#I am not looking up one piece arcs sorry

[haveyouseenthisanime-poll]

If you haven't heard of it then idk. comment the post or send a DM and I'll count it. Also where were you the past 20 years

[essektheylyss]

One thing that I feel is really interesting and often forgotten about Essek is that fundamentally, his characterization has been from the start based upon his desperation for external perspectives and connection, which, along with much of his narrative and mechanical positioning, means that he actually has an extraordinary and almost (but not actually, as I'll show) counterintuitive capacity for both growth and trust.

(Buckle in. This is a long one.)

In particular, I would argue, knowing now that many places where the plot touches Ludinus have long been marked for connecting back into the current plot, that he was quite possibly built as a prime candidate for radicalization by the Ruby Vanguard. He felt isolated from his culture, he was desperate for other connection, and he was certainly of the type to believe he was too smart to be drawn into such a thing, given his initial belief that he could control the situation and the fallout. If things had gone any other way, he easily could've been on the other side by now.

As such, he has been hallmarked by being fairly open to suggestion, perhaps for this reason, but the thing about that kind of trait is that it is both how people are radicalized and deradicalized. This is certainly true of Essek, who experienced genuine kindness and quite frankly strangeness from the Nein and was able to move from the isolation the Assembly had engendered to meaningful and genuine connection, largely propelled by his own internal reflection. By the time Nein are aware of his crimes, he's already begun to express regret to an extent and, furthermore, doubt in the Assembly, including explicitly drawing a line against Ludinus, even in a position where he was on his own and probably quite vulnerable.

Similarly, when the Nein reach the Vurmas Outpost some weeks later, he has moved from regret for the position he's ended up carrying a heavy remorse. This makes sense! He's fairly introspective, seems used to spending a lot of time in his own head, and was left with plenty to mull over. It's not some kind of retcon for him to have progressed well past where the Nein left him; it just means he's an active participant in the world who has done his own work in the meantime.

This is another interesting aspect to him. I've talked about this a bit before but I cannot find the post so I'll recap here: antagonists in D&D have significantly more agency than allied NPCs. Antagonists are active forces, against which the party is meant to struggle; allies are meant to support the PCs, which means they tend to be more passive in both their actions and their character growth. Essek was both built as an antagonist, in a position that gives him significant agency, and also was then given significant opportunity to grow specifically to act as a narrative mirror for Caleb's arc. Even when he becomes a more traditional D&D ally, he still retains much of that, though he occupies a supporting role.

I believe that this is especially true because of the nature of Caleb's arc, which I've already written on; the tl;dr of this post is that Caleb is both convinced that he is permanently ruined and also desperate to prove that change is possible. Essek is that proof, because he is simply the character in a position to do so. But this also means that his propensity for introspection and openness is accentuated! He has to do the legwork on his own, for the most part, because that's where he is in the meantime.

But he still ends the campaign necessarily constricted; he is under significant scrutiny, he's at risk from the Assembly, and he goes on the run fairly soon after the story ends. He spends most of the final arc anxious and paranoid, which is valid given the crushing reality of his situation. It would be very easy to extrapolate that seven years into this reality, he would be insular, closed off, and suspicious of strangers, even in spite of the lessons he's learned from the Nein and their long term exposure.

So seeing his openness and lightness now is surprising, but at the same time, given this combination of factors in his position in the narrative over time and his defining traits, it's not by any means unreasonable.

But one thing that I found so delightful is how much trust he exhibits, which is obviously a wild thing to say about Essek in particular, given much of what he learns is both earning and offering trust, which was something he says explicitly in 2x124 that he's never really experienced: "I've never really been trusted and so I did not trust." It makes up much of the progression of his relationship with Caleb, and the trust that he is offered by the Nein in walking off the ship is the impetus he needs to grow.

But I think it's easy to talk about trust when it comes to people who have proven themselves to you or to whom you've ingratiated yourself, and that's really the most we can say about Essek by the time he leaves the Blooming Grove. There is this sense in a lot of discussion of trust (not solely in this fandom) that it is only related to either naivete or love, but there's far more to it. Trust at its best is deliberate—cultivating an openness to the world at large is a great way to combat cynicism and beget connection instead. It allows a person to maintain curiosity and be open to experience, but it can be incredibly difficult to hold onto.

It is clear that the Essek we meet now is a very pointedly and intentionally trusting individual. He trusts Caleb and by extension Caleb's trust in Keyleth, as he shows up and picks up a group of strangers from a foreign military encampment and walks in without issue. He trusts the Hells to follow his lead moving through Zadash and to exhibit enough discretion so as to avoid bringing suspicion upon all of them. He trusts that Astrid will respond well to his entrance, but he also trusts himself and the Hells enough to execute a back-up plan in the case that she doesn't. In the end, he even trusts them enough to give them his name and identity.

He doesn't scan as someone who has spent half a dozen years living like a prey animal, afraid of any shadow he runs across in an alley, withdrawn into himself and an insular family, which would've been an easy route for him to take. He scans as someone who has learned the kind of trust borne of learned confidence and a trained eye for good will and kindness, which are crucial weapons one would need for staving off cynicism in his circumstances—as if he has survived thanks more to connection and kindness than paranoia and isolation. (If we want to be saccharine about it, he scans quite poignantly as a member of the Mighty Nein.)

So it is easy to imagine this trust and openness as a natural progression of his initial search for perspectives external to his own cultural knowledge. Though he makes those first connections with the Assembly to try to vindicate his personal hypotheses, he finds in them exposure to the deepest corruption among Exandrian mortals, which could've—and did, for a time—turned him further down that same dark path.

But it's also this same openness to exposure from the wider world that allows the Nein to influence him for the better, and in spite of the challenges he's certainly faced simply surviving over the past seven years, he seems to have held onto this openness enough to move through the world with self-assurance and a willingness to extend the kinds of trust and good will that he has been shown.

(I would be remiss not to mention that I was reminded about my thoughts on this by this lovely post from sky-scribbles and their use in the tags of 'light' to describe Essek's demeanor this episode, which is really such an apt word for it.)

[hauntingblue]

COMPLETELY forgot that blackbeard was the one that attacked drum??? Omg

So if everything usopp lies about ends up becoming true.... He is dying dying

Zoro reacting like this after his best hunting contest with sanji.... Yeah... (Zoro not trusting Luffy is defeated and Luffy thinking Zoro is trouble if he gets captured... Yeah)

I don't think Zoro posing to become a cool statue has the right to say anything about being a brainless idiot....

She did NOT take igarams advice because still in arabasta Luffy had to punch her to make her understand ajshajsni the sacrificing others at least (also Vivi asking zoro to cut her off too..... Insane as always)

Luffy coming thru once again.... Zero hesitation....

This page is so,,... It goes stupidly hard... Once again being kind and having a pure heart pays off

Wait a second,,,, kuro WHAT.... I think sanji hasn't called Zoro Marino yet.... Inspo...

Express round: sanji is dying soon, chopper is cute and why is full body blushing with jango's glasses on his hand???

[softshuji]

𝟐𝟐:𝟓𝟎𝐏𝐌 - 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Say Yes

Summary: The first time Rindou asks you on a date, you reject him, thinking he's going to break your heart. Lucky for you, he's willing to prove why you should say yes to him.

cw: fem!reader, some mentions of insecurities, Rin calls you princess, Ran makes an appearance. But that's it! Reblogs appreciated!

You think it’s a joke the first time Haitani Rindou asks you on a date. He’s a Haitani after all, and you’re under no illusions about what that means for you and all the ways he could hurt you if you let him. Creative ways, that you’re convinced you could never recover from in the near future, the pieces of yourself you would spend years putting back together.

So you don’t. You walk away, reject him politely with a smile and an incline of your head, and you can almost imagine that he has a girl lined up the next day to ask as a quick replacement of you because He’s a Haitani after all, and he has a reputation that means more than either of your hurt feelings.

Rindou pretends he isn’t crestfallen, the drop of his small and placid smile that does little to hide the avid redness of his cheeks is all too apparent when you purse your lips. His eyebrows shoot up and he coughs, or rather pretends to, into his hand and steps back, the heat on his neck crawling along the slope of his back.

‘You’re….. You’re saying no?’ He asks, as if he doesn’t quite get it, because he hasn’t prepared for this eventuality, for going home to Ran to break the news, as if he’s a schoolboy with a crush, dragging his feet with dejection.

‘I am, I’m sorry Rin.’ A shake of your head, a feeling of deep nausea and a regret that holds the weight of years of friendship, now potentially wasted. 

‘Oh.’ He kicks at the gravel, the blue silk of his hair falling in waves over the smooth arc of his forehead, and you resist the urge at a time like this, to sweep it back. ‘Can I ask why?’

No, you want to say, the word caught on the wind whipping through your hair. It’ll only make it harder. Harder to look forward, harder to resist, harder to keep at your word. 

‘You’re Rindou Haitani.’ As if it’s an explanation in itself, as if it assuages the guilt and the longing and gets the point across, that he could never not hurt you in any way you could recover from. ‘I don’t think you’d be happy with me.’

You think it’s easier to lie, to pretend that the burden that comes from knowing you is too much for any one person to bear, especially when that person is your best friend, instead of the fact that the uncertainty of his life is too much for you in turn. That there could be a day far or perhaps not so far, into the future where the uncertainty becomes the certainty of his death, where he does not come back at all.

‘You don’t know that,’ he says, fierce determination blazing in his eyes, the slight tremor of his voice. He thinks he could be happy with you, or content at the very least. Maybe you could watch as he climbed to the top with Ran, the Doll at his side, his partner in all things. He’s convinced he has it all planned out perfectly, the house, the marriage, the kids you’ll have, even what colour you’ll paint the walls, because despite himself, Haitani Rindou is meticulous in all things concerning you.

You tilt your head to the side, a knowing smile playing on your lips that you hope hides how much it pains you to break him like this, to break yourself along with him, cracks in the eggshell of your friendship you hope can be repaired in time. ‘I do Rin. You’re a Haitani, you’re used to the life.’

He knows it’s an explanation and he doesn’t begrudge you for it, for the way you step back and keep your distance, your bottom lip pulled back as you bite it nervously, a hand playing with the ends of your hair as he knows you’re prone to doing. He wants to be angry, wants to rage at you, throw all the excuses he thinks will suffice for coming to terms with the rejection, vitriol and jealousy and bitterness all curling together on his tongue. He swallows, the bump of his smooth throat sliding under the blue scarf that kisses at the dip of his chin and pushes it down. Down. Down. Tucks it safely in the pit of his stomach where it can ruminate till he’s let off the steam that prickling at the skin on his neck.

‘I see.’ He pulls back the flowers, scrunching the plastic wrapping in his white knuckles behind his back, the burn of shame and regret licking at his cheeks, hot enough to instantly melt the snow that sits on the cut of his cheekbones. ‘Can we still be friends?’ 

It aches somewhere, when you swallow against the tide of anxiety in your chest, a vice that clamps down on your tongue, hot and heavy and weighted with longing. You wonder how easy it would be to let yourself be swept away by him, the beautiful fullness of his laugh, the smile that’s reserved for you, quick and easy and big, all engulfing even, to let yourself run along with him as he climbed to the top, hand in unlovable hand.

You soften, reach for him with one gloved hand, finding his fiddling with a button on his coat and brush your  thumb across his knuckles, swinging it this way and that, like you have not broken his heart, like you are nothing more than a single passing memory. ‘Of course we can. We’re best friends Rin, nothing will ever change that. If you still want me that is.’

‘I do.’ 

‘Even now?’ 

He takes your hand, as if it’s a response and knowing that despite it all, his big words, he’ll wallow in self pity, the heat of your rejection biting at his chest, he’ll come to terms with it in his own way. It is all his fault, and the wind that cuts across his cold lips seems to chant with shame at him for it, for the fickleness of his feelings, for straying far from what he knows.

But it happens. You swing back into life and the easiness of your friendship that has always permeated the comfort between you remains, albeit hardened now, by what Rindou thinks are his one-sided feelings. He remains as steadfast in his efforts as usual, propelled more so now by the fact that he feels he must win you over, to make up for the duplicity of his feelings.

You think it’s cute that he is less than subtle with his affections now that they are out in the open. The chocolates that sit at the table when you return home, a bar of chocolate orange, a note on a yellow post-it, a heart and a terribly drawn sun that tells you enough, the trinkets and gifts that are somehow discreetly placed around your apartment, necklaces here and there, earrings, new books you hadn’t spoken about to anyone that wasn’t him and it burns you with self-loathing that despite yourself, you cannot let him go without peeling yourself open at the same time.

The regret is acid pooling in your stomach.

The same regret and shame that tickles your throat when you reach for the phone at night, and your thumb finds his name with a moon and a heart, the grainy picture of him sleeping with his mouth parted, blond silken hair clinging to his forehead, to his shirt. He rolls over in bed, hears the first sniffle, cut through by a crack in the signal, and bounds from the door, keys in one hand, his jacket only half-slung, whipping in the wind as he races to your apartment.

'Princess?’ It’s uncertain, halted, hesitant even, as he slides open the bathroom door, the ends of his hair wet with rain, glasses foggy and hands clammy with the chill of the wind. 

‘Rin?’ You look up, eyes red-rimmed, the wad of wet tissue in your hands falling apart.

And Rindou knows, of course he does, what your kind of bravery looks like. You've been sitting on the floor crying, the tears fast and free flowing and salty on your cracked cheeks and he doesn't judge, he knows this is you being brave, he knows he has no right to judge what your kind of brave looks like, the way in which you piece yourself back together.

So he holds you, one hand on the small of your back, the other tucking the hair behind your ear as you hiccup and the drool slips from your dry lips. He holds you, and holds you and holds you and rocks you with his eyes fluttering shut, and perhaps your hair will get caught on the thin screws of his glasses, but you don't care right now. All that matters is that he makes you feel less pathetic, less like you're falling apart on the cold bathroom tiles of your shabby house.

‘It’s okay,’ he says and you almost believe it, almost believe he can put you back together with his lithe skilled fingers, trace the cuts along your heart with tenderness and paint them gold again. 

You love that he waits it out, waits for it to pass, the cloudy storm that ends with you on his chest, softly snoring, your tears dried on cheeks that feel taut and tightened with the line of silvery drool slipping between your parted lips, mascara tracks, that have found a home on the soft grey of his shirt. 

‘Let’s get you into bed yeah?’ He whispers to the tiles, to you now slumped against him, the creases of your pajamas pressed into his side and carries you to bed, slipping in beside you, curling your hair around his fingers, your ribs under his hands, heartbeat pulsing against his skin. He hardly blames you for it, the rejection that’s weeks in the past. Part of him almost thanks you, for protecting yourself from him, from all the danger and blood and death that comes with him. Like you said, he is used to the life. 

You love that when you wake, he is that much softer with you, a hand on your back as you pad to the bathroom, to the kitchen, the coffee hot, the croissants and pastries fresh, a wordless kiss to your temple, fresh clothes and towels, the bathroom clean of the wads of tissue that bare witness to your moments. He never mentions it, but kisses you again, just shy of your mouth, the dip of your chin soft under his lips when he sees you off for work again.

‘Be safe okay? For me?’ 

Because he knows you’re capable, knows you’re strong, knows you are his weakness in a way nothing else is, knows that if something happened to you, you’d take a bigger part of him than he could ever take of you. Or so he thinks.

‘I will. You should be safe too.’ 

Because you know he’s capable, know he’s strong, know he is your weakness in a way nothing else is, know that if something happened to him, he’d take a bigger part of you than you could ever take of him. Or so you think.

You love that he comes back, time and time again. After every fight, every argument, every word of vitriol spewed back and forth, hateful words thrown with negligence and jealousy, embittered feelings you know deep down come from love, he comes back to you.

‘Princess?’ He says, and waits on the other side of the door in the rain, the film of his glasses now foggy with condensation, ends of his hair clinging to the exposed goosebumps breaking out on his neck, the grey sweatpants now a darker shade of charcoal from where he has slugged through the storm to get to you, his first priority always.

‘What do you want?’ It comes out harsher than intended, the bite of your still-fresh and ripened anger cutting at your tone. It hurts, it always does when it comes from him, the arguments that are wrapped in love, care, the attention he could give to anyone but chooses to give to you, and the regret that boils in your stomach when you realize that fact.

‘I want us to talk.’ Proactive as ever, because the option to find solace anywhere else, with another girl even, has never occurred to him. Because he loves you, and even if the sentiment isn’t shared, he thinks he can love you enough for the both of you. 

‘I don’t want to talk to you right now.’ But you push open the door, hand him a towel, and touch his cold and pallid cheek, because the promise of seeing him, in all your pain and bitterness, hurts less than not.

‘Not an option,’ he says and holds you, cold lips that brush just shy of the hot pulsing pressure point of your neck, warmed by the constancy of you. He smells of petrol, metal, the cold chill of winter, and against what you assume is your better judgement, you find warmth in the crook of his shoulder, the warm swell of his chest and arms that instinctively come around you, pressing your hips to his.

It would be easy, to give into the thrill for a night, to let yourself forget, reach out to him and grab at the promise, however temporary, for the risk of tasting him in all the ways you’ve imagined you can. You know he tastes of strawberries, tastes of the night and the moon, sweet and dangerous and warm, familiar and mysterious at once. 

You tell yourself, you tell Ran, he is just like this, that Rindou for all his brutality, for all the rough edges sharp enough to cut, for all the barricades smoothed down by time, he is just kind, he is just loving, he is just like that.

‘I thought you’d have known him better than that by now.’ And Ran sighs in that way older siblings do, half exhausted, half fond, and all pride in his Brother. ‘Rin doesn’t do things for anyone else.’ 

It changes at some point. 

Some point when you wake before him, nestled into his side, the warm breath from his parted lips lifting the hair now pressed against the pillow, an eyelash dancing on the perfect curve of his cheek. He looks best like this. Unguarded, the frown that usually graces the slope of his forehead now smooth, the bridge of his nose rubbing at the cotton of your shared pillow, and the soft blue of his hair resting on the sharp line of his jaw. 

You press a tiny kiss to his collarbone, trapping him between your legs, his hands resting on your hips that press flush against his. 

‘Watching people sleep is creepy y’know.’ His voice is rough and broken by the sluggishness of sleep and you can hear the smirk in it, the lazy languid curve of his lips that never fails to make the heat rise to your neck. 

‘You do it all the time.’ A whisper that kisses at his clavicle, eliciting a shiver that rolls along his spine, the perfect bones and muscles flexing under your touch.

‘S’different. You’re pretty.’ 

‘So are you. Really pretty Rin.’

‘Think so?’

‘Don’t fish for compliments with me, that’s shameful.’ You jab lightly at his side, the smile threatening to break out across your lips now peaking through with full force. The sun that cuts across his cheek rests on the swell of his bare shoulder, the black ink that whirls along the flexing tendon of his arm soaking up the light. This is him, your Rindou. Soaking up the light as if it belongs to him, because it does, because everything does, because you would hand him the world if he so much as looked at it.

He laughs, a throaty chuckle that reverberates against your chest, dangerously, achingly close, a flimsy t-shirt away. ‘You’re too smart, my smartest girl.’ And buries his lips against the warm juncture of your collarbones. 

‘And Rin?’ You ignore the way your voice wavers, the way it threatens to pull you back into what you know, the safety of your enclosed familiarity, the trapped bird looking out to freedom.

‘Mhm?’ 

A beat, prolonged, heady and weighted with love, years and memories. ‘I think I’m ready.’ 

‘For?’ 

‘To say yes.’ The pressure aches in your chest, the courage is a vibrating pulse in your blood. This is it, this is the deep breath and the plunge.

It’s strangely exhilarating to let go of it, the build-up of weeks of longing, of clutching onto his stomach as you bury your face against the broad swell of his back, muttering his name in your sleep, his lips only a breath away, a singular moment of decision away.

His eyes snap open, his hands pulling back instinctively from your hips to cup at your jaw, eyes narrowed, glowing with anticipatory longing, dull with the shimmer of sleep.  ‘You mean it? That’s not a joke? If it’s a joke-’

You shake your head adamantly, his palms rough against the curl of your cheek. ‘Not a joke. I’m sorry, my indecision hurt you. I think I was afraid.’ This last part is broken, snapped into a whisper that curls along your tongue.

It had been true, it had always been true. Because he’s Haitani Rindou, and you know he could break you, snap you in half, shred the pieces of you and spit you out, that you would have to trust him not to.

‘No, no Princess, don't ever apologise for that. You really mean this though?’ Damn him for the shake of his voice, for the wobble of it as he closes the distance between you. 

‘I do.’

‘You want this? You want …me?’ He knows it’s meticulous, extreme, that he must only bridge the gap to find his answer. But he has spent so long, nights reaching through the darkness for your warmth, a hand moving across the cold bed, looking for the space where he thinks you ought to be, to not do it right this time. 

‘Yes.’ 

He deliberates, searches your eyes, for the genuineness he loves in you, for the openness, for the love he has craved and never asked for, for what you have given to someone like him so freely. 

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks, and his thumb brushes against your lips, against the softened pout, the dip in your chin that slices the sunlight in half as it spills over his shoulder.

Your heart smashes against your ribs, knocks the air from you so completely that your pulse rings in your head. You think this is the point you take the leap, jump into the unknown, knowing you’ll be caught either way by him, knowing he will catch you every time you fall. It's conscious, a decision weeks or months in the making, a step off the edge, the wind rushing at you as you fall.

So you do it.

You say yes.

And he kisses you. And kisses you. And kisses you.

a/n happy birthday to the boy himself, sorry this is a little late I did try to be earlier i've been slumped w work and stuff but I wanted to get this one out there. a kiss for the wonderful boy

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @stargirlstabber @intheafterall

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s child

Tony Stark x child!reader

warnings: alcohol ment,

a/n: so i just really think that the concept of tony having the party kid as opposed to nerdy avenger kid would be a really cool idea to explore teehee. most of this does actually take place pre-avengers tho!!

prompt:

you we’re quite the exhausting kid

“is this really how it felt to raise me?” -tony

many of nights he’d find your bed empty, you’d snuck out to go have your fun as teenagers do

“yeah, boss, i imagine it was” -happy

you always showed back up in one piece (like him) and besides a little slap on the wrist you didn’t get much discipline

actually, it usually went like:

“so, where did you go off to last night?” -tony

“a party” -you

“really? didn’t want to loop me in before you snuck out…again?”

“last time i told you about a party you showed up!”

“uh—yeah, but it’s not like i went all dad on you and dragged you away or anything”

“yeah, you joined the party and offered to buy teenagers more booze”

“hey, they all loved you after that! and they couldn’t get enough of my classic dance moves” -tony, jokingly doing the sprinkler with one arm “but seriously, let me know next time”

“we’ll see about that” -you

^the above conversion went about the same every time

sometimes for entertainment purposes you’d try a little harder, throw a few pillows under the covers to make it look like you were still home to put a smile on tony’s face

“aw, y/n reminds me so much of me” -tony

tony was still partying at this point so you’d flip the script on him from time to time

“you were out late” -you

“what are you, a cop? leave me alone. actually, can you get me some aspirin and water?” -tony

“sure, one or two” -you

“make it three” -tony

he would nurse your occasional hangovers (what a great dad!)

okay, he didn’t always know when you were gone. he was busy a lot of the time with his own business and extracurriculars so you guys did just kinda do your own thing for certain stretches of time

honestly you could be a bit of a klepto in the best of ways

but only to tony and only for fun

“oh, great, where’s my car?” -tony

“which one?” -pepper

“the black one!” -tony

“be more specific” -pepper

“the only one missing from my garage!” -tony

“yeah, i know, just wanted to give you some more time to think about it” -pepper

“i changed the code on the lockbox like, five times this week. did they hotwire it?” -tony

“we are talking about your kid, right? pretty sure they just hacked it” -pepper

“i am…so proud” -tony

you MAY have gotten a few close calls with authorities, but nothing tony couldn’t handle

and up until tony’s accident, the phrase “you’re going to give me a heart attack” was silly and endearing

“you might actually give me a heart attack, y/n, give a guy some warning or just say please for god’s sake” -tony, now comes with an arc reactor in his chest

“sorry” -you

“what—huh—didn’t hear ya, wanna say that a little louder?” -tony, very sarcastically

i tell ya when he got that armor u couldn’t tell if u were gonna flip out at him or invite him to a party

or steal it for…you didn’t even know what

but tony was 3 steps ahead of you when all this came to be

and you weren’t very interested in weapons, still just parties and dumb fun for you

“dad, i dont wanna be a nerd, will you just let me go out?” -you

“come on! just help me in the lab a few hours, what’s it gonna hurt?” -tony

“my social status” -you

“might i remind you you’re a stark? i think you’ll live if you miss one party” -tony

“you’d be surprised” -you

“hey, i almost died! give your old man a break” -tony

once tony got involved with SHIELD and the avengers he got even busier really

and in came the parenting advice from fury, clint, nat, steve

“hey, i don’t see you raising a teenager, back off” -tony

*clint side eye*

steve once tried to give you a good talking to, but you reminded him a great bit of your father with your stubbornness

“you done? i dont think you should be giving out any parenting tips fresh off the ice” -you

tony was kind of proud of you for sticking to your guns

especially around such powerful people

but you had a knack for that and could do it to practically anyone

mostly because you felt like an invincible teenager since you were raised by tony, who also thought himself an invincible teenager at one point

u tried to tone down giving tony grief when he started having panic attacks

since u accidentally caused a few by pushing boundaries and staying out for several nights in a row

cuz as tony gained more enemies, he thought you’d be in more danger

which was true

“happy, you’re y/n’s personal bodyguard” -tony

“no!” -you

“uh, cool? any fun parties planned tonight? i’ll be the designated driver. god knows i’ve been tony’s too many times” -happy

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[meanbossart]

LORE ASK COMPILATION: "Still not banging Halsin, Squid Games, Sun King, Failing at love quizzes, Bottoms, Tops, and Cats" Edition

He didn't, Halsin wasnt around for act 3, too busy healing land and saving ghost children or something!

THANK YOU/I'M SORRY, I'm surprised there isn't more Bhaalist Dark Urge/Spawn Astarion stuff out there. Don't get me wrong, I love a good evil power couple, but who can resist the good ol'heartbreak of a vicious unending cycle brought on by your own senselessness!

That wasn't something I was interested in previously just because acquiring the slayer form isn't part of his canon, but I've been looking at enough fromsoft games' monster designs that I might be a little inspired to try LOL

Also I am just a fan of the canon design and never before thought it needed altering. But I'll let it cook ;)

God damn it.

DU drow was VERY antagonizing towards the emperor since the moment he dropped the facade, which made the attempt ESPECIALLY hilarious - that poor guy is so, so lonely.

I don't recall the exact wording in-game, but once the emperor took his shiny squid pecs out and shot his shot, DU drow recoiled and called him disgusting. After having the visions of Stelmane forced upon him to make whatever baffling point the emperor was trying to make, DU drow smugly asserted that he had finally let the mask slip and their very terrible date ended with the Emperor enforcing their reluctant need for one another, for the time being.

In-prose, that would honestly be pretty much it. DU drow would have reacted with absolute revulsion at the prospect of being hit on by a mindflayer, and taken the Emperor's (miscalculated) moment of lashed-out vulnerability as a win - as proof that he was exactly as duplicitous as he always assumed the Emperor to be.

I can assure everyone that I am as entertained by the thought as the rest of you and it is in the cards for future art, I just have... So many prompts... I have at least 5 different mini-comics I want to make, BESIDES singular pieces, BESIDES the fanfic... I wish I had more time and more hands.

But DU drow's unlikely semi-success as a parental figure is hilarious to me. I think about it constantly.

I haven't entertained that thought much because its antithetical to DU drow's character. Whether "good" or evil, he wouldn't allow Astarion to ascend because of his fear of no longer being needed and his reluctance to watch his partner be consumed by out-sourced power and changed into something he despises. Realistically, in a world where Astarion is allowed to ascend they could only break up and inevitably kill each other soon after.

That said, I am fascinated by the Sun King and the implications that path has for his character. So far that is an arc that I can only really see Astarion taking on alone, though - that might change in the future, might not. We'll see!

IF I CAN MAKE IT NOT ENTIRELY MISERABLE, I JUST MIGHT.

He got 2 out of 3 questions wrong - which is to say he was way too honest and Astarion didn't like that.

Except for the "when is he the happiest" question, which he correctly answered with "when he's neck deep in gore".

This is not even a lore-embelishment, this is actually how that scene went for me and I cackled about it for ages.

He would love to get tied up for old-times' sake. I doubt he knows much about fancy knots but Astarion might (though I might be in a minority that doubts his enforced "sex life" was actually that interesting at all.)

Thank you so much!

You are mostly correct. Bhaalist drow, both pre and post tadpole would be much more keen on the idea of having people around who fulfill their every desire - EXCEPT for killing. That is a joy they take on for themselves.

"Canon" DU drow values his independence a lot, on the other hand. He's neutral on the idea of slavery (what a sentence) and wouldn't be opposed to temporary servicing, but the idea of having someone around waiting for orders doesn't attract him at all, or at least would get on his nerves quick. He much preffers to do things himself and makes sure that other people see how much he does not need assistance.

The answer is yes, basically LOL.

DU drow both adores and despises Sceleritas presence and he doesn't know why. It very much reflects the type of relationship they used to have prior to DU drow's memory loss, and it's one of those things that he has conflicting feelings about but not any context for them.

I sadly doubt that the boys would become parents during Shadowheart's lifetime (it's for the best, they have a lot of work to do before I would trust them not to drop a baby), but honestly she strikes me as really liking kids as long as she doesn't have to, well, have them LOL.

And thank you so much for enjoying them and humoring me!

I think it is less about bottoming-topping and more about enjoying a more submissive role during sex, as well as in other scenarios. He believes that giving control away is, in a way, a show of devotion that goes both ways - his own for the willingness to do so, and his partner's for not taking advantage of it despite his wanting them to do so.

With one-night-stands (which he occasionally had pre-tadpole) he would still bottom without any of the submissiveness. This is because he didn't have the capacity to understand what it was about bottoming that attracted him, and led him to feeling constantly unfulfilled and frustrated (he just isn't build for no-strings-attatched type of arrangements, lol.)

This means that he really could operate either way depending on the partner as long as he got that fix of docility, whether it be from the bottom or top.

I think of Astarion as being similarly versatile but leaning more in the opposite direction when it comes to power-dynamics - though it being less about dominance itself and more about being pampered and catered to - and, of course, getting to do what he wants. Though he's willing to try most things a partner is particularly enthusiastic for just to see how he feels about it.

That said with DU drow he does prefer to top for a plethora of reasons.

I didn't have this piece of lore thought-up at the time, but I should have made them look like the lady he lost his virginity to.

Him and Astarion were gobbling those things up until the emperor reveal, then they both quit it cold-turkey after DU drow stomped the astral-tadpole dead (and back then you didn't have to roll any dice to do it, because otherwise we would have weird veiny DU drow to deal with for sure because he would NOT have suceeded that save.)

DU drow's feelings towards animals is a constant in every iteration of his character. They are organic little pieces of art wandering about the world that act upon their own laws and regulations, ones which humanoids aren't privy to - except for when they intrude into that world through magic and try to understand it through their overly-complicated systems and concepts. If a cat made the temple it's home, it can stay.

[juanarc-thethird]

Mama Arc doesn't play around #2

Outside a Chinese restaurant far away from prying eyes. A burly man with a briefcase tries to enter, but is stopped by two men well dress guarding the entrance

Guard: Name and state your business.

Ghira: I am Ghira Belladonna, I came to see "The Mother"

The guard speaks with his microphone in his jacket and waits. A few seconds pass and he turns to Ghira.

Guard: You can come in, "Mother" is waiting for you in the VIP room.

Ghira nods his head and enters. Inside the restaurant everything looked normal. but Ghira knew better than anyone that no one here is "Normal." He recognized people in politics, fame, and even crime.

Without wasting any more time, he walks straight to the VIP area. The entrance is covered by a curtain, and just like outside, two men guard the entrance. The two notice Ghira and move the curtain for him.

The moment the curtain opens, he meets "The Mother"

Mama Arc: Oh, Ghira! You finally arrive. For a moment I thought you'd never come.

She said with a smile on her face.

Mama Arc is sitting at a round table, opposite where Ghira is. She is wearing her mom's regular clothes along with her apron. An apron much loved by her, made by her husband.

Ghira: As if I had a choice.

Mama Arc: Boo~ Why are you always so serious?

Ghira:...

Mama Arc: *Sighs* Anyways, please take a seat.

Ghira takes a seat in the chair closest to him.

Mama Arc: Do you know why I called you here?

Ghira: It's because you want my wife's family recipe for almond pie.

Mama Arc: Exactly! The time is up and it's time to pay. Do you have the recipe?

Ghira: Yes.

He says as he puts his briefcase on the table.

Mama Arc: Excellent! Let me see it.

Ghira: Sure.

He opens the briefcase and in it is a folded piece of used paper. One of the guards takes the paper and hands it to her.

Mama Arc: Let's take a look.

She then puts on her reading glasses and begins to look at the recipe carefully. Ghira just stays quiet, waiting for her to finish.

Mama Arc: Ghira...

Ghira: Hm?

Mama Arc: You remember the deal, right?

Ghira: Yes, I give you the recipe and my daughter doesn't go out with your son.

Mama Arc: I like that you're still aware of what's at stake. But… did you ever talk about this with your wife?

Ghira: Yes I did.

Mama Arc: Oh Ghira… *lowers the paper* That was a big mistake.

She then turns the page showing him a handwritten message from his wife.

"You want my recipe, huh? I'll give it to you after the wedding - Kali"

Ghira: *Shock* Kali?!

Mama Arc: It seems she had other plans for your daughter. Unfortunately I'm an Arc, and we don't go back on our word. So...

Ghira: NO! YOU CAN"T DO THIS!!

Mama Arc: Sorry, but what's done is done. See you at the wedding~

She nods to her guards and they escort Ghira out of the restaurant.

Ghira: You won't get away with this, you heard me!! You won't get away with this!

Mama Arc: Oh Ghira, if you only knew...

She takes a Cuban from her purse and from the shadows Blake appears to light it for her.

Mama Arc: *blows out the smoke* ...the game was rigged from the start

[sockatoothewafflebird]

i keep scrolling through the arcane tag and at least 40% of it is about caitlyn kiramman's warmongering dictator arc. apologies to my followers for being so obsessed with her but i have to add more fuel to the fire that is caitlyn character analyses. please hear me because only one of my caitlyn posts gets attention i want it to be this one.

i personally see caitlyn's character in season 2 as:

a painfully realistic portrayal of how quickly the privileged can go off their rockers at the lower class when they do literally anything wrong. "It's so easy to hate them."

a woman in mourning with no outlet for her grief and anger, scraping at the walls for any semblance of revenge she can get her hands on.

a puppet of the leaders that will use her for their own gain, which will ultimately only make the corruption and prejudice in the system worse and worse. (ambessa.... when i catch you ambessa...)

all of these things can coexist. and they do. arcane is so fucking good at making complex, nuanced, morally-grey characters, and caitlyn is no different.

(putting the rest under the cut bc this got LONG... sorry💀)

something about when you spend your life as a part of the upper class, equality feels like oppression. something about the upper class lashes out when the lower class does nothing but defend themselves, because both feel threatened by the other, but only the lower class is justified in that. something about CAITLYN IS A GASLIGHT-GATEKEEP-GIRLBOSS AND I DO NOT CONDONE HER ACTIONS!!! i stand with my cancelled queen in the sense that i just want to know if she pulls out a ukulele or reciepts!

the worst part about being a caitlyn fan is that she's gonna get worse before she gets better. that's a plain and simple fact. she is going to hurt people, she is going to kill people, she is going to fuck things up; whether it be directly or indirectly, by her own hand or through the puppeteering of ambessa. probably both.

she is going to do horrible things, whether we like it or not. she already has, look at the ventilation systems and how she exploited the grey. she'll only truly be able to realize she's wrong if she goes down to zaun and sees the damage she's done for herself, thinks long and hard about what she's fighting for. she's lost her way and she's gonna have to crawl through the trenches to find it again.

she's using and abusing her power because of things she shouldn't be using as excuses. jinx killed her mother; the attacks at the memorial service; except those don't justify her actions. explains them, maybe. but she's turning into the exact kind of person you'd expect someone of her status to become. someone with power to her name, using it against those below her because she thinks it's justified, with no one bold enough to stop her.

she's going down a dark path and i am HERE to see how she fixes her mistakes in the end... if she even does. i'm excited to see what they do with her. will vi forgive her? will anyone?

that's for the writers to decide. i have faith that they'll execute it well no matter which way it goes. flawed, yes, as all things are, but they will get this right. if they don't i'm gonna be on a watchlist by the end of the month.

oh, caitlyn kiramman, gaslighting-gatekeeping-girlbossing in act 2. what a piece of work. and i'm just a down-bad lesbian that likes psychoanalyzing fictional lesbians. like... have you seen that woman???? she's too good to not put under a microscope. it's like the writers were baiting me specifically.

if anyone has any theories btw, caitlyn related or not, lemme hear them because i will listen. i will read every essay about this show i come across if it costs me my life 🫡

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 19

Not a Sound

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 3885

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You reveal your secret.

Author's Note: Thank you soo much for all of the support and encouragement, especially with the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one! 😭💜🙏🏼 (BIG DRAMA & EMOTIONS WARNING)

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Flashbacks from Reader's Past | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | (These symbols will bracket sections to denote the POV shift)

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Vaginal Fingering, PIV Sex, Hair-Pulling, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

“Can I have a drink?”

Four powerful pirates blinked at you. 

It was strange to be on this side of the coffee table. Buggy sat in your spot on the couch between the other leaders of the Guild, while Shanks had pulled up a chair beside Crocodile.

Your green, velvet chair felt like an examination table. Like you were under a microscope, about to get chopped into tiny pieces to be studied. 

Buggy had clung to you all morning, barely going a moment without touching you during breakfast. You were grateful he hadn’t tried to feed you any fruit. That thought sent your eyes flicking toward the red haired pirate, more bile climbing up your throat. Buggy’s floating hand rested on yours while they all stared, but you couldn’t get yourself to hold onto it. 

“What would you like to–”

“I’ll get it,” you jumped up, cutting Mihawk off, and leaving Buggy’s hand to float alone when you pushed it away to stand. The little bar felt like miles away, and you grabbed the first thing you could see. Crocodile’s stinky scotch in its pretty crystal bottle. You poured a heaping glass, vaguely hearing a reaction from the couch before you chugged the burning liquor.

“What the fuck, baby?”

“Y/N, stop!”

“Don’t— rabbit!”

The three of them surrounded you, snagging the bottle and empty glass from your hands too late while you coughed from that toxic, liquid fire. Crocodile got to you first, kneeling out from the sand at your feet to grab your flushed face, wiping away the stinging tears that you knew wouldn’t be the last. 

“Sweetheart, why–”

“Sweetheart,” you choked out, the sound a mix between a laugh and a sob. “Gods, I’m sorry, I– fuck.” 

The looks on their faces made you want to scream. You rubbed your eyes with the meat of your palms, trying to be less fucking pathetic. 

“Drink, love,” Mihawk soothed, holding a glass of water to your lips. 

“We’re right here, star,” Buggy whispered as he pressed a light kiss to your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s okay,” Crocodile promised, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’re our Numbers Girl, no matter what. Alright?”

Your body slumped, nodding as you let them guide you back under that microscope. Shanks was staring at you, but nothing meant anything anymore, so you didn’t bother to study his face. 

They let you sit there. Time was empty. It could have been minutes or years before you finally mustered up the energy to ruin everything.

“I’m fucking stupid,” you announced with a sharp laugh, feeling insane. 

Maybe I am. Maybe he did put me away. 

“Don’t talk like tha–”

“What do you mean, sweet girl?”

“You.” 

Growling at your scarred lover, confessions, and a suicidal accusation flowed through your body, spilling out through your eyes and lips. 

“You were going to kill us if I wasn’t useful. I could have been free, but I… I called those people for you.”

Crocodile’s face was as cold and unmoving as stone, a cliff you could leap off of. 

If only you could have stopped. No one said a word, but the energy was already rolling through you, destroying everything, your throat still raw from that fucking scotch. 

“I was an idiot. I was fucking kidding myself thinking I could wait, thinking I could have a few more days.” Your manic laughter turned to pain, a sob hitting your last words. 

Glancing up at the couch, you saw your three men clenching their jaws. Crocodile’s arm was wrapped around Buggy, that large hand digging into Mihawk’s shoulder, while Mihawk had grabbed Buggy’s floating hand, gripping it in his own lap before it could fly to you. 

“There’s no way I could hide it. Someone at the party will say it…”

“Say what,” Buggy rasped after a long moment. 

Your eyes poured over your men one more time before it was over. 

“My name.”

Everyone paused, and you remembered Shanks was there. His face was a mask, unreadable, and you were grateful for another reason to ignore it. 

“Are you saying that your name is a lie,” Crocodile asked in a dangerous purr. 

“No. None of you ever asked what my last name was,” you pointed out, then laughed as you looked between them. “I guess pirates don’t really care about last names.”

The laughter died in your throat, tears streaming now in your moment of defeat. 

“What’s your name,” Mihawk asked, his voice more gentle than you’d ever heard. 

It’s over. 

“Y/N Sylvad.”

…

…

…

“Like the wood company?”

You clamped your hands over your mouth, the shock of laughter that burst through you at Buggy’s confused face, his cute question, almost had you believing it would be alright. 

But the other men in the room shifted. Crocodile pulled his arm away from the other two to rest his elbows on his knees, leaning toward you while he answered his clown.

“Not a company. A fucking empire. Sylvad’s Lumber and Shipping. Is that what you’re telling us right now?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already watching their eyes change. Already watching them forget who you were. 

“Keep going,” he ordered, his words cold, ice building up around you. 

“It’s not mine,” you begged them to believe you. “Dad died and…”

You couldn’t. You didn’t know where to start, or if it even mattered now. 

“Arbo Sylvad was your dad,” Shanks murmured, sitting up a little straighter while he studied you. 

“You’re Sylvad’s heiress.”

“No, I'm not,” you snapped at Mihawk, not caring when his golden eyes flared at you. “Uncle Cedrick got everything. Dad always said it would go to… I was fifteen when he…”

Crocodile’s silver eyes were like molten metal, and you choked on your grief as you watched him stand. He walked to that giant desk of his, and when he returned to drop your thick notebook in your lap, you flinched, bracing for pain. 

“Unreliable,” he growled, tapping the notebook with his hook as he brought his eyes down to yours, his frightening face so close. 

“Everything I said was true,” you pleaded, mind blanking out with fear while Mihawk came to touch Crocodile’s shoulder. He didn’t budge, and though your mouth went dry, you forced yourself to explain. “Those people are unreliable! They'd talk to people that could cause problems for the Guild. People with connections to the Marines.”

“Like your Uncle?”

“What do you mean, boss,” Buggy tried to redirect, his hand on the hook that was digging into the back of the chair, his body leaning against the larger man’s shoulder. “They just sell trees and stuff, right?”

“Every single Marine ship on the fucking water right now was built with Sylvad wood,” Crocodile fumed, Mihawk’s hand stroking along his arm as you shrank beneath those silver eyes. “Hells, almost every ship that sails out of Water 7 is built with that lumber.”

“I don’t get it,” Shanks complained from his chair, though you couldn’t see him past the angry man in front of you. “If you’re the heiress of Sylvad’s, why were you working? You were an accountant or something, right?”

“Investment banker,” Buggy bragged, and you almost smiled that he remembered. “My girl’s a fancy financial advisor.”

“Let’s give our girl some breathing room, Crocodile. We don’t know everything yet.”

You only heard Mihawk’s whispered words because Crocodile was a hair's breadth away. He brought his thumb to rub along one of your cheeks, and the back of his hook to smooth along the other. 

“Tell daddy everything, alright, sweetheart?”

Your eyes fluttered shut until he pressed into your cheeks, slow tears falling from your eyes when you nodded for him. 

“Yes, daddy.”

The warm kiss he pressed to your temple made you want to disappear. Nothing. Nothing ever again. 

You were barely there as the words fell from your lips. Eyes unfocused, hanging loosely around the little table by Mihawk’s seat. You smiled to yourself when you realized it looked strange without a glass of wine on it. 

“Dad died on a business trip. Freak storm. Left everything to Uncle Cedrick. Kat and I got our trust funds for school. Mom got nothing.”

“I think we’ll need more than that, little rabbit,” Mihawk cautioned as he glanced over at Crocodile's stern face. 

“Can I have a drink fir–”

“No,” said the three men on the couch. 

Holding your head in your hands for a bit, you tried to figure out how to say the least amount of painful words to get them to leave you alone. 

“Uncle took us in. He was such a caring person, taking in his brother’s poor daughters, his lonely wife,” you spat, venom dripping from your lips. “I didn’t want to belong to him. My trust fund paid for the best education out there, but all my friends stopped… When they knew I had nothing to give them, they treated me like shit. I kept doing what I'm good at, and I got the fuck out. Went to go live that stupid, boring life.” 

Growling with the frustration of spilling this pathetic, entitled trash, you stood to pace behind your chair, waving your notebook around as if you could make it burst into flames with your will alone. 

“I am fucking amazing at my job, but most of these people just looove the thought of the poor little heiress helping them get richer. Most of them can’t wait to put me in their little collection. Add me to their fucking shelf. Just gotta ask Uncle how much his little niece– FUCK!”

The notebook went flying, skidding across the floor while you shoved the heavy chair over, yelling, raging, kicking that stupid green chair until your shoes fell off, your toes fucking hurt, until your clown stopped you.

“Baby, please,” he soothed, his upper body floating to keep your struggling form from reaching anything on the ground to hit. “It’s okay, star, I’m right here. Fuck those assholes, right? Who needs ‘em!”

Part of you felt guilty for not laughing at his sweet attempt, but the rest of you needed to fight or flee. 

Flee from these powerful men that were already using you to make money. 

“Put me down!”

Buggy’s whispered, “star,” hurt like hell. You held yourself still when he set you down gently, back in your spot as you faced the couch again, although your chair was kicked off to the side. 

“Wanna know how high to set the ransom,” you challenged, your clenched fists shaking at your sides. You couldn’t think clearly enough to read their darkened eyes, even Buggy’s as he took his place between them. “Just so you know, Uncle doesn’t like me that much. He’d probably be happier if you killed me. Or you could buy me, that’d make him extra hap–”

Sand. 

Sand flooded the space around you. It lifted you off the ground, and your breath caught as the coffee table got thrown to the side. You met those silver eyes just before you were in his arms, your legs stretched across the laps of the other men on the couch. 

“What…” you wondered, mind in a daze.

“You thought I’d sell my sweet girl,” Crocodile hummed, kissing the top off your head.

“You told me you would,” you reminded, your body and mind feeling distant, separate from whatever this strange world had become. “How much am I worth? Just keep being valuable, useful? You were already gonna sell me or kill me before you knew what a goldmine I was.”

The icy anger that laced your words made every hand on you go still. Crocodile froze as he started to rock you, and your body couldn’t choose between guilt at hurting them, or anger and fear at what they would do. 

“I think I’m drunk,” you whispered, wanting them to let you go, and wishing that they never would.

“No shit,” Buggy laughed, “I’m surprised you’re alive after that.”

His hands started massaging your legs on his lap, rubbing up and down nervously while you closed your eyes.

“Can I go lie down?”

“I’ll take you, star.”

Crocodile and Mihawk’s hands dragged along your skin as Buggy lifted you into the air, but neither stopped him from taking you. Neither stopped him from floating you away.

Neither called you pretty names as you left the room. 

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

“I’ve got you,” Buggy promised. 

Getting her onto that giant bed felt like a race. Something was right behind him. Something would stop him.

Something would take her away again. 

Finally there, he wrapped his arms around her, leaning against the headboard while her scotch scented breath warmed his chest. 

“Your breath stinks, baby.”

Maybe it was a laugh, but that choked sound made his chest tight, like a huge hand was crushing his ribcage. 

I can’t do anything. Fucking useless. Can’t help her.

“Buggy…”

“Shh, I’m right here, star,” he promised. The sound of his name on those quivering lips sent fire, rage, and guilt straight through him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He could never leave her. He could never leave her with them after this. Even if they…

Buggy kissed her temple, trying to be soothing while he waited for them to crash through the door.

Waited for them to take her from him.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

Not a sound.

Not a sound filled the air as the men in the lounge sat with the news that their little lover was the heiress of Sylvad’s.

Not a sound from the two men on the couch as her accusations weighed on them, as though she hadn’t left their laps with those angry, frightened tears in her eyes. 

“That sure is something,” Shanks whistled softly. He stood to pick up Y/N’s chair, sitting across from them. “What are you gonna do with—“

“Find somewhere else to be,” Crocodile fumed, his body vibrating with the need to hurt something.

Shanks nodded, giving a crooked smile, before leaving them alone. Mihawk stared after his old friend, images of comfort he couldn’t provide burning behind his eyes.

He’s going to take them both. 

Serves us right.

Crocodile’s angry huff pulled Mihawk out of those thoughts, watching the man stomp toward the bar. The coffee table his sand had moved laid in his path, until it splintered and scattered from the touch of his vicious foot in that lovely shoe. 

The swordsman floated after him, still in a daze while the larger man imitated their girl, chugging a glass of scotch. 

Mihawk stared, but didn’t speak, didn’t touch.

Crocodile set the glass down before he shattered another one. 

“She lied—“

“Can you blame her,” Mihawk laughed coldly while the other man paced. Silver eyes shot like daggers, but Mihawk couldn’t seem to care about anything at the moment. “She told the truth, just not all—“

“She didn’t trust me.”

He sat again, staring at the floor after those stupid words had left him.

“I don’t…” Mihawk started, pushing himself to move, pushing himself to try. He sat down, and touched a hand to Crocodile’s shoulder, leaving it there after his scarred lover flinched. “We haven’t given her much reason to, have we?”

Not a sound after that. 

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Y/N! You can’t just leave,” Kat reasoned, pulling the clothes out of your hands before you could stuff them into your suitcase. “What about mom? What about the company?”

“Mom made her choices,” you growled, pulling the clothes back from your sister’s shaky hands. “And I don’t care about the fucking company. It’s not mine.”

“Not if—“ 

“It’s not mine. I’m sick of this fucking life. I’m getting out.”

“... What about me?”

That stopped you. But only for a moment. 

“I’m sure he’d let you come if—“

“Are you fucking kidding me right now,” she shouted, pushing you toward your messy suitcases. “He’s a pirate! If he doesn’t hurt you before, what do you think he’ll do when he finds out who you are?”

“I don’t care,” you fumed as you stared your little sister down. “I'm bored of this stupid life.”

Kat’s mouth hung open, the hurt and pain in her eyes making you want to take it all back, to beg for forgiveness.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t waste this chance to be free. 

“You really have a death wish, you know that? That clown is going to get you killed,” Kat breathed, her voice growing colder as she turned to leave. She didn’t look back when she said her goodbye, just waved her hand over her shoulder. “I’ll look out for the ransom note.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Sleep?

Sleep.

Burning sleep, and stormy seas.

Dad’s voice calling for you. 

You could never find him before the ship went under, before all that Sylvad wood splintered beneath the raging waves.

~~~🤡🔴🤡🔴~~~

“Buzz off, idiot,” Buggy ordered in a harsh whisper, Shanks’ smiling face peeking through the cracked door. Buggy had left his body on the bed to hold Y/N as she whimpered, nightmares ruining her scotch and stress induced nap. 

His head floated by the door, frowning at his old friend. 

“It’ll just be a second, Bugs, I swear.”

Shanks’ smile stretched even wider when Buggy agreed, floating his head out into the corridor.

“This better be good, asshat.”

Shanks felt it. This was it. He could have them both. 

He needed them both. 

“Let’s take her with us, Bugs.” 

Buggy’s look of shock was exaggerated by those red lips of his, and Shanks had to hold himself back from kissing them.

“But she… but it’s dangerous…”

Buggy wasn’t sure he’d actually heard those words, or if he’d fallen asleep, dreaming beside his star. Too many emotions rushed through him, but all he could think about was her. 

“Would you rather leave her here with them,” Shanks rasped, his eyes doing that heavy thing they do, although there wasn’t much of Buggy’s body to drag them down. “We can protect her. You and me, Bugs.”

The clown had to fight his body to stay still as he held her in the other room. The need to move, to fidget, to pace, made him dizzy. 

“What if she doesn’t wanna go,” Buggy wondered. Images of Y/N smiling, laughing, screaming, flew through his mind, each one making him doubt that he could ever make her as happy as she’d seemed once things had started to settle here. 

“I already asked her. I know she’ll say yes. She wants you to be happy, Bugs. Just like I do,” Shanks confessed, brushing a bit of blue hair out of Buggy’s face. He rubbed his thumb across those red, parted lips. 

So close to everything. 

“When did—“

“Buggy?”

Shanks watched his clown fly away from him, hopeful that it’d be the last time. 

Buggy flew away from his old friend, every confusing thought going blank besides the need to comfort that soft, scared voice. 

“Right here, got you, baby.”

~~~🤡🔴🤡🔴~~~

“Buggy,” you whimpered as new tears fell. 

“Shh, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Painted lips covered your face, kissing your tears away until you shivered, his soothing hum blocking out everything else. 

His touch kept it all at bay. 

Every split second of memory was grief, so you curled against him, running your hand along his side. Your body writhed, whining for him as he stroked your hair and back, then pulled away.

“Hey, star, it’s o—“

“Please, touch me, Buggy,” you begged as you reached for him. “I need you so much, I need you…” 

Pathetic grief poured back in at the memory of what you’d witnessed last night, but you couldn’t fight your need for him. 

“Please, touch me.”

“Just tell me if it’s alright, okay, star," he breathed after pausing to study your face, tracing his fingers along your cheeks.

“Please,” you gasped, his lips on your neck were saving your life. Saving you from your mind. 

A touch against Mihawk’s tender bite mark brought the world back, but then Buggy was tearing you both out of your clothes, kissing down your arms, your chest, your stomach. Kissing every inch of your skin until you were crying with need instead of pain. 

Begging, begging for more. 

“Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, star.”

“Bug—“

Breathy, desperate moans left your throat as his fingers plunged deep inside you, and he swallowed the rest of your sounds in a wild kiss. His tongue was eating, tasting, and you almost laughed into his mouth at the memory of scotch, until his free hand found your clit. 

The fingers inside you were perfect, knowing exactly what you needed. Finding that spot, giving you steady touches that built in pressure and speed until you were clenching around his fingers, body shaking with pleasure and gratitude. 

“So beautiful,” Buggy praised, his voice full of a quiet awe as he smiled down at you. “You okay, baby?”

“Fuck me, Buggy,” you pleaded as your weak arms failed to pull him closer. “I need you inside me. Need to feel you.”

His eyes were wide, concerned, but he smiled when he kissed you. 

Smiled when he gave you everything you needed. 

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

How?

How can she be real?

How can she want me this much?

Want me after everything…

Buggy pushed those thoughts aside as he smoothed his ungloved hands down her body. 

Hands that he felt safe letting her touch. Just like his bare face that he could let her see. 

He let out his own soft, needy noise as he watched her writhe and squirm, begging for him to touch her.

“Fuck,” he hissed, just the touch of her perfect, dripping pussy against his sensitive tip was too much. Too much as he lined himself up.

“Look at me, Buggy,” Y/N cried out, her watery eyes swallowing him whole, just as he sank his cock deeper and deeper. He couldn’t hold in his moans at the pure fucking bliss that she held inside her, that she let him feel. 

“Look at me, please.”

Buggy kept his eyes on hers, her request setting off alarm bells in his mind that he had to shut down, throw out. 

She wants to look at me like this. She wants to see my face. There’s only one per—

“Buggy! I’m close, please,” she panicked, reaching up into his hair, pulling gently as her breathing went ragged. “Need to feel you, want you so bad.”

“I want you too, star, I’m right— oh gods, baby. Fuck, you feel soo good…”

Y/N screamed his name.

His name. 

Over and over while he shoved his cock as far as he could go, claiming that sweet, warm pleasure she let him take. 

Y/N pulled him in, her body made to take his come, made to milk him, to drain him, to let him fuck it back into her while she babbled, while her eyes crossed, while that cute little tongue hung out of her perfect lips.

All for him. 

Still sunk deep inside her, Buggy soothed and calmed her frantic noises, kissing her temple.

“I love you so much. My shining star.”

What a feeling to say those words. What a feeling to mean them. To have someone to say them to. 

“I love you, Buggy. I love you so much.”

What a feeling.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: I've been so nervous to add anything new to this world. I hope you don't mind some back story. And some Buggy time 😭😭😭

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak

Part 20

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[lillypad-monopoly]

Wild Life Episode 5 Thoughts

(Except I'm insane about Martyn's ep)

LIFE SERIES TRIVIA is DIABOLICAL! The watchers literally being like "how well do you guys know your pain and suffering?" (also sorry only winners remember theory truthers)

The way Grian and Scar are such bitter ex-soulmates that Mumbo has to point it out is hilarious. (also them getting even and saying "Just like Third Life" hurt my heart)

Grian not remembering iconic moments from his own series is so funny. What do you mean he only knows Martyn beheaded Ren with an axe from fanart? Grian gaining possession of the Red Winter Axe was a whole plot point.

MUMBO FIRST OUT! IN SESSION 5! The canary curse is broken for real now guys but at what cost.

Grian standing on the ruins of the tower by himself going through the five stages of grief over Mumbo's death as the sun rises in the background is a gorgeous piece of fanart waiting to happen

Martyn you didn't need to start the episode by talking about how Ren is providing for you, you're asking for the shipping at this point 🤣

MARTYN YOU DO THE LORE OFC JIMMY AND TANGO WERE OUT FIRST. Also REN YOU WERE LITERALLY IN DOUBLE LIFE. RIP Ren/BigB we know where his true loyalties lie

THE TWO NICKLES MEME BREAKING CONTAINMENT I CAN'T

Ren inviting BigB to join the RenWood Mound alliance WITHOUT REMEMBERING DOUBLE LIFE is so insane I don't even know what to say.

OF COURSE SCAR REMEMBERS THE DESERT DUO FLOWERS I'M GOING TO BE SICK

Martyn and Ren saying they're going to be boat bros. This has been coming since last session but I NEED Joel and Etho to call them out on it

"We're boat boys," MARTYN INTHELITTLEWOOD WHEN I CATCH YOU-

Etho yelling for Bdubs to hit him so they could test if the wildcard affected damage and then Tango going "smack me harder~" in the background was diabolical. Suuuure you guys are all PG.

Etho sitting in a boat for Joel to jump over him feels like some boat boys relationship symbolism I'm not smart enough to explain

So Etho is currently living with team BET, but allied with the Four Gs, and in the family with Gem and Joel. Wildcard Etho is so back!

Of course Impulse immediately remembered the clock question.

Joel boasting about how he immediately knows all the questions is peak Joel form and I would expect nothing less. It is kind of warranted though because everybody else is waffling on the simple ones.

Joel is now two for two on unquestioningly trusting Etho only to have something bad happen to him and not even being mad about it what is wrong with this man 😭

Does Joel have the censor bleep on his keyboard or did he just straight up start swearing at Tango and know they would both have to censor it in post to get the effect that he was also making the noise?

Scott's gone from a creaking fanboy to a body horror situation and I'm living for it (also considering he's agreed to "go wild" this session--am I sensing a Scott corruption arc?)

Scott cutting directly from saying he and Jimmy were never married even though they called each other husbands to a scene WITH Jimmy was kind of an insane choice

Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss Girldad has been confirmed by Scott as the actual reason for the 4Gs. I still think Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss ImpulseSV is funnier but good to have an official ruling

Scott giving up his life for Pearl and them being good natured about it and calling it therapy! I love them so much!

Lizzie being the only person who's not exicted when a trivia bot spawns is so funny. Even the other players who weren't in all the seasons don't seem to be as miffed by them as she is.

Lizzie's flaming snail arising out of that hole while smiling is potentially the funniest thing I've seen all day. Why did it look like that 🤣

[jamiedc-they-them]

Good People (Platonic)

Summary: While in the Wasteland, running on nothing but fumes and even less hope, you meet someone. Someone who might just be the one thing you need in a place like this: a friend.

Note: This is shorter than my usual stuff (both in terms of words, probably, and also just in terms of content - more so a scene than anything else; maybe a series of short scenes showing Lucy's arc if you guys want and how her friendship with Y/N develops?) Let me know in an ask!

You were a survivor. You had been since the moment you were born, but you weren't sure how much longer that was going to last.

Your day hadn't started off good, you see. You were running out of water and had passed out earlier due to some kind of infection - no idea what it was or who/what it was from, you had come across a lot of beings and things in your travels - and some guy had thought you were dead and even pissed on you just in case. Was not refreshing, or nice.

You had fought him off, tackling him to the floor and punching him quite a few times. You didn't kill him, however. You just left him be after that.

An odd fellow with a briefcase who promise you everything you could ever want passed you by. He gave you something that gave you a boost. You had no caps, so the only piece of fluid you had left on you - your water container - was given to him in exchange for this item.

So, now you were even more screwed then before.

The man even seemed to somewhat pity you, but he still left.

You find an abandoned bus. It's been picked, recently or otherwise doesn't really matter, picked clean is picked clean. Or, well, as clean as you can get within the apocalypse.

"Hello?" a voice says. You spin around, reaching for a weapon you don't have as you lost it in the scuffle before, and so instead duck down - hitting your head on one of the seats.

You hear the person outside cringe.

"Sorry," she says, earnestly to your shock, "that sounded like it hurt."

"...It did," you find yourself saying in reply, but still keep your head done.

"Sorry," she says, again, "it's ok," she assures you, "I won't hurt you. I promise."

You peak your head up. The first thing you notice, is how clean she looks. She gives you a bright smile.

"Hi," she says, enthusiastically.

You just blink at her.

"It's ok," she assures again, "my weapon is away. I just - I just wanna talk. I'm a bit lost out here give, you know, everything is mainly just sand."

You guess that's fair. So, against your better judgment, you make your way to the stairs at the bus, and sit down. The woman sits down, letting out a sigh, glad to be able to rest for a moment.

She stretches. You adjust your neck. You must've slept funny.

"I'm Lucy," she says, holding out a hand to you.

"Y/N," you say, shaking her hand. Feels weird, being this open with someone.

"Y/N," she says, "that's a nice name. I never knew someone called Y/N before."

You're about to ask her why, when you see what she's wearing.

You whistle, or as best you can with a dry throat, it's croaky but the idea comes through, "you one of them Vault Dwellers?"

"I am," she says, and you're unsure if it's a proud statement or not, "but, I do also recognise my privilege for being one."

You hum, "how you finding up here?"

"Hot," she says, "we have air conditioning in the vaults. So, it's weird not being able to just turn down the temperature."

You chuckle. She smiles.

"Thank you for not trying to kill me."

You gesture to yourself, "don't exactly have anything to do that with, you know? Besides, you're not a bad person. I've met some bad people, you ain't one of them."

"Thank you. I knew there were good people out here."

You shrug, "I don't think I'm exactly 'good', but I've known worse."

"Well, I'm glad I've run into you. You're alot nicer than the previous man I met."

"Yeah, there'll be people like that..." you pause, then ask the question on your mind, "what brings you top side, Lucy?"

"Oh," there's a hint of hope, mixed with sadness in her eyes while she answers, "I'm looking for my dad. Some horrible woman called Moldaver took him. She steals dads."

You may internally find that last part funny, but you find yourself saying 'I'm sorry' to her about her plight. She thanks you once again.

"You're not crazy like that other man."

She's blunt, you'll give her that.

"I can be," you don't quite know why you're insulted by it.

She cocks her head to the side, "I'm good at reading people," you aren’t sure on that one, but you don't say anything, "and you're not like that previous man."

"What'd he do?"

"Drank most of my water. You ever met anyone like that?"

"Guy pissed on me this morning. Another stole my canteen."

"Oh..." Lucy says. You nod, expecting this to be the end of your conversion, but then she reaches behind herself for something. Instinct makes you freeze, but she just gives you a reassuring smile once again, and holds something out to you.

Her own canteen.

You look at her, doubt, confusion, and thanks all in your eyes at once.

"Take it," she insists, shaking it a little to tell you that there is still water inside it, "I mean it."

"But, that other man --"

"He's greedy. You aren't. And, judging by your lips, rough voice, inability to whistle, and slight grovel to your voice, and the way you hold yourself," perceptive too, "you need this more than I do."

"You sure?" she nods. Hesitantly, looking from her to the canteen as you reach out - her leaning forward to help you with your lack of energy due to dehydration and all - you grab it. It's not harsh, you don't rip it out of her grasp. Your actions are slow, deliberate.

You open it, and lift it up to your mouth, letting a few water droplets hit it.

You close it and give it back to her. But she pushes it to you again. This goes on a few more times.

"I meant what I said," she says, "take it."

You look around at the desert, "next water well won't be for a while."

She shrugs, "there's a town nearby. There should be some there. But, either way, you need this a lot more than I do."

You drink the rest of it. And, you feel ok. Not great, but better.

You cough a bit. Both due to whatever illness you have, and just from the water and how fast you drank it.

"That's a bad cough," she notes, taking the canteen back.

"Ah, it's nothing," you say, waving her off. Had worse infections.

You stand up, and she holds her hands out in case you fall. You put a hand up, telling her you're ok.

"Well," you say, "thank you for that, and the talk. Good people are few and far between. Best of luck --"

"Hey, wait!" she calls out as you start to walk away, "wait, please. Maybe - maybe you can help me."

"I ain't exactly much help given the lack of weapons, strength, and my illness."

She frowns, "well, once we find my dad, we can go back to my vault, we have doctors there who can help you and give you a good meal!"

She's preppy, but soon that softens in her eyes, "please...I can stop people from...urinating on you."

You snort at her disgust of the language. She has a lot to learn. Social ettiquite may exist in some places in the wasteland, but not everywhere.

"Well, when you put it like that..." you say, before smiling. She beams at you.

"Okey Dokey!" she exclaims.

"Okey Dokey!" you find yourself saying in kind, not mocking for once - you and your mouth had gotten you into trouble before, it was nice to not have some agenda with it this time. To let your guard down.

"Have you ever been to Filly before?" she asks you as you walk side by side. Though, she slows up a bit as you try and both get your strength back and keep your remaining bit.

"Once or twice when passing through," you say.

"Alrighty then," she says, glad to not be going in completely blind, "'this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'" she says to you, clearly quoting something, based on her voice. You look at her confused.

"I'll show you the film when we're back at the vault," she says, before you continue on your way.

It's good to meet someone who didn't want to kill you on sight or extort you or something.

It was nice to not be alone anymore.

Lucy feels the same way. She has a sort of guide now. A friend.

An actual friend from the outside.

She's glad.

And, little did she know how right she'd be. It would be a friendship that would stand the test of time and everything in between.

Lucy had just met her best friend.

You had met yours.

Even if you both didn't know just how dark and dangerous the road ahead would get...

Part 2

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Show Stopping.

This is the concluding story to the corresponding blog event, It’s Raining Crows and Dogs! I took inspo from Cruella (2021) while writing this piece.

Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were sent after the submission period, disregarded rules, or simply did not catch my interest 💦 Apologies!

By My Hand.

Drinks dulled the senses, distracting from the din of the charity ball. Alcohol was forbidden on campus—but the sugar and the carbonation was enough to be ride that high, to loosen from the binds of stiff suits, glittering gowns, and falsified formalities.

The orchestra’s song swayed and sloshed like liquid in her ears. The golden lights refracting off chandelier crystals, kaleidoscopic.

Was it the juice or the tiredness messing with her senses?

Knocking back her glass, Raven let the fizzy, fruity concoction tumble down her throat. Bright citrus washed away her worries, the bubbles tickling her nose as it went down. She set the glass, now empty, down and called out to the anxious mob student manning the bar.

“Another, please.”

“… D-Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Raven-san?” Octa A asked. “That’s your seventh drink.”

She stared at him with blank, lifeless eyes.

Octa A immediately set to preparing the eighth. Club soda, fruit syrup, crushed mint leaves, and cubed ice.

“Long night?” he wondered out loud, attempting at conversation.

“Yes.” Raven groaned, nursing her aching head with one hand. “I was up for all of yesterday assisting Crewel-sensei with the final touches on his ensemble for this evening. Didn’t get a lick of sleep.”

“Oh. I-I’m sorry to hear that…” Octa A muttered. He topped off the fresh drink with a twisted lime wedge and then slid it to her. “Did your efforts at least pay off?”

She accepted the beverage with a tired yet grateful smile. “I have no clue. He has yet to arrive.”

Even though he demanded that I be here to witness ‘the fruits of my labor’…

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon.”

Raven cast a glance at her phone. 11:59 pm. Late—far too late.

“I highly doubt—”

BAM!!

The instant the clock struck midnight, the doors to the venue swung open, as if on cue. In strutted two Dalmatians, each fitted in a diamond encrusted collar. Trailing them was a figure in a white cloak with a long train, hood pulled over their face.

Heads turned. Onlookers gasped.

“Who is that?”

Raven stilled.

They produced a wand from a billowing sleeve and waved it in an arc. There was a dog collar looped around the end of the wand, a square magical gem on it.

Fire sprouted at the end of the mysterious guest’s train. It formed a coil, snaking up their body and engulfing the white. The exterior fell away into crumbling ashes and cinders, revealing what was underneath: a handsome face in a black and white eye mask, his suit a sinisterly shimmering crimson.

Divus Crewel, fashionably late.

Raven exchanged looks with Octa A.

The venue bursted into sound like a balloon popped. People rushed at him, flocking like birds, swarming like bees.

“Sir! What a grand entrance! How did you do it?”

“What a show stopping performance.”

“I thought my heart was about to beat out of my chest!!”

“Where did you get this outfit? I would like to own one for myself. Oh, you must pass me along the name of the brand.”

Crewel, right at home among his throng of admirers, chuckled. “I appreciate the compliments, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to find a replica of this look in any store or boutique. This ensemble is an original designed by yours truly.”

“Oh my!” A woman clutched at the string of pearls around her neck. “Would you be willing to do an original for me then?”

“Now, now! I had every intention of asking him first!” a mustachioed man protested.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to turn down those requests,” Crewel interjected smoothly. “I am presently focused on my role as an educator. Your presence here at this event helps Night Raven College and its efforts to better the future and the local community.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the crowd.

“And another thing,” he continued, “I’m afraid I cannot take all the credit for my outfit. I may be responsible for the design, but the color of the dye was made in collaboration with a student.” Crewel searched the room and found Raven, letting his gaze linger on hers. She felt her mouth drying up. “This is the direction of the future.”

He flashed a dazzling smile. His handsomeness, a cutlass slashing through their defenses. Raven felt the entire room melt in response to Crewel.

“If you wish to support us and Night Raven College’s endeavors, we you may donate tonight. All proceeds will be going to an animal shelter on Sage’s Island.”

Several voices cried out simultaneously.

“I-I’ll donate! Of course I will!”

“Honey, we’ve got to support this cause.”

“You heard the man.”

“Night Raven College is such an exemplary learning institution!”

“Wow, Crewel-sensei strolled in and commanded the entire event,” Octa A mused. “Raven-san, the work you were doing yesterday… now it’s being seen by all of these people.”

“Well,” she said warily, absentmindedly swirling her half empty glass, “as long as he’s happy and NRC gets that money, I guess it’s fine.”

“That shade of red is nice,” Octa A commented. He was already assembling the ninth drink. “It suits Crewel-sensei very well.”

“I should hope so!” she huffed. “It took a lot of workshopping and several samples to find a shade that pleased him.“

“What did you name this one? Since you tend to label your homemade inks.”

“Ah, I call this one…”

Cruel Devil.

[diientedegato]

I'm curious if you have any thoughts on what Ben Paul would look like if he was alive years after S1 of TWDG :> I honestly prefer to imagine both him & Kenny going off on their own adventures after S1, because Idk if I'd've had Kenny as part of S2, it felt like when he returned it became less Clem's story & more his. That might be controversial among fans but it's how I feel :s I like to imagine Ben, Kenny & Sarita forming their own little family in fact <3 I'd expect Ben would end up with shaggier hair after a while but I wouldn't mind knowing what he'd look like with short, spiked up hair ;>

IM SORRY BOTH THE ASK AND DRAWING ARE OLD- but I came across the sketch I had eugeugeh. I do not have many headcanons but behind the cut is just a rant about. Kenny mostly. Too much should I warn? But yah I'm sorry it took me like 5 months lol

The only headcanon (regarding Ben's appearance) is that he'd keep his school jacket for as long as possible. Until it thorns apart. Or until he dies.

I'm big fan of Ben lives possibility btw I've gotta draw sum about that sometime (I say, about every twdg character i like,)

And dude, do I agree about Kenny. Man doesn't belong in season 2. The character they made him to be in the second season is not Kenny, it's just a nostalgia element. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy, I'm biased as hell, I break that hug choice every time. But it made the character development in the first season just.... pointless. "For some reason, I saved that piece of shit Ben", man, that quote just disappoints me. Kenny lost everything. Father and husband of none no more, which was pretty much the arc of Kenny on the first season?? I think? . Everything he loved and he had he lost, and he killed the person responsible for it. But not as revenge, he killed a kid out of mercy. He saved the boy from suffering a painful death, and that was forgiveness, to the reason he hadn't any. He took a decision he would be fully responsible of, when it was time for him to go. And he was perfect.

Hell, if he had appeared during season 2, I do prefer the Kenny as Carver idea. Clementine wasn't even that close to Kenny in the past, the player was, so even then it feels... off, off to be forced to care about a man that says so much he wants to protect you. (They're not really family, but is as if Kenny tries to protect and have Clem on his side, to have Clem's loyalty through and through. Though he does let her go and is proud of her on her individuality... hm.) But still, I mean, second season Kenny is not first season Kenny, and it isn't even a change that made sense. If he had been antagonist (which pretty much feels like it in the Canon story already), he should have had some other background story, no Sarita or company. Maybe then the cynical view he has would have mattered. The violence and anger and whatever else. For him to change that way was a consequence of him losing what he represented, protection of family? Wasn't failure and grief and acceptance meant to be important after all?

But otherwise yea I think it would've been pretty cool if Ben survived :3 I am a sucker for tales of redemption, forgiveness, and found family. And I hadn't thought about Kenny, Ben, and Sarita, but hell yeah. Man, even if they appeared in the second season, it would've been interesting if the choice wasn't between two individuals, but between two families. Ben already had a relationship with Clem! He appreciated her and calls her his only friend during season 1, he did leave her behind during that scene, -but the point of Ben was that- He was a coward all the season, until when he wasn't. He wanted to help Lee help Clem. They would've had an interesting sibling relationship-? also Ben had a young sister before the apocalypse so ooooh projection and parallels and shi. And if Ben had lived, he would've completed his development to something close to bravery-?

Well, I don't know, at least I think that'd be one interesting way to bring back old characters. Otherwise, Kenny should only be mentioned on dialogue maximum. The way I see it.

(I repeat the same thing over and over when I talk about something I'm sorry

(I've developed no language skills whatsoever in my life

(Yippee

[eroguron0nsense]

Late Night Luffy's Dream Theory

So I've heard a fair amount of speculation about what Luffy's dream is after he becomes Pirate King, and by extension, what Roger's dream was (recall Yamato's flashback confirming that Luffy's dream–which Ace shared with him in their long tipsy conversation/totally not a night of passion–is "the same thing the Pirate King" said.) Fan speculation about Luffy's real dream ranges from things like "host the biggest party in the world", to "go to the moon", "make a country of pirates" etc but I've always found something fundamentally unsatisfactory about these, and I'll throw my hat in the ring to narrow down the possibilities.

To recap, the information we have about Luffy's dream is as follows: -Both times the dream is alluded to, it's at the end of what I and probably a bunch of other people personally conceive of as major sagas pre and post TS that both culminate in a major battle featuring EVERYONE WE'VE SEEN AND MORE –It's something that Roger, battle-hardened and well into his 40s or 50s–shared with Oden, that was documented in Oden's journal and partially inspired Yamato's unshakeable faith in Luffy –The Straw Hats, Ace, and Sabo are all shocked to hear it and ask if he's fully serious, but several of them support it immediately and the others remain protective over it and swear they'll see Luffy's ambition through. Jinbe, Nami, and Usopp are in disbelief, Chopper and Franky are excited, Robin is stunned, but looks hopeful or contemplative rather than derisive or amused, etc. –Ace and Sabo laugh as children, but swear to themselves that they'll protect Luffy's dream and won't let anyone mock it. As he's dying, Ace tells Luffy that he truly, truly believes Luffy will pull it off, and he's only sorry he couldn't see him make that dream a reality. –Shanks found it really funny, but is repeatedly shown stating he thinks that this ridiculous fucking child he met is going to be the future of the next pirate era, implying that he has some degree of faith in this child he (likely) recognizes as the inheritor of Roger's will Luffy's dream is repeatedly referred to as "crazy", or in some cases, "a child's fantasy", but also implied to be something really pure, ambitious, and highly unlikely but theoretically possible.

When I come up with fan theories, I tend to approach them less from a "textual evidence" standpoint than a "what would pack the biggest emotional punch and tie into the message/arc/etc that we've been shown thus far" one, and that tends to inform which popular ones I buy into (e.g. I am about 50-60% convinced that Law death will be a thing because, Chekhov's gun aside, Law's been in fucking crisis and unsure of what he'll do as his own man free of Cora's legacy and tries to emulate him in Wano. And while I think there's still a good chance he'll survive to the end for other reasons, there's also potential for a LOT of bittersweet beauty in him repeating what happened to him in childhood by quite literally passing on his heart and life to someone else). Considering what would be emotionally resonant and feel anywhere near as earned as what it's been built up to over two whole fucking sagas, Luffy's dream has to be something absurdly ambitious and thematically resonant. I do not think, if Luffy's dream were something like "I want to go to the moon", that Yamato would hold faith in him through impossibly oppressive circumstances, or that the audience would care like, at all. So if the dream is tied to something at the core of Luffy's character and the underlying themes of the entire series, what does Luffy represent, and what's the point of One Piece? Luffy is, at this point in the story and honestly long before, the embodiment of this sort of radical, almost anarchic humanism pervading the entire series that seeks to bring genuine freedom, joy, and peace to people everywhere he goes. Even before any divine or joy boy associations, he's a bringer of dawn, a warrior of liberation, and a worker of miracles because he sees injustice happening around him and instantly rejects it. He tears down oppressors everywhere he goes, and he's eventually going to bring that reckoning to the World Government and Blackbeard and every other might-makes-right, brutal, thoughtless hierarchical oppressor stopping their helpless victims from living free, full, happy lives. And critically, he's the inheritor of a crazy, radical dream that'll shake the world because god knows One Piece loves to talk about inherited will/dreams/legacy.

One Piece's broadly radical leftist humanism isn't based in naïveté either; it's very clear that this liberation is preceded by endless failures. Joyboy fails to stop any of what happens and writes letters of apology, Roger dies before he can realize the dream, and all the while countless atrocities are going on with at least 3 Islands we know of and two whole races having their genocides all but done to completion. Kuma suffers immensely waiting for the Dawn, and effectively loses his life and humanity before it can come, still holding on to his belief in Nika. But none of these things will stop the coming of liberation. Every genocide and attempt to purge the politically inconvenient–Ohara, Flevance, the Lunarians, the persecution of the Buccaneers–leaves survivors or inheritors, with Law, Kuma, and Robin in particular playing central roles in saving or aiding Luffy, the bringer of Dawn. The purge of Ohara fails to destroy the records permanently. The fucking biblical infanticides at Baterilla and the end of Roger's bloodline doesn't stop Luffy from inheriting Roger's will and his brother's legacy. Luffy isn't so much a predestined messiah as he is the inheritor of a legacy of resistance and hope that cannot be killed because as long as someone lives, they will dream of the brand of hope and justice that he embodies. No matter how hard you try, or how violently you suppress people, how many legacies or bloodlines or rebels you put to death, people will survive and carry on those legacies or pick up where your victims left off because you can't kill ideas, you can't kill truth, you can't kill dreams, and you can't kill the basic human desire for joy and freedom. I think the "Child's Fantasy" thing we see associated with Luffy's dream is key to this whole mystery. Wano's the arc in which we get the closest, most explicit declarations of Luffy's ideals, in which his core motivation for defeating Kaido–besides helping Momo and his friends seek justice and overthrow an oppressor–is to make sure everyone in the country can eat their fill. It's the kind of thing you wish for as a child–an end to world hunger, world peace, homes for the homeless, an end to prejudice–before a thousand and one adults feed you the lie that it's impossible to redistribute resources, that being crushed by hierarchical oppressive power is natural, or that some people are undeserving of life or basic rights and therefore deserve to be harmed by the powers that be. Before your parents and teachers and other people lecture you on the necessity of Authority and Capitalism and Hegemony or what have you and convince you that a certain number of people simply have to suffer and die to preserve the Proper and Legitimate Hierarchy, that the powerful deserve to be where they are and that victims of these systems deserve it. It'll be something very much like his hopes for Wano in the face of the oppression of Kaidou and Orochi, or the World Government creeping up on them afterward with Ryokugyu loudly announcing that the oppression of the have-nots is the rightful and good state of the world. It'll be a simple, basic hope for good things for him and his friends and all the great people they love, something perfectly possible and right and just and joyful that people have been raised to think of as an impossibility. A place where people can eat their fill, where there's water in parched lands, where people aren't being strangled by heavenly tributes. A world where they can be free. A reality where everyone can be happy, where dreams come true.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

You're A What Now?

Just some silliness and then angst with Ghostbusters König because I can't commit to one genre.

TWs: Discussion of Nazi occupation of Austria, Nazis, Graphic Descriptions of Violence

Wordcount: 1.75 K

Story Below the Cut

Visuals [1] [2]

You're A What Now?

“DUCK!”

You dropped to the floor with a thud as the phantom screamed overhead.

“SHOOT”

ZAP!

You could see the electricity arcing overhead in great bright branches of lightening, scouring the wallpaper a charred black as Horangi wrangled the proton blaster under control.

“Nikto she’s coming your way!” Roze screamed over the sound of crackling lightening.

“On it,” a heavy Russian accent called back as a hulking machine of a man barrelled down the hallway, “south entrance clear!”

Horangi spit and hissed like a barn cat as he leaped over a broken chaise-lounge to dart after the phantasmal spectre, nearly tripping over you in the process. He looked down at you and barked, “On your feet, recruit!”

You scrambled to get your limbs under you as you watched the posse careening down the hall. You leaped to your feet and ran up behind them.

Okay, so, as of your first day on the Ghostbusters team, you can officially say that you believe in ghosts. Damn your lifelong skepticism, you weren’t going to fuck around and figure out just how bad a possession was gonna be on your first day.

You slammed into the wall before crashing into the kitchen where Roze, Nikto and Horangi were all running around like they’re heads were lopped off. You nearly missed it, but König was ducked in the corner with a screwdriver in his hand, cursing under his breath in his other tongue as though he could peel wallpaper with his venom.

“König where’s the trap at?” Horangi ducked under a piece of antique china being thrown his way.

“I-Verdammt-There’s a problem!” he called back.

“We don’t got time for problems, big guy,” Roze bellowed as she zapped the ghost with another blast.

“Then make time!” he spat before turning back to his tech.

“I thought Germans were great mechanics!” you yelled as you joined Roze with your own proton stream.

For just a brief moment, everyone in the room stalled. A plate crashed against the side of Horangi’s head, breaking the tension.

“Did you just call me German!?” König rose up to his feet as though he were a wraith himself.

“No no no not the time König!” Roze growled as she wrestled with the ghost.

“Now’s the perfect time!” König crossed his arms as he widened his stance, “I will not tolerate this clear display of intolerance and xenophobia from our newest recruit!”

Nikto took the opportunity to snatch the trap from König and got to working on it himself.

“I am not a German! I am not of such inferior breeding!” König crowed proudly as Horangi jumped over a flying chair.

“I thought you said the recruit was the xenophobe over here,” Horangi ducked behind an overturned table.

“Germany is a country of thralls and ignoramuses! The entire nation is devoted to blood and genocide!” König stamped his foot for emphasis, “I will not allow such a people to overrule my homeland any longer!”

“It was a brief occupation during Nazi Germany,” Nikto was barely legible over the sound of the spirit being slammed into a wall.

“And we will never forget!” König pumped a fist into the air defiantly.

“I’m sorry!” you wailed as you threw yourself behind the table with Horangi.

“Sorry is not enough! What, do you think I am some sort of Nazi!?” König spat.

“Your grandfather nearly was,” Horangi drawled blithely as he ducked behind the table to avoid a flying toaster.

You, Roze and Nikto all stopped what you were doing to look at König. Even the spirit stopped her struggling to watch the 6’10 scientist turn redder by the second.

“YOU SWORE TO NEVER SPEAK OF THAT.” 

And with that, König vaulted the table to lunge at Horangi.

“Get off me fatass!” Horangi growled as he hoofed König in the gut.

"Shut up you slimy little shit!"

"Tasty," Nikto drawled sarcastically.

Seeing an opportunity, the ghost quietly phased through the back wall of the kitchen while Nikto and Roze were distracted. You only noticed because you were watching Nikto drop the trap to try and haul König off Horangi, only to trip on the slime left behind and fall face forward onto the others in a cluster-fuck of legs and arms.

“Get off of me you commie bastard!” Hornagi howled as he thrashed at the bottom of the pile.

“Stop your squirming, I can’t get up!” Nikto snapped back as he tried to extract himself from the group.

Roze dropped her proton blaster back into its sheath before lumbering over to help Nikto get back to his feet while you stooped to extract Horangi from König’s grasp.

Once the group had all gotten to their feet, Roze sighed and stepped back before tapping the side of her headset, “Okay so, we lost track of the ghost.”

“What?” Hutch’s voice came through the static, “how? You were right there.”

“König had a shit-fit,” Roze grumbled as she stalked down the hall, “can you follow the readings through the house?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Hutch replied before the line cut.

You watched as Horangi wiped himself down as he shook the dust from his back. He looked at you, one of his spectacles cracked but somehow miraculously intact. He looked at König, who was doubled over wheezing while the adrenaline left his system and the pain from Horangi’s kick sunk in.

“You owe me a coffee,” Horangi joked, clapping your shoulder before following Roze and Nikto to the next room.

This, of course, left you alone with König.

You awkwardly nudged over to the door, worried that the man would clobber you next but he stopped you with one raised hand.

“Ah, recruit, I’m sorry you had to see that,” König huffed and puffed as he slowly drew himself to his full height again, “Gott in Himmel I’m getting too old for this.”

“I mean, you still seem pretty young,” you offered him politely.

“You’re too nice,” König hacked and heaved, “mein Gott, I thought he was a physicist, not a damn kickboxer!”

“Yeah, it looked like it hurt pretty bad,” you chuckled.

“I think I might need a minute,” König righted a fallen chair and plopped down onto it. Without a word, he pulled up a second and patted the seat, leaving it empty for you. You tentatively took the seat, a bit concerned the man beside you might keel over any minute.

“Sorry about getting so upset,” König sighed, “I just… Ever since coming to America, everyone here calls me German! Everyone! It’s not too hard to notice the difference, is it?”

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever met an Austrian before,” you told him.

“Really?” König sat up to look at you, “how long have you been in this city?”

“Long enough to know there’s not many Austrians here,” you laughed.

“Well, then consider me your first,” König determined, “but yes, um, I’m sorry about making such a fuss. I just… I cannot stand being called a German. Those damned Germans…” he shook his head, “never forget.”

“Never forget what?” you asked.

“The occupation,” König said, “Austria used to be a part of Germany, but it separated in 1866. Then Hitler comes around and he drums up all this Nazi support and tricks my people into falling for his lies. Then, he comes and steamrolls my country.”

“So there’s still a lotta tension, I’m guessing?” you tried to make a joke, but it fell flat on its face.

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” König said, “but I guess I don’t hate them that much. I just hate how everyone calls me German! I’m not a damn German, I’m an Austrian! My family’s been in Austria for generations! It’s like no American knows how to look on a damn map.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

“And how would you feel being called a citizen of a country that once tried to crush you beneath its boot? My poor Opa… Well, you heard Horangi,” König spat.

“He was a Nazi?” you cringed despite yourself.

“Nearly a Nazi,” König swiftly corrected you, “he was a good soldier once, but he didn’t respect the Germans or what they stood for, so he broke his own leg to stop Hitler's men from sending him to war.”

“Wait, really?”

“Oh ja, but he was worried that might not be enough. So, he took on a new identity and moved across the country,” König explained, “he first tried to be an accountant, but he couldn’t do math so good so he went to go be a mechanic in my village. He used to be a panzermensch, so he was able to take some of those old skills he learned to get by.”

“Did anyone ever figure out who he was?” you asked curiously.

“Only one person,” König shrugged, “my Oma.”

You chuckled, “So he married her to keep her quiet?”

“Not then and there, but he did promise her that he would one day,” König snickered, “so they stayed low until Austria became independent again. Then my Opa took back his old name and married my Oma.”

“That’s really cute,” you smiled brightly.

“They were very cute,” König agreed, “but ja, if it weren’t for the Nazis, my Opa could have been a much richer man. The work in the village did not pay well, but he could have earned good money in the army. Mein Vater did not grow up with much, and he didn’t make much more for us when he married meine Mutter.”

“So Germany really fucked up a lot of your life,” you concluded.

“And then people go and call me German! It’s…” König sighed, “I do not like it very much.”

“Makes sense,” you nodded and leaned forward on your knees.

The silence between you stretched on forever, but a part of you never wanted it to end. There was something comfortable about being able to just enjoy the quiet with a man like König. Something about how he filled the space of the room left little space for conversation to try and shake the solid grounds you both stood on. It wasn’t like you often had a chance to talk, and when you did it normally was curt and strained in tone. This moment was a welcome break.

“Alright you two,” Hutch’s voice crackled through your headset, making you nearly jump a good five feet out of your seat, “the other guys need some help setting up that trap.”

“On it,” you replied as you dusted yourself off.

König stretched up beside you, hitting the ceiling with his hands before slumping back down.

“You ready?” you slipped the safety off your proton blaster.

König nodded and pulled his goggles back over his face.

“Alright,” you grinned, “let’s go bust some ghosts.”

AU Masterlist

[thescarletnargacuga]

We've had mother and son bonding with Pomni and Cade. Now how about some father and son time? It can be silly or sad, I just really enjoy seeing the little muppet boy.

A/N: Cade deserves something nice after the last couple stories involving him in peril

REACH OUT

A HARLEQUIN AU ONESHOT

AU credit @iamespecter @tadc-harlequin-au

WARNING: none

~~~

Deep in the basement depths of the manor lies Caine's workshop. A cavernous room full of equipment for designing and engineering inventions from the mind of the puppetmaster. Everything from watches and weapons to puppets themselves have been developed in that room. Most days, Caine retreats to his workshop for solitude with his thoughts, but today he brought a little helper.

For the first time, Cade was allowed to help his dad tinker. The young puppet sat on a tall stool, waiting for his dad to give him a task. Unable to keep still in his excitement, Cade fidgeted in place, but kept his hands to himself. He didn't want to touch something he wasn't supposed to and get kicked out on his first real visit to the workshop.

Caine focused on a small actuator, using his own energy to power the tools to construct the piece. He set down one of his tools and held his hand out to Cade. "Hey, be a sport and hand me the soldering needle?"

Cade snapped to attention on the stool and looked around the workbench. "Uh! Um....the sodder needle? This?"

Caine held in his laughter. "That's a wrench."

"Oh, sorry. Is it, uh, this thing?"

Caine snorted. "That's a screwdriver. Are you doing this on purpose?" He teased.

"No! I- I can find it." Cade searched furiously for what he thought could be the tool.

Caine picked up the tool that was right next to him. "This one, champ. It's pointy, like a needle."

"Oh." Cade sat back down and crossed his arms in a huff.

Caine pat Cade on the head. "Don't worry about it. You'll hand me the next one." He went back to the project at hand. Blue electric energy flowed through the tool, creating a tiny arc and soldering small parts in place.

Cade watched his dad with wide eyed fascination. The power of soul magic so effortlessly wielded was what he hoped to one day achieve. It was the coolest thing in the world. "How do you do that?"

"Do what, son?" Caine asked without looking up.

"What you're doing. The blue light. How do you make that do what you wanted to do?"

Caine stopped, contemplating how to explain soul magic in a way Cade would understand. "Your soul magic is an extension of your will. If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen. I want to power these tools to help me build the actuator. So I make it happen."

"But...how?" Cade featured with his hands in confusion.

"Practice. You have to really dig deep down inside yourself and find the inner strength to mold reality to your will."

"Wow. Sounds hard."

"Sometimes it is. Like I said, practice. Here," Caine picked up a spare lightbulb from a parts box. He held it by the conductive metal and it glowed bright blue in his fingers. "This is a very simple exercise. Will your energy to flow through the lightbulb to make it glow. Careful not to squeeze it too hard."

"Okay!" Cade held the lightbulb with both hands and stared at it without blinking.

Caine watched for a moment before going back to what he was doing. He finished the actuator and moved on to another part of the project at the workbench. "Your new toy is coming along nicely-"

"SHHH!" Cade shushed dramatically.

"Sorry." Caine said, smiling to himself.

Several minutes went by. Cade narrowed his drying eyes at the lightbulb. He wanted it to work! His dad made it look so easy. He twisted and turned the bulb. He changed hands. He tried everything he could think of. "Ugh! What am I doing wrong?"

"You're reaching with the wrong part." Caine turned on his stool to face Cade.

"Huh..?"

"Soul magic doesn't come from the hands. It comes from the heart." Caine pressed his fingertip to Cade's chest. "That is where all of you lives. To use soul magic, you have to reach out."

"Reach out..." Cade stared at the bulb again, even harder. "Reach. Out."

The bulb flickered yellow for less than a second. Cade dropped the bulb from being startled, but Caine caught it.

"You did it!" Caine stood and lifted Cade off his stool in celebration. "You actually did it! That's incredible!"

"I- I did it!? Wow! Can I show mom??" Cade wiggled in his dad's arms.

"Yeah! Let's go!" Caine rushed out of the room with Cade on his hip. "Pomni, dear!! You have to come see this!"