hurry and get your fill.”

You didn’t get another chance to talk with Aether privately during the reception, but it was still good fun. Aether seemed to warm up to your friends again—or, rather, your friends seemed to warm up to him again.

You shared laughs, food, and toasts with the newlyweds—but your favorite had to have been sharing glances with Aether all throughout the night.

You and Aether went ahead. Cyno and Tighnari didn’t seem surprised when you told them that you were letting Aether take you home, which would have certainly been a blow to your dignity had it been in any other situation.

“So,” you started, “what made you realize you wanted to get me back? Did you have some revelation while in Fontaine?”

“Yes, actually,” Aether said, his hands brushing against yours now and then. “For every sight and couple I saw, I just kept thinking about how you would’ve loved it there.”

“Oh.”

Aether looked bashful. The moonlight highlighted his blush well. “I thought it was because we had just broken up at the time, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

Aether kept going, but you were already sold. You already wanted to get back with him the moment he texted you with all lowercase and no commas. You were fooling no one. Not Alhaitham, not yourself. “What, so you want to take me to the City of Love?”

Aether looked at you fondly. “You would always be the first one I’d think of.”

“I curbed your wanderlust…?” You were fishing for it at this point, but being deprived of Aether’s affections for a long while did that to a person.

You felt outmaneuvered. Shouldn’t you be letting him chase after you a bit more? Why were you discarding your pride just like that? Over your ex?

Your not-ex-anymore now-boyfriend-again smiled. “You became my reason to stay.”

Well. You were doomed from the very beginning.

“Aether!” Paimon shrieked from the other room. “You have mail!”

“Alright, alright,” Aether sighed, lazily pulling himself up from his bed and trudging to the living room. Paimon held a brown envelope.

Aether opened it and withdrew the contents, puzzled.

“Ooh!” Paimon gasped. “Two invitations for a wedding? Is it for Paimon, too?”

Aether ripped the other envelope, heart stuttering at the sight of a familiar name inked on the vellum paper. He blushed. “This is—!”

“Huh? For Y/N?” Paimon snatched the invitation from Aether’s fingers. “Why was it addressed to us? Maybe they were mistaken…”

Aether read something on the back of your invitation. “I don’t think it was mistaken.”

Written with a ballpen, it said, Hi, Y/N! It’s Aymar! I don’t know Aether’s address and none of my colleagues seemed to know where his residence would be…? (Probably because Aether wasn’t even in Sumeru.) But I assumed you would be staying together, so here’s my invitation for you both—I hope you can come!

Aether recognized an opportunity when he saw one.

extras!

the ending was rlly vague so let me add: aether was planning to go back to sumeru for you already and the wedding invitation was a perfect excuse—he flew out back to sumeru literally the next day.

earthtooz was making out with alhaitham & art was making out w kaveh during the reception which is why they dont show up during the end thanks

cyno brought his tcg deck and made tighnari bring his own—thats what they did during the afterparty lol

don’t ask if paimon was floating or if she was on the ground. sometimes we dont have to question things.

aymar was a name i just grabbed from the list of sumeru npcs—i don’t actually know if i butchered her personality horribly. if i did, forgive me.

THANK YOU FOR READING HOPE U ENJOYED!! LMK WHAT U THINK <3333 comments/rbs get a kiss from aether

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #aether x reader #aether x you #aether x y/n #genshin x y/n #genshin impact

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leonw4nter · 2 months

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maybe like a lil drabble (or whatever you’d like to do) where instead of hunnigan working with leon, it’s the reader. and they be all flirty and cute and kinda like 👉👈

tbh it can work for anything post-re2r, even if its still before re4r. you can do how he acts around you in different eras (if you want to at all, or just choose an era)

sooo whatever you have most inspo with! thank youu

RE4R!Leon x FOSAgent!F!Reader drabble

After Ashley and Luis had gone to sleep in the small ramshackle shed Leon had managed to locate for the night, he sat by the entrance of their temporary shelter and turned on his comms, waiting for his radio to pick up a stable wavelength to relay information back to HQ. The dingy little thing still wouldn’t pick up a frequency, which the blond didn’t wonder about since he’s been thrown around one too many times, the walkie-talkie probably also got a small beating along with the impact his body took. After giving a small pat to the black box in his hands, he finally managed to hear the static of his handler’s voice.

“Condor One to Roost, baby Eagle is currently taking shelter in this… dilapidated hut,” he sternly reports. “Along with Sera. Luis Sera.”

A moment of silence fills the air, accompanying the gentle pitter patter of the rain on the thickening mud before you respond to his reports.

“Hmm… aerial imaging tells me you’re near a lake, am I right? Can hear the rain from here,” you say.

“Yeah. We’re not too far from a lake,” he responds. “Guess we got eyes in the sky too, huh.”

He hears a faint little breath coming from you, probably a soft scoff. He smiles to himself, the first time in a long time before he brings his wrist near to his face.

“What time is it back home?” he asks.

“1300.”

“You should probably get some rest, baby. Don’t worry about me, I’m making sure we all get out of here in one piece.”

“I want to but I can’t bring myself to,” he hears you softly respond. “I can’t risk losing you, you know. I gotta keep guard on comms 24/7 even though I know you’re great at your job.”

Leon’s heart squeezes a little bit; he knows how important rest is to someone, which is ironic considering how he hasn’t had proper rest in over 96 hours and is desperately craving a good, lengthy sleep though he doesn’t mind if it means keeping Ashley and the flirty Spaniard safe and sound. He won’t mind, most of all, if it meant keeping in touch with you.

“And besides, I have reports to send to Graham– location updates, aerial view images, all that jazz. I have many things to work on,” you say before he hears you yawn quietly. “It’s not like I can just stop doing these because I’m tired; at the end of the day, the president is a father who wants to know how his daughter is doing all the way on the other side of the world. He’s worried sick.”

“And at the end of the day, I’m just your boyfriend who wants to make sure my girlfriend is still taking care of herself despite all her workload,” Leon responds. “I know baby, I know but still take some time to rest– even for a little bit.”

A soft sigh can be heard from your end.

“Fine. But aren’t you supposed to be resting too? Don’t see any threats within a 3-mile radius, you’re good.”

“Nah. Gotta keep watch, can’t be too vigilant. You’ll be the one resting for both of us tonight,” he says.

“Leon.”

“I’ll get rest later, honey. I promise,” Leon pleads.

Another sigh. Gosh, Leon hates how you’ve been sighing a lot more lately, which meant that a lot was weighing on your mind.

“Promise me that. Or I’ll personally fly there to beat your ass.”

“I’d rather you beat something else of mine instead,” Leon jokes.

“I’ll remind you, agent Kennedy, that we’re still on government-operated frequencies so I highly recommend communicating in a professional manner.”

“Ma’am yes ma’am agent Kestrel, the absolute love of my life.”

“I’m going to go on the break you’ve been forcing me to have instead.”

Leon chuckles to himself, a small puff of air leaving his cracked and pale lips.

“Okay, okay. Good night, baby. I’ll talk to you 4 hours from now.”

“Good night, hon. I… I miss you and… please stay safe,” you sincerely whisper to him, unable to switch off the frequency connecting you to him.

“Me too. I miss you. I love you,” he says before turning the radio off and placing it back in one of the many fancy pockets he had.

He props one leg up while he sits, resting his forearm on his knee as he looks out into the dark and foggy scenery. The rain would be nice if he was back home with his girlfriend, cuddling and joking in the bed of their shared apartment instead of this miserable hellhole infested with mutants and murder-crazed cult fanatics. As much as he wanted to bring along a locket or a small picture of you he couldn’t, out of making sure that there would be no traces of foreigners that the crazy locals could use to somehow involve all of America into this. A faint creak of the rickety wooden floorboards has the hairs on the back of his head standing, his hands flying to the sleek silver pistol on his holster to point it at the source of the noise, only for the source of the noise to be the nosy Spaniard who was unfortunately very much wide awake and conscious throughout the conversation he had.

“Didn’t know you had a ladylove, sancho.” was all the man said after raising his arms up as the agent pointed his gun at him.

Leon put his gun back down, the usual smoulder and frown taking its place back into his haggard features as he sat back down and stared out into nothingness again.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to call a lady ‘baby’ or ‘honey’,” he teases. He walks up to Leon, taking a spot beside him and placing a cigarette to his lips before lighting the end of it with his lighter.

“‘You should probably get some rest, baby’,” Luis repeats with a sly smirk as he shoots Leon a curious look.

Leon simply gives him a death glare, squinting his eyes before turning his attention back to somewhere that isn’t irritating or getting on his last nerve.

“That’s not what it was.” It was what it was.

“Mhm, Sancho.”

“You be thankful she hasn’t ratted your ass out to the president yet,” he hisses.

“Good point there,” Luis sneers. “No… no anything then?”, to which Leon responds with silence.

“Then… perhaps she’d like to go out for a jive, a little dance of bachata with me,” the Spaniard presses with a shit-eating grin. “Since you two don’t seem to be anything.”

“Back off from my girlfriend,” Leon blurted as he froze the man in front of him with his steel blue gaze.

Luis puts out his cigarette, chucking it somewhere and gets up as he walks back to where he ‘slept’ moments ago.

“Okay, sancho. I can clearly see that you’re hers,” he comments. “I guess only you have the pass to call her ‘the absolute love of your life’. Buenas noches, amigo.”

With a wink, he lays back down on the floor and turns to his side to fall asleep.

NOTES - It feels great to finally get back to posting again!!! It's been quite some time and since I'm finally finished with the third quarter and my tests, I'll be more active with posting fics :)) Requests have been marinating in my inbox and I know ppl have been waiting for quite some time so here's the request, more otw!!!! I'm also eepy rn so I'm going to go to bed after I post this <3 Neways, thanks for reading my works and I <3333 UUUU!!!!!! HAVE A GREAT DAY WHEREVER YOU ARE <3

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #fluff #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy fluff #biohazard #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #re4 #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 remake #re4r

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criptochecca · 2 months

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Hamas 26.02.2024

In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful We in the Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas) express our heartfelt condolences and our full solidarity with the family and friends of the American pilot Aaron Bushnell, whose name has been immortalized as a defender of humanitarian values and the plight of the oppressed Palestinian people who are suffering due to the U.S. administration and its unjust policies, like the American activist Rachel Corrie who was crushed by a zionist bulldozer in 2003 in Rafah, the same city for which Bushnell paid for with his life to pressure his country's government to prevent the criminal zionist army from attacking it and committing massacres and violations in it. The administration of US President Joe Biden bears full responsibility for the death of the American military pilot Aaron Bushnell due to its policy that supported the Nazi zionist entity in the genocide war against our Palestinian people, as he gave his life in order to highlight the massacres and zionist ethnic cleansing against our people in the Gaza Strip. The heroic pilot Aaron Bushnell will remain immortal in the memory of our Palestinian people and the free people of the world, and a symbol of the spirit of global humanitarian solidarity with our people and their just cause. The tragic incident that cost pilot Bushnell his life is an expression of the growing anger among the American people who reject their country's policy that contributes to the killing and genocide of our people, and rejects their government's violation of global humanitarian values, by providing cover to ensure the impunity of the Nazi entity and its leaders from punishment and accountability.

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine 26.02.2024

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine expresses its full solidarity with his family and with all the American sympathizers. The act of an American soldier sacrificing himself for Palestine is the highest sacrifice and a medal, and a poignant message to the American administration to stop its involvement in the aggression. The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine affirmed that the act of the American soldier Aaron Bushnell from the U.S. Air Force by setting himself on fire in front of the zionist embassy in Washington, D.C., in protest against the war on Gaza, which he called for the "liberation of Palestine," confirms the state of anger among the American people due to the official American involvement in the zionist genocide war being waged on the Gaza Strip. It also indicates that the status of the Palestinian cause, especially in American circles, is becoming more deeply entrenched in the global conscience, and reveals the truth of the zionist entity as a cheap colonial tool in the hands of savage imperialism. The Front expressed its full solidarity with the soldier's family and all the American sympathizers who took a honorable stance and whose struggle and pressure to stop the genocide on the Strip have not ceased, confirming that the act of an American soldier sacrificing his life to draw the attention of the American people and the world to the plight of the Palestinian people, despite its tragic nature and the great pain it involves, is considered the highest sacrifice and medal, and the most important poignant message directed to the American administration, that it is involved in the war crime in Gaza and that the American people have awakened and are rejecting this American involvement, calling on the American administration to stop this support and bias for the zionist entity. The Front sent a message to the Arab soldier to take this American soldier who sacrificed his life for a noble cause like the Palestinian cause as an example and role model, and to leave the trenches of waiting, incapacity, and move to the trench of confrontation in support of Palestine and its people who are being slaughtered, besieged, and starved in full view and hearing of the world and just a few kilometers from Arab lands and meters from the borders. Palestine will be victorious as long as it has deeply engraved itself in the conscience and consciences of the world, and history will record in golden letters the names of all the sympathizers and free people of the world who stood with it and sacrificed their lives for its sake.

Via RNN

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lazy-sixteen · 1 month

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I was thinking about the themes of One Piece, and what differentiated out characters we see as good versus bad, especially in a work that takes a really accepting view of different moral standpoints and values (Coby and SWORDS's justice is very different from Sabo and the RA's justice but they are both presented as good guys we'd want to root for).

So like, why do we root for Luffy following his dream to be Pirate King, but not Teach?

What about hating Crocodile who wanted to create an ideal society free of the WG but not the RA who want something similar for whole the world?

Big Mom who wants to create a place where all sentient are equal and get along versus Koala and/or Otohime who dream of that same thing for humans and fishmen?

I mean the obvious answer is that protagonists and their allies tend to be likeable - they are usually drawn prettier, have less kick the dog moments, and we get more time with them as an audience. They have to be on some level, or no one would read the manga.

But from an in-story perspective, I think its a an under looked facet of Luffy's character, for him chasing his dream is more important than obtaining it. It's why he turns down Rayleigh straight up offering to tell him where Laugh Tale is, and what is on it. What is important to Luffy isn't so much becoming Pirate King, it is being free, having fun, sailing with his friends on the journey to be Pirate King.

It's why he helps Vivi in Alabasta, Cricket in Skypiea, Shirahoshi in Fishmen Island, and the Wano crew in uhh Wano (the journey wouldn't be fun if he'd abandoned his friends to do it)

It's why he takes dangerous detours to places like Little Garden or Sky Island or Punk Hazard(the journey wouldn't be fun if he didn't get to explore)

It's why he risks his life against Arlong for Nami and declares the entire world his enemy for Robin and literally threatens to starve to death to get Sanji back ( the journey wouldn't be fun if he can't do it with his crew by his side)

All of this is why, Luffy isn't afraid of dying either. He can die at any point on his journey to being Pirate King, and feel no regret because the journey itself was the important part.

Compare this to two other D.'s Law and Blackbeard.

Law's also relentlessly pursuing his dream when we meet him (stop Doflamingo to avenge Cora), and he is miserable.

Law in trying to achieve his dream whatever the cost keeps putting himself in situations he hates.

He leaves his beloved crew behind because the mission is basically a suicide run. He cozies up to the Government he hates and hands his heart over to a morally bankrupt mad scientist he's obviously disgusted by. He plans to get Doflamingo in trouble with Kaido, which mean 1) he likely won't get to punch out Mingo himself, 2) there is a high probability of civilians getting caught in the crossfire/dying horribly.

This journey sucks. If Law had died during any point of this he would have been the world's most pissed off ghost.

It's Luffy and the Strawhats busting in and transforming that journey that puts Law on the path to success with his dream and with not being so goddamn miserable.

Like screw Caesar, let;s have Luffy kick his ass and then you fix the children he was experimenting on. Screw playing nice with the government, do what you want and call us your allies instead. Screw Doflamingo, you and Luffy go beat him up and the rest of us will pull his government/crime family down around his ears.

And it works! Law's grumpy and annoyed and cursing Luffy out, but he tells Mingo he believes Luffy can pull out a miracle and looks more at peace watching Doflamingo and Luffy brawl - knowing that he'll die or succeed with his ally/friend - than he ever did with his fool-proof plan.

The journey before destination thing is also why Blackbeard feels like a special type of evil in OP despite there being technically worse/more evil villains, because Blackbeard always prioritizes his dream over how he gets it.

He'll stay in the shadows for 20 years to increase his chances of success (wouldn't it have been more fun to be a captain like he obviously wants?)

He'll kill his crewmate, turn his commander in for a reward, then kill his captain (wouldn't it have been more fun to stay friends, he never indicates he hates/dislikes them?)

He invites strong people - and strong seems to be the only criteria - to join his crew, though tbh their personalities often suck. I don't recall any panel of his crew just hanging out or joking around which even Baroque Works, Buggy's crew, and Kaido's Beast Pirates get (wouldn't it have been more fun to recruit people he can befriend, not just people he can use)

Like obviously Blackbeard feels like the antithesis of Luffy - even though they are both all about chasing their dreams. Luffy's all about the chasing, and Blackbeard only cares about the results.

#one piece meta #monkey d. luffy #marshall d. teach #trafalgar law #also another theme of the manga is romance (classical sense)#and the process of chasing your dream is so much more romantic #than the absolute ruthless prioritization of results

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gogolatte · 3 months

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HIII!! (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)/ I so love how you write Fyodor!!! Could I request Fyodor with a wise and optimistic s/o??? (it can be oneshot, headcannons, or drabbles :3)

To add on this, s/o is able to keep up with Fyodor's daily rants about philosophy or literature that includes deep meanings. S/o is sophisticated and quite esoteric with their world views, always drowning themselves in knowledge but never really being able to just fall into pessimism from the amount of awareness.

I just love imagining Fyodor bringing up how all sinners should be exterminated while s/o just completely turns his point around by giving some optimistic thought like, "All sinners are capable of redemption. Virtue reaches its limits once it approaches the complexity of man." (whatever that means) and then Fyodor's all baffled because why is his s/o like this??? And he doesnt even mean it negatively. Hes just shocked.

I feel that Fyodor would find it so refreshing to have an s/o like that. He may be a dedicated man who wouldn't change his plans just because his s/o talked him out of it, but he would still deeply respect his s/o and their views.

I APOLOGIZE IF THIS REQUEST WOULD BE TOO HARD(⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠) please take care and thank youu!! ^_^

Fyodor with an optimistic s/o!

✧ pairing. Fyodor Dostoyevsky x gn!reader

✧ word count. 996

✧ contents. fedya in love

✧ author's note. HIHIII NONNIEEE!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this request is so interesting! and thank u for liking the way I write Fedya, I try my best <3

I really like this trope. Fyodor being merciless about people and the reader being the complete opposite by being optimistic.

honestly I had to search what esoteric means,,, and I'm still not sure if I understood it correctly (╥﹏╥)

I hope you like this and I'm sorry that this took so long :((

It's impossible to change Fyodor's view of the world, the society, or its people. As much as you try to convince him of the opposite —with solid proof— of his negative beliefs in certain topics, he refuses to accept them. Of course, he utterly respects your opinion; you're very smart and he knows you have knowledge about whatever topic in hand you two might be facing, as well as many others.

You think it's maybe because of the way he lived; the things one experiences are the main reason why someone acts or thinks the way they do, most of the time. So, that means that Fyodor probably had experience meeting lots of people who were “sinful” and “foolish” as he describes them in every single deep conversation that the two of you have.

Aside from the debates, Fyodor adores being able to discuss philosophical things with you— his lovely partner turning serious as he speaks, carefully listening to everything he has to say with those big eyes just makes him fall deeper in love. He's never going to directly tell you how much he enjoys it, you just have to get the hint.

Currently, Fyodor was sitting on his desk, his ushanka resting on the table among a few documents scattered on the surface— documents with government agents' faces on them and long paragraphs, a lot of words were underlined with fluorescent highlighter.

He was completely immersed in his work until he felt a pair of soft hands massaging his tensed shoulders; which was enough for him to lose focus.

“Fedya, do you not feel tired?” Your words make him sigh. Maybe he was overworking himself again, but that doesn't matter when all of this is in order to purge the world from sin.

He closes his eyes, enjoying the gentle rub on his back that is eventually making him feel drowsy. Regardless of how dangerous of a man Fyodor is, the touch of his beloved reduces him into a soft lovesick puppy— though he tries to hide it.

A smile spreads across his face when you turn his head to the side, hooking a finger under his chin, and pressing a tender kiss on his cold lips that leaves him yearning for more when you pull away.

“Leaving so fast?” He asks when he sees that you're walking away. You might as well take responsibility for distracting him from his work. “Wouldn’t you prefer to have a small chit-chat with me?”

And since you have nothing else better to do, you decide to walk back to his desk, sitting across from him.

“You see, sweetheart, I have been reading these papers for the next meeting… All of these are government members who belong to the plague that must be eliminated from the world for the sake of it. They’re sinners.”

He leans back against his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Sinners tend to be selfish, only chasing their own tail in circles like a lost dog, doing anything for their own primal desires and then being hypocrites about it.”

A small laugh leaves his lips as he tilts his head to the side; Clearly, he knows this is the time when you're going to refute.

“People are not sinners forever...” You murmur while looking down at the papers, trying to give it a quick read, but Fyodor could perfectly hear your sweet voice in that slightly pouty tone.

Even as his partner you know you can’t change the way he thinks or stop him from reaching his vile goals, and as much as you don’t like seeing other people's lives slip away by Fyodor’s hands, you can’t do anything about it.

“Oh, love. I feel like if you were in my place, looking at all these faces and the stories behind them, you'd think otherwise.”

“No, Fedya.”

Fyodor's eyes widen at the way you said it, a stern tone that immediately gets his attention.

“Humans are fragile things, in body and mind.” You look at him straight into his eyes, not realizing how serious you sound by now, “And their mind can be corrupted by different situations they face during their short life…”

The man in front of you raises an eyebrow, carefully listening.

“That's how they turn “sinners”, by suffering through their life, but I think that they can be saved… not in the way you think, not by being exterminated… ending their lives is not the solution.”

“Then what do you think the solution is?”

Your eyes follow Fyodor as he stands up slowly, taking slow steps before standing behind you, “I'm all ears, dear.” The way he says it sounds menacing as he places a kiss on your cheek.

“Sinners are capable of redemption… There are a lot of ways one can be ‘saved’, some people might choose God, and others might choose their family or friends, but what matters is the capacity one has to be able to get out from the dark pit of suffering to stop being selfish and sinful.”

You don't dare to look at Fyodor, afraid of what he might think, afraid he thinks your optimistic way of thinking is just dumb.

But then you hear his soft laugh as he grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks with his thumb and index finger, “You're so cute.” A nervous laugh escapes your lips, and before you can speak, his lips are over yours.

Truth be told, he does take you very seriously, but his heart flutters each time you show that smart side of yours. Fyodor feels proud of having you by his side.

As he pulls away, he pecks your cheek again, “You surprise me every time, dear.” He walks back to his seat, still smiling softly at you.

“I'd like to keep talking to you but at the same time, I need to work… So why don't you help me choose who deserves to be my first victim to be saved?”

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bsd fyodor x reader #fyodor.zip #📑 — Requests ₊˚⊹⋆#💫 — messages from the stars ₊˚⊹⋆#💌 — Nonnies ₊˚⊹⋆

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curtwilde · 1 year

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Henry vs Julian

I have been thinking about this a lot. While Henry clearly admires and models his scholar self on Julian, their essential difference is in how they perceive the Ancient Greeks.

Julian's interest in the Ancient Greeks is true interest, he admires their high and exalted values. For him, the Greeks were the highest point of human civilization, and the closer he comes to his own time the more his disdain increases - the Roman Catholic Church he holds in contempt but it's still a 'worthy enemy' not as bad as the Presbyterian Church. It isn't mentioned but he must hold modernism and it's philosophy with disdain - modernist moral vacousness being a direct contradiction of the idealist values loyalty, honor, chastity etc. that were so exalted by the Greeks. Which is why he is always cherry picks, sees only what he wants to see, and invents what he can't - both for himself (his ambiguous involvement with the Isrami government) or for his students (encouraging Richard to lie about his life in California). Since he can't time travel back to Greece himself, he must try to live that life as much as he can and believe himself a character in a Greek play. But it comes, not from a place of wanting to escape his current reality, but true admiration of the ancient Greek way of seeing and doing things.

Henry is a true modernist. The monologue about feeling dead is central to his understanding his character:

Maybe it stems from his near death experience but he sees the world as inherently meaningless, God is dead and heaven and hell have been revealed to be man-made constructs, there is no punishment for evil and since there is no moral line. I think he subconsciously realised all of this before coming to Hampden, but to truly accept it would have been soul-crushing. So he tries to escape it by immersing himself in the Greeks, I imagine the absolutist values, vague representational ideas pertaining to each god might have interested him but really, it could have been anything else, the Medieval Age or the Victorians, anything. He just needed something to be obsessed with, to give meaning to his existence which he subconsciously knew to be meaningless. So is his adoration of Julian, he admired and wanted Julian's ability to almost half-live in another time when, in his view, things mattered more (we have divinity in our midst). It also explains the Bacchanal which is otherwise so out of character for him. The appeal was to escape the soul crushing knowledge of meaninglessness - even if for a while. To worship and call on Dinosiyus with the blind belief of the Ancient Greeks, a kind of belief that simply cannot exist anymore in the postmodern, post-Neitzche world. His harebrained plans also came from the same impulse, including the poison plan, and the one way ticket to Argentina.

I suspect that what subconsciously drove him to murder bunny, aside from the obvious fear of getting caught - is the same thing that drove Mersault to murder the Arab - it's the old existentialist question, if good and bad are relative and there is no punishment for evil, how far can one go? Bunny's murder was Henry's existentialist experiment with himself. And, I think in a way it confirmed for him what he already knew, they escaped unscathed and he didn't feel any of the fear or remorse he expected to feel. While it did give him the momentary sense of power, the feeling that he could now do whatever he wanted if he can be clever enough to not get caught, since he won't be punished for it otherwise. While it gave him enough courage to go get the girl he always wanted - it did confirm for him the inherent meaninglessness of the world. Also, conversely, Camilla could have been another experiment - something must matter, was it love? Camilla was the only girl he knew and he was fond of her - he may not even have thought of her romantically before considering he never cared to act on it in all the time he had known her. But either way, Julian's abandonment broke him.

Coming back to Julian, Julian's abandonment omakes perfect sense to me - he was disgusted by the modernist moral vacousness in his students. He himself was a moral man, but his morals operated on his own standards. He based it on the Greek sense of Honour, not the more modern sense of Justice. His basic instinct was the preservation of his own purity - he couldn't possibly keep on as their teacher. But also, to turn them in would be against his sense of honour - he must have very little respect for the police and law enforcement as institutions being the kind of person he is. Not to mention it would mean his having to be in frequent contact with the police and court. From his point of view atleast, leaving is the only thing he could have done, really.

For Henry however, he sees that his obsession with the Greeks as well as his admiration for Julian as the sham that it really was, is disillusioned with the world, shattered. Except for his fondness for Camilla he didn't really have anyone he loved, he saw his friends as pawns, wasn't close to his family, didn't have any goals in life with everything in his reach with his father's money - the only person he had really loved was Julian, and there he was betrayed. His obsession with the ancient Greeks was also thus tainted with Julian's betrayal - since it wasn't true interest at all, only a disguised attempt at escapism - it wavered and fell apart, and he didn't have a reason to live anymore.

Side note : Richard falls between the two. Like Julian, he had a real interest in the ancient Greeks, but he didn't put them on a pedestal like Julian did. He realised that like his own time, and like all other times in history the Greek civilization too had its own good and bad aspects, and he wanted to learn about it for its own sake. But he doesn't make it his life, or use it to escape his own reality - outside of his classes he was very much rooted in his own time.

#the secret history #tsh #donna tartt #henry winter #julian morrow #richard papen #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #francis abernathy #bunny corcoran #tina rambles #lit

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aimasup · 1 month

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just found some Valiant AU development sketches and notes in my old OLD sketchbook

I really thought it would be a webtoon

long post warning! And I mean long looooooooong post. If you get to the bottom and go "I'm not reading allat" I do not blame you

more under the cut:

^^^ OC

General notes:

This Valiant AU was meant to be a solarpunk superhero slice of life that slowly reveals a heavier plot, mostly focusing on character interactions and personal growth

White Hat Incorporated is a struggling, newbie business and clients are rare

The episodes can range from domestic shenanigans like fixing a leaking pipe or getting dinner, to running their business by defeating the villain of the week

The villains and heroes stay in their roles from canon. The only ones with major changes are our main 4 guys

All major information about White Hat would be discovered from the point of view of Lumencia and Zug as they realize that not only is PEACE corrupt, but that their boss is neither human nor demon nor alien

Now onto the characters themselves:

Dr. Zug Gleis

Like his name suggests, he likes trains. His train is also a drill that was an attempt to burrow out of government's arrest

Which he then modified into a laboratory, each train cart being a unique kind of laboratory for surveillance, medicine, etc. He sleeps very uncomfortably in cramped spaces and likes it that way

V.I.R.U.S is now a software he created and repurposed into his bratty computer assistant, now Cambot. She's also the one recording all their commercials and making his coffee. Basically Zug doesn't get along with ANY of his children

He doesn't like to leave his laboratories, so he set up a network of tunnels through White Hat's mansion that send and receive messages, inventions, food, etc. There's one little chute for these in most parts of the place

His arc was focusing on his inability to accept help from others because he sees any kind gesture as a possible way to control him. Even worse if the kind person genuinely means it, because he also sees accepting kindness as a handicap, a debt

His villainy was an easy way to make money and show the world his capability without any assistance from any hero or villain organization

Really, he just wants to be able to do whatever he wants, but his need to be the best or else he's the worst is tiring for him. Anger issues don't help

This stemmed from a past of constantly being bullied and compared to his brother, Goldheart

After dropping out of hero college, Zug became his own supervillain's known as The Mad Condoctor, whose theme was, you guessed it, trains. He stole trains, modified scrap metal, targeted stations and trade centers, held hostages, prepared puzzles for heroes to solve, etc

The Mad Condoctor was notorious for being uncooperative and a backstabber. He operated at night and was an expert in secret missions, spyware and tech-based combat and the likes

By the first season finale he would have genuinely cared for his coworkers but still didn't value his own life, so he let himself be taken in by PEACE. The crew have to go retrieve their idiot and many things about White Hat Incorporated are revealed to the public after they clash with their local PEACE headquarters

He finds authority annoying and hates seeing people kiss up. Mostly shameless in his actions and doesn't much care for other people's opinions. Can be honest to the point of hurting

So he is a terrible liar. It's like he's allergic to it or something. Prefers to lie by omission

Will only call White Hat 'sir' and 'jefecito' sarcastically or to get a point across. Unfortunately hopelessly devoted to him at the end of the series whoops

Lumencia

A superwoman with horse-like powers that decided to choose unicorns as her motif because that's way cooler. She has kicks and punches that convert her diet into energy, which is great because she loves eating

Changed it up so that Lumencia is the resident prankster and WH tells puns, not the other way around

She has a room with a slanted ceiling which she can climb out the window of to lie and chill on the roof. She's also converted that space, where flat roof meets slanted roof, into an outdoor cinema/gym, decorated with christmas lights. The mansion is a three-way clash of decorative styles from afar

She doesn't have a license to be a hero, but she helps out wherever she can anyway, stopping purse snatchers and helping lost children find their parents and such

In fact, she is actually one of the most beloved people in the little town they live near, with many residents familiar with her buffoonery but affirming her as a reliable source of help

She's also relatively well-known online, as she posts videos of her playing the guitar and well-intentioned but nonsensical 'Lumencia Tips', filled with terrible puns and comic-like ballpoint pen doodles

Her arc would have focused on letting herself acknowledge her strengths that aren't related to fighting

Shes very buddy-buddy with petty criminals and shop owners alike, able to strike up a conversation and make pals no matter who they are. Once she deems you chill, you can chill, yknow? This isn't on purpose.

Even though she has gross taste in food and is messier than Zug, her handwriting is very pretty and neat. She also is very good at graffiti and sticks to an aesthetic, with glitter and y2k stickers and denim-clad wizards on skateboards, all the works

She has a very straightforward view on heroics and is not big on plans, preferring to punch her way out of situations or annoy her enemies to tears. In fact, her main goal is to become an official part of one of the many PEACE-brand hero leagues.

There's other hero corporations too but PEACE is the number one in America

So one day she just showed up on White Hat's doorstep and never left because it would 'look good on her resume'.

Previously, she bounced from place to place, relying on connections and the occasional tip from her halfway-illegal heroism efforts to get by. She also doesn't remember where her powers are from, only that her parents worked at PEACE and where killed by 'villains' when she was a little girl

Her favourite place is the funfair because that's the last nice memory she had

By season two she would have started another arc where she learns that she was an experiment and her parents were killed by their own higher ups in PEACE to silence them, and she has to come to terms with why she even wants to be a hero as well as stand her ground when her optimism is challenged.

Lumencia's music is like whatever Equestria Girls and Electric Mayhem have going on. I think the genre is power pop? Either way it sounds like those elaborate 80s radical van murals look

Is an effortless liar in the sense that she says the most batshit things with utmost confidence and treats consequences like an afterthought.

Only calls White Hat 'White Hat' and not 'boss' when she feels the situation calls for it. Also unfortunately hopelessly devoted to him by the end of the series

624

An extra set of hands that cleans the place and helps out with their little business. Does not like being interuppted when listening to music

Goes from 'fucking hate these guys' to 'they give me food therefore they are mine' in the span of the entire series

Quite lazy, plays the winning side. Which is usually the heroes here

Dunno if I'd call his arc an arc. All I know is there's an episode where his spoilt teenager-ismd hits their peak and Zug and Lumencia have to reach an understanding with him by respecting his boundaries and helping him feel secure

And after that episode, 624 stopped being a total catalyst for disaster plotwise

White Hat

He is one of the comic reliefs and manages White Hat Incorporated, often making really stupid decisions because profit is not on his mind

The final voice I settled on for him was fucking Australian Markiplier

His "growth" would be the characters and readers seeing him to actually be a caring, experienced-in-heroics-but-not-business individual who gives really sound advice and becomes a source of comfort for his close friends

But is still a MEGA-PRICK. Every time he gets beat up it's for a valid reason

In canon, villainy triumphs because Black Hat is there. In the Valiant AU, the story is in the heroes' favour because White Hat is in his place.

I wanted him to be (mostly) opposite to Black Hat in many ways! BH's office is huge, minimalistic, corporate and cold, while WH's office is small, maximalistic, filled with sentimental items and like a warm cabin.

BH basks in hellfire and while WH does use fire, he prefers the ocean. BH enjoys golf, WH enjoys dancing. BH takes himself seriously, WH very much doesn't. BH detests everything, WH has an appreciation for everything. And etc...

They're still horrible creepy eldritch monstrosities, the fish theme for WH is just because he likes ocean shit and fish are scary

BH has made himself known globally and universally, he has statues and monuments and paintings

WH has nothing; White Hat is five years old. This is his first time being White Hat

But he's been around since the beginning of time, taking many forms and names, learning the wonders of the universe and giving all of his time to help however he could

He believed this to be natural, he's the one of a kind who doesn't need rest or food. He can't die or get really hurt, and would later learn he couldn't bear to love either

Some of the things he was included many plants and animals before the humans, then farmers and warriors, witches and politicians, an entertainer vigilante, a writer, a parent, a fur-clad warrior in the snow, guiding forces of nature, and a female pirate.

I wanted him to cycle through the entire alignment chart in terms of morality as he exhausted everything he could do to make a difference

After World War 2 on earth, his psyche gave out and he collapsed into a long, long nap; a shadow pooling in a lake, his favourite

Finally woke up and decided to take his own form not based on any species or star or tree, chose his own outfit and everything

And made his debut as White Hat, forged documents to start a small business for heroes support

He doesn't have an arc, but if he did, he would be in the midst of learning to let himself get attached again and be properly selfish. Maybe identity issues.

But he doesn't have an arc

And so really only serves to help out Zug and Lumencia. He's comfortable with no one knowing these things about him ever, because what would they even do if they did?

Wouldn't change anything, they wouldn't understand the full scope even, so he's at peace with himself right now, grateful that he's alive for once

He uses manipulation to direct conversations away from himself and get people to spill their feelings, or burrow into their trauma without using magic

if he wants he can let loose to trigger some kind of indescribable primal instinct within a person, that cripples them with terror and despair and love for the sublime face of something divine, bigger than the observable universe. He doesn't like doing this.

He's a fan of ice and shadow manipulation, he thinks the colours go well with his coat

Most animals hate him and he cries about it

He also cries when he tries to download an app on a laptop

He is a competent medical doctor, babysitter, and waiter. In fact, he seems to have infinite patience and calm when he isn't whining over dessert like a toddler

The human skeleton hanging in his office is real

Hopelessly attached to Lumencia, Zug and 624 by the end of the series but they don't need to know that

This AU will forever make me warm and fuzzy inside I love them so much, I had so many locations planned, started Pinterest boards and shit

Instead I think I'll take some of these things and apply them to my OCs instead! HUGE thanks to everyone who enjoyed this version of this AU while it lasted! Maybe it'll come back one day, maybe not. Likely not

#my post #my art #art from last year #villainous valiant!au #villainous heroic!au #villainous #villainous hbo max #villainous cn #miss heed #white hat #dr zug gleis #lumencia #624 #long post #not tagging all these characters

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internetskiff · 1 month

Text

Breen's unfortunately pretty underrated amongst the Valve antagonists, which I suppose is understandable compared to the likes of GLaDOS or The Administrator, but just like those two I feel like there's plenty of things to talk about when it comes to him. He seems like a very conflicted character, especially if you take into account the BreenGrub account and Laidlaw's Epistle 3. First of all is, of course, the leadup to the Black Mesa incident, with the G-Man seemingly making an offer to Breen which seemingly involved overloading the Anti-Mass Spectrometer while processing an extremely pure sample of Xen Crystal - and yes, while it's pretty obvious that the order to overload the systems was very intentional and motivated by whatever deal they struck, I believe that when it comes to the aftermath he may have been sold on a lie. Considering his actions as Administrator of Earth being entirely in the interests of keeping Humanity from feeling the full force of the Combine, I don't think "Becoming the de facto leader of all of Earth" was on his agenda. Perhaps G-Man promised that whatever their deal would entail would bring about a prosperous future for humanity, perhaps all he promised was the possibility of establishing contact with another sentient species (which is something he technically did provide), or perhaps it was something else - there's simply way too much room for speculation there, I think.

A little detail from a HL:A newspaper implies that his position as Earth's administrator wasn't exactly handed to him on a silver platter, instead he had to go out of his way to reach out to the governments with information on how to communicate with the invaders, at which point, already beaten down by Combine forces, they simply gave him the all-clear to speak for all of mankind. This still begs the question of who, or what, gave him the knowledge of how to speak with them - however, it's safe to say if they didn't, Earth would've been left a smoldering pile of rocks and withered carcasses. Once again, he acts with Humanity's best interests in mind, having to choose between the lesser of two evils - it's either enslavement or extinction. He simply chose the option in which Humanity would survive, even if just for a little while longer.

And ever since, we're watching the aftermath. He's trying to talk the last generation of Humanity down, so they may either pass of old age or be absorbed into the Combine - at least if that happens, something gets preserved. Once again, the alternative? They'll just wipe the slate once they get the local teleportation technology they desire. Breen sees no other way than to go along with their demands. He's eventually proven wrong, of course, but he refuses to see the Rebellion as anything but a suicidal march towards the extinction of the human race, and he sticks to that belief up until he is killed by Gordon at the tip of the Citadel. Of course, this doesn't make him a good person. Not at all. This belief has lead him to seek out and destroy anyone who tries to resist. He shows no sympathy to them. He paints them as fools. He himself believes it so. This intense hatred for anyone who resists is seen perfectly in how he treats the Vance family. He views them as fools. As narrow-minded rabble in the streets, senselessly struggling against a tide beyond their comprehension. He's willing to send off a father and his daughter into a world far beyond simply to use them as a bargaining chip. Listening to the two comfort eachother as they're almost raised up to a fate surely worse than death, the only expression on his face is that of pure contempt and annoyance. He's a very fascinating character that I wish Valve would explore again if they ever do another Half Life set during a time period in which he was still alive. He's a coward that easily bends to the oppressor, yet in the end he only does it to make sure something survives. He's cruel to those who resist because he's completely convinced they're going to get everyone killed. He is the Combine's perfect puppet.

haha anyhoo so why was he straight up serving on the magazine covers in HL:A like what was up with all that

#hl #hl2 #hl 2 #hl:a #hla #half life #half life 2 #half life alyx #breen #dr breen #wallace breen #the combine #universal union #gman #the gman #g man #g-man #rambling #think about him a normal amount. sorry

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stressfulsloth · 8 months

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In regards to your post “and now I'm. Just thinking about the loneliness that is SO pervasive through Elysium.”…

I have one thing to offer, or perhaps nitpick if you’d prefer it that way.

I don’t think it’s entirely fair to say the Sunday Friend isn’t a real friend. The Smoker On The Balcony believes him to be a real friend, even if he isn’t going to be there come Monday morn. But isn’t that enough? A friend on Sunday is still a friend, even if it makes waking up Monday all the worse.

Perhaps I’m biased though! Now that I think about it, most of my friends would fit the description. “Fair weather friend” feels to cold, but “sunday friend” is good enough.

And of course none of this is to say your post is at all wrong. It’s lovely and true. I just felt the need to quarrel publicly with that little detail.

To conclude, since I really just did not make myself very clear here; you are utterly correct to include the Sunday Friend in a post about loneliness but I take slight issue with saying he’s not a real friend. And so I wrote you a very long ask. And now as I reach it’s end I’m realising this was a very silly undertaking. But I’ve come this far so I’m going to grow a pair and hit “ask”.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope it isn’t too desperately obnoxious.

Peace out ✌️

Ahh man I'm sorry anon but I'm going to have to disagree with you pretty strongly here 😅 tbh I was a little too easy on him in the original post. It's not necessarily the temporary nature of their acquaintance that makes the Sunday Friend's friendship questionable on its own, although it doesn't help.

The Sunday Friend is quite literally not a friend. "Friend" in his title is a euphemism; he's not coming to visit the Smoker because he's his friend. He's coming to visit the smoker to do a bit of poverty tourism, to admire the crumbling place that his beliefs have helped to destroy, and a bit of heavily implied sex tourism too. A "first world" tourist, a bureaucrat from the international government, visiting one of the most impoverished districts of Revachol to spend his nights with a student. He's not the Smoker's friend, he's a client. They're using 'friend' as a stand-in for his actual role, which is a) as a part of the moralist bureaucratic system repressing the revolution and keeping the city as a whole trapped in a laissez faire purgatory easily exploited by foreign capitalists and ultraliberals, while still maintaining a friendly respectable face, and b) as the Smoker's customer, exploiting the poverty of Martinaise's residents to get what he wants for cheap and using the easy mobility that his money and status give him. Imo he's intended narratively as a parallel for the moralist coalition government; he views from a distance, focused on money and *ze price stabilité* but entirely divorced from the poverty and consequence of his work. Happy to dip his toe in and make use of exploitable populations in Revachol, but always ready to leave too. When asked how he became 'friends' with the smoker, his response is literally to describe the coalition occupying Revachol.

He knows so little about the Smoker beyond him being there to study art, but what kind? "Perhaps graphic design? Printmaking? Who knows?" As to your point about the Smoker thinking he's a real friend, the Smoker is under no illusions about who the Sunday Friend is. An injection of money. Someone with power, someone with the mobility afforded to him by ownership of a non-Revacholian passport, someone content to watch the place decay and do nothing but indulge himself in pet projects and worry about bureaucracy. Someone with the freedom to leave when things get bad; a freedom that is narratively only assigned to a rare few extremely bourgeois characters. Dora, on her flight to Mirova, Joyce and her boat, Trant and his academic travels, and the Sunday Friend who will be out of Martinaise like a shot the moment things start to kick off despite being a part of the overarching structure that is responsible for Revachol's subjugation and rising political tensions. The Sunday Friend will use the Smoker's labour, use the vulnerability of Revachol's precarious situation to his advantage, then once it becomes too precarious or he gets bored, he'll withdraw. In answer to your question, no, I don't think that's enough. Again I probably oversimplified in my last post but the loneliness all throughout DE is not just an emotional state but a political one. Alienation is a major theme. As is the impossibility of building community in the face of capitalism relentlessly subsuming anything in its path, in the face of shallow relationships dictated by the need for survival. The Sunday Friend embodies that concept perfectly. He is exquisitely shallow in conversation, a perfect moralist who at all times strives to remain impartial and distant.

Anyway. Tldr; my point is that the relationship between the Smoker and the Sunday Friend is far more transactional, and far more exploitative, than you seem to believe. "Friend" is not being used literally but euphemistically. A 'fairweather friend' is better than none, sure, but that's entirely inapplicable to this situation. Sorry for the long post and I hope it's not too rambling- I'm surviving on very little sleep right now but I hope it clears up for you a bit why I referred to the Sunday friend in that way initially.

#disco elysium #sunday friend #long post #sorry this is such a long reply- there is so much more that i could add but i am cutting myself off or I'd carry on forever

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thedarkdisgrace · 2 months

Text

This is my thread from twitter on Dazai’s promise to Oda, how I believe Dazai tries to keep that promise & Dazai’s interactions with the PM + why Oda last words were what they were. I kinda had written this in response to some particular claims over there. Mostly around Dazai returning to the mafia.

Not gonna lie, this might be long for some, I actually cut out alot lol I kinda got carried away. These are just my interpretations, take them as you will. I also didn’t edit this from twitter so, sorry if there are spelling mistakes lol

I want to start out by saying that if you are viewing BSD in a “everything is either black or white” lens, I feel you are missing the entire point of BSD & a major theme. This story is entirely morally gray & every character is a different shade of gray.

There is no pure good or pure evil within BSD, even if some characters might get close to the extreme of one side or the other. Now, going into the rest of this with that mindset let’s start with EXACTLY what Oda said to Dazai.

“Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right & wrong but… saving others is just a bit more wonderful.” The Dark Era.

Oda is essentially saying that “sides” don’t matter, what matters is him choosing to be a good person. THAT is what Dazai promises to Oda. His promise is to become a good person. That is the goal he works towards everyday. Oda didn’t make him promise to leave the mafia.

It makes no difference what /side/ Dazai is on or who he interacts with. No matter where Dazai is or who he is with it doesn't change HOW he chooses to approach the world. As long as Dazai continues to do whatever good he can, to work towards being a better person, he is keeping

his promise to Oda. His interactions with the mafia or the people within it don’t affect the fact he is still choosing to try to be better everyday (which again, is keeping his promise). Whatever the mafia does is separate from Dazai even if he is interacting with the members.

Hell, even if Dazai ends up in the PM again with the upcoming trade, it doesn’t negate all the progress he made NOR does it break his promise. Dazai isn’t /completely/ different BUT he /is/ different than he was back then. His perceptions have changed, whether he admits it or not

That won’t change if he goes back. He will continue to be different if he had to rejoin the mafia. He’s fully capable of keeping his promise even then. There are all different levels & types of “doing good”. Dazai is still capable of doing good in the mafia, just not in the same-

exact ways he can in the ADA but all the organization's play important roles in protecting the city. People seem to forget that even the mafia members are mostly morally gray, they still have the capacity to do good, even if they also do bad. Chuuya is a good example as he has-

saved the entire city a minimum of twice, he loves his city & would give his life to protect it. On a smaller scale, Kouyou agreed to assist Dazai in getting Kyoka free from the PM & the government. Plus don’t forget Oda himself was a mafia member & ex assassin yet many describe-

him as a good person. Besides, the ADA has needed the PMs help countless times at this point, the ADA would’ve been screwed without them. Point is, Dazai can continue to chose to be a better person no matter what organization he’s with or whom he chooses to interact with.

His individual journey is up to him, but if he continues doing better that’s all that matters. But since I know people will disagree about what that promise means, let’s get to the root of WHY Dazai’s promise to Oda was to choose to become a good person.

So, why were Oda’s last words what they were? As we all know Oda was similar to Dazai in some ways when he was younger. As a child assassin, he was pretty much disconnected from the world around him emotionally & just going through the motions until Natsume came along.

Natsume gave Oda the book he had been looking for, the last installment of his favorite series. Reading that book is the key moment that altered Oda’s path. In Oda’s own words, “the world I’d known before completely changed. Before that all I had was killing.” The Dark Era.

But the copy Natsume provided was missing specific pages around why the assassin character in the book stopped killing, Natsume obviously did this on purpose. Before providing Oda with the last book, Natsume had told him “Then you write what happens next”.

Oda decides to take those words to heart later on & write about why the assassin stopped killing himself. This is where one of the most important lines is.

Oda says “I decided to write it myself. I would become a novelist & write a story about why the man stopped killing. But to become a novelist, I needed to sincerely know what it meant to live. So I stopped killing.” The Dark Era.

Oda admits here that he hadn’t really lived, hadn’t known what it /meant/ to live. To experience life in the way most people do. This is where he & Dazai connect. Neither of them had really lived & they couldn’t see a reason to do so.

Oda even says in the Untold Origins light novel, “I don’t need forgiveness. There is no forgiveness in this world. There is only retaliation- revenge against those who betray you.”

That was Oda’s mentality before but then Oda makes his choice to stop killing.

It’s only then that he starts to actually truly interact with the world around him & the people in it. /Especially/ the people. He starts to help people & through doing so he begins to understand living. Oda says he continued to think about one particular line from the novel-

“People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die.”

Oda believes Natsume knew he was an assassin. That he gave him the book with the torn out pages & that singular line left untouched to tell Oda to save himself. I believe Oda is right.

Natsume wanted Oda to save himself. As for exactly why Natsume did so, I couldn’t say as of right now.

But why is all that important?

Well, because that’s what Oda ends up telling Dazai with his last words.

Yes, Oda tells Dazai to become a good person, those are the words he uses & that is Dazai’s promise to him. But the message beneath the words themselves? /Save yourself./ Oda is telling Dazai the same thing Natsume told him. /Save yourself./

Oda wanted Dazai to save himself. He tells Dazai to become a good person, to save people, because that’s how he, himself, found an understanding of living. It’s how he experienced living for the first time & how he was trying to save himself a well.

He encourages Dazai to follow the path he did because they are similar & saving others was the only thing Oda could see that worked. & Dazai listens /because/ he knows Oda actually walked that path himself.

Oda would not care who Dazai associates with or where he goes as long as Dazai continues to try to save himself. To keep trying to be a better person for his own sake as well as others. Again, I repeat the line Oda kept coming back to. “People live to save themselves”.

So, if Dazai was hanging out with Chuuya (or anyone else in the PM or in the dark) or even started dating Chuuya, as long as Dazai continues working to save himself & saving others, Oda would be happy for him.

Dazai is also pretty clear with how he feels about Chuuya, given he never calls him ‘ex partner’ he only ever calls him his partner. I think what he says at the end of the lovecraft fight is an accurate description, “we’re enemies of the bad guys.”

Regardless of sides, their relationship hasn’t changed, they’ve proven that 3 times over already, & I doubt it will. Sides don’t matter because they’ve always only been themselves with each other. Dazai has still kept up trying to be better since reuniting with Chuuya,

That’s not going to change if he spends more time with Chuuya. Dazai is his own person & is more than capable of continuing to keep his promise no matter where he ends up or who he’s with.

Not to mention every single time Dazai & Chuuya have worked together again, it was for a good purpose. To save Kyu & prevent another Guild attack, Chuuya fought a dragon to save the city (without even talking about the plan beforehand) & with no guarantee Dazai would be alive

(aside their soulmate thing where they always know) & now they worked together to defeat Fyodor to save the world (hopefully saved it). So, obviously being close to Chuuya again hasn’t changed Dazai’s goals & he is still keeping his promise.

But tbh, at this point, I don’t think his promise is the /only/ thing keeping Dazai in the light & trying to become a better person anymore. Dazai in DA says “You were right, Odasaku. It’s certainly wonderful to be on the side that saves others. If you plan on living, that is.”

While Oda was right when he told Dazai being on the side of light wouldn’t be able to fix his loneliness, it’s clear by now Dazai sees the value in being there & he understands why Oda told him what he did. I think through the ADA, he has found more & more reasons to keep going.

In conclusion, Oda simply wanted Dazai to save himself by choosing to become a better person. Dazai is his own person & is more than capable of keeping his promise to Oda no matter where he is & who he’s interacting with.

BSD is a morally gray story & all the characters are various levels of gray, pretending the mafia is /all/ bad is just objectively incorrect given all they’ve done for the city.

Chuuya & Dazai’s relationship is one built on unyielding trust & his presence in Dazai’s life isn’t gonna affect Dazai choosing to be better everyday. It already hasn’t changed anything since they’ve ben working together again. I doubt his presence would ever change it.

Reminder to everyone, these are my interpretations & opinions. Take what you want from it, if you made it this far thank you for reading. i hope you guys liked it.

#bsd spoilers #bsd analysis #bsd manga #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #oda sakunosuke #bsd #soukoku

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 days

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WIBTA for not helping my brother unlearn some hate?

I (16F) and my brother (9M, let's call him K) are both from a third world country with some less-than-friendly general views, most of which my parents agree with. I couldn't care less if my mom is vividly disgusted at Chinese/Korean products/music or if she wholeheartedly believes that having crushes on your female friends is "normal" and "not homosexuality", because she's a really kind and sweet person and I just love her, you know? She never voices these thoughts around people who are that way and even has Chinese friends herself, but once I ask her "what do you think your friends would feel if they knew you said things like that sometimes?" to which her response was basically "it's not like I'll ever say it to their face, that's rude, and I don't think they're any less humans than us, their country taking over the industrial world and music is just disgusting". Or she immediately demands the channel be changed if the tv is showing an LGBT couple (this is illegal in our country, we connect to foreign satellites which don't censor this).

Anyway. Sorry for the ramble. This leads me to two problems:

My brother is kinda short and skinny due to genetics. And when I say "kinda", I mean like, he's really, really small and tiny for his age and often gets mistaken for a preschooler or first grader. My mother worries over the fact that the boys at his school (since we're all being raised in the same toxic society, huzzah) bully him for being smaller than them. And K has a tendency to easily cry at insults, furthering this issue. I've talked to him several times on how he'll get a growth spurt and it's fine, but my mom's talks mainly consist of how he's a grown boy now and it's not nice for boys his age to cry in public like that. She also doesn't really like me getting "involved" in K's bullying issues. Please, PLEASE don't send any hate to my mom, okay guys? She's one of the best people I know.

The other issue here is that K technically IS growing up, but he's also learning some of the really uncomfortable aspects of this society by repeating things like "the referee for this soccer game probably let the other team win because he's Chinese" (to which I had to correct him and say the referee was actually Filipino, but never mind) or asking me with GENUINE curiosity if I, as a girl, play soccer at my school (he loves soccer so so much, I try to encourage this love for him).

I correct him on this stuff as much as I can, but honestly... sometimes I just don't. Sure, I think it's bad and all, but I (probably, I don't remember much) grew up being the same way considering the way our society is. And if I turned out nice enough, I'm sure he just needs to be the right age for some more technical guidance and all I can do here is randomly tell him he's wrong when he says this stuff. My mom just... she thinks it's a huge stretch to "call everything racism nowadays", which I think REALLY depends on the context! My brother says this stuff very, very rarely, but I don't think he really... gets /why/ it's bad, you know? Again, I'm mostly planning on giving him advice on occasion and letting him figure it out by himself, but I don't want him saying racist/antisemitic/sexist jokes by accident in public, less so because it might humiliate the family and more so because it might actually upset someone.

Again, WIBTA? Don't call my mom the asshole here, please. She's super extremely polite to everyone, calls for action against our dictatorship of a government, and gives medical care to her less financially stable patients for free (she's a doctor). She just has some little views here and there that are the result of her upbringing, same as ours are the result of what we experienced. I can wholeheartedly forgive her for that.

#aita #am i the asshole

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madschiavelique · 9 months

Note

I want more thoughts pleaseeee 🙏

okidoki so this ask refers this one right here which itself refers to this one right here. this au appeared in my mind while rewatching the movie Troy with Brad Pitt where I thought "huh Miguel as the Achilles in this movie and reader as Briseis would be delicious".

And then it all clicked in my mind.

SO, let's get started on what has been cooking in my mind for the last 3 hours : a soldier!miguel o'hara x slave(?)!reader enemies to lovers

content warnings : mentions of war, blood, killings, fire

Let's picture this in a sort of ancient greek setting, where a king (kinda Agamemnon) wants to govern over the entire country - and then world - which leads him to engendering many, many wars. In this army, his most fierce and strong fighter is Miguel O'Hara. He is bigger than any man, stronger, doesn't care if the work is messy, and has a profound rage within him.

Because you see, before turning into the killing machine he now is, he used to be happy and live a life of peace. When he was away to hunt to bring back food in the family, he came back to his village completely destroyed and burnt. And when he arrived to his home, completely dilapidated and still smoking, he found the two dead bodies of his daughter and his wife.

He turned around, finding the flag of a kingdom, which instantly turned into his enemy. He went to his king, offered his services to him, and got enrolled, because he knew his king was seaking a union in all kingdoms, which meant for that in (his king's point of view at least) to spread terror. He learned fast to fight, to a point where it was frightening, the other soldiers wondering if he hadn't been touched by the gods themselves for him to have every asset of a great fighter multiplicated by 3.

He went on many battles afterwards, every bit of hate his body accumulated over time descending on his opponents like a pure red fury with no regret in the rage it was indulging. Of course, his rank in simple soldier upgraded. Many respected him, or maybe feared him - who knows, the line between these two is unclear afterall.

It doesn't take long until the king considers him as his most valuable asset, like the strongest card in a game, the equivalent of a joker = all powerful.

Few years pass, and the King decides it is time to attack the kingdom in which you live.

You are an adept in your city's temple, honouring aphrodite. You're pure, graced by the beauty of gentleness, of altruism, and you're loved by each and everyone around you. You were living a peaceful life in your faith for the Gods.

But it all came crashing down.

The city's bells had rung, in the most frightening way : an attack. You had heard of the many wars the king was creating, and in hopes for it never to come up here, you immediately rushed to your temple, praying for your goddess to help you.

But the temple was attacked, many soldiers entering it and wrecking anything in their way. They took some adepts, both males and females, and brought them to the king.

Miguel was outside as you were taken from the temple, his rage glowing in his eyes like the most dangerous fire you had ever seen. He was all covered in blood, his sword piercing the skin of his adversaries as if it was butter. Your eyes made a contact, yours full of tears and fear, his overflowing with dark wrath.

Your were taken to the king's tent, him observing each and everyone of you. The men who could still wield a sword were proposed to join the army, the one who refused died as well as the old ones with trembling hands. The women were not even asked anything, they instantly became slaves.

But you, when the king passed you... oh you had something, a beauty gifted by aphrodite himself would he say, so he kept you by his side. The sounds of swords ringing against each other in the distance stopped, but the dry smell of burnt was still present in your nose as the battle came to an end.

The generals and soldiers and all these violent people came back, among them Miguel. His gaze was... certainly different from the one he had in the city. He was impassive, just waiting for what the king would say.

You were still by his sides, and he pointed to you, saying that Miguel O'Hara, his greatest fighter, after so many years of good services, deserved to have for himself such a beauty like you.

Miguel looked at you, from head to toe, his gaze not revealing anything of his thoughts. He just accepted the gift his good king gave him.

He doesn't have time to fall in love again, nor the heart for it, he thinks. You're brought to his tent, absolutely frightened. This man is the biggest most muscular and violent being you've ever seen, and knowing what he looks like when killing people doesn't help at all in finding calm in yourself.

The night is already here when you enter his tent. The soldiers leave, tying you to the the central pole of the tent. He starts to undress himself, and you look away, your eyes only witnessing the many scars travelling his body. He splashes himself of water, removing the blood from his skin before looking back at you. You're silent, and immobile.

Docile, he thinks. He knees to your level.

"Got a name ?"

No response from you. He sighs, he's too tired to seek after you. It bothers him however that you're bound, so he unties your wrists.

"Don't escape."

You rub your wrists, looking up, still not saying a word. He goes to his bed, and just collapses on it. The battle was rough, and he's too tired to do anything.

That's when you try and think of an escape plan. An idea comes to your mind - first, kill him, second, run. Maybe killing him would be a waste of time, but you need to clean a bit of the names he killed by doing so. Lucky you, you're in the tent of a soldier, which means there's a good choice in weapon.

Your eyes catch the glint of a knife, and you grab it silently. Then, you approach, getting on the bed, crawling over him until finally, you place the knife right under his chin.

His eyes pop open, but they show no sign of surprise. He knew, he kew you would attempt such a stupid thing.

"Pointy thing you've got here, careful or you might cut yourself." he jokes. "Come on," he almost leans in the blade to get closer to your face, "just do it."

"Aren't you afraid ?" you ask, his calmness making your confidence crumble.

"Everybody dies in the end," he smiles, "so come on, do it."

But you never killed anyone before, and even now when you have all the advantage, you can't manage to actually push the blade or slide it. How does men like him make it look so easy ?

He takes your confusion as an opportunity to turn you over so that you're under him with your knife still placed under his chin.

"Didn't think you'd be this stupid to try something like that on me," he says, his brows furrowing and his lips stretching in a sneer.

"Didn't hink you could align a full sentence," you reply.

it's true that Miguel didn't seem like a chatty person, because he avoided it. Other soldiers said that him speaking was a waste of his energy, but he would say it'd be a waste of time.

His sneer streches wider.

"You seem less boring than I thought."

He takes the knife in your hand with great ease, and just collapses once again but onto you, his entire weight making it impossible for you to move away.

"You can't leave anyway, there are guards outside of the tent." he mumbles into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell.

You smell like peace.

AND I COULD WRITE SO MUCH MORE ON THIS BECAUSE I HAVE OTHER BLURBOS IN MIND BUT I WANT TO KEEP SOME OF THE REST AS A SURPRISE WHEN I'LL WRITE IT HEHEHEHEHE

but also, if y'all really want me to write this, you gotta hype me up for it cuz i gotta find that motivation sdfgfdbgrzer

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