#and that it's like. ALMOST windmill shaped?

[theminecraftbee]

2ND-5 LOG 0010

Back when I uh - in some hives, they uh, have sayings about beauty, and about function, and I used to listen to those. Things that are functional should be beautiful; things that are beautiful are often in their most functional form. Of course, that'd work better if we could use hexagons, not blocks, but, uh, we've got blocks, so some shapes are...

Uh.

So this is to say that today, I tried to build a windmill.

I've been doing a lot of things lately and it, uh, it paid off! I can now, uh, safely start building machines. Currently I'm crushing tuff; it's the only way I've found to get zinc. To uh. Get zinc... really... really slowly, but uh. It does provide zinc! It does that.

It's not the only thing - I got bad about logging big things. I got magic pots? Uh. Hm. That's phrased - they are magic pots though. I can grow plants I can't even grow with bonemeal in them. They're, uh, handy. For... spore blossoms. And also crops. I don't, uh, have to worry about crops anymore, although the villagers - I don't really want to stop their jobs? They're doing alright. But I get bread from vaults and carrots from a pot now though so I guess I just...

Apples. Uh, I still, from them - apples, I haven't figured out how to... Although, with the saw...

I'll think about it.

And magic torches. I got - they're expensive torches, but when I build them, I can prevent mobs from appearing in whole large areas, light or not! But, uh - I think I broke my mob farm? I have better mob farm tools now anyway, but... Maybe I'll put in real torches, in the new platform I built for making machines on.

I was never - I like machines. I tried to design a squid farm earlier. It didn't work. I also made it out of pumpkins, so it's ugly, so it like, super didn't work. And, uh. Building. I don't... I like exploring. I like what I'm doing. But sometimes I feel like I'm... even for someone borrowing the body I'm using, I'm clumsy. I've always been clumsy. It's always felt like my hands are too big for my eyes, like my arms are too big for my body. I've never been able to... let alone well enough to build.

Things that are beautiful work better. That's a saying in the swarm. Things that are functional are beautiful. That's a saying, too.

I tried to build a windmill today, and it's really ugly.

I, uh...

I try to be nice to myself? I do. I built the temple. The temple is almost done now! I have a totem to each god, now. I don't know if it'll do anything, but, uh... The temple looks nice. It's practically the only thing on the island that does, but...

I try to be nice. Some things, uh, will always be ugly.

I think windmills are one of those things that are supposed to work best when they're beautiful, though, or maybe be beautiful because they work well? Symmetry, and sails, and the wind powering the world. It's windy up here. The windmill was expensive to put together, but it's windy, and I thought...

My windmill is very ugly, though. It's made out of grey wool and it makes me think of a hurricane, except those are almost beautiful too, and this is ugly.

It uh...

Ugly as, uh - ugly as a bear, really, but. It works. It works fine. It works so fine I think later I will try to use it to build a cobblestone generator, and use that to also store sand and gravel. I don't have to worry about those anymore! And, uh, after that, maybe build a copper farm, and after that, I may try to make a steam engine that will power a tree farm, and not have to worry about cutting logs myself again, either, and...

It's funny how much I work to not have to do things myself. But I've always been clumsy. It's easy to tell, looking at the windmill.

Whatever. It doesn't have to be pretty. It works.

[ATTACHED: 2ND-5, wearing the create armor, standing in front of their first contraption. the largest item in the background is an awkward shape made of grey wool, which must be the windmill. A crushing wheel device can also be seen.]

#vh logs #sona stuff #vh talk #...been a little bit since i did one of these updates! #anyway i hope you enjoy my World's Ugliest Windmill #the important thing is that it works! #and that it's like. ALMOST windmill shaped? #like. vaguely the idea of a windmill? #it was originally slightly more windmill shaped but i still had like a stack of wool left to reach max capacity and i was like #welp time to start making new shapes up #and then everything fell apart #IT IS NOT A GIANT SQUARE.

[cloverisnonexistantbro]

Details In Luis Serra’s Character Design:

I have been wanting to do this post for a little while, but I finally got the push I needed when @theprestigegirly helped me solve a few little mysteries hidden in the character design itself that I was trying to solve. I am by no means saying no one has stated this before, just that this is the first we’ve noticed it.

WARNING: LONG-ASS POST

• 1) The Red-9:

The Red 9 is an interesting choice of gun to give Luis. The photo of Luis and his grandfather was taken when he was about 5, meaning that Luis would have been born sometime around 1976. The Red 9 was built around 1896, almost a full century before Luis would have been born. No one else from Valdelobos seems to really have guns, as the town is so backward. So how did he get this collectors gun? Well, Luis’s grandfather was a hunter. It could be very likely that he inherited the gun from his grandfather after he died.

•2) Jacket Patterns:

With the help of @theprestigegirly, I actually think we might have found some interesting details. There seem to be mysterious circle-shapes on his jacket and came up with two possibilities:

They are wheels, specifically windmill wheels, representing Don Quixote.

They are a flower called a Pink Peony. Now that’s an interesting choice of flower simply because of what it represents.

Considering the many very obvious verbal “appreciation” Luis makes of Leon, this could be interpreted as a reference to Luis’ “Ladykiller” persona, and his homoerotic relationship with Leon throughout the game.

The flower also represents honor, which ties into the whole Don Quixote parallels.

• 3) Names On The Lighter:

We never really get a close look at Luis’ lighter in-game, and most people know it came from Umbrella, but me and @theprestigegirly decided it was time to try and interpret the actual names on the lighter, because it can be assumed that those are the names of his fellow scientists.

The names, as we interpreted them, went as follows:

• Hansel Hernandez

• Orivia Smith

• Jean-Jacques Clouet

• Maria Igesias

• Alfred Snider

• Maximilian Wegener

• Frances Alcher

• Charles Lee

Personally, I find it very fitting and symbolic that he carries the names of his lab colleagues around both physically and mentally. He seems to be quite the sentimental fellow (but we all knew that already)

Alright! That’s it! I just felt like analyzing some parts of the character that I felt weren’t touched on enough, and with the help of @theprestigegirly, I think I have a pretty decent theory analysis for you all today. Thanks for sticking through the long ass post, and special thanks to @theprestigegirly for helping me with this and literally staying up to 1 in the blessed am to humor my shenanigans!

#resident evil 4 remake #luis serra #luis serra navarro #re #re4r #resident evil #serrenedy #re4r leon #leon kennedy #resident evil 4 #theorycrafting clover

[fuckstories]

she got that doraemon pussy. can't even walk right with it so fat. i got that gogo the furry alien pussy. we got different types of pussy. one's for sledging

he got two little bingo balls down there. she's got two fat caterpillars that make u fuck with me. it's probably like rubbing yourself on a pine cone

he's got a tiny, wee willy wonky. i've got a fat whoopee cushion and whenever i sit down a fart comes out. hers is...

she's got an absolute unit... dumptrucks. and his is like... he's got one little finger that i can feel everything through. so you have to ride it like this... "whoopsy... naughty..."

Mine is shaped like a pontoon.. hers is like the queen elizabeth II and I can barely pull out. she just comes snorting up the shore. mine's very calming though, isn't it? It's like a wooden log moving over flat water. my koala bear can't survive those waves

she's got the powertools pussy. mower, snowblower, pusher, trimmer. she can put almost anything in there. i've got a sponge. anything sharp will ruin my sponge, so be careful what you do with that thing. slow down will ya

she's got the holy grail pussy. mine's got a skull-shaped entrance. if you go too deep it's like being squeezed. and when i shake my hips, his dick goes all different directions like a starfish with cancer

he's got a little ittle baby fish. i got the whale turd of love. everytime, his little penis is like bzz bzz up and down. mine's like, kkkKKHHEEEEUUURrrr!

he's got the dumbo pussy. no wait, mine is the dumbo. because i'm a fuckin elephant. she's got an asshole... yes, where the poop comes from. ours is like a reverse teletubbie. only shit comes out of ours. she's got an actual ass, a big stankin butt... and mine's an asshole.

oh! she farted again, sorry that was her

-

she's got the windmill pussy.

[wavytam]

This is the most primitive question ever but isn't Nami's tatoo a windmill and a tangerine but it's obviously an S? Can you make a post about Luffy's POV regarding SaNami? I wonder how people ship him with Nami when he's fully aware about Sanji's affection to Nami they make him look like a heartless douche

Hello, anon! I don't know how long this ask has been here, so I apologize if it took so long to answer! I didn't see this message before!

Anyway, about what you said.

First, about the tattoo: sorry, but I think it's just coincidental that it has an S shape. I think Oda could still use the drawing of the tattoo for something related to Sanji, though... maybe a pattern in something he wears. Idk. But I don't think Oda made Nami's tattoo with Sanji in mind. Maybe... I can't read his mind lol. It would be really nice if it was the case heh

About how Luffy sees Sanji and Nami: first, I'm not going to say that LN is impossible to happen, honestly.

In my opinion, the interactions Luffy and Nami had feel more like that of a brother and sister than that of a couple, but we never know when it comes to how Oda writes romance. So... Yeah. I still don't see it happening, though, for a series of reasons.

First, like you said, I'm pretty sure that Luffy, in his own way, is aware that Sanji has feelings for Nami. Not only did he witness key moments where Sanji expressed how important Nami is to him, but Luffy also incentives Sanji to help Nami.

Even without caring about romance, Luffy saw Sanji:

volunteer to help Luffy carry Nami up a mountain to find a cure,

almost die in an avalanche to prevent Nami from getting hurt

get so angry over Nami being kidnapped that he lit himself on fire

talk about how Nami is important to him during Whole Cake

So it's safe to say Luffy knows there's something there. And I think that he even incentivates Sanji to help Nami when it's needed.

You came up with an interesting point: considering the way Oda wrote things, specially how Sanji is so enamoured with Nami (again, more than any other woman) it would be weird to make Luffy end up with Nami, with him knowing about Sanji's feelings. I'm saying this in a writing perspective.

To add more fuel to the fire I remember how Oda clearly stated he doesn't care who Luffy is interested in - which is a question he gets frequently, apparently. And just like Oda doesn't care, Luffy also doesn't care about his own love life. His purpose was always to inspire people to seek freedom. I do think he might end up with someone at the end, but I don't think Oda is actively looking for opportunities to give Luffy romantic scenes in the manga.

Sanji's developement, on the other hand, always had to do with love and emotions. So the idea that Oda always planned a romantic stoyline for him is not farfetched, and the person he likes to write Sanji pursuing the most is Nami.

Again, I really don't know what is in that guy's mind, so maybe at the end he still pulls a uno reverse card and makes LN Canon and Sanji doesn't even care lol But I think it would be a really weird choice, considering the things you have pointed out and other moments we have in the manga.

Most of the LN moments can be interpreted as more of siblings growing a bond - rather than a couple having feelings. For SaNami, especially because of Sanji's side, we can't call what he does as sibling-ish at all, even if Oda calls the Strawhat a "family" and says their dynamic should be interpret as such, he was also the one who chose to make Sanji infatuated with Nami. There's also Robin, ofc, but Nami seems to be a lot more in Sanji's mind.

Once again, it all depends on Nami and how Oda writes her reacting to Sanji's pursuits or how she acts towards Luffy.

We have favorable and unfavorable moments, and every time, it was mostly because of how Oda wrote Nami. So let's wait and see.

#SaNami #MyTheories #sanjixnami

[lou-struck]

Don’t Let Go!

Tetsuro Kuroo x reader

25 Days of Ficmas Day 6

Wc: 1.5k

~ After an intense snowfall, You and Kuroo get a day off from work. Since you don’t have to adult today, sledding might be fun

Two pairs of freshly laced snow boots crunch into the untouched blanket of snow that covers everything as far as the eye can see. It weighs down tree branches and covers the roofs of every parked car on the block. It doesn't look like anyone will be going anywhere for a while. 

With his lanky arm draped lazily around your midsection, Tetsuro Kuroo stands tall. His messy raven hair stands out brilliantly against the snowy landscape. 

There is a spring in his step as your path leads uphill. The unexpected abundance of snowfall has gifted the two of you with one of the best gifts known to man. Unexpected Paid Time Off. 

In celebration of this wonderful feat, you decided to enjoy the day to the fullest. Making a good breakfast, going on a walk, watching movies, etc. After sleeping in, of course. 

Your gloved hand tightens around your lanky boyfriend as you feel your feet slip on the slanted earth. You feel yourself about to slip down the hill. You let out a yelp as your limbs flail about in a strange windmill motion to try to balance yourself.

How have you guys managed to walk so far uphill without you realizing it? Before you can ungracefully roll down the hill he steadies you. 

"Careful." he teases, looking back down the hill. Wisps of condensation fill the air from his words. "That would not be a fun trip down."

"I'll try to remember that," you say dryly. "I forgot that ice is so slippy."

He snorts at the usage of the word 'slippy,' but it is all in good fun. "Yes, the ice should really tell you that it's slippy." He shoots you his signature Cheshire cat grin. It's strangely seductive and you find yourself feeling a bit warmer than a moment ago.

"Where are you taking me anyway?" you ask, changing the subject. "Was it your plan to get rid of me by having me perish in a weather-related accident?"

"Never, can't I just want to take you out on a nice, icy walk so you will have to cling on me a bit more than usual?" he laughs, trying to bump into you playfully with his shoulder. It only makes you and your Bambi-on-ice legs lose balance, and you almost fall down the hill again.

You are almost out of breath from laughing at this point when another noise catches your eye. Little high-pitched screams of joy just over the crest of the hill where you believe one of the neighborhood parks is.

You quicken your pace and drag the rooster-headed man towards the sounds of joy in curiosity. The snow-covered playground is just visible in the distance, looking like a little snowy kingdom. But surprisingly, it sits untouched. 

It only takes a moment for you to understand why everyone, young and old, is standing at the top of the park's large, usually grassy hill, which you now recognize as a sick sledding spot. 

Parents chat away as kids slide down the hill on anything that they can. It's not just sleds. There are also trash can lids, cardboard boxes, and even a few college kids trying to slide down on a blow-up mattress. 

"Ah, Youth." he sighs, slinging a lazy arm around you.

"Are you seriously gonna say that every time you see children?" You tease, snuggling into his chest. 

"Maybe," he hums, looking down at you through his dark tresses. "They certainly look like they are having a good time."

"I'm jealous," you admit, crossing your arms over your chest. "I haven't gone sledding in years." 

You watch in fascination as a child, all bundled up in a bright red dinosaur jacket. He hops on his sled and tries to slide off a little mound of packed snow in a little ramp shape. But as he picks up speed, the little dude realizes that maybe he is not ready to pull off such an impressive stunt and quickly veers away from it, only to take out another child who is trying to climb up the hill.

It's hilarious, and you both cackle like hyenas. Tetsuro is so amused by the situation has to hold his stomach from the sheer force of his laughter. 

"Are we assholes?" you ask softly as you watch the two kids get up, dust themselves off, and run back up the hill just so they can slide down again.

"Children falling down has always been peak comedy," he replies, taking your hand. "Come on, I have a feeling we can find ourselves a sled up here. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You'll see," he purrs. Letting go of your hand. 

Before you can ask him where he is going, you see him approach a group of parents. His shoulders are relaxed, and he has a friendly yet slightly flirty smile.

You know that look anywhere, that is Kuroo's self-proclaimed' business mode'. It's what he does when trying to close a deal with a client for the Volleyball association. Your eyes drift slightly to the pile of cool-looking sleds just resting unattended next to the group as their children try to make an army of tiny snowmen. 

What they end up doing with their army, no one knows.

The group is just out of earshot for you to hear what he is saying to them, but you can tell by the laughter and bright smiles from the Mothers that he's got them on hook, line, and sinker. 

Minutes later, he comes back to you; a look of victory is etched onto his handsome features as he pulls a huge red sled through the snow. 

"Did you really go and charm some parents so we could go sledding?" you ask, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. 

"You say charm, I say negotiate," he says, handing the rope to you. "But if anyone asks, you have never been sledding before."

"Tetsuro," you scold, batting him playfully on the shoulder. "You big liar."

"Hey," he says, squirming under your featherlight, "It's half true since, technically, you have never gone sledding with me before."

"True," you relent, wanting to take this thing for a spin. You plop down onto the huge sled and scoot near to front of it. Your feet are still dug into the snowy ground, so you don't accidentally start sliding down. The last thing you would want is to lose your balance and head down this hill backward.  

"Hey, aren't you gonna come down with me?" You cock your head to the side and give him the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster in the cold. 

He grins and slides behind you. His long legs and arms hold onto you tightly in what one may call a functional bear hug. "Are you satisfied?"

"Yeah," you grin, peering down the hill.

Has it always been such a long way down?

 "We are gonna have so much fun." Adrenaline begins to boil under your winter clothes, and he can practically feel Kuroo's heartbeat in anticipation. "Hang on tight Tetsu; I'm about to push us off."

His arms wrap tighter around your midsection, and you feel him trying to tickle you. "Ready."

You push off, and your sled starts gaining speed much faster than you thought it could. Cold wind rushes past your face as you scream.

You think your boyfriend is screaming as well, but the only thing you can think of now is the large ramp made out of packed snow in your path.

Sure, you could swerve around it. You have the time to do so.

But where's the fun in that?

Ramps were made for jumping off of…

"Let's go off the ramp." You scream above the wind in a shrill voice. You can tell that Tetsuro has heard you because he holds onto your waist for dear life. You pull the rope slightly to the left, so your sled is in line to hit the ramp dead center.

It gets closer and closer and closer until you can see little specks of dirt and pine needles in the snow.

You hit it and go absolutely flying. The two of you must've gone about four or 5 feet in the air when you fly off the sled and hit the ground with a thud. The sled goes sliding down the hill, and you are struggling to catch your breath. The impact has knocked all the wind out of you.

Tetsuro recovers first, His cheeks are pink from the excitement. "Well, that was pleasant. What were you thinking going off the-?" He cuts himself off when he notices how you are gasping for the chilly air.

Honestly, you're fine. The snow broke your fall.

"Hey, Y/n. A-are you okay?" he nervously crawls over to you. His eyes are wild from concern, hair looks even messier than normal as he looks you over for any sign of injury. 

You burst out laughing as the air returns to your lungs. Your bright smiles and snow-covered cheeks help reassure him. "Of course I am, let's do it again."

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu kuroo tetsuro #kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff #x reader

[ambazaar]

The Bitter Taste of Hibiscus 🌺: Part 2

Shanks x oc

Synopsis: Tessa, due to a complicated past, has an opinion about pirates. An opinion that's become a bit muddled since he came to the village for the first time. It's all inconvenient, really. Falling in love.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Use, Facial-Related Injuries, Fluff (may be subject to change)

A/N: I've barely read or seen ANY of the manga or anime so pls don't murder me about inaccuracies. I'm in love with OPLA Shanks and needed to get my frustrations out in writing. So have a fun, angsty short story filled with fluffy goodness. Will be updating as I can.

\\\

Shortly after the Red Force settled into port, Tessa left Makino to tend to her business with the pirates. She wouldn't be caught in the middle, not with her heart racing as fast as it was and sleep coating her eyelids so heavily. She thought to look for her street urchin, but realized halfway to his nook beneath the docks that he most likely would have snuck aboard the ship by now. He'd have bolted to see Shanks the moment he woke, having been counting the days until his return, of that Tessa had no doubt. The young woman sighed, unsure of what to do. 

Makino's voice rang in the back of Tessa's mind, warning her of regrets once more. But it was too early in the day to think of regrets. So, she turned back toward town, careful to avoid the main docks, and began the long trek from the beach to the cottage on the outskirts of the village. 

It was a small thing, Tessa's cottage, with a charming and rustic allure. The vibrant blue of the wooden planks that adorned its exterior had long faded from the coastal sun. The once bright yellow door, now tinged with a soft gray hue, hadn't welcomed visitors aside from Makino or Luffy in years. Inside, its worn walls were decorated with flattened bouquets of flowers that Tessa had picked during her hikes through the hills and paintings by her mother that were older than she was. She hung seashells with discarded fishing wire in an intricate path connecting the only two windows, which cascaded together in blissful chimes whenever a soft breeze caught the milky, lace curtains.

A large, peculiar-shaped piece of driftwood sat above the hearth, a gift from Luffy just one year prior. Not long after the Red Hair Pirates came and left Windmill Village for the first time, he'd found the driftwood on the beach and attempted to shape it to look more like the dragon figurehead of Shanks' ship. Tessa couldn't perceive the resemblance, but she never had the heart to tell him. So, above the hearth it stayed.

Inside the cottage was cold, as she had no need to light a fire last night, having spent the entire evening at Party's with Makino. Tessa reached for the dingy, red shawl hanging beside the hearth, wrapping it around her shoulders, and went to work on starting a small fire. Moments later, she swung a kettle over the open flames and nestled into the large quilt she'd spent most of the spring working on, which draped over an old wicker chair in the corner of the open room. The salty air of the sea drifted through the windows with the cool breeze, mingling with a scent almost like cranberries as Tessa poured the boiling water from the kettle through loose hibiscus petals. It was a tart drink, but one that served better to wake her than most things. She let it rest for a moment and sat back in the chair, turning her head toward the window.

Her gaze immediately fell to the pirate ship.

Despite the feelings Tessa held for their captain, she still remained uncertain of the Red Hair Pirates. She rarely spoke to any of them, usually just in passing and never for very long, despite the fact that they'd been coming and going from Windmill Village for over a year now. They'd established a mutually beneficial relationship with the islanders over that time, so much so that greeting the pirates at port became almost a tradition for some of the villagers. But not for Tessa. It was not completely lost on her that a band of respectful sailors was possible. But a band of respectable pirates? She'd never heard of such a thing.

The first time she found herself face to face with one of them, she'd been on her way to Party's to help Makino when she collided right into Benn Beckman, the first mate. He laughed it off and advised that she should watch her step. She couldn't recall what came over her that day, but his audacity sparked a fire in her chest.

"Well excuse me, sir!" She said, her voice already loud enough for everyone near to turn their heads. "I've never been made to 'watch my step' before you lot came, bounding about like you own the place. And usually when you knock into a lady, you apologize, not laugh in her face!"

The pirate laughed again, louder and much heartier than before. The pale of her face flushed pink, the anger coursing through her overshadowing any fear that might occur from the consequences of her outburst. But to Tessa's astonishment, he simply bowed, placing a large hand over his heart, and asked for her forgiveness. She didn't know what to say or do. When he met her gaze again, a genuine smile crossed his features and she stood there, completely bewildered. 

That's when she heard him for the first time, calling the first mate from beneath the canopy of Party's. "You starting trouble with the locals already, Benn?" He asked. 

"No more than usual, Cap'n." As Benn passed her on the dock, Tessa's eyes rose to the man that he'd referred to as 'captain'.

He was certainly tall, much taller than Makino who stood just beside him, with vibrant red hair and a grayish cape draped across his shoulders, and on his head sat a peculiar straw hat. Peculiar because it adorned the head of a pirate captain: the most fearsome sort of man one could come across. This man, with his straw hat and charming features, didn't look dangerous. In fact, as he watched her enter the bar, she found her gaze fixated on him, not in fear but in curiosity. Specifically his eyes. Dark as pools of ink under the shade of his hat, Tessa wondered in that moment the kind of stories they held within. But, as she arrived at Makino's side, she lastly took note of the three long scars that decorated the left side of his face and steeled herself at the last second, despite the man's warm smile.

"Apologies for my first mate, miss," he said to her. "A life on the seas sometimes causes a man to forget his manners."

Something inside Tessa tensed. Makino sensed it, immediately turning to look at her friend, and saw the hard expression on her face. "I'm sure manners isn't the only thing," Tessa retorted.

Though puzzled, Shanks chuckled and smiled wider in response. Heat rose immediately through Tessa's face, which irritated her more. She finally met Makino's worried stare and said, her words heavily soaked in resentment, "Since when do we do business with pirates?" She surveyed Shanks up and down, taking in the intrigued look on his face, and practically sprinted across to the other dining hut. 

Tessa looked back on that memory and cringed. She'd been so angry with Makino for helping them that day. She couldn't believe that in only a year her opinions on pirates would become so muddled. All because of Shanks and his crew. It was hard to believe there were others like them, at least for Tessa. Her own experiences with pirates had left a bitterness in her heart that cast a dark prejudice on them. So, in the beginning, she'd hated Shanks. She hated that Luffy admired him so much. She hated that the village placed their trust in him so quickly. But most of all she hated that, despite all her animosity and resentment, she'd still fallen in love with him.

She'd known it only a few months later when the pirates had returned from another trek across the seas and their captain called cheers for both her and Makino after they'd spent a whole afternoon making sure his crew was fed. She'd known it when she watched him help a young girl collect her basket of apples that had fallen to the ground, her tears shifting to laughter as he gave her words of assurance. She'd known it when he'd placed his hand over hers that night at Party's, though she hadn't been able to even look at him since. For all he knew, Tessa still hated him. But for the first time in a year, she no longer felt content keeping it that way. 

There was a sudden rapping at the door, which jolted Tessa from a sleep she hadn't known she had fallen into. Luffy was standing in front of her before she could wipe the haze from her eyes. "TESSA," the boy shouted, despite the fact she was already quite awake. 

"Yes, Luffy. What can I do for-" 

The woman's voice caught in her throat as she finally looked upon the boy's face. Her hand instinctively flew to his cheek, her thumb hovering anxiously over the tender stitches just below his right eye. "What on Earth happened?" 

"Tessa, you're not going to believe this! Look!" Luffy bounced away from her touch and stood just in front of the fireplace, the flames mere embers now; how long had she been asleep? Her eyes wouldn't leave the fresh wound on his face. 

"Luffy, please. Tell me what happened!" She urged him, but alas the boy ignored her. 

He raised his arm high above his head, and with a triumphant yell, swiftly thrust it forward. Tessa's breath was forcefully expelled from her lungs, leaving her feeling dizzy, as she observed the boy's arm unnaturally extending across the room, knocking her front door wide open and causing it to dislodge from the top hinge. Luffy instantly recoiled, overwhelmed by immediate regret, and looked to Tessa with sheepish guilt. "I can fix that," He said, lunging forward.  

Tessa's eyes were transfixed on the boy. She observed as Luffy attempted to hoist the door back into place, but found it unable to stay by itself, and had no choice but to let it fall once again. This time, the weight proved too much for the weakened second hinge, causing the door to collapse to the ground. Overwhelmed by an immense sense of remorse, Luffy avoided Tessa's wide-eyed expression at all costs. Fortunately for him, he wouldn't have to explain.

She'd heard many stories about Devil Fruits throughout her life and the unnatural gifts they offered, but also the curse they bestowed upon whoever consumed one. A multitude of emotions swirled within Tessa's mind, yet one sensation eclipsed them all—an abrupt and profound anger that surged from the depths of her stomach, fixating on a certain captain with vibrant red hair.

I'm going to bloody kill him.

---

Part 3

#opla #one piece live action #one piece #one piece netflix #opla shanks #opla luffy #live action shanks #live action luffy #monkey d. luffy #red haired shanks #red haired pirates #shanks x oc #opla shanks x oc #shanks x reader #opla shanks x reader #reader insert

[xfancyuu]

~ i've never lost a game before, i always see the end, overflowing with passion. [aegon ii targaryen]

a drabble of aegon and reader going to mini golf mixed with whiny baby aegon who's a sore loser & bad at mini golf and a hazard to himself. reader is afab with she/her pronouns, no appearance indicators as per. my requests are OPEN please send away! this is a modern au and fanon aegon is the only aegon to exist to me.

The moment you had suggested trying mini golf as a date, you knew it was a bad idea. Aegon was competitive and a sore loser, you had thought it could be fun, that the idea in theory was cute. However, Aegon with his personalty always found a way to ensure your plans were not cute nor would they go to plan.

The drive there was pleasant, Aegon had picked you up, allowed you to choose the music, paid for the both of you. Though, the smoothness could only last for so long. You'd made a bet, however many holes he potted before you, he'd receive a kiss in return. The first hole he would have considered a practice round, the ball had hit the propellers of the windmill, and you had claimed your victory.

The second and third holes were almost as bad as the first and his frustration was growing, "I can help you, you know?" you'd asked, though Aegon was too stubborn to even consider you helping him, "All you have to do is ask me." You think his pride would never allow him to ask you for help.

"I don't need your help, y/n, I can do it myself." You weren't so sure about that but wouldn't argue with him, he could be a handful at the best of times, his hand had grabbed yours — he was always like this in public, clinging onto you as though he feared losing you. "C'mon let's move on to the next course, it should be easier." You hadn't had the heart to tell him that the course did in fact get harder as you progressed.

At the eight hole it was ridiculous, you'd had to physically manhandle him due to his refusal to accept your help. Your arms had wrapped around his own, adjusting his grip on the golf club. "I can do it myself." Aegon had spoke, though you weren't having any of it. Continuing to manoeuvre him into a position which would allow him to get a hole in one. With your help he'd actually succeeded in his goal, though he couldn't exactly bask in his victory, it had made him more frustrated, and you hadn't helped in the matter. "Well done, baby. You should have accepted my help before now." You had pecked his cheek, wholesome moments were few and far between in public with Aegon — he had an image to maintain. He clearly couldn't let the moment linger before he was pouting. "See what happens when you accept my help? You actually succeed at things."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." His irritation and impulsive nature had determined his next move. Your winning streak already had him in a less than favourable mood, mixed with the fact he couldn't get a single shot, it was disastrous. He'd thrown the club before he could think — the splash echoed through the air as it dawned on him what he did, yet he couldn't process the next moment within his tantrum, the fall had been unceremonious, but it had hurt. He despised that damn miniature windmill and the curse it had placed on him in the first round of the game.

"Baby, I think we should leave." You hadn't known what exactly to do, Aegon's actions had caused an audience to form, you knew that your boyfriend would be headline news in the morning — probably an embellished story to go along with it.

You couldn't say you left without a trace — the golf club had sunk in the man-made lake by now, disrupting the floating golf balls, leaving a district club shape in the water. You couldn't tell if Aegon was embarrassed by his behaviour, or if he could truly feel embarrassed. He'd told you he was the family disappointment on many occasions and even if he did somewhat ruin the date you couldn't find it within yourself to be angry at him, you knew he had unresolved issues that he was working on.

"I think that will be a fun story to tell our future children," you had tried to lighten the mood while Aegon continued his silence. "I'm not angry at you Aeg."

"You should be."

"I know you'll make it up to me tonight." You couldn't hide your smirk, you knew Aegon would do anything to keep you happy.

i'm intending to post my aegon headcanons soon but idk when, i also intend to post a full length fic this weekend so watch out for that (i might also post another aegon drabble because i'm in an aegon mood). *to be crossposted on ao3 under the name hedonism!

@lovelykhaleesiii @bucknastysbabe

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #prince aegon #aegon the usurper #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x you #hotd aegon #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf imagine #asoiaf fanfic #modern aegon #modern aegon ii #if anyones hard carrying here it's reader

[noodyl-blasstal]

Sick Trick Fic

It's @taznovembercelebration day 19 and today's card pull for the prompt was "sick"

TW for blood, injury, and allusion to death, but injuries are minor and everyone's okay.

Read below or on Ao3. Missed yesterday? Catch up here.

-

Kravitz hates Sloane more than he’s ever hated Sloane before.

He hates her more than the time she dared him to lick the snail, more than the water balloon sneak attack, even more than the time she convinced him to jump off the roof onto the trampoline - that last one was probably going to hurt less than this.

“Krav! Stop!” Sloane yells.

As if that’s a thing he can just do, as if he hasn’t thought of that excellent and really difficult to conceive of plan already. He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s fairly sure it’s just yelling coming out. He’s going so fast and he doesn’t know if words can mean anything at this speed.

“Kravitz! The rail!” Sloane sounds about as panicked as Kravitz feels. Which is many. Much of panic.  A wealth of panic! Here’s the field where he harvests his panic crops and they’re positively overflowing.

At least ‘skateboard accident’ means he’ll sound cool when people ask how he died. Better than ‘died alone and not brave enough to ask out the guy he was probably in love with.’ In fact, maybe Taako’ll be impressed by it! Not that it’ll do Kravitz much good once he’s been violently thrown from this mortal coil, but it’s nice to think that Taako might briefly consider what could have been. Shit. Maybe he can try to throw himself clear?

Kravitz’s body finally comes back online and starts responding to his brain’s panicky instructions to do literally anything to try and stop this happening. Terrible timing as he’s about to smash into the fucking railing, but better than nothing. It’s too late to try and turn, he’s going to have to try and jump. Kravitz forces his back leg down to try and get some leverage, it’s going to hurt, but he’s had road rash before, he’ll get over it, maybe he’ll even get a day off work? 

For a glorious second he’s convinced he managed to jump free, he’s in the air, he’s not smashing into the railing! He’s not being smashed in the balls by unforgiving steel! What he wasn’t expecting though, was that the board might come with him, or his inability to move as far sideways as he planned... Fine. So maybe he just delayed the inevitable and he’s just going to smash into the railing from a fun new angle instead because he’s plummeting down down down towards it and there’s nothing else he can do.

The board catches the railing sideways and jolts his back heel, this is definitely going to fuck up his plantar fascitis, if he survives his physio’s going to be disappointed and shake their head solemnly and ask if he really thought that skateboarding was <i>helpful to his recovery?</i>. But even bitter disappointment and a bad grade in being a patient from a healthcare provider is preferable to death. Probably. 

Someone’s yelling behind him, but he’s too busy trying not to fall to process the shape their words are making.

When Sloane decided that skateboarding was going to become her entire life (because she was gay for Hurley) he did some reading. He got her a helmet and knee pads and read some WikiHow pages, he just needs to remember literally anything from them. 

“Balance!” Screams what’s almost definitely Sloane.

Yeah, that’s fair. That’s a thing he can try to do. 

He fights the urge to windmill his arms desperately, and instead focuses on leaning in a way which doesn’t feel terrible, and he’s doing it? He’s doing it! He’s sliding down the rail and he isn’t dead and he might even look cool maybe? Hopefully Sloane gets a picture so he can show Taako… or she can show Taako? That was a normal and natural thing to come up in conversation. 

The high was good, great even, but he didn’t consider that he couldn’t just hang out here. What grinds up must grind down? Fuck, no, that sounds like a double entendre he doesn’t have time to laugh at. There’s open sky ahead of him and a whole lot of ground waiting to meet him and beat him up in exchange for the looking cool hubris . He doesn’t remember anything that the WikiHow said about this bit and the ground’s approach rudely isn’t slowing down to give him a moment to think about how to not die. Maybe if he just jumps again? Double jump? It works on Mario kind of probably?

The ground doesn’t agree.

“Hurg.” Says Kravitz. He opens his eyes tentatively, one at a time, just to be safe, just to make sure they hadn’t been jangled right out of their bone houses.

There’s a familiar pair of beaten up trainers in front of him. Maybe he <i>was</i> dead.

“Akko?”

“Sick grind, hot stuff. Taako didn’t know you could skate.” Kravitz didn’t either, but he can take praise from Taako any day of the week. Twice on Tuesdays. It wasn’t Tuesday he didn’t think, unless it was?

Maybe if he just leans up on his arm he can look alluring and Taako will want to lie down on top of him.

“Ow.” He says, and collapses back down onto his side.

Or maybe he could lie very still and not think too loudly because even that made his brain feel spiky.

“You’re really pretty.” He says instead. Because when you’re dead you can say whatever you want.

“Uh huh.” Taako says.

“Your hair’s really nice and you’re clever and funny and you smell good and you’re so handsome.” His teeth are going to fall out of his face because he can feel every single one of them and that’s probably bad, but Taako deserves to know how good he is.

“Are you okay, Krav?” Taako’s much closer than he was before. It’s wonderful, Kravitz can see his freckles and his tooth gap and maybe he can count all the freckles there’s at least seven… nine… eight… maybe he should start over. One… one… five…

“Did you hit your head?” Taako’s voice is higher than usual. Kravitz doesn’t mind.

“Krav, answer me. Are you okay?” Taako’s face is right next to his, if Kravitz just leans forward slightly… 

“KRAV!” Sloane yells just as his lips connect with Taako’s.

Taako’s face gets further away and is replaced by Sloane’s. 

“Are you dead too?” 

“Kravitz?

“Did you die?” 

Sloane just looks down at him, brow crinkled.

Okay, so she wasn’t going to answer him. Fine. He looks around for Taako, maybe they can kiss more instead?

“I’ll call an ambulance.” Says someone in the distance. 

Kravitz hopes whoever it’s for is okay.

–

“Well well well, look who the cat dragged back to consciousness.” Says Sloane, as if she doesn’t know he’s been pretending to be asleep since the doctors left and said she was on her way to visit him.

“It was a dream, right?”

“Nope.” Sloane sounds positively delighted.

“I didn’t?” 

“You did.” She nods. “Right on the mouth.”

“Did he…?” 

“I mean, you were bleeding quite heavily at the time.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, probably not quite how you were planning to seduce him?”

“No.” Says Kravitz stiffly.

“But he did give me his number to pass on.”

“What?” Kravitz tries to sit up again and swiftly flops back down when it feels like everything is tipping slowly sideways.

“He said it was pretty metal.”

“I’m pretty metal?”

“You sure are, bud.” Sloane pets him reassuringly on the arm. “You sure are.”

-

I hope you enjoyed! Want to see more? Find the next prompt here.

#TAZNC #taz november celebration #Taakitz #TW blood #TW injury #Noodyl Writes

[eyelessfog]

Dawn is a ghost town after dark.

That’s the first thing you notice, after waking up at midnight and looking out your tavern window.

The moon is high in the sky, and the stars are bright, and they reflect on the ocean’s waves, and Dawn is beautiful. But it’s a ghost town.

You walk out of your room. It’s dark. There’s no point in having lights on when everyone is asleep, you suppose, but you have to press your hand against the wall and tap your foot against the floor to check that you won’t fall.

There isn’t a single sound but your footsteps.

You thought that maybe you’d hear someone snoring, or, or- or something, but it’s quiet.

That’s fine. You just aren’t used to it.

You come from a loud place. There’s always noise, awake or asleep.

You guess that that’s why you woke up - the lack of noise was wrong to your ears.

You walk out the front door of the tavern, and… Dawn, interestingly, seems to have the outdoor lights snuffed out. You stare up at an empty lantern, then down the path.

Why wouldn’t they keep lights out? Mobs are deterred by light. Even if everyone is asleep, surely they need it to keep out mobs.

You look around, a little nervous now, but- well. You still can’t hear anything at all. Not the groan of a zombie, or the click-clack of a skeleton, or that certain crunch of grass that creepers make.

Silence, still.

You begin down the path, searching for any sign of life. You know the citizens of Dawn won’t appear - they’ve told you that it’s against their religion - but anything else. Anything at all. Whatever gets rid of this silence.

A firefly whizzes past you.

You jolt.

It comes back around, then, buzzing in your face, and you blink at it.

You didn’t know they have fireflies here! It was always said that fireflies stuck to the swamp, and Dawn is not a swamp.

You hold a hand out to catch the firefly, and it weaves out of your grip. You frown, a bit disappointed.

You try again.

It flies away again.

And then, instead of doubling back towards you like it did before, it flies up, into the sky, and you look up.

And realize that there is a giant sparkle of fireflies floating around each other, far above your head.

You stare.

They’re like schools of fish from your fishing trips, curling around and through one another like it’s a dance.

It’s like a trance. You can’t help yourself to only watch them move and glow and-

You blink, and the moon is low, and when you turn around, the sky is lightening. It’s almost morning. How did you get so caught up in a sparkle of fireflies?

You look back up, and the fireflies seem to explode. Some dip down to where you are, but others fly over rooftops and windmills. It’s like a firework.

You let yourself follow one. It goes back to the tavern (and what a funny coincidence that is!) then moves behind the counter to the bar.

Your brows furrow.

The glow shifts, moving itself into a shape, into a person, into- Oh.

The bartender flutters his eyes open to look at you. Then he jolts.

“Oh! Up bright and early, aren’t you?”

“Dark and early,” you respond, looking over at the barest sunrays peeking in from the window.

“Dark and early indeed,” the bartender sighs. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just a water.” You sit down at the counter and take a moment to breathe.

What had you called Dawn when you woke up? A ghost town at night?

The bartender hands you a glass of water, and you think back to that first firefly and how you never actually saw the firefly, only its glow, and you think Yes. Yes, Dawn is most definitely a ghost town.

#[written in stone] #empires smp #empires smp s2 #empires smp season 2 #empires gem #<- technically dawn

[missmungoe]

I know you’re still recovering from Mnemosyne (BEAUTIFUL HEART WRENCHING AMAZING WONDERFUL WORTH-THE-WAIT CHAPTERS BTW SO GRATEFUL FOR YOUR EXISTENCE) so please don’t feel pressured b u t… if you have any snippets of the next Moon and Her Maiden chapter you feel comfortable sharing ..🥺👉👈 IM SORRY BUT THAT LAST ONE ENDED SO AMAZINGLY AND IM DYING TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

HI, please know how happy this made me, and of course I have a snippet! I'm actually very close to finishing this fic, so here's a little peek:

It comes with a price

He followed the road inland, the same path he’d walked the night she’d been taken, although this time he wasn’t searching blindly, following instead the trail of her presence, like a moonlit thread through his mind and the dark.

She’d followed the road out of the village, past the darkened windmills where they loomed, before she’d climbed one of the fences and crossed the field into the forest. If it hadn’t been for his haki, Shanks didn’t think he would have been able to follow her, with no obvious path or tracks to guide his way, and with the canopy blocking out the moon it was almost too dark for him to see.

He was starting to wonder if he should have brought a lantern when the canopy suddenly opened, allowing a shaft of moonlight to pierce it, right onto the still surface of a forest pond, and he paused in his tracks, seeing the small figure standing before it.

Her back was turned towards him, her clothes in a heap around her ankles and her slender frame outlined by the moon. It spilled over her skin, the silver spots across her shoulders apparent, and the still-pink scar where it cut like a sickle moon between her shoulder blades.

He knew she’d already sensed him coming, and saw her turn towards him where he’d emerged from the shadows of the trees into the clearing. She had her sealskin in her hands, the supple pelt shimmering like her skin.

She’d removed her kerchief, her short hair gently tousled where it brushed the tops of her cheekbones. The eyes beneath were bottomless, although for once, he couldn’t discern if the feeling in them was surprise or trepidation, finding him there. But then this wasn’t like waiting for her by the shore, his eyes shut in offering. He’d come into her realm now, eyes wide open, as brazen as the sailors from the songs, who stole the maidens of the moon for their wives.

“The old girl told me where you were,” Shanks said, and saw her brows knitting in surprise.

“Suzume-san did?”

He nodded, before he looked at the pond, and coming closer, “Going for a midnight swim?” he asked, hoping his smile might ease some of the tension that had crept between them.

Makino didn’t answer, and his heart sank, wondering if he’d overstepped when he’d kissed her in the storeroom earlier.

But looking up from the sealskin in her hands to him, it wasn’t fear he found in them, or at least not for him as Makino said, “I was going to try to change.”

Something about the way she said it struck him as odd, and frowning, he was trying to figure out what was off about it when realisation hit him, without kindness.

“You haven’t tried,” Shanks said.

She shook her head, and his heart constricted when she confessed, “I don’t know if I still can.”

The beat that followed was heavy, holding the weeks that had passed since her capture, a full moon cycle, and the nights he’d waited by the docks, hoping she’d show. He’d thought she’d been nervous about seeing him in her seal-shape, or that she wanted to wait until her stitches had healed. He hadn’t thought she’d been afraid she couldn’t do it anymore.

“Your stitches are perfect,” Makino said, dragging his eyes up from her sealskin, as though his silence had suggested that they might be the reason. “I don’t even have evidence that there’s anything wrong, I just…haven’t been able to bring myself to try.”

Her eyes lifted from her pelt to his, and the fear in them struck him as hard as it had, that moment outside her bar when the bandit had tried to slice it open. “What if I can’t?” she asked, the slight quaver in her voice making his hands clench. “I don’t know who I am without my pelt.”

His look softened.

Crooking a knuckle, Shanks tipped her chin. Her eyes were as dark as the pond, unearthly in their depth and beauty, and yet there was nothing but human feeling in them, open and vulnerable.

“You’re you,” he said. His eyes roamed her face, but for all that the fae were hailed as coy, cunning creatures, he’d never met anyone as guileless. “With or without your powers.” His thumb brushed her chin, beneath her bottom lip where it trembled. “But I understand why you’re scared. I don’t know how I’d feel if I lost something so deeply connected to who I am.”

Her eyes hadn’t let go of his, and he saw the tears brimming in them, even as she didn’t let them fall.

He watched as they lowered to the sealskin, held between them. He could see the place where the bullet had torn through it, the moonlight illuminating the scar, twin to the one on her back. He’d spent a whole day mending it, trying his best to make it as seamless as he could, but even then his stitches had left a mark.

“This is one of my favourite places,” Makino said then, looking up from her pelt to the still pond. Flowers grew thickly by the riverbank, blue forget-me-nots gleaming like stars against the mossy undergrowth, and a slender river cut through the clearing, gurgling quietly where it crawled between the stones to feed the pool where they were standing, the surface like a black mirror to the moon’s round face, although it wasn’t the one that held his eyes captive, her gentle features painted by the light.

“It’s beautiful,” Shanks said.

Her smile tilted, a little sad, and he didn’t understand why until Makino said, “I was going to bring you here.” Dark eyes met his, as gentle as her words. “To show you.”

His eyes widened, but of course―she’d mentioned a pool, that sunny day with Luffy on the docks when she’d asked him to go walking with her.

He didn’t know how he would have reacted, if the incident with the bandits had never happened, and the way she’d revealed herself to him had been here, on her own terms. And while she’d told him why she’d hidden it for so long, it said something about how much she’d trusted him even then, to want to bring him somewhere like this. Like the hidden cove, it was an offering; a part of herself shared with him that no one else had seen.

But while he couldn’t change what had happened, or make it so that her powers still worked, there was one thing he could control. Like the blindfold, he could even the balance between them; a barter, if only to put them on even ground.

“What are you doing?” Makino asked, as he shrugged off his cloak, before he reached to unbutton his shirt, until it joined it on the ground next to her clothes.

Toeing off his sandals, “Stripping,” he chirped, and her eyes sprung wide when he reached for the waistline of his pants, flashing her a rakish grin. “Fair is fair.”

Shucking them with characteristic panache, the fierce blush deepening her cheeks banished some of her otherworldliness, her beautiful features reshaping with an unmistakably human mortification as her eyes darted away from his naked body, and his cock, cheerfully erect where he’d propped his hands on his hips, but before she could object, he’d dived into the pond.

He cut the mirror surface smoothly, the freezing cold water hitting him like a thousand needles, before he resurfaced with a gasp, swearing, “Fffffucking hell, that’s cold! Oh my god, I think my balls just retreated back into my body.”

The startled laugh that blurted from her was muffled by the pelt, her cheeks fairly glowing where she’d pressed it to her face, but it couldn’t hide her grin where he found it in her eyes, as helpless as his own, seeing it.

Pushing his dripping hair back from his face, he swam towards the bank where she stood. The pool was deep enough that he was only able to stand towards the shallow edges, the middle like a black hole, sucking up the moonlight where it spilled through the branches.

Smiling, Shanks held out his hand. “Are you coming in, seal-maiden?”

He saw her eyes darting to it, indecision shaping her beautiful features, so wonderfully expressive, he still couldn’t believe she’d kept her identity a secret from him for so long, even with his eyes shut.

But they were open now, and he watched her shifting expressions hungrily, and saw when she decided, her soft mouth firming, before she drew her sealskin around her shoulders.

Then Makino placed her hand in his, and closing his fingers around it, Shanks drew her into the water.

It pulled her in, as though welcoming her, and he wondered, transfixed, how he hadn’t noticed it the time they’d gone swimming, how naturally she held herself in the water. Or rather, how unnaturally, an otherworldly grace that even a girl who’d been swimming her whole life couldn't have boasted.

Of course, there’d been other things distracting him that night, like how she’d looked in the rain, her soaked chemise clinging to her body, although looking at her now, the pale silk replaced with moonlight and her silver pelt, he was hard pressed to say which was more captivating, but then maybe it was just her.

He’d reached out before he could stop himself, his fingers brushing the pelt where it covered the top of her head, as soft as he remembered, but Makino didn’t withdraw, only let him touch it.

It dipped into her brow, and lifting it enough to bare her eyes, “You don’t have to try tonight,” Shanks said, observing her where she floated, too short for her feet to reach the bottom, but then she didn’t even need to tread water. “But if you want to, I'm the only one here.”

Makino watched him, the pelt pushed back enough to see her face, unchanged from how he knew it, but even then there was a feyness about her that left no mistake now about what she was, wrapped in water and moonlight.

He watched as her eyes slipped shut, and she seemed for a moment to retreat into herself, a calm overtaking her as she let her breath go. Shanks felt it in her presence, as still as the pond around them, not even a ripple to disturb the mirror surface.

Then her eyes opened, meeting his, and this time they were so dark they’d swallowed the white around them. And he’d seen her transform, that terrifying moment on the deck of his ship after she’d been shot, but it was something else to see her change now, not out of necessity but because she wanted it.

Her skin glowed, first silver, then a bright, brilliant white, as though she became for a moment moonlight in its purest form, illuminating the whole clearing, before she changed, her slender frame shrinking, reshaping into a figure he’d only glimpsed a few times before, in the cove and through the underwater shadows.

The brilliance dimmed, leaving her in her seal-form, the tiny, sleek creature that bore no resemblance to her human shape, even as Shanks still found her, in the dark, bottomless eyes and the way she floated in the water, and her presence, unchanged now that she wasn’t concealing herself.

He heard her voice within, the unbridled joy in it rippling through him like laughter.

It worked!

His grin widened, hearing her whooping delight within him, and his chuckle was softer than he was known for as she vanished under the surface, darting around him once, and with such breathtaking grace it left him unable to do anything but watch as she resurfaced further out, a sleek shadow, before she dived under again, and so silently she barely stirred the pond.

He felt her brush against his thigh as she circled him once, before darting between his legs, and so swiftly it took his haki just to keep track of her, and even then she was faster, as the little seal suddenly resurfaced right in front of him, the transformation releasing her, and so quickly it was only a split second before Makino was there, her voice aching with joy, “It worked!”

She threw her arms around his neck, and his eyes widened, caught so off guard he nearly forgot they were swimming.

Startled, his arms wrapped around her, the sudden and intimate contact jolting through him like he’d been shot.

His heart held, feeling her in his arms, her delicate figure flush against his and nothing but water between them, and knew she could feel his reaction, rock hard where it pressed against her, but she didn’t draw away.

Holding her, his hand shook where it spanned the sickle scar between her shoulder blades, covering it whole, and his chuckle was soft as he tucked his nose into her neck, hugging her close. She was so small, but then he knew her shape with his eyes shut, every delicate line and curve, had charted it with his hands, and found it now as he remembered, that first night on the docks, and in the cove, and his cabin.

He felt as the slender arms loosened from around his neck, and fought his instinct to pull her back, but she didn’t let go, as small hands cupped his cheeks. Water clung to his lashes, but he saw her clearly, the moonlight spilling down her body and his, and her eyes were as dark as the water, but this close, the tips of their noses brushing, Shanks found the gentler brown in them.

They slipped shut, and drawing his face down, as gently as the first time she’d done it, Makino kissed him.

Above, the moon watched them through the branches, her marble face as impassive as ever, but if she was upset with him for stealing one of her maidens, Shanks didn’t care.

And feeling the smile that shaped the soft lips under his, thought the maiden in question didn’t much mind the theft.

―

“Red-Hair?”

The deep bow made the collar around his neck fall forward, the heavy metal yielding a soft clank. “Our investigation proved fruitful, Your Excellency,” said his advisor. “We have eyewitnesses placing him in Goa that night, and he fits the description of your brother’s killer. A swordsman in a black cloak, wearing a straw hat. We did some digging, and he is apparently quite renowned. In fact…”

The rustle of paper drew his gaze, as a wanted poster was proffered, slid across the table towards him.

His eyes widened.

“One billion?”

His advisor bowed deeper. “In addition to his own deeds, he is a former crewmate of the Pirate King.”

His eyes lifted from the wanted poster, and the scarred face above the row of numbers. “Gold Roger?”

His advisor nodded. “His crew, too, is quite formidable. His first mate in particular.”

He considered Red-Hair’s wanted poster. “And he’s been here this whole time?”

Another nod. “It appears he has made a base of sorts. A port on the other side of the island. Fuschia is the name.”

“That backwater dump?” When his advisor nodded, “What does a pirate like Red-Hair want in a place like that?”

“Perhaps he is seeking to usurp the throne,” his advisor suggested. “He would not be the first pirate to attempt a coup.”

“I couldn't care less about Goa Kingdom or its so-called ruler,” said the Celestial Dragon. “But we cannot have it getting out that a pirate killed a Celestial Dragon. It would give the people ideas that just anyone can harm us, and that we can be usurped as mortal kings. We are not mortals; we are gods.”

Another deep bow, his brow nearly touching the floor. “Indeed, Your Excellency.”

Turning to the window, the dark sea looked back, and the full moon. To think that even the filthy commoners in this part of the world could see her splendour, and as clearly as they could from the Holy Land. Truly, a jest of the gods.

“Is Red-Hair still in port?” he asked, and heard him nodding when his collar shifted.

“His ship has not left, Your Excellency.”

“Good,” he said, his eyes on the full moon where she bathed on the horizon’s edge.

“See that it never does.”

#Shanks x Makino #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Makino #One Piece Makino #Shanks/Makino #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #fanfic #fanfiction #opfanfic #Selkie AU #mungoe writes

[leftnotright]

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win. Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus.

(Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

CHAPTER 8: YOU'RE SO GOLDEN

The Simone Islands were hot and just a little bit humid. 

Sand peppered the cracks in between the bricks and stones of the paths. A windmill groaned on the horizon on the east side of town. A fountain bubbled in the centre of the square, a sandstone plaque engraved with the name ‘Cozzarto’ .

A gaggle of girls giggled as they walked past, wrapped in pretty dresses of bright reds and pastels. A team of young men worked to heave crates and sacks onto a cart bound for the Simone docks. An elderly couple walked arm in arm, skin dotted with age and sun, faces creased with laughter lines. 

The Simone Islands were hot and just a bit humid. The Simone Islands were alive. 

Ryohei took in a breath, smelling that bay air and freshly tilled soil up on the hills. 

“How are you liking the place?” A man asked, joining Ryohei at his side, fountain spray touching their cheeks. 

Hair a blazing red, and pupils crossed with the stigma of Simone, Abramo, the grandfather of a boy who would be Enma, smiled at Ryohei. His jaw was speckled with stubble that he scratched at with only four fingers; his middle finger lost in an incident at the mill. His mother, rest her soul, said it was redemption for using it so much to offend people. 

“It’s great,” Ryohei said, voice almost light with awe. 

“Ain’t we just!” Abramo agreed, and gave Ryohei a solid pat on the back. “From our women to our wine, you’ll never find anything quite like us!”

The last time Ryohei had set foot on this land, he had never even reached the town. Far down in the thicket, the Simone Islands had been hauntingly quiet. 

The thought that all this was washed away. In a single night. Right in front of the young eyes of Enma’s Family— 

Ryohei looked at the grimm shape that hung above the ground like a man from a noose. 

“Ah, of course,” Abramo turned and looked upon that shade. “Allow me to introduce Basker Ville, our local lurker. Not much of a talker, let me tell you.” 

Basker Ville, the Vindice guard, which haunted the mountains and shores of the Simone Islands. Ryohei had never heard of him before, one of the many wrangled bodies in those damp halls. Now, the first line of defence against the complete undoing of everything.

Ryohei gave his new brother-in-arms a smile. 

Basker gave a low groan that sounded like something heavy dragged across stone. 

“Ryohei,” Abramo said, throwing his arm around Ryohei’s shoulders. “I hear you’ve been moved into the Vindice’s new base down in the old quarry. I’ve been there; bit of a creeping damp problem. If you ever need a break, come hang out with us up here!”

Abramo was trying to be welcoming, and set an example for the rest of the island, which watched on with bated breath and careful eyes. They weren’t used to outsiders after centuries of exile. And so many had come. Ryohei, even after three days now, was merely the most recent of the swathe of folk to the island.

Like Abramo had said, almost overnight, a deep, cavernous hole had been bored into the walls of the vacant quarry. With skill and speed befitting the corpses of history’s Best, a base had been constructed out of the layers of cracked stone and calcified coral. The Vindice had made their home under the feet of the Simone.

The island was shaken, to have the Wardens beneath their floorboards. 

Most of them didn’t even know why.

Only the main branch of the Simone had been told by Bermuda personally. From there, it was up to the Family’s discretion who on the island needed to know. 

“Thanks!” Ryohei smiled, and without hesitation, threw a reciprocal arm over Abramo’s shoulder as well. “Hey, do you know anywhere good to eat around here? The Vindice aren’t big on meals. Ghouls and all. No offence.”

Basker Ville grunted, bandaged face completely unmoved.

Abramo grinned. 

“My good man, let me introduce to you the wonders of Simone-style cuisine.”

Maybe it was the weird herbs that grew on the island, maybe it was the centuries as a closed community, or maybe it was the adventurous palletes of people who were so in tune with the earth they walked upon, but Ryohei had never seen these kinds of variations before.

The Simone did beautiful things to a steak. Their minestrone had an almost minty sting at the end. Their rosemary tarts were kind of spicy. 

‘Flash pickled’ was an entire range of goods, and compared to traditional pickling, it had a distinctly warmer undertone. Depending on the intensity, it could almost taste smoked. 

There was this specific rock that when boiled in sugar and a particular root made the sugar change colour and pop in your mouth. They had more kinds of beer in a single space than seemed anyway safe, and dear God, their wine.

Ryohei happily kicked his feet under the table as he ate his nth meal of the morning. Abramo nearly sick with laughter as the plates stacked up, a group of Mountain Flame folk cheered Ryohei on. 

“It’s your own fault, Kozato!” A waitress laughed as she put down a cup of sweet tea in front of Abramo. “You basically challenged the man when you said you’d pay. He eats more than a Mountain.”

“It’s just so good!” Ryohei groaned, clearing off his plate with his spoon. 

Despite the isolation, Italian blood was thicker than any mulled wine and one attribute had stayed over the generations: food brought people together. And the head chef of this fine family diner, an old woman with a spine like a question mark and a grip that could crush diamond, was all but singing Ryohei’s appetite praises as she pinched his cheeks bruised.

In the corner of the family diner, Basker Ville stood like the monster at the end of the bed. At his feet, a trio of girls sat, threading paper flowers into the holes of his gnarled coat, a pile of red paper napkins between them. 

Their mothers watched on with growing warmth. Basker Ville did not move an inch.

Ryohei grinned as another plate of pasta was brought out to him, with seafood straight from the Simone Bays. He dug into it with gusto, feet doing a little tappy dance on the red tiled floors.

“Ryohei.”

Ryohei looked up as a shadow loomed over his table, and the scent of something damp and something rotten crept into his nose. Ryohei swallowed his pasta, refusing to let it go to waste despite how the taste had soured on his tongue.

“Hi Jaeger,” he waved with his spoon. 

Basker Ville came floating over. Ryohei spied the red paper flowers lining the bottom of his tattered cloak. 

Jaeger looked at the state of his coat. Basker Ville made no move to remedy his uniform. 

Jaeger seemed to sigh. Then he turned back to Ryohei who was packing his pasta into a takeaway box.

“You are to return to Base,” Jaeger announced. “The Machine is ready to be witnessed.”

Abramo looked up sharply, a breath taken from between teeth. 

Ryohei grinned, feeling a surge of excitement and hope bloom in his blood. He stood without further prompting, takeaway under his arm.

“Ready when you are!”

“May I come!?” Abramo nearly choked out, standing as well. The diner was quiet as they watched. “I — I would like to come as well. To see the Machine.”

Jaeger turned his head slowly towards the head of the Simone Islands, regarding him with icy silence.

“Huh? You haven’t seen it yet?” Ryohei blinked, looking at the Simone man beside him. “Dude! Sure, come on!”

“ Boy —” Jaeger began, frustration clear in that single utterance.

Basker Ville appeared behind the two mortal men and in a flurry of tattered cloaks and red paper flowers, Ryohei and Abramo were plunged into that wet stench of decay and rot. Ryohei grunted as he landed on his behind, the butt of his shorts instantly damp. Abramo stood beside him, grounded and unshaken.

“Earths,” Ryohei grumbled.

Abramo laughed and helped Ryohei to his feet, “Up we go.”

Ryohei pouted as he pulled at his shorts, peeling the wet khaki from the back of his thighs with great tactile discomfort. 

Basker Ville groaned and turned to lead the way, navigating halls of sandstone and bedrock, lined with carved-out pillars that harkened back to the Roman Headquarters. Bits of seashells and ancient coral pocked the walls. Abramo trailed his fingers along the wet tunnel, feeling the layers of stone and the passage of time that had built the very land his ancestors walked upon.

Ryohei waddled after them in his wet shorts.  

The sandy floors crunched into stone, and Ryohei was tempted to see if his breath would fog as they walked deeper into those tunnels that wound and twisted beneath the island of the Simone. At one point, he heard Abramo murmur, “We must be near the tavern,” like he could have somehow mapped their progress by memory.

Basker Ville gave a soft huff in response. It sounded like the rattling of rusted plumbing.

They walked for a few more turns, the hallways branching off and splintering with doors lining the way. Ryohei glanced at one as they passed, ‘Maintenance Room 3’ the plaque read. 

Ryohei snickered. 

It got colder. Ryohei felt his skin pebble with goosebumps. Abramo rubbed his arms. Their footsteps splashed in shallow puddles that pooled in the grooves of carved stone. It smelt of sea water and dead fish. 

The tunnel curved down steeply, bits of seashell and sand slipping under their sandals. 

A door stood at the end of the dark tunnel, layers upon layers of Vindice chain crossing the large stone and steel slabs. Basker Ville groaned as he approached the doors, a dark Flaming hand outstretched. The door warped, darkness leaching through the cracks. It spread like a mould and smelt equally as musty, moist and rotten. Basker Ville stepped aside, and Ryohei stepped through the portal.

The ground was hard-packed stone under Ryohei’s sandals, and the scent of fish was deftly cut by the sharp stench of hot, welded metal and solder. The room was a cavern freshly carved out of the island, gems and mineral deposits dotting the walls and vaulted ceiling, those gleaming riches now unimportant and just another part of the structure. Three grand doors were in each third of the room, each one made of metal and stone and chained down like a Vindice criminal under watch. 

Multiple Vindice ghouls floated around, their coats cast aside or sleeves rolled high on their thin, bandaged arms. They carried crates of scrap metal, tanks of butane and coal, and bags of sand. They crouched as they worked with spanners, floating high overhead as they bent beams into arches. 

A tunnel off to the side burnt red hot, waves of pure heat wafting out as the sand was dragged in. Faintly, Ryohei could hear glass shatter.

Wires of copper and coolant branched like bulbous roots, sprawled across the floors like wandering vines. Seven large metal bases had been built into the bedrock floor, arching structures of red-hot metal beams wound tightly together like the bud of a rose about to burst into bloom. They stood grand in the centre of the room, at least two men tall and catching the light of Flame and fuse as the Vindice welded. 

Ryohei crossed the room, stepping over the wires carefully. They were heavy; if he bumped them, Ryohei didn’t doubt that he’d be the one to move before they did.

He reached the seven bases, lined up in the centre of the cavern. Seven spots, for seven Flames. The new batteries, the new Machine to save the world.

Ryohei touched the base. The metal was cold. It was incomplete. The Machine had no power. 

“This place,” Abramo uttered as he stepped out into the cavern, looking around in wonder. He looked up at the rocky roof. “We’re under the church.”

“Indeed. Your church was built upon the part of your island that went deepest below sea level,” Bermuda’s childish voice rang out as he floated over. Behind him, Jaeger followed. “I see you’ve arrived finally, Ryohei.”

“Yeah,” Ryohei answered, still squatting beside the centre base. He took a long breath that tasted of burnt metal. “You guys have been busy. It’s looking good.”

“But unfinished,” Bermuda said, and looked upon the metal frames. “I hoped to be further along. To test this theory.”

“It’ll work,” Ryohei said, voice stern and sure. 

Bermuda regarded him coolly, unfazed. He couldn’t let himself be moved so easily. Not again.

“A theory,” Bermuda uttered.

Ryohei gritted his teeth, but let the topic lay.

“So,” Abramo spoke softly, coming to touch the machine as well. “This is where you want us to put our Earth Flames?”

“Correct, once the Machine is complete, we will require you and your most powerful representatives to inject your Flames,” Bermuda said.

Ryohei looked at the Machine, still just a skeleton of the one Ryohei had helped power in his youth. There was a distinct difference though — this one was bigger. Even now, in its stripped-down state, Ryohei could tell this Machine would amount to something mammoth. 

When it was finished. 

“What’s the part you’re stuck on?” Ryohei asked, rapping his knuckles against the metal base. 

A Vindice ghoul grunted at him in warning.

“Two components,” Bermuda sighed and floated towards that small tunnel that wafted with heat and glowed an ominous, sweltering red. 

Ryohei stood up with a groan and followed after him, as the stench of a hot kiln grew stronger. 

The room was solid stone from ceiling to floor; trails of scorch and smoke climbed the walls. Metal rods leant against anvils, great sheers and tongs littered tables. Several bodies of exposed bandage and rot worked the room, shovels in blackened hands as they fed the three, gaping, hungry mouths of the furnaces, carved out of the bedrock of Simone Island. 

Abramo coughed as he stood behind Ryohei. The air was dry and leached life from his throat as he tried to breathe. 

A Vindice corpse lumbered across the workshop, metal rod in hand. They dipped the end in a vat of something utterly molten. Steadily, they twisted and dipped, twisted and dipped, until a great blob of red hot sat perched on the rod. The Vindice crossed the room, still twisting to keep that mass from drooling off, and poked it into the belly of the furnace. 

They took a breath. Their stomach expanded, their barrel of a chest rose. They pressed their gnarled, dry lips to the end of the rod and blew. 

The blob ballooned, and swelled, and the Vindice raced to a large, metal chamber — a mould — and blew again. The molten balloon grew. Back and forth they ran, tempering, heating and blowing until the metal chamber caught the edges of the red bubble. And with another great gust of breath, the bubble took shape, a cylinder, two men tall, and cast in glass inches thick.

Carefully, two other Vindice transferred the slow cooling glass to the far side of the room. The floor sparkled and crunched under their shoes. They set the cylinder in place, a kind of bareboned version of the Machine’s base. Still sealed at the top with warped glass, the chamber was almost rosie as it cooled, and as the last blotch of heat leached away, a Vindice ghoul raised their hand.

Flames of Night erupted within the cylinder. It flickered and swayed, seeming to eat at the light around it.

The glass cracked. A long, spider-webbed split that grew, and stretched, and clawed its way across the glass. 

Ryohei threw his arm up as the chamber exploded. Glass rained down on their heads, all small shards and fine crystal powder.

“Five seconds,” Bermuda mused. “A new record. Well done.”

The Vindice in the room nodded in thanks and swept up the shards to be poured into the vat, melted, and everything began again. 

“The first issue we have met is the container. The blueprints call for glass specifically, but no glass we craft can contain Flames. The frequency they emit when pure is too much for it,” Bermuda explained, watching the craftsmen try again, and again, and again.

Hands blackened, bandages soaked in sweat and fluid, lips chapped and cracked. Cuts and burns littered their broken bodies. In the light of the furnace, they glittered, glass in their hair and embedded in their skin.

Bermuda watched.

Steadfast. Stubborn. Too willful to lie down, even in death. His Vindice would persist.

Ryohei dusted the glass on his arms into the vat and shook out his shirt. 

“So you need some special glass or something?” Ryohei asked as he picked bits out of his hair. 

“In short,” Bermuda uttered. Then Bermuda turned and, without preamble, floated from the room. “The second issue is more technical. Whoever designed this Machine was a genius. Whoever scribed it, however, was an idiot.”

Ryohei grinned. He didn’t have the heart to tell Bermuda that the ‘genius’ and the ‘idiot’ were one in the same. Verde, nor Tabolt, were very good at explaining their creative process. 

“It is taking a small team to decipher whatever madness their handwriting and lexicon is.”

Ah, that was Tabolt, definitely.  

“Haha, sorry ‘bout that! In their defence, they were in a rush!”

“Clearly,” Bermuda muttered. “No matter. They’re making progress. Whether it be through your ‘Verde’ or the Vindice, the instructions will be deciphered.”

“That’s the spirit!” Ryohei cheered and gave Bermuda a pat on the back.

The Vindice Boss wobbled in the air, before he gave Ryohei a sharp and scathing glare. He rightened his hat with a huff.

Ryohei gave a sheepish smile. Abramo snickered.

Ryohei looked around eagerly as they exited the tunnel and crossed that central amphitheatre that housed the metal bones of the Machine. Just seeing it, the tangible progress towards his Family’s Will — it was enough to inspire Ryohei again. Lit the fire under his feet.

He couldn’t wait to get out there and track down Verde. 

Bermuda led them to another one of the three doors and a portal warped to life. On the other side of the chain door was a staircase. Made of stone, coral and dangerously steep, it reached up, up and disappeared behind the curve of the earth. 

They climbed those stairs, Abramo trailing his fingertips along the wall, feeling the jut of ancient sea shells and slate. Their soles crunched on the sandy stairs, and slowly, Ryohei could feel the soft touch of a breeze across his face.

The stairs reached a landing made of stone, scratched and slashed with chisel marks. On one of the walls were five deep divots, lined up and worn in, like some sort of shelf. Abramo let out a sound of recognition.

“Wait, this is—” Abramo uttered and looked up.

Ryohei followed his gaze and saw a trap door, old and metal. He looked to the divots — a ladder — and climbed. He reached the trapdoor and pushed. The metal hinges groaned, dust and dirt crumbled from the seams. 

Ryohei breathed deep.

He could smell incense.

Ryohei blinked, eyes adjusting after so long underground. He looked around. Pews sat before him, old and well-worn, even with their glossy finish. Stained glass windows lined the stone walls, depicting prophets and saints. Candelabras flickered, barely visible against the slanted afternoon sunlight.

Abramo had said the Machine was built under the church.

He heaved himself up and out of the hatch, the rough lines between the tiled floor bit into his palms. 

Ryohei felt his nape catch alight and scorch down his back.

Ryohei spun. The mortar dug into his knees. 

That tall, lithe silhouette sat in position of pride upon the altar, one knee crossed over the other. Around him, candles were in their stands, each one warm and lit, leaning and flickering as if to reach and touch sun-kissed skin. A burnt match hung from his fingertips, the smoke curled.

They tilted their head and Ryohei saw the shadows peel away, and a satisfied smile was lit by the sweet touch of golden hour. The sun caught those black eyes and shone like something precious, something great. Full of life and freedom. The Greatest. 

Ryohei grinned with teeth and heart. 

“Reborn.”

Reborn, the very embodiment of the golden hour and dripping with light, shadow and heat upon that flaming altar, smiled back.

“Hello Ryohei.”

#fanfiction #khr #leftnotright #ao3 #reborn #sasagawa ryohei #fix it fic #katekyo hitman reborn #khr rare pair #proof apollo wear hawaiian shirts #time travel fic

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2023 No. 16 - Gurney/Flatline/"Don't go where I can't follow"

Scogan Bingo challenge Our Song

As tempted as Logan was, cutting off Tony's damn ugly head right this instant: He was honest enough to admit, this latest fuckup was mostly his own fault. Just three months after that period had ended when he'd not known if he'd ever share a damn battlefield with his partner again at all … Shouldn’t he seriously know better than leave said careless idiot out of his sight in any fight?

Maybe it was true what they said, that for ferals, learning by pain took particularly many lessons. "Stark!" Logan had to hold back from yelling into the damn radio integrated into his mask even more unrestrained, mostly because he'd need Tony's hearing on certain radio lines sharp and intact in a second, not bleeding all into the guy's helmet. "Get your metal butt down here."

"Still wrapping things in the sky, Logan." Visibly reluctant, Tony touched down on the still sickeningly largely red-stained concrete next to him. Guy was apparently unfazed that the actually well-protected spot between a couple of car wrecks where they'd left their injured team leader earlier, was suddenly deserted. "You don't want any of these escaping towards downtown unless you're keen on even more bad press." Tony gestured toward the dozens of pitch-black unmanned drones in the air, each of them armed to the teeth. Far too many of them indeed still operable, while Logan had at least been able to take care of almost all the enemy's tanks on the ground out before they could have reached the first inner city ring.

It was yet another despicable, senseless attack by their current arch-enemies that the Orchis public relations department would no doubt be quick to blame on what was left of mutantkind either way. No helping that. Neither artillery on wheels or wings nor the news were Logan's biggest worry for the moment. His claws extending as his agitation and anger grew, he took a warning step towards Tony's bulky shape, leaving no doubt about how quickly all those shiny, brand-new red and gold layers of metal would rip open after one well-aimed slash if the guy didn’t pull his head out of his own ass immediately. "I don't give a fuck about the sky. Missing something down here by any chance?"

Tony opened the visor of his helmet to reveal an honestly confused-seeming frown, his lips under his sweat-dripping goatee tight with sudden realization. "Uh. S.H.I.E.L.D. medics got Cyclops out of here 10 minutes ago while you were two blocks from here. He was stable so I wanted him out of the line of fire. I told them to get him straight to the Tower. I thought you called them …"

"I don't call government authorities. Ended up in one of their holding cells too often for that. You better tell me you got a signal on those medics. From S.H.I.E.L.D. Who just fucked off with one of the world's most wanted." Logan focused stubbornly on the required gravity in his growl to get it through to Tony how much the guy had just fucked up, clenching his fists only harder to keep himself under control.

"Look, they had the right badges and uniforms and all. I had JARVIS check their IDs. They belong to that small still functional part of S.H.I.E.L.D. that's on our side. I'm not an idiot, Howlett. They probably saw the news and were just nearby. No need to get your panties in a knot." While Tony started to sound seriously irritated, at least he was typing away on one of his arm displays at lightning speed now, no doubt exchanging a series of orders with his in-house AI. Hopefully, he wasn’t too late about second-guessing his trust in any kind of uniform actually seeing through the lies regarding Scott's – thanks to Orchis' so very damaged – reputation and legal record.

It had been a fight against windmills from the start, trying to get such truths through to the world, with the help of just as quick as public missions like this, putting their faces all over the news in the right context, before they fucked out of there again to go back under. The catastrophe that was the aftermath of the latest Hellfire Gala wouldn’t be reversed so easily, not this time. Logan hadn’t cared a lot for this farce from the start and was only playing along for now out of an annoying obligation to Tony and Emma, as without those two, he would have lost the man he loved once more half a year ago, and without any way currently available to get him back no less. Logan was not about to go through that all over again because of someone else's stupidity. Maybe Tony should be screwing Frost more often to get a couple of distracting excess hormones from his system. "I suppose you didn’t wonder why they came and left without sirens when they're supposed to transport someone with a sliced open femoral artery through New York rush hour."

"Look, I don't think …" But that only sounded like a very weak protest at this point, those hectic attempts of establishing said contact with that supposed E.R. car on Tony's communication system looking even more agitated. The guy's tanned skin had turned significantly whiter.

"No, you don’t. Or you might have remembered we didn't exactly have good experiences with ambulances lately." Logan tapped one of his claws against Tony's chest plate to make him work faster, a cynical grin curling on his lips when the guy winced, both from the unambiguous threat and the memory of all those months of housing not only Logan but a very special kind of patient in the laboratories of his Tower. "Unless you want to start putting Scott back together again all over – after you're done renumbering your own bones, that is – you better not have lost that car, Stark, I swear to god."

"We got them," Tony assured him to visibly his own relief, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "They're halfway on their way to the Tower. Looks good to me. JARVIS, hack the security camera of that E.R. car for me. Give me a visual." Tony let out a silent curse at the feedback he was receiving from his AI via the button in his ear. "Too far for a video feed from here. I got audio though."

"They say anything?" Logan started pacing the wrecks around them with his hands firmly folded behind his back and gritted teeth, still holding back by a thread from strangling Tony. But now he was at least willing to give this albeit unlikely development of one of their former partners actually being useful again to their kind for once a shot. Thing was, they indeed weren’t done yet, keeping their enemies from raining even more destruction down on the city and thousands of civilians, just to ruin mutantkind's standing on Earth even further. Leaving lightly was out of the question.

And Logan knew very well what Scott would have had to say about him leaving the party early. Much as he hated Stark's dick right now, it had been Scott earlier, sending Logan away after stupidly running into some damn bullet, the second he'd been stable enough to risk leaving him alone for a while.

It obviously wasn’t only Stark's ability of decision-making that had greatly suffered from recent events. Maybe in truth, it wasn’t even him, Logan was being so damn pissed at right now, waves of blood-red wrath gushing over in his mind as the usually well-suppressed images from the last time that Scott had ended up in captivity filled his soul. The distant sharp taste of bile in Logan's mouth as he'd entered this one damn room in that Orchis base and at first, had seen nothing but stitches, blood, infection, and explosives in cavities where they had no place being. Flashes of months filled with doubt and fear in his head, scraps of regular screaming matches in his ears, the fragrance of more alcohol than should have been inside a recovering patient at any point in his nose … Holding his partner's hand through one goddamn procedure after another, until miraculously, somehow, Scott had not only been back to his feet but in actual fighting shape … All of that, once more, possibly for nothing if Logan didn’t pull himself together right now, to function for the man he'd long stopped shying away from admitting how much he really loved him. He'd already lost the woman who had been part of that steadily growing and intensifying relationship of theirs, and there still was no telling if and when they'd get her back. He wouldn’t fucking lose Scott all over again as well. "Stark?"

Tony held up his hand impatiently to shut him up, with narrow eyes as he kept on trying to make out any suspicious conversations, any noise that had no business being in an emergency car, over that noisy line. "They're not talking. I don't hear them working either, though." He threw another restless glance at the smoke-filled sky and the surrounding streets, grunting every now and then at a new explosion far too close to not yet evacuated buildings nearby, as the scattered shapes of his automated suits were still busy, trying to take out all of the enemy's vehicles. Logan and he would both have been needed in that stand-down, still, there was no question about that. But not while they couldn’t be sure they weren’t needed somewhere else far more urgently right now. "He's awake though, I think. Sounds like he's okay." A hint of a grin twitched on Tony's lips, his posture relaxing the slightest bit when Logan, too, closed his eyes for a treacherous moment of premature relief. "Looks like they gave him some of the good stuff. Your guy's humming."

Immediately, the hope shyly flickering in the ice-cold worry filling Logan's soul froze all over. "Humming what?"

Tony tilted his head at him in confusion over Logan's lack of enthusiasm. "Well, he's not exactly Brian Johnson but sure sounds a lot like Highway to hell to me."

"Get me the fuck in the air. And better pray we catch up with them in time."

Tony didn’t get it, still, obviously, judging by that bewildered look on his face before his visor closed again but by now the two of them had been working together long enough at least for the guy to recognize that tone of absolute, unquestionable authority in Logan's voice that always said, playtime was over. That, no matter who was actually in command at any given time, better obeyed right now if they didn’t care to catch a claw. The hated uncomfortable pressure of a sturdy metal frame pressed against Logan's back as Tony wrapped his arms around his chest from behind, not giving him a second to prepare before yanking him off the ground. Logan's stomach dropped dangerously when the guy's current favorite suit sped up to its fastest capacity within split seconds, following the direction of the coordinates that JARVIS had long fed into Tony's helmet. "Wanna tell me at least why we're gonna make headlines for abandoning the battle before it's over this time?" Slightly breathless from the rapid takeoff and the atmospheric pressure on his body, Tony's annoyed voice in the radio link was slightly subdued but still loud enough for Logan's enhanced senses to pick up on.

"That's our song," he growled out between his own labored breathing and swallowing back the remains of a too-big breakfast in his throat. God fucking damnit, how much he hated flying. "He needs me. How far?"

"Another minute. We're close enough for a visual now." The hold of Tony's sturdy metal gloves on Logan's sides tightened for a moment as a dismayed noise escaped his lips. "Goddamnit, Logan, they opened the tourniquet. He's bleeding out. And they got blades in their hands. If they see us coming …"

"Hijack the car electronics, stop the damn thing. Distract them. Then drop me right above." Logan's voice was missing the suddenly hoarse quality of Tony's shocked words, even the threatening hiss of their argument a minute ago. The sober levity that he'd not least learned from the man he loved in the course of the decades had crept back into it, that was such a stark contrast to his instincts cut loose whenever a battle demanded a white run. Whenever he had to let the animal off its chain to cut his way through a whole army of hostiles, consequences and damage be damned. When that was needed, when he was forced to leave a fight covered in guts, he had no problem giving in to those basic desires for death and revenge; it was what he was good at. It was why Scott kept on hiring him for his teams whenever Logan was available for such conflicts. Because he was the fucking best at what he did. There were these kinds of situations though when the muzzled berserker threw himself against the bars of its cage in vain, drooling venom from split, raw lips in greed. When all that energy in his cells and his soul had to be fueled instead into the cold calculation of a single, perfectly orchestrated move, of one precise shot, just like he'd been taught to aim for it by a certain team leader a long time ago. Because the collateral damage of leashing out would include something Logan was not willing to sacrifice. Never again.

He could tell by the way Stark suddenly went very silent behind him, not even one of his stupid quips on his lips, that this rare, targeted side of Logan impressed – maybe scared – the guy a lot more than the usual blood dripping from his claws, and maybe that was enough in terms of retaliation for the man's stupid error earlier for Logan's taste already. Fuck-ups happened, and if there was one thing to be said about Tony at least, it was that he was usually very thorough about correcting them. When the inconspicuous white car with the blue cross painted on its sides in question finally came into their sight, Tony had indeed managed to stop it already, and in some remote alleyway far off the battle-induced chaos downtown no less where they could approach unseen. With the thrusters of Tony's suit reduced basically to zero, it required the guy to use a lot more physical strength instead. Not exactly a cake run thanks to Logan's adamantium-steeled weight as he very well knew. But that way, they could near the car's roof silently from straight above. Farther too long torturous seconds for Logan's taste passed while his partner just a few feet away was once more in mortal danger … But it was worth it, reluctantly giving in when Tony hissed at him to wait while he inched into the position that his visual was giving him, right above one of the enemies who were none the wiser, the driver trying under filthy curses to get the car going again while those other two goons screamed at him to hurry from behind.

Those shouts quickly stopped when Logan crashed through the car's roof with all of said heavy weight, instantly killing one of the enemies with the bone-shattering impact alone. The other died from some claws in his heart and in his lungs before he could even raise the hand with that damn blade either in Logan's direction or the one of the lifeless, blood-covered figure on the gurney in front of him.

Perceiving with only half an ear focused on his surroundings that Tony had taken out the driver with a well-aimed shot from his palm cannons as well, Logan already bent over his lover with his mouth bone-dry and his heart racing, cutting the next best sheet in reach into stripes with his claws to wrap it around Scott's injured thigh again … But one single look at his partner's ashen skin color, and the deafening silence in the back of that damn car, already let him know those desperate measures might be coming too late. "Stark!"

"On it." Tony flew through that hole Logan had just made and came down next to him with a clank, grabbing a handful of instruments and scanners from his belt Logan had no idea what the fuck they even were. Pushing Logan away from Scott's unmoving body, toward the headend of that gurney, he was discussing, ordering, pleading more nervous and angry by the syllable with his AI via his radio, too low for Logan's too harsh, too irregular breathing to make out every word. "Shit, he's flatlining. My girls are already on their way. We'll have transfusions here in less than two minutes. We just gotta keep him afloat until then." Audibly gritting his teeth, Tony stuck some shiny metal stuff somewhere to Scott's chest after ripping open his uniform top, following the instructions from his electronic helper that Logan knew he could trust at least for such inevitable emergency measures. "Might wanna step away."

"Just do it. Bring him back." Kneeling on the car's ground next to Scott, as his knees had suddenly given in, it was the second time within minutes that Logan hardly recognized the sound of his own voice. His hands were clenching down on his own thighs so harshly they almost broke the brown and black latex of his uniform as that certain terrible, frightening twitch jolted through Scott's body, leaving it rearing up against those straps around his chest and hips that Logan hadn’t even bothered to open yet. In vain, he listened for something, anything, the smallest thud in his ears, a single pained gasp, no matter how weak … His hands were shaking more than he cared to admit when he closed them around Scott's too-pale face, resting his forehead against his lover's, this time trying to no avail to get rid of those horrible memories of the last time he'd cowered over Scott like this, entirely convinced he'd have to carry it out of that damn house to the nearest coffin. "Come on, Slim. Get yourself together. We had that discussion. No going where I can't follow, remember?"

"Nothing. Gonna try again. Get back, Logan … Wait." Stark let out a deep hiss, lowering his hand with the remote for that mini defibrillator again, not a second after Logan had let out a suspicious noise almost close to a sob himself.

Already, Logan's lips were softly pressed to those beautiful full ones so close, over which a faint but definitely perceptible warm breeze had just come. Almost at the same moment, they had a rhythm again, and unbelievably, miraculously, Logan could feel the faintest twitch at where he'd instinctively reached for Scott's hand.

"Ouch."

"Anyone ever tell you, you got a terrible singing voice, Summers?" Tony straightened up from his hunched position with a chuckle and briefly squeezed Logan's shoulder, a gesture of support, friendship, and apology that Logan was only too ready to accept. "I'll get those transfusions and one of the medics."

Logan just barely nodded, with Tony flying off already, not taking his eyes off Scott's blood-smeared VISOR for even a second. Reaching for some cloth nearby, he carefully wiped it clean so he could be sure his lover would be actually looking straight at him when he whispered those certain small words to him that for a moment he'd been convinced he'd never get around to tell that damn idiot ever again. Jesus, this really needed to stop. "You know I love you, bub, but don't think that's gonna save you from me whupping your damn ass for that little stunt as soon as you're patched up."

"I saw her, Logan."

That answer that didn’t want to make the slightest sense at first was so far from the usual teasing back to such a promising threat that Logan raised his head again, pulling off his mask for a moment to be able to show his partner everything he'd gone through in the last few minutes, and his puzzled frown on top. "You saw …?" Her.

Her. Just when Logan had thought he'd managed to sober up, stop that dangerous loss of control of his emotions that someone with his gift could so seldom afford, especially not in public, he felt his eyes fill with tears all over again as it dawned on him what … where Scott could only have seen anything in those last few minutes of being dead more than alive. And what it might possibly mean that even in that short window, apparently his soul had been found by someone they'd both no longer been able to sure was still anywhere around on a half-mortal plane like this to even make contact like that. It still didn’t have to mean anything, of course. In spite of all the resistance they'd been able to rouse in the last few months, they still weren’t anywhere close to turning the current catastrophe around. The loss of the missing person in that relationship of theirs might never be undone … But maybe, just maybe, they could at least allow themselves a small shimmer of hope again. "Jeannie …"

"She says thank you." The weak hold around Logan's hand tightened another little bit as Scott pulled him close for another kiss. The faint scent of salt from those tears that his VISOR was hiding mixed with the few clear drops falling on his skin from Logan's face as they let themselves fall for a brief moment more into that closeness growing every day between them. Just for another sweet second or two before the nearing roar and hum of Tony's suit revealed, proper help was on its way.

'Still up and fighting, Red.' Logan could have sworn he heard the soft, bright chuckle of a beloved voice behind his forehead when he reluctantly let go of Scott to let the professionals – real ones this time – do their job. Still up and fighting.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

#no.16 #Gurney #Flatline #Don't go where I can't follow #x men #fic #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #fanfiction #stormys fanfics #scott summers #cyclops #scott x logan #scoganbingo #scogan #wolverine #whumptober2023

[bloodied-and-commander]

[ @lcpislczulii ]

A sound, a smell, a sight, a feeling.

Dark blue fur felt fresh, crisp air breeze through it like wind through a grassy hill. Great big paws dash across sand and kick it up behind them as the beast ran through the moonlit beach. Claws free to stretch, muscles aching, but still pushing harder and harder to get further and further.. until the beast's muscles give out from under them and they fall to the ground harshly.

The beast growled deeply in pain and discomfort, slowly getting up and shaking the sand off its fur. With an exhale through its nose, the beast shapeshifts back into its usual form and takes a moment to recuperate.

Red glanced around, taking note of where she was. Not too far off from Little Homeworld, and the boardwalk seemed much father away. The temple was barely in sight.

Good. I never wanna see her fucking face again.

The hybrid continued to walk towards Little Homeworld, if only for the reason that it was familiar and far, far away from the temple. At least for now. But, as she glanced up, she saw somebody in the distance. A dark silhouette of another gem, but she didn't, or couldn't recognize who. It was too dark to tell and the moonlight just wasn't bright enough.

But, sure as night, there was someone up there, on top of the windmill. Sitting on the edge. She squinted, but that did little to help the hybrid gem identify who this gem was. Or even if it was a gem at all.

Though she was confident in her fighting abilities more or less, she decided to approach with caution in case this... entity, let’s say, isn’t quite friendly. She thinks that she sees it holding something, but can’t quite tell what. Better to be safe than injured..

She drew out her demon wings and gave herself a powerful lift that she wished was quiet as she ascended into the air. It didn’t take too much effort to reach the top of the windmill-like structure and when she did, her feet made a soft tmp sound as she gently touched down on the structure’s rooftop.

Now that she had a better look, she was almost sure she recognized the gem, yes, it was a gem, but what type? Deep blue eyes widen at seeing the glint of a gem on their back. 

A deep, blue, teardrop shape. 

That’s the mark of a ... “Lapis...?”, they hybrid gem said carefully, almost as quiet as the night surrounding them. 

#lcpislczulii #blood infused gem tyrant! (red cadet) #omg real !!! #let me know if anything needs to be changed !! #red's chance reunion #title for thread so i can find it later

[cptn-m]

One Piece chapter 1109 review

Ten minutes? Boo. BOOOOOOO! What a tease. That's, what, 4 chapters of Dressrosa time? 18 chapters of Namek time? Fine. It's fine.

But to get more serious, this is Egghead going full circle. First we were set up to expect a defensive siege of the main lab, then it evolved into an escape sequence, and now for the final leg, we're being set up to defend again. And with this being the ninth chapter of volume 109, the time for a climactic end-of-book cliffhanger is coming up, as early as the next chapter (but realistically on the eleventh or twelfth because there have been a few shorter chapters in this run) maybe we see this wrap up, or at least get ready to wrap up relatively soon.

This is a very transitional chapter. Transitioning into a new cover story (I think Momo moved Onigashima; outside of another Oars having shown up there, nothing else realistic), transitioning through the setup phase for receiving Vegapunk's info, transitioning to the real final set piece. Seeing new characters return in great numbers like this is always good fanservice, but cameos alone aren't a lot to analyse. The acknowledgement of time zones in the Water Seven bit is cool. I know Oda isn't super invested in this kind of thing for his worldbuilding, so I'm not going to waste my time trying to work out if this is an accurate depiction or not.

Haha yeah okay of course I am.

A thoroughly pointless analysis of One Piece timezones

First, we need to all get on the same page about the orientation of the globe. It's a myth with a frustrating amount of staying power that the Grand Line runs along the equator, but this is not actually the case. All evidence in the manga points to the Grand Line and the Red Line forming an X shape across the globe. The first explanation of the Grand Line in chapter 22 comes with a handy compass rose for orientation, and the image of the globe on the following page depicts them as diagonals. The special recap at the end of volume 81 reiterates this image of the globe, and puts Reverse Mountain on the "front" of the planet. Finally, the compass directions offered when the Supernova captains are planning how to leave Wano also place the Grand Line on an angle. This is our canon orientation.

Yes, this means that if you were standing on Marie Geoise, the seat of the rulers of the world, you would have to look west to see the East Blue and look east to survey West Blue. That's kinda silly. Maybe the names of the seas predate the World Government making that their perch.

In the latest chapter, we're shown broadly the time at a few key, identifiable locations. It is, of course, daytime on Egghead. It is explicitly nighttime at Water Seven. Windmill Village, in the East Blue, and Dressrosa have light skies, suggesting day; meanwhile Kamabakka, Marie Geoise and an unnnamed West Blue location all have shaded skies, suggesting nighttime. North and South Blue are both shown with light skies, but their locations on the planet make it almost impossible for it not to be day somewhere in them, so without more data like proximity to the Red Line, the Grand Line or the poles, they can't add anything to this analysis.

First, we have to work out where these locations are on the map. While it's tempting to place Egghead on the globe's front face, in the second half of the New World, for Law's statement in chapter 1056 about northeast being the furthest forward move to be true, this means that Wano, and by extension Egghead (directly southeast of it) have to be on the rear side, in the first half of the New World.

Dressrosa is before Egghead in the New World, easy win.

Water Seven doesn't offer anything as explicit as that for its placement, but for it to be the island that connects to Fishman Island, under Marie Geoise, via Log Pose, you have to assume it's in the second half of Paradise, also on the rear side of the globe.

Kamabakka is only a few days' sail from Lulusia, which was selected by Imu to test the Mother Flame because it was "close" to his location, so the easiest extrapolation is that it too is in the second half of Paradise.

For both Windmill Village and the unnamed West Blue location, it's impossible to tell if they're on the front or rear hemispheres of the world, but I've placed them both on the front because the map was going to get crowded otherwise.

For the sake of simplicity, we're going to assume that daylight moves east to west over the planet, just like the real world. We're also going to ignore things like curvature and axial tilt because they get complicated, harder to work into the graphics, and probably wouldn't have that much of an impact on the result anyway. The proportions of my day/night/dawn/dusk segments are not exact; I just eyeballed them. Excuse the roughness of the graphics.

So, can we make the day and night times shown in the latest chapter's panels work?

Unfortunately, no, we cannot. If it's morning on Egghead it can be dawn on Dressrosa, just before dawn at Marie Geoise and late at night in the second half of Paradise for Water Seven and Kamabakka, there's no way it makes sense for it to be day in the East Blue and night in the West Blue. Oof, we were so close. But Oda's time zones are busted.

The conclusion here is that this stuff doesn't really matter that much. Like travel times, the phases of the moon and the exact day and date the story is taking place, Oda may occasionally make a throwaway reference to these things, but he's also known to forget them and totally happy to fudge them for the sake of the story. I enjoy the mental puzzle of working out details like these and running through the implications, but I don't think they offer any genuine insight into how One Piece has been plotted or where it's going.

Ahem…

Getting back to the chapter at hand though, the bit of action with Luffy is very fun. I enjoyed Borsalino's laser eyes and the big clap attack. Saturn being able to fly around like a frizbee with all his legs out has a familiar vibe to the ancient dinosaur hunting techniques from Onigashima. And on Saturn's abilities, the telepathy between him and the other Elders is very interesting and definitely builds the case that whatever they have going on is beyond just Devil Fruits. As, of course, does the summoning. I'd be curious to see what kind of limits are placed on this to keep them from just showing up at Revolutionary HQ or something. Saturn rode with the Marine fleet until he was close, so maybe there's a proximity limit on unfamiliar areas, but once one is there, he can summon the others to his location from anywhere in the world.

The summoning spread is an awesome page for sure, but in the vein of last week's complaints about characters disappearing and inconsistent staging, it feels like a huge empty space has manifested to fit it in. Egghead's buildings felt a lot closer together than this in previous backgrounds, even accounting for how destroyed they are.

This was something the Onigashima anime (the bits of it I saw anyway) was really bad about. One minute the roof area is an enclosed arena, the next there's an expasive k or two of the pillars around the outside because it's a cool shot for a character sent flying to bust through them one after the other. Establishing shot puts Zoro and King on the crumbling, shrinking outer edge. But in the sakuga cut it grows a mile of extra turf for Zoro to sprint and leap through while flaming dragons tear up everything around him. Cool moments are cool, but I don't like seeing the established setting being compromised to make space for them.

I feel like I've been harsher on paper than I actually feel for this one. Transitions can be a let down, and are definitely hard to write about, but they don't mean the stuff I'm excited for isn't coming. I can wait a week or two for the payoff, after all the years of following this story, that much more isn't a huge deal.

Wordpress!

#one piece #one piece spoilers #manga review #one piece manga #op spoilers #monkey d luffy #One Piece analysis

[another-heroine]

OC TAG GAME ｡*･♡;

I saw some mooties doing it, so I decided to do mine as well!

Favorite OC: Andrine Vanfell (Pathfinder: Kingmaker)

What can I say?

Don't matter how much time passes, she is my baby, my cinnamon roll, my fav bimbo.

I have had funny moments playing her, and when I'm feeling down, I like to imagine what she would do in my place (answer: dancing and shaking the shit off)

Newest OC: Laura de Loiola (Resident Evil 4 Remake)

Since I'm hyperfixated in RE4 Remake, I was driven to create an OC to bang Luis' brains out to interact with the game's blorbos. Laura was inspired in another OC who didn't see the daylight unfortunately (she would be a WtA TTRPG character).

I'm still sharping her background and personality while writing The Windmill, but overall I noticed that she and Luis shares the same brain cell, and that's beautiful (although she has social anxiety, but they are a pair of weirdos).

Oldest OC: Renée Lunenoire (Original Series)

My best girl, I would never imagine that a character from my first sapphic oneshot would become one of my comfort characters ever.

Renée is a werewolf, and also (not less important) a tailor. She is short (162cm), and at first sight people could think 'oh what a cutie', but when she changes her shape to a fuckin 3-meters-height black wolf, everybody passes out /jk

She is a blorbo, a bisexual mess. Thinking about if I gave ADHD to her or not.

Meanest OC: Olívia Garmendia (Original Series)

Another woman that God forbids to do anything.

From the same universe of Renée, Olívia is a blood sorceress, and became a noble after an unfortunated 'accident' with her former sire. She has no patient with the court men, mainly because she knows everybody's sins there (while the Queen looks at the other side).

She doesn't measure her actions to keep children and young women safe. The Marquise of Iparredia isn't there to make friends. Few people know her gentleness and vulnerability (Hugo is one of them).

Softest OC: Ekaterina Grushankaya (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous)

Oh yes, her.

Katya is one of my tallest babies, and I guess it's the one with the softest demeanor of all.

A druid from Irrisen, she has seen up close how a kingdom works under Baba Yaga's chicken legs. Firsthand ruthless, baby. And we are not counting her tribe's distrustful arround her origins; after all, why would someone leave a baby aasimar with them?

Her voice is soothing and she avoids violence, but when she really got angry or is conviced that peace is not an option, pick a god and start praying. Her animal totem isn't a boar for nothing.

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Cassandra Constantinescu (Vampire Hunter D)

Like we use to say in Brazil, I must confess that she is my 'left behind at the barbacue' character, but I enjoyed so much to write her background. Cassandra has PTSD since the day her former home was invaded by vampires and their thralls. Hence, she carries dark emotions, and most of the time she feels like she doesn't belong anywhere. It's hard for her to trust in strangers, and even her few close friends almost have no clues about what's going on her head.

Dumbest (Affectionate) OC: Damian Vieri (Original Series)

Oh, my boy, my pal, my little soldier.

He changed SO MUCH.

He is from the same universe of Renée and Olívia, and is an anarchist Hunter of Myths (a kind of monster hunter). He left his home after aa fight with his father, because the old man didn't accept he has a son, not a daughter. Then my short king started a new life, and for some reasons he will meet Renée and they will adopted dozens of cats.

Smartest OC: Melina Trevelyan (Dragon Age Universe)

Do you know when you create a character whose intelligence is over yours but you can't stand in their mind enough because you are a dork? Yes, that's my relationship with Melina lol

I must confess that it's still a bit bitter talking about her after all the shit that happened at the TTRPG where she was one of the characters, but anyway. I can't forsake her, maybe one day I could reboot her story (and keep Lucius on her life, because he is her silver lining)

OC you'd be best friends irl: Hugo Otobeltza (Original Series)

My goodest boy. Don't matter if he killed someone and/or broke somebody's bones, he did what he could to survive! Hugo always has a daddy joke on his sleeve, and is always ready to help his beloved ones. If he existed in real life, probably he would be an Uber driver lol

Tagging: @nemo-of-house-hamartia @navstuffs @aelyosos @dmagedgoods @dujour13 @angrygoatwoman, and you!

#andrine vanfell #laura de loiola #renée lunenoire #olívia garmendia #ekaterina grushankaya #cassandra constatinescu #damian vieri #melina trevelyan #hugo otobeltza

[jjieunie]

of windmills and autumn nights (1/2)

Characters / Pairing: Japan, The Netherlands Wordcount: 602 "Kiku’s fingertips caressed his own lips while his gaze traced the shape of the other's face. He knew quite well he was walking on some dangerous territory: He knew it since the moment the Dutch called him to tell him about the windmill."

Kiku couldn’t recall the last time he allowed himself to feel that light. Like the world was reduced to the space he shared with the man next to him. Centuries ago it was whatever room they would find themselves in, now the present cradled them inside that metal machine taking them at high speed with a Nissan patent in it. The air of a cold night caressed Kiku’s cheeks like a rough lover, messing with his hair yet filling him with so much of that lively spirit he sometimes missed.

As the city lights danced upon the canvas of his face, the Japanese turned his eyes towards the driver, finding Jan looking quite comfortable behind the wheel. Kiku’s fingertips caressed his own lips while his gaze traced the shape of the other's face. He knew quite well he was walking on some dangerous territory: He knew it since the moment the Dutch called him to tell him about the windmill.

("De Liefde? I see… I'll make sure to get everything ready as soon as possible.")

And while he could sin of being a bit too dense to catch certain messages sometimes, Jan had been quite clear of his intentions with that special gift. Besides, Kiku knew him too well.

The danger of getting tangled in someone else's drama or falling into a dynamic that did not feel quite like what it used to be was there, lingering behind his ears and whispering time and time again to convince him to run away and hide. Lock his body and his heart to avoid even the slight inconveniences that could land on his life. Kiku already had too much on his plate. The last decade of the millennium had received him with an utter disaster of an economy, crashing him directly towards all that consumption that once allowed him to escape from the void he had dug in his own soul after some even worse years. Now, the city lights that proudly crowned his exemplary development seemed almost too aggressive in his eyes, yet Kiku was doing all that he could to keep clinging to what once brought him glory and almost put him on top of the world.

Then there was Alfred. The American seemed to be almost as irritable as him, and lately, things between them had ended up in discussions almost habitually. For the moment Kiku had declared himself over that whole matter.

Jan, sly as ever, appeared at the right moment and the right time. Pampering him with gifts like he used to do whenever the shogun required his presence. That memory brought a smile to his face. The Japanese held plenty of things in his heart that he could never get back, and sometimes nostalgia cradled him with a bittersweet yet comforting rhythm… Perhaps that was the tune ringing in his ear with every kind word the Dutch dedicated to the Asian country. Perhaps nostalgia was the third passenger in that car.

If that were to be the case…

The car stopped and Jan was holding his door even before Kiku could realise they had arrived at his house. The European nation held out a hand towards him, a gesture that in itself brought him a wave of memories.

— Dank je. — He muttered, his Dutch flowing naturally yet still tainted by the softness of his mother tongue. With his usual shyness, Kiku took Jan’s hand and got out of the car.

The city was drowning in the dark blue of a cold night, yet his heart painted his chest with warm colours as soon as his skin found that familiar touch.

#nedpan #hws japan #hws netherlands #hetalia #posting this for the moment until i can finally get my hands on the second part of the draft #there's been a lot of talk about windmills and i wanted to do something from kiku's perspective #so let's see where it goes #fic tag