#amber saul

[thebluespacecow]

I am thinking up a new dc oc.....hmmmmm...yes...i am pondering.....(<- said guy with 3 dc ocs, a bit more than 5 marvel ocs, who fucking knows how many self contained ocs and 3 bnha ocs)

[z0mbie-d0ct0r]

Nacho's girls don't get enough love so take an Amber and Jo doodle... I love them <3

[fiinalgirll]

🔪 🦴 _WELCUM TO ACT THREE!!

amber! tw. for my page. ml ao3 music

paraphile , proshipper , WEIRD horror freak.. 🥩

! BLOCK IF UR UNCOMFORTABLE. IDGAF !

ghostface wannabe. ꩜ dms always open!!

amber freeman posting ノ irl , fictionkin

asks encouraged... be creepy :3

NO DNI. i just block ✃

[loadednachosao3]

this happened I was there

[eros-thanatos89]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60580969

better late than never…it’s my fic for day 5! Prompts: horror movies, gangbang.

AKA Nacho hosts a Halloween movie party that turns into a “Netflix and chill” party.

[queenofnots]

I will always be mad white lotus and euphoria have emmys and better call saul has zero. Hbo is my enemy.

[cleeeffa]

Rewatching better call saul...i wanna kno their story 🧐

[aeaeaexxzd]

where is their spin-off...?

[witch-of-the-west-country]

Rewatching season 6 of Better Call Saul. My headcanon is that Nacho's girlfriends, Amber and Jo, shack up together and eventually get married after they are shooed out of Nacho's place

[tsuiioku]

the dreadful need in the devotee — bungo stray dogs oneshot

content. f!reader. poetic prose, discussions of mortality and death, existentialism, suggestive themes, allusions to greek and abrahamic myth, romanticized unhealthy relationship dynamics, possible continuity errors. notes and translations at the end. not proofread. 3.8k+ words. ⟶ features fyodor dostoevsky. this work is a sequel to another oneshot! reading it's not a requirement, but is encouraged. this is also a collaboration with @yonseibananamilk! please check out her half of the collab ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

The fire of Pyramus danced within its hearth, the crackles a plea for freedom. Wooden shelves shimmered in a spectrum of amber hues. The light married abstract shadows with the spines of ancient books, stories lost to civilizations no historian could neither name nor describe. However, the harsh rays softened as they reached the two huddled on a sofa in the corner.

The domestic flame of your shared nocturnal nook chiseled at your features. Meadowed plains melded into the hills of your cheeks before they dipped back into low valleys nestled on the cusp of your nose or at the curvature of your cupid's bow. Fresh streams fringed the waterline of your eyes, fluttering lashes portraying the underbrush that beckoned him, barely obscuring the mystery hidden beneath the murky brook. Such a delicate canvas, framed with messy hair, made his sick heart thump at such vulnerable dishevelment.

You drank every word of your book with reverence while he could hardly focus on the one he held. The careful movement of your fingers as you turned the page tainted his thoughts into fantasies where they instead traced the expanse of his skin—it was repulsive.

But he dreaded an infallible demise the moment you chose to lay against him, not a thought to the difference in your stations. That heated sensation of unfamiliar tenderness, shrouded from the world, only to be acknowledged in an unimportant room in an unimportant place, thumbed him with a sentiment he could not adhere a title to. You were powerless in the scheme of everything that enveloped you, yet held no regard for fear or fate.

Instead, you smiled.

He hid the quiver of his limbs as his finger brushed the underside of your chin. Your face craned upward, and he realized he had been parched for a taste of the features he had so painstakingly mapped to memory. Your eyes closed with leisure as you leaned into his touch and—

He cracked his eyes, unable to open them as they strained to readjust to the merciless glare of his monitors, their caustic luster a stark contrast to the imprisoned fireside of his daydreams. His muscles cried out when he stretched. The quiver in his limbs recurred in spasmodic vibrations, worsening the cramp of his hands as he flexed them. It was a relentless ache that had become all too familiar to him.

You were a distraction. He had lost whole minutes of time to fanciful delusions with you and that damning grin of yours at the center. In his preparations, he toyed with the idea of dispatching you to a remote location outside the ire of societal destruction before ridiculing himself upon further examination. If another one of his subordinates had become such an issue, he wouldn't have hesitated to snuff them out—you had to be the human incarnate of temptation, the ultimate test of his faith.

Men who had traversed the path before him did not do so without trial. He had scrutinized the warnings their stories contained—Adam, Samson, Saul—men who had strayed from their noble path only to lose their kingdom. Fleshly pleasures lured many a good man to condemnation, for how could such sweetness be considered a mortal sin?

The fallen had once been beautiful creatures of virtue, and you were but a testament to the scars left in their descent. It was temporary—you and the fragmented thoughts your presence created would pass in years' time. He only had to be patient.

A knock at the entrance to his workspace interrupted his internal toil.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Patience would be easier said than done.

"Not at all."

Because you dissipated thought and reason from his frenzied mind the moment you blessed him with even a mumble. Your voice was the otherworldly harmony that strained atop his ballad of misery. Not the corrupt inflections he had become accustomed to over centuries of time, but rather a sincere, artless tune that only he was ordained to hear and that he alone could descry. He would only admit one fact—human companionship was a merciless mistress.

For he knew you were your happiest at his side as his right hand, but he could not understand the reason—it brought harm to your so-called "doorstep," and the workload was laborious at best. But even in this isolated instance, when the crooks of your smile didn't entirely brush the banks of your eyelids, a noticeable ease settled in your bones at the sight of him hunched over a desk. An ease he returned, albeit underneath the veil of his carefully crafted mask.

"The preparations for the cannibalism event are almost complete," you continued, maintaining an unusual manner of professionalism as you handed him a set of stapled documents and receipts. "I just need to receive your approval before sending out the orders." His eyes crossed each section without too much consideration for their actual contents, affirmed in his trust of your intellectual capabilities when it came to outlining critical components of his plans with the ire of a scrutinizing eye. 

"Thank you. These will do."

This was usually the time that you would dive head-first into a heated discussion about the latest novel from his collection or scurry off with a courteous farewell to complete the enormous amount of tasks you often procrastinated, but instead, you lingered. Your brows furrowed, locked in contemplation as your eyes stalled on his screens—schematics for his future "trip" to the European detention facility, Meursault. He cleared his throat, which luckily broke you from your daze.

"It'll be weird." You ran your thumbs across your knuckles, teasing at your bottom lip as you shifted from foot to foot. "Moving to a new hideout, I mean." The palms of your hands shifted to skim the dust and grime-coated surface of his barren shelves, toying with the clumps of debris that gathered on your fingers as your mind returned to its baseline. What did your thoughts stray to in times when they left you stranded, out of his reach, as they became more challenging to discern? He could only pray, in some twisted part of his dark mind, that they were a reflection of his own—then maybe those fantasies could be justified.

Outside his internal ramblings, he hummed lowly, acknowledging the truth behind that sentiment. Neither of you shared an attachment to the four walls that surrounded you—it was no home. It held none of the warmth or affection such a term required, though the idea of a home was foreign to you both.

Under those clouded waters, your eyes held a look he both adored and disdained. That muted hesitation had returned, like a criminal stood on trial, unable to utter a word of the truth lest they condemn themself. And you knew too much and said far too little. If you would surrender to your impulses, push him or pull him close so that, in some fashion, his conscience could be alleviated and he could refocus—but it seemed you were stuck within the same cycle of indecision.

You parted your lips, faltered, and closed them again, second-guessing yourself as you fiddled with your fist. But upon further inspection of your nervous disposition, he spotted an object that had been hidden in your back pocket. A book. He raised a brow as you slowly pulled it out.

"You've offered me so much reading material in the past." You handed him the book. Its cover was weathered and cracked; a once vibrant hue faded into a dark, timework brown. The delicate, diaphanous golden letters that spindled across the spin dulled with age but continued to catch onto the fluorescent light. "So I thought I'd return the favor. It's a book I've had for as long as I can remember."

"Poetry?" He couldn't withhold the amusement in his tone. You were such an adorable little woman—his heart squeezed in indescribable fondness at the incredibly fitting genre. The book cradled in his hands was even more charming, if possible. Several translucent tabs and disorder marks stacked the contents of the book, defining a distinct difference from his own analytical annotations. Part of him wanted you to leave sooner so he could delve into the contents away from distraction and be allowed to soak up every delectable notation.

"For wherever you plan to go. I hope you might find some use out of it." Your face softened. "I know it's helped me."

He huffed but knew that he was ultimately endeared. "Thank you, моя дорогая. If you enjoyed it, I'm certain I'll find it an enticing read."

A tremor trickled down your spine at the unexpected sound of his mother tongue. His thick accent sounded like velvet to the ears, but you quickly nodded and sent him the courteous farewell he had initially expected—but he couldn't allow you to leave without answering one more question.

"Which one should I read first?"

You paused, prodding the question around in your mind. The answer you stumbled upon was bold, and you contemplated your choices as your nails methodically drummed across the doorway's threshold. It was a risky choice, but one you had to take.

"Browning's Sonnet 22." Your expression could have locked him there for eternity. "It's my favorite."

And you left. You left, and indecision haunted him once more.

An abhorrent, unsightly torpor flooded within him like the Neva itself, the warmth of the Russian summer smearing any presence of intellect or acumen from his person. His limbs lay heavy from the sweltering heat as the underbrush tickled at his perspiration-laden skin, allowing him a momentary reprieve as he observed the breeze push against the bountiful flora that edged the bank of a creek older than he was in a homeland he had no way to return to.

"Федя."

He roused from the rush that engulfed his body and replaced his idleness, his mind ravenous at the mere whisper of such an intimate, almost forbidden name. Soft hands replaced the roughened roots of creekside plants, trailing his arms until their owner came into full view, beckoning him to lean forward with the purse of your lips.

You were somehow even warmer than the summer sun, and he melted like a tempered candlestick at your sheer touch, lips chasing your own as you drew away with a smirk and a laugh. The collision of your bodies onto the hardened ground drew the breath from his lungs, but he allowed himself to find it once more in your embrace, nose buried in your neck as he resisted the urge to indulge in mortal temptations and simply allowed himself to revel in the innocent embrace.

"Федя," you cooed. Your hands roamed the expanse of his hair, outlining the edges of his nape in a rhythmic motion that started to lure him into a dreamless sleep. 

That was until the sensation started to fade, and he felt the familiar stomach-dropping sensation of falling. His eyes shot open as the idyllic naturistic scene dissipated from view to leave a void. Only you remained, but he paled as even you started to fade, reassuring him with a pitiful smile that he had become far too acquainted with.

"I'm sorry, Федя. You'll have to go one without me this time."

Your presence melded until your touch was like the chill of an algid frost—it was like the expiration of a dying star, crumbling in on itself until it rematerializes once more. From dust, you came, and to dust, you shall return. The contact was the biting notion of where and who he was, with every incapability and flaw that marred his flesh. It whipped at his skin, burned at his eyes.

He shook as you slipped through his fingers, drifting out of his grasp as he looked around for something to hold onto, anything to help either of you escape from—

"That must be a pretty good book you've got there."

The blinding aura of his circular cell was not a sight he wished to become accustomed to, the chamber he had been "forced" to occupy with the French prison. And to his utter dismay, it had been the lousy half of the Port Mafia's former Double Black that had stirred him from his waking nightmare, Osamu Dazai. The bandaged man looked like the cat that had caught the rat; his eyes narrowed as if he had finally pinpointed the Russian's weakness. An unseemly smirk drew across his pale face.

"You've been staring at the same page for the past five minutes, Fyodor," the detective crooned, splayed on on his bed with his head dangling at the side at an uncomfortable angle, almost like he wasn't locked in a high-stakes match of chess. "Your eyes haven't moved an inch. Leaves me to wonder what could possibly be so enticing about that book. You should lend it sometime!"

"I'm simply concerned for the well-being of your fellow agents," Fyodor sneered cooly, allowing his demonic mask to slip back on with his signature smirk. "I just can't help but worry for them. I'll be sure to pray for a swift, painless demise."

"Hmm, I'm sure."

But the suspicion of the detective didn't matter. Fyodor had ensured that you had no connections to one another, and your identity was completely erased once you went underground years prior. So, for the time you remained hidden, you were safe, and that terrible concoction of his mind would not come to fruition. You were in the midst of correcting course on any minor deviations from his plans if the smoothness of his operation was a testament—but in other moments between consciousness and sleep, he wondered if you shared these same thoughts. The split seconds that expanded into hours of dreams he wished never to wake from. 

He couldn't help but linger on the horrific scenario that cast an ever-present shadow over his every thought. It was a possibility, and he shuddered to think of the notion that it would someday become a reality. But this was his one opportunity, and he wouldn't waste it.

He glanced down at his book. In truth, he wasn't much impressed by the pages anymore. This was one of the many books with copies in his personal collection, but it lacked the vitality he had become attuned to. It had been your book of poems that revitalized him, yet he was unable and unwilling to bring such a valuable item into a place such as this. He would not risk the desperation of his opponent at finding his weakness, nor the capabilities of the Special Division for Unusual Powers in finding a connection to the book's owner—so it was contained somewhere safe and sound, where no one else could find it.

That book had opened a separate world that consumed him, body and soul. But that poem that you had recommended—you were quite the romantic, weren't you? His face had flushed during his first reading and the several times after it, though your annotations were even more telling. But it only made the pressure on his heart increase, and he swore it would implode. Perhaps that was an underlying medical condition of his previous host.

And for the first time in centuries, he wasn't quite sure what he would do when he saw you again.

You dislodged yourself from the rubbled remains of the airport, fortunate to have been located further from the destruction Ame-no-Gozen created. The walls around you stood firm, but the roof caved in from pressure above, leaving only a sliver of room to escape to the intact remainder of the roof. Your hands ached and blistered with every inch of your ascent, halted as you took time to cough out the debris that generously clustered at the bottom of your lungs. You looked utterly worse for wear but couldn't find the time to mind given the circumstances.

After what seemed like hours of excruciating climbing, you made it to the top—but, of course, the fabric of your pants decided to snag onto a metal panel that had stubbornly remained intact.

"Oh, come on," you groaned, sitting down to tease and tussle with the ornery piece of cloth. It had been a restless last few weeks, and you simply wanted to sleep. You huffed as the shrapnel decided to release its grasp on your pants, but as you were about to stand back up, you took notice of the shadow before you.

There he was.

You could recognize Fyodor's striking eyes anywhere, even when he was clad in the attire of a fresh body without his signature hat and cloak, but you found that you didn't care much for the finer details when he was finally in front of you. His presence had formed a vacancy in your everyday routine, and for the first time in years, you found yourself completely alone. Even when there was work to be done and plans to create, the majority of his usual subordinates were killed as collateral—not that they had even been much company. But would you be forced to fall into the same line?

The question nauseated you, but you had known the possibilities when you took his hand for the first time. If there was a time for you to part ways, whether at his accord or your own, this would be it. This was your crossroads. But you knew as you slipped your hand into his, outstretched for you to take, that he wouldn't be letting go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part. It seemed your fears were unfounded since when you slipped your hand into his own, outstretched for you to take, you knew he wouldn't let you go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part.

You stood with his help, a contemplative tilt to your brow—but you couldn't stand the silence that continued to persist. So, in the echoes of his formulaic destruction, you allowed yourself to breathe. A release of that suspension and hesitation, unfurling your burden as you lifted your aching hands to cup his face, delighted in the widening of his eyes at the unbalanced scale between you tilted to the other side.

"Федя," you spoke, the sensation of the word foreign to your lips. A spark returned to his eyes as if you whispered the secret to raise him from the dead. "Are you alright?"

The wind rushed through him, breath tumbling with the breeze as it coasted along the metal platform you stood from. Despite reason pleading with him to run from your proximity, he instead chose to intertwine his fingers with one of your hands. He pressed kisses into the curve of your palm as he lined every scar and bruise with a tenderness that soothed your aches.

"I am."

He didn't need to utter another word—your brief separation had only strengthened your unified understanding of one another, with each crying gesture serving as the final touch. No more trials. No more secrets. The look in his eyes was one of stories. Eyes that had witnessed every dismal aspect of human nature, both in the past you shared, and in the past he traversed alone. But they had become worthless stories to him; the minuscule glimpses of resolution that had served as a sign from God of the promised end turned into the delusions of a desperate man as he found the reflection of the end in front of him—you. In every step he took since your destined encounter, you had been what he was searching for. His hope. His future. His reality. That fraudulent resolution was no longer at the end of a perilous tunnel but right before him.

You understood that the intimacy of your "relationship," with whichever label others tended to tack it with, could never be shared with another soul. Those voiceless, indulgent whispers and subtle, crinkled smiles were mere productions of your shared devotion. But more so, the hummed resonation of your souls spoke the loudest. They had remained empty for such stretches of time, so neither of you knew what to make of it when you somehow poured from your empty cups into the creation of a fulfilling bond. Your only comfort was the notion that this—this was the reason you were created. For each other.

He remembered the moment he laid eyes on you, the sensation that his long-time friend had turned foe, death no longer a temptation out of his grasp but a certainty he could not shake. Your straightforward disposition beckoned him, and he then understood why he had been made with a capacity for love despite acting as the immortal incarnation of its antonym. He had never once felt a need for fruitful devotion, not to some unseen voice from the skies, untouched by the heart and mind of humans, but instead for the one person who would take his heart to the grave with them.

He was immortal, whether by chance or fate, but it was your ability to shake off the temptations of fear that immortalized you in the end. Never once had you allowed your rift in mortality to halt the blossoming kinship between you, prodding at the walls of his solid foundations until they cracked and eroded over time. Fyodor chuckled—he thought he had a capacity for patience, between you were a godsend in comparison. He was the proclaimed "Demon of the North." The man sent to spread the wrathful will of God across the nations. So it was no wonder he had been so tempted when met with a force of benevolence, one which he had rarely witnessed and never known. He could never claim to be worthy of mortal worship when a creature like you stood before him.

You shivered at the sudden touch of his hands as they traveled across the exposed skin of your waist, soft despite his habits. They traced the contours of your figure like a sculptor transfixed on the finest marble. Time had not been merciful in his centuries alone—but it stilled for this moment. For the moment your lips met, and your odyssey was finally over. The spread of his touch was revolutionary, roaming with a cardinal fervor within this wasteland of human misfortune. It sparked a revolt within your mind—your union was taboo, but nothing had ever felt as destined to be.

The muscles of your face tendered as his thumb outlined the brushwood of your lashes. Your eyes drifted shut in a manner that wordlessly pronounced your insomnolence. He kissed a smile against your forehead as you parted, cradling your face as if you were his world. This was an intimacy that could not be replicated, and his mind shattered at the notion of loss.

"Never wander somewhere I can't follow," spoke the desperate man.

You flashed him a cheeky grin. "You won't be able to leave if you want me to stay."

He leaned in, lips close enough to brush. "I won't leave. Not ever again."

And he dipped back in for another taste, addicted to the ambrosial quality of your lips as he buried himself in the shrine of your arms. 

дорогая = dear федя = fedya

TAGLIST: @ruru-kiss @miloofc @osarina @meiluvrr @suru1990 @honeymoon38 @saeandscaralover @dazaisms @v4mpash3 @coffeeofsamu @just-another-crack-artist @snowsilver2000 @chyozai @justcallmesakira @little-miss-chaoss @himikoslove @osameowdazai @deepseafragments @aureatchi @tirasamu @kelperspelt @squigglewigglewoo @lovesick-fairy @zyilas @ishqani

a fyodor fic! very original for me, i know. nana and i planned out this collaboration months ago, and were luckily able to schedule it for the chapter release. again, please go check out her side of the collaboration! speaking of chapters, that update was certainly something. i'm intrigued to see the further development of atsushi and akutagawa through the end of this story arc, since it feels like they've switched roles in regards to the desperation, if that makes sense. and, of course, it was interesting to see fyodor express such strong emotion in reaction to atsushi, and i'm excited to see it unfold in the next installment! feel free to discussion discourse below :D

© MUSAMORA 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[marsprincess889]

NAKSHATRAS AS GODDESSES

1/27

🐎ASHWINI🐎

DISCLAIMER: This is based solely on my research and the patterns that I saw. I can't promise that I'm gonna be sure in all the coorelations, but I'm going to attribute each nakshatra a goddess that I think fits it the closest. If you're dissapointed, to make up for it, I'm going to list some other deities in the end that I think also fit the nakshatra. Don't come for me if you think I'm wrong, be respectful in the comments if you think so and have fun 🤍

While researching, at first it was obvious that no deity was as perfect for Ashwini as Ashwini Kumaras themselves. I still tried to search for a Goddess that would be most similar to this nakshatra's energies and I kid you not, I've found the exact goddess I was looking for. Definitely was not expecting this.

Saule

Pronounced "sow-lay"

Pantheon: Lithuanian

Name meaning: The sun

Main associations: The Sun, fertility, healing, helping women and children, red apple, gold.

Symbols: The Sun, apples, colors gold and red.

The Baltic people believed the Sun to be a disc, dancing and rolling around. Saule is the literal representation of the sun, who, not unlike the Greek god Helios, rides a chariot pulled by two horses. The horses are mostly described as white and sometimes golden, and they're called, believe it or not, the Asviniai. It seems that the word has an Indo-European root.

The deities assigned to Ashwini are Ashwini Kumaras_twin horsemen, depicted as young, healthy and handsome men who can heal people.

Like their power, Saule is associated with healing, regeneration and also fertility. She rides in her copper-wheeled carriage with her trusted horses, flying through the sky every day, bringing light and warmth to Earth. In regards to her appearance, she's frequently depicted with long golden hair, as well as being associated with gold and amber in general. She's described as being dressed in golden silk. Being the goddess of health and vitality, she had horses that would never tire nor sweat.

At night Saule would bathe her horses and go to the underworld. She was married to the moon god Menesis. Their first child was Earth, then followed other children: the Stars. It's said that her husband was very carefree, sometimes sneaking out of their castle in his moon carriage, thus leaving the world to darkness. Despite having a husband, ultimately, Saule is a sovereign and independent goddess.

As the setting sun, Saule is known as the falling red apple, a ring or a crown. She's strongly associated with the color red, and also apples and apple trees. Other plants associated with her are daisies, sunflowers, roses and linden.

Saule is honored every year at summer solstice.

I want to talk a little about why I coorelated her to Ashwini but first, I'll talk about the goddess extremely similar to her- Norse goddess Sol/ Sunna. She's also associated with the sun, healing, regeneration and has a chariot pulled by two horses, one of which is called Allsvinn (very fast), the other is called Arvak (early rising). Also, one of her many names literally means "Gold".

I think the association of these goddesses with Ashwini kumaras is clear, but I chose the Baltic goddess saule as to me the Baltic culture is more similar to Ashwini's energies than the Norse (You'll definitely see Norse goddesses in this series tho). Baltic people also have gods which are basically their equivalent of Ashwini Kumaras, twin horsemen gods called Ašvieniai. It's crazy to me that two cultures that you wouldn't think have anything in common basically share a deity.

Other deities that can be associated with Ashwini other than Saule:

Sunna- Norse goddess of the Sun, healing and fertility.

Ašvieniai- Baltic twin horsemen gods who have a gift of healing

Rhiannon- Celtic goddess known as "The Horse Queen", goddess of movement, leadership, the night, the moon and death.

Epona- Celtic goddess most strongly linked to horses (and you can tell by her name)

That's it for Ashwini🤍❤ I love my horse- people😅🤍 I genuinely do, there's no one like you guys, you are very healing and refreshing to be around. Keep going 🐎🐎

Don't forget to comment if u liked this or you can interact in any way .

[anmechokola]

Timeline of Events

(SPOILERS FOR UP TO CURRENT MANGA CHAPTERS)

This might not be interesting to anyone else, but we learn things in such a choppy manner and there is so much happening in such a long time period that I thought it would help me keep track of everything and hopefully notice possible connections in events.

I'll edit this as we learn new things.

...

Happened more than 1100 years ago, but unspecified when

People of the Moon (Skypeans, Shandians and Birkans) descend from the Moon to the Blue Planet (Enel's Cover Story)

Skypeans and Birkans stay on Sky Islands

Shandias found Shandora

Possibly happened more than 1100 years ago, unspecified when

Appearance of Devil Fruits

Creation of Ancient Weapons

5000 years - age of Ohara's Tree of Knowledge

4000 years ago - construction of Alabasta's palace

3000 years - age of the science facility in Elbaf

1000 years ago - Minks settled on Zou

900 years ago - Tontatta Tribe settled in Dressrosa, used as slaves by the Don Quixote nobles

900 to 800 years ago - Void Century

Great War between Ancient Kingdom and 20 Nations

Poneglyphs created by Kozuki Family (unsure if all were created at this time, but at least one was - Joyboy's apology at Fishman Island)

Shandora fell

At least one of the Ancient Weapons used (sea levels rising)

Joyboy died

20 nations became the World Government

Kozuki Toki first travels to the future

19 of the 20 nations founded Mary Geoise on top of the Red Line

Disappearance of Nefertari D. Lili

800 years ago - Riku family became rulers of Dressrosa and freed the Tontatta

700 years ago - World Nobles begin construction of the great structures Tequila Wolf, Vodka Wolf, Rum Wolf and Bourbon Wolf

500 years ago - Oars the Continent Puller created his Nation of Villains

400 years ago - Noland visited Jaya, Shandora ascended to Sky Island

300 years ago - Germa Empire conquers the North Blue for 66 days

100 years ago - beginning of the White Amber trade

63 years ago - Charlotte Linlin rampages on Elbaf, death of Jorul

52 years ago - Brook and the Rumbar Pirates leave Laboon with Crocus at Reverse Mountain

(By 49 years ago Brook was already alone and revived in the Florian Triangle)

44 years ago - Kaido joins the Rocks Pirates

42 years ago - Shakky leaves the Kuja Pirates

41 years ago - Mountain God Incident in Wano

39 years ago - formation of MADS (Laboratory for Peace) led by Vegapunk and including Ceasar Clown, Vinsmoke Judge and Queen the Plague

38 years ago - Rocks Pirates defeated by Roger pirates and Garp on God Valley

36 years ago - creation of Stussy, the first human clone, by MADS

34 years ago - Kaido is taken to Punk Hazard and later escapes with King

26 years ago

dissolution of MADS by the World Government

Vegapunk denies Clou D. Clover assistance in researching the Void Century

25 years ago - Roger pirates arrive at Laugh Tale

24 years ago - execution of Gol D. Roger at Loguetown; beginning of the Great Age of Piracy

22 years ago

destruction of the island of Ohara

formation of the Revolutionary Army by Monkey D. Dragon, Bartholomew Kuma and Emporio Ivankov

20 years ago

execution of Kozuki Oden

Saul founded Walrus School in Elbaf

16 years ago - Law escapes Flevance and joins the Don Quixote Family

15 years ago - Fisher Tiger frees slaves in Mary Geoise

14 years ago - Loki (supposedly) killed King Harold of Elbaf

13 years ago

Boa Hancock becomes Empress of Amazon Lily and a Warlord of the Sea

Luffy eats the Gomu Gomu Fruit

Law eats the Ope Ope Fruit (possibly, unspecified exactly when)

12 years ago - death of Fisher Tiger

10 years ago

execution of shipwright Tom, builder of the Oro Jackson

death of Queen Otohime of the Ryugu Kingdom

Doflamingo takes over Dressrosa from King Riku

6 years ago - Loki imprisoned in Realm of the Dead by Shanks

4 years ago - Punk Hazard is shut down after Ceaser Clown releases his toxic gas on the island

[loadednachosao3]

Amber and Jo be like

[amberdagger]

⫘⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⫘

amber, 23, they/she, new zealand

capricorn ☼ / aquarius ☾ / aquarius ↑

my blog doesn’t really have a theme, i just reblog stuff i like and also every thought i have all day

some things i like are : elliott smith, jackass/viva la bam/wildboyz, horror movies (saw is my fav), house md, succession, breaking bad/better call saul, barry, kyle gallner, leigh whannell, rory culkin, alice in chains

my asks and dms are always open i love interacting with folks on here! i also love tag games and ask games <3

[pynkhues]

Would you be into a good girls spin off? If so what would you like to see in the spin off? Would yuu like it to focus on a certain character or all new cast? What are your thoughts?

Yeah, I think I would be! I don't mind a spin off (I certainly infinitely prefer them to reboots generally speaking) and I do think one of Good Girls' strengths was in creating and casting really strong, fun supporting characters that teased out broader storyworlds or created more texture in the main one - Turner, Mary Pat, Mick, Nancy, Diane, Amber, hell, even Nick, Fitzpatrick and Gail all were great examples of this.

I tend to think spin offs work best when they seek to expand on themes from their parent program but also create distance from the original show whether that be through setting, time period or characters. Better Call Saul did this brilliantly of course, utilising all three to hone in on Jimmy while also telling a story that felt both unique and intrinsically connected to Breaking Bad.

In that sense, I actually kind of think the best spin off for Good Girls would be a Sweet P's spin off. I think you could probably steep it in the not too distant future with Beth and Rio moving the operation out of the club (maybe they're on the move, which was Rio's earlier modus operandi) and the women who work there being left with the aftermath and maybe a new taste for crime.

Good Girls was always at its best when it leant into the way women couldn't beat the system - whether that be due to the way the cost of healthcare means a mother's told to watch her daughter die, or how income can dictate parental rights, or how the lack of social services to enable class mobility means women get trapped in cycles of poverty or trapped in transactional marriages because they can't survive on their own - and to focus on a highly gendered setting like Sweet P's offers the chance to deepen the exploration of that.

If Good Girls was about the invisibility of women, a show about women in Sweet P's could maybe focus on a specific type of visibility and what that means in a system that condemns any and all forms of sex work.

Plus I feel like any show set in the Sweet P's world could lead to some very fun cameos from all our faves, including the girls, and hell, we might even get to see someone finally kill Boomer, haha.

[noodleswithsoba-blog]

The Loup-Garou of the X-Men: Victor Creed Jr.

"All I've done is survive, I don't got any idea of stoppin' now."

Name: Victor Creed Jr.

Age: 16-20s. (Over the course of the story.)

Birthday: 1/1.

Height: 6'3"

Hair Color: Blonde, some dyed Black to feel closer to his Mama and Logan.

Eye Color: Bright, almost icy blue. Amber when in the throes of his instincts.

Relatives.

Victor Creed Sr./Sabretooth. (Father.)

Clara Creed. (Aunt.)

Luther Creed. (Uncle. Deceased.)

Saul Creed. (Uncle. Deceased.)

Silver Fox. (Mother. Deceased.)

Graydon Creed. (Half Brother.)

James 'Logan' Howlett/Wolverine. (Adoptive Father, Honorary Father, dude's stepped up.)

CW: Blood, Gore, Violence, all of it are here. As is Sabretooth tradition.

Backstory.

Born as an unwanted child, Little Vicky spent most of his younger years wondering why Mama had such strict rules. Don't go out in the woods, don't go into town without her, and never. EVER distrust your instincts.

Of course at the tender age of five, his Daddy showed up. Mama never looked more scared in her life. Although Mama never really showed much care beyond the bare minimum and sometimes worried over him, Vicky still cared for his Mama.

So when Mama told him to run, he ran and hid back in their cabin. He was five, had nowhere else to go. And his Daddy found him. Daddy was big, scary. Covered in blood and Vicky knew he was a bad man.

Mama told him. But seeing him in person? He was a nightmare. Kneelin' down and looking at him with amber eyes and a wide smile with blood in his teeth from the buckshot.

He wanted to play a game. Every year on Lil' Vicky's birthday, he'll show up and see how strong he's gotten. Similarly to Logan. But rather than treat it like he hates his son, he sees it as the ultimate form of love.

So Senior gave Junior a loving sendoff by making the game mandatory. This forced Vicky into a hard life of running away and trying his best to make himself scarce before his father hunted him down.

Of course this left a trail of bodies and indirect murders all over Canada. But then they stopped because Vic was taken into an underground fighting arena for mutants where from the ages of ten to fourteen he was forced to fight other mutants for survival.

Instead of making him more of a beast, Victor had guilt the entire time. So on his fourteenth birthday, he became a whirlwind of fury and killed those who imprisoned him and the other gladiators who didn't want to leave and even tried to kill him.

Senior came along and gave him a break. Proud of him for ripping and tearing just like him. Which was the opposite of what he wanted.

For the next two years, Victor became a logger in a tiny town hidden from most maps. His peace soon to be interrupted by his father...

Personality.

"You want me in a team? Me? The kid who can literally rip mosta everything outta joint and tear through you like paper?"- Victor trying to talk his way out of the X-Men.

"Y'all make me sick! All'a you with your holier-than-thou 'But mutants are dangerous!' bullshit! I just saw my friends almost fuckin' die out there to a squad of death machines! Ya got the power to end this, but now you just dig deeper. What's that ya believe in? 'Freedom?' Ain't none here." - Victor's view on the humans in power and how he doesn't like them.

"It's nice out here. In there... it's so loud. I can hear everythin' and it's too much. I... I just wanna go back to this."

Victor is somewhat similar to Logan when it comes to initial appearances. Surly, angry, gruff. But then there's a softer side that comes out more often than not.

He loves going out in nature, just... sitting at the edge of a lake and staring out at the water. He makes his intentions very clear. Mostly because his father taught him how not to be.

He doesn't have a lot of trust in people. Never had anyone to trust before. Because they'd end up dead before he could build that. Although he gets nervous when around newer people or scents he smells. Other times he's just quiet and observing.

He knows a lot more than his role on the team suggests. He's comfortable enough with his past to be clear about it. He was a product of something horrible, going through horrible things, it doesn't mean he has to be.

He knows that Xavier is from a place of privilege. So his perspective on the X-Men is that Xavier can only get some kind of experience from those from the streets and struggling with their powers so much.

Vic doesn't like the overlap between politics and mutant issues. It shouldn't be political when they're playing with the lives of people who just have powers.

He's pretty much Xavier's anger translator. Logan's too stoic and blunt, but Little Creed can rip people apart with words alone.

Vic feels responsible for his father's sins. Something Kurt helps him through, but he still feels as though he'll end up killing his father one day and wants to be alone when he does it.

That way nobody he cares about can get hurt. Initially he doesn't feel like he belongs anywhere, neither human or mutant. But then he gets attached to the X-Men.

Love Interests.

Jean and Victor have a connection. While she was the first X-Man he came in contact with other than Logan, Jean eased him into a routine.

She doesn't really coddle him, but she's very patient with him. She's often knowing what he's thinking before he does anything when Xavier isn't around which is why she's close by.

Of course, Scott and Jean aren't an item at this time, and Victor is very polite and not very territorial. It's not a love triangle at all. If anything the psychic bond just makes him and Jean understand who each other are faster.

It's very much a bond but they're casual about it. Jean doesn't want to push it and Vic wants to sit back and let her come to her own conclusions. If she wants him, she'll have him. If she doesn't, then he'll move on.

He doesn't want to make the decisions because he wasn't wanted, he wasn't needed, he just kind of lets his lack of self worth and high amount of self-preservation get in the way.

In short, he runs away from the only woman he's ever loved. Jean doesn't understand why. Even after she and Logan saved him in the wilderness, why would he ever willingly go back?

Hell, she gets angry with him. She can hear what he thinks and it's all Senior yelling all these things at him, torturing him over and over. She can't make him stay, his mind's rough even for Charles to navigate.

When the Phoenix gets involved she basically wants to wipe his memories of Sabretooth and Silver Fox and replace them with a manufactured reality.

In one AU, I almost want to write Vic and Jean as two of the first New Gen X-Men, brought in by Xavier and Logan. But I'm not sure.

Lorna Dane/Polaris.

To say that Victor Jr and Lorna's relationship is messy is an understatement. They were both gladiators in the same arena when they first met.

She was the one opponent that made Vic snap. She looked so scared and while it wasn't out of pity, more like out of being fed up with the killing and wanting it to stop.

Lorna admires Victor Jr, she's sort of radicalized by her father and wants to one day thank the boy that tore his way out of that arena and ran off into the wilds.

While he DID cut her a little, those scars healed and she understood that he was terrified too, or just doing what it took to survive.

She gets her chance as a crisis having Victor ends up running into her in New York City, confused and alone she takes him to her father as a means to help him.

She, like Jean, is a very sympathetic figure although she doesn't exactly understand what her father is doing, given that the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants is the militant branch and the humanitarian (Mutanitarian?) branch is completely different and under a different name.

If any of you have questions, feel free to ask them!