#and it's been marinating in me for a long time

[hope-for-the-planet]

I keep reading that 90-99% of the world’s coral reefs is set to disappear by 2050, and recently I’ve read that they’re set to simply go extinct by 2100. Is that true?

Hi Anon!

You've hit on a topic that has really weighed on my heart for a long time. While climate change is a big focus of this blog, the environmental issue that I started my career in, and the one that often hits me hardest, is the loss of species and ecosystems.

To lose an entire species that took millions of years to evolve is a terrible loss—to lose the entirety of one of the most diverse and beautiful ecosystems on the planet is an almost unfathomable tragedy.

While I am extremely hopeful that a lot of damaged ecosystems and species will be able to rebound and adapt with the right protection and support, for a long time I couldn’t see a world where coral reefs would be able to survive—because even in the rosiest emissions scenarios, ocean warming would pass the threshold that they could withstand.

However, recently our understanding of that seems to be evolving. The bad news is that there is probably no future where coral reefs are not irreversibly altered by climate change—we will definitely lose coral species and many reefs as they are now and that is still deeply awful. The good news is there is increasing evidence that coral reefs as an ecosystem can survive in an altered but still biodiverse and beautiful form for future generations.

This study from the Hawaii Institute of Marine Biology created simulated coral reefs containing a variety of common coral species as well as all the other organisms found in reef ecosystems and exposed them to different levels of warming and acidification for two years. Based on prior models and research, it was expected that all the corals would die and the mini reef ecosystems would collapse…but they didn’t. After two years, coral cover was reduced and there were changes in the amount of calcification in the corals, but the altered reef still supported high levels of biodiversity.

There have also been increased observations of coral surviving or even doing well in warming situations where they would be expected to be totally wiped out. Efforts are underway to study those reefs to see if those conditions can be replicated elsewhere, but the big takeaway seems to be pointing towards the idea that if we remove other more immediately controllable stressors from coral reefs—things like overfishing, physical damage, pollution, etc.—some or even many of them will be able to survive the warming effects of climate change.

Our understanding of how to maintain coral in human care and regrow damaged reefs in their natural habitat is also increasing at a very fast pace. This means that there is a good chance that we can keep coral species that would otherwise be driven to extinction alive either in human care or more protected areas and potentially return them to their native habitat once we have controlled other threats.

I don’t want to sugarcoat things—coral reefs are in a tough spot with regard to climate change and many big, iconic reef ecosystems will probably be unrecognizably altered. I do not want to downplay how heartbreaking that is. But life finds a way and the consensus seems to be moving in the direction of coral reefs not being as doomed as was previously thought.

If you want to learn more about this I would highly recommend this podcast from How to Save a Planet:

As well as this recent very cool interview between Hank Green and the executive director of the Coral Reef Alliance, Heather Starck (the interview starts at 2:17):

[sunandflame]

If your requests are open can you do corazon with a wife who is a captain of a pirate crew and her crew calls her mom and they start calling him dad

Captain Mom and Dad Corazon

Warnings: fluff, humor, domestic vibes, found family

Word Count: 901

Pairing: Corazon x Pirate Captain!Wife

crossposted on AO3

The first time someone on your crew called Rosinante “Dad,” he nearly choked on his cigarette.

Not that he smoked very often anymore—just when things got tense or when the crew docked at a particularly lawless port. Which happened often, considering you were the captain of a pirate crew, and he was a former Marine, technically dead to the world.

He’d been lounging on the deck that morning, long legs stretched out, coat draped haphazardly over his shoulders, pretending to read a newspaper upside-down because he was distracted watching you bark orders at the crew. There was this glow to you—equal parts strength and softness. Stern but kind. The exact thing that made a bunch of wild, misfit pirates start calling you “Mom” sometime last year.

You hadn't picked the nickname. You’d just patched up too many wounds, remembered too many birthdays, and screamed too many threats on behalf of people who barely knew how to tie their boots.

Rosinante thought it was the most you thing he’d ever seen. Loud, ridiculous, and completely heartfelt.

So when one of the younger crew members—a sharpshooter who still couldn’t grow a full beard—passed by Rosinante and casually nodded with, “Morning, Dad,” like it was the most natural thing in the world, he froze.

The sound of the newspaper crinkling and the cigarette rolling from his mouth was immediately followed by a loud, crash!—as the bench he'd been balancing on one leg finally tipped over.

You turned your head at the noise. “Rosinante? You okay?”

He popped up from behind the railing, hair sticking out in all directions. “D-Did he just call me—?”

You shrugged with a sheepish grin. “I mean… yeah. I guess it was only a matter of time.”

Rosinante blinked. Then blinked again.

And then turned a brilliant, scarlet red from ears to collarbone.

~~~

It didn’t stop there.

In fact, once word spread, it caught like wildfire.

“Dad, can I borrow your coat? Mine’s soaked.”

“Dad, we saved you the last dumpling.”

“Hey, Dad, Mom said we could go to the port tonight. You coming?”

At first, Rosinante tried to deny it. Hide behind corners. Mumble under his breath. Whisper, “I’m not your dad,” every time one of them beamed at him like he’d just given them a Christmas present.

But the truth was—he secretly loved it.

Because these people, these half-feral, too-loud, too-sincere pirates you’d adopted like stray kittens, they adored you. They’d die for you, follow you into a storm, cry if you stubbed your toe. And for them to look at him, awkward and towering and kind of a disaster, and decide, “Yeah, this one’s ours too”? That meant something.

He hadn’t been called something like that in decades.

~~~

The night they threw a “Mom and Dad Appreciation Party” was the night he gave up pretending.

Someone brought fireworks. Someone else made a cake out of questionable sea beast meat and frosted it with some kind of sweetened seaweed glaze. It was horrifying. You laughed so hard you cried.

He sat beside you, your shoulder tucked into his chest as the crew danced and sang drunk sea shanties under the stars, and for a moment he just stared at the scene—at the motley family you’d both somehow found—and thought, If this is what being ‘Dad’ means… maybe it’s not so bad.

~~~

Later, as the night died down and the younger ones curled up in hammocks or on deck with full bellies, you pulled him aside, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of spiced tea.

“You okay?” you asked gently. “You’ve been quiet.”

He smiled, a little dopey from warmth and exhaustion. “I was just thinking… I never saw this coming.”

You leaned against him, voice quiet. “The pirate part, or the fake children?”

“The… whole thing,” he admitted with a breathy laugh. “You. This crew. The way they look at me like I belong here. Like I deserve it.”

Your fingers brushed his jaw. “Rosinante. You do deserve it.”

He looked at you—eyes soft, lashes low. For all his height and strength, he still wore his heart too close to the surface sometimes. It made you love him more.

“They don’t call you ‘Dad’ because of me,” you whispered, forehead bumping his. “They do it because you take care of them. You make them laugh. You show up. That’s more than most of them ever had.”

He closed his eyes at your words. Held onto them. Held onto you.

And when he kissed you, it was slow and quiet, like saying thank you with his mouth.

~~~

The next morning, when someone tripped over their shoelaces and whined, “Dad, can you tie it?!”—Rosinante didn’t even flinch.

He crouched, tied the knot with surprising finesse, patted their head, and said in a gruff voice, “Double knot next time, kid.”

You leaned against the mast, arms folded, a crooked grin tugging at your lips.

“Look at you. Dad of the year.”

He turned pink again but smiled through it. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting. In fact,” you said with a glint in your eye, “next port, I’m getting you a mug. World’s Greatest Dad.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You know I will.”

He sighed dramatically, then turned back to help someone fix a broken lantern.

And all you could think, watching him move between your crew like a gentle giant, was this:

You had a home. You built one.

Together.

[isabeauwolf]

Merman Law x reader 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4: Rest

One of the many curses of being a member of your family was your sense of curiosity and adventure.

The fact that Law, a merman existed didn't frighten you.

No, it only fed your curiosity. The burning and selfish curiosity of wanting to look at the rest of his human form, now that he was fully clothed.

Licking your dry lips, sneaking a glance over your shoulder again. His back was still turned. Your eyes trailed from the top of his unruly inky black tresses, down his broad shoulders, his tall and lanky frame, the hint of muscle and his slime waist and his long legs in those light blue, black spotted jeans. Tilting your head you noticed that his ass was flat? Oh well, even if his backside was as flat as a flapjack that didn't stop you from admiring him to your hearts content.

The tattoos that littered his arms and peaked out from underneath his white tank top, or his inked fingers. It certainly added more to his attractive and hotness factor. The longer you ogled him the more questions you had swirling around in your head.

What was their story? Was it an ancient custom similar to the days of old when a warrior earned their mark of adulthood after winning their first battle? Or did he want to look cool and mysterious? Emo and badass? Both?

He said he was a pirate. A merman pirate, a Captain of The Heart Pirates. His crew, his pod matés. He said some were merfolk and some were human. Proving that he didn't discriminate.

Law's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "Are you done changing?"

You grew heavily flustered. "Not yet, one second." Oops. Shaking your head, feeling your whole body heat up with embracement.

Of course, Law had better stuff to do than stand around all day and let you admire him and ogle him like some Greek God statue! Oh, if Nami and Robin knew they'd tease you to no end! The pair of women, your fellow female crewmates knew you found men attractive, but for some reason you weren't attracted to anybody, which was odd. Marine or Pirate, nobody seemed to catch your fancy.

A similar and uncanny trait you shared with Luffy. So what in the world made Law, a merman any different? Well, besides the obvious difference in species. It didn't bother you. Luffy mentioned the gang going to Sabaody and Fishmen Island, you met Hachi and Cami, fishmen weren't anything new. You had seen mermaids, but... this was the first time you saw a live merman.

It made you wonder, if they were rare? Or had migrated to one of the other blues? Law and his pod came from The North Blue, one of the colder vast parts of The Grandline, if you remembered what Nami said.

Still many unanswered questions.

Fully dried and dressed in your borrowed clothes, you turned to face Law. "Okay, I'm dressed." The yellow and black hoodie had what you assumed was his jolly roger on it, it was soft and well worn. Must be one of his favorites? You thought.

Law twirled on his heels and your breath stilled in your lungs. To say your mysterious Merman savior was devilishly handsome before was an understatement. You noticed he had his Jolly Roger tattooed on his chest, along with more inky black swirls and patterns that you couldn't make out. What you could appeared to be heart shaped?

There was faint old wound or a scar on his arm as if it has been cut off and reattached? The scar tissue was paler than the rest of his body. It proved that he was a warrior of the sea and a survivor.

Glancing around the room once more. There are stacks and stacks of book, old and new. Oh, Robin would love it here. You giggle and grin to yourself. And me too!

A library under water? Who wouldn't love it!

Law broke the silence first, stepping closer towards you and then around you. "Feel free to look around." Law says. "I'll go fetch my med kit."

"Wait? There's more?" You ask in interest, following his retreating figure.

Law left his lips twitch. "Yes." He half turns. "This is my room." Nodded his head towards the bed. "You can relax on the bed, if you'd like." Fully stepped outside the room and down the hallway without glancing back. "Need to make sure you aren't injured too badly." He mutters to himself, underneath his breath.

You take a step forward, then pause. "Wait? Are you a merman, pirate captain doctor?"

Law paused, backtracking to meet your eyes. "What gave it away?" He raised a brow, lips quirking a tad. Seems his mate was reckless and overly curious, not that he had any right to judge after how you two ended up here.

Oh shit, that sounded way better inside your head. "I-" You falter, mouth opening and closing, trying to finish your sentence as he waited, listening. "I didn't mean to offend you." You blush even harder. "I'm sorry."

"Not at all." Law reassured you. "I imagine it's all new for you and unsettling. Getting caught in a storm, falling overboard, nearly drowning and dying on top of meeting a merman." He listed off, summarizing the events that led you two here. "Being dragged away from your crew and into my home." He paused, brows furrowing.

Well, he's certainly blunt and to the point.

Were you seeing things or did he look.... guilty somehow? Why? He saved your life. You should be the one who's awkward, floundering and traumatized.

"It's alright." You spoke, raising a hand to play with one of the strings on his hoodie. "We're both pirates." You shrug, playing it off with ease. "We face life and death every day, don't we?" You muttered, meeting his liquid silvers again. "Besides you being a doctor saves time calling for one, right?"

"True." Law admitted, nodded his head and continuing forward. "I'll be right back." Law won't admit it, but you were taking things surprisingly well. Most humans who faced near death experiences, let alone drowning or saw things they didn't see every day would be freaking out. He wondered, if you were hiding your true feelings or if he was lucky to have a partner who was calm under pressure? A blessing in disguise. Guess, only time will tell.

You raised you hand and waved. "I'll be here." You inwardly sigh and slouch, spinning slowly and walking towards his bed. It looked soft and inviting, you noticed the same color black and yellow spotted patterns on the thick blanket. Huh? Does he like spotted prints and patterns? You tilt you head and shrug, wiping your feet on the furry green rug and drying them before crawling into his bed. You groaned as soon as your body hit the mattress.

"Damn, this is soft." You close your eyes, snuggling further into the softest mattress and pillows you swear you've ever laid on. "I'm jealous." You mumble to yourself, feeling your body aches catching up. "Ow." You reopen your eyes, blinking and closing them. "Getting sleepy." You rub your eyes and yawn. "Maybe I should take some z's?" Another weird family habit was being able to sleep anywhere and everywhere, given your brothers and grandpa's ability to fall asleep while eating. "Hope Law doesn't mind?" Rolling onto your back, staring at the rocky ceiling as your eyes closed, your breath evened, and you slept within a matter of seconds.

Law quickly returned.

"I need to assess anywhere you might have gotten hurt while being thrown overboard." Law explained, coming back with a med kid in hand, and a stethoscope around his neck.

Instead of answer, he heard snoring. He glanced up from digging inside his medical bag, then his gaze softened. Oh.

Law continues further into the room, setting his equipment down on top of his work desk, grabbing a blanket, covering you and whispering. "Good night, my songstress." Hesitantly, he reached out and brushed a lock of your hair out of your face. The simplest of touches seemed to make his skin tingle and ignite as he shivered, his heartbeat skipped a beat, and he released a shuddering exhale. Oh boy. If his body was already this sensitive to your touch, what was he going to do when he had to fully examine you and touch you?

Law straightened, drinking in the sight of you wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed and finally in your shared nest. He was pleased, it felt right. Felt as if a missing puzzle piece had finally filled the void within his broken and beating heart.

The need to hold you in his arms, brush his lips against your skin, slowly, ever so slowly, Law felt himself lower and draw closer, his body moving on autopilot as he crawled onto the bed, hovering over you. His hands tightening and fisting the blankets, even as his full weight adding to yours on the bed, you didn't stir. Swallowing thickly, closing his eyes and shaking himself, reopening his eyes as his gaze lowered to your pump and kissable looking mouth.

Law breathed in your scent. The salt of the sea still clinging onto your skin as well as his mixing with your own. A rumbling purr of content left his chest, causing the doctor's face to blush a deep shade of red, backing away slowly, raising an inked hand covering his mouth and jaw.

He needed to calm down. He didn't want to scare you or make you hate him. No, never you.

Law strolled towards his work desk, sitting down and sighed. Closing his eyes again, running his hands through his hair. "God, this is as intense and soul altering as Cora-san said it would be." He muttered to himself, remembering when his adoptive father had found his own fated female thirteen years ago. Sinking further into his work chair, groaning in frustration and exasperation, he knew the blonde giant would be over the moon and happy for Law.

He could already picture the towering, grinning idiot giving him a smug smirk now. Bragging, a series of "I told you so's." The giant merman mentioned when he first started courting his female that when Law become of age, when he found his destined mate, he'd know.

Opening his eyes, immediately shifting onto your sleeping figure. He chuckled to himself noticing you had kicked off the blanket and your body had scooted down, and your limbs spread wide, resembling a starfish. He swears he heard you mutter the word, "meat?"

Well, looks like you would be hungry after you awaken.

Law swirled around in his chair, leaned forward, grabbing a pen and piece of paper, resting his elbow on the armrest, palm of his hand holding his chin, index finger tapping the side of his cheek. "If the enormous appetites StrawHat, Fire Fist and The Dragon Emperor are known for is true..." he mumbled to himself, writing down what he had stocked in the fridge and pantries. "Then I imagine their sister and my mate will need a lot of nourishment." His gaze shifts towards his hidden safe, filled with stolen treasure and loot or what lost jewels and gold he'd found in sunken pirate ships laying on the sea floor.

Not to brag, but The Heart Pirates had gathered a vast amount of wealth along their journey, not including what he had back home. "Let's hope my female doesn't have a queens spending habit on top of her hearty appetite." He hummed, scribbling down necessities you might need.

You couldn't keep wearing the same clothes. You could borrow his, he'd like it very much. Sneaking his clothes back after you had worn it and covering himself in your scent.

Law's eyes widened, feeling his cheeks grow hotter as his grip tightened on his pen as he glared down at the list. "Keep it together Law." His gaze softened, shifting to your form once more. "You've come this far." The Merman sighed. Placing his pen down and ran a hand down his face. "Can't lose her. Not after finally finding her."

----- End of Chapter 4 ----

Want more Law x reader? I've got you!

Law x Pregnant reader Law x Plus Size Nurse reader

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[bitchin-beskar]

not sure if you're still down for writing for them but can i ask for more sub!soap? that pussy drunk one has me slightly feral, just a lil foam out the mouth, ya know?

I am always down for writing for any of the cod bois. just because my brain decided to be mean and not allow me any motivation to write for like three years doesn't mean it didn't let all the thots marinate in there like delicious jar of pickles ready to be opened at a moments notice.

ANYWAYS

here's more sub!John 'Soap' MacTavish (with a heaping dose of praise kink and pussy worship on the side)

When your phone lights up, it’s late, far later than any of your friends usually text you. That’s the only reason you even check it, so unused to the sound of a text at this time of night.

But as soon as you see the name on the screen, you’re leaping to your feet. It’s from Soap, a little smiley face and soap emoji next to his name that you’d originally put down as a joke, but that quickly changed when you saw him blush bright red the first time he saw the contact you’d made for him.

The text is short, simple. He just landed, but in the mess of going on leave, forgot his keys back on base, and if it wasn’t too much trouble, could he stay at yours?

Almost as soon as you finish reading, another text pops up, and your heart sinks. It’s another message, Soap backpedaling as he apologizes for how late it is, that he didn’t realize with the time difference, and that he’s just getting a hotel, he’s sorry to have bothered you, and he hopes you have a good night.

You’re immediately calling him, already putting on your shoes and grabbing your keys.

“Bonnie, I’m so so-”

“John MacTavish, don’t you dare apologize.” You cut him off, striding out the front door of your flat and locking the door behind you, “Are you at your flat now?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and you actually check the phone to make sure you didn’t disconnect on accident.

“You don’t have to-”

Once more, you cut him off. “I want to. Are you at your flat?”

A sigh.

“Yeah, ‘m at my flat.”

You nod decisively, even though he can’t see you. “Okay. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He’s quiet, too quiet, and you feel a knot start to form in your stomach. “M’kay, bonnie.” He sighs softly, the tone of his voice almost… defeated. “Thank you.”

“Don’t gotta thank me for this, Johnny,” you murmur as you start up your car, pulling out of the parking garage and starting the familiar drive to his flat. “I’m on my way.”

~~~

When he gets into your car, Soap is subdued. He’s still in the rough canvas pants and scratchy shirts that are typical of base attire, and there’s scruff on his jaw, showing that it’d been some time since he’d shaved. But the most striking thing is how tired he looks. Soap has always been so energetic, even after the most grueling of missions. He’s usually a seemingly endless well of positivity, but now it appears that the well has run dry.

He greets you with a quiet voice. “Thanks, bonnie.” You can’t help the way you keep sneaking glances at him on the drive back to your flat, but he’s staring out the window at the passing streetlights, lost in thought. His hands are still on his thighs, and that makes you more concerned than anything else. Soap’s hands are never still.

The drive back seems like it takes twice as long, but eventually, you’re back inside, locking your front door as Johnny stands in your small entryway, looking somewhat lost, duffle dangling from his fingertips.

You carefully step around him, grabbing the straps of his duffle and tugging it from his weak grasp. Again, it speaks volumes about his mental state that he doesn’t protest. You press your fingers gently against his chest, urging him to look at you.

“Go shower, yeah? I’ll leave some fresh clothes out. You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

A weak smile crosses his lips, and before you can pull your hand away, he’s leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Wha’ would I do without ye, love?”

You smile softly back up at him. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out. Now, go shower, Sergeant.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says softly, turning and making his way towards your bathroom. You watch him walk away before heading towards your bedroom, setting his duffle inside the closet to be unpacked later. You grab his favorite t-shirt and sweatpants from your drawers, and set them on the toilet inside the bathroom once you hear the shower running.

It doesn’t take him long, it never does. When he emerges from the bathroom, cheeks flushed pink from the heat, clean shaven, and dressed in his comfy clothes, he looks the most like himself since you picked him up at his flat.

As soon as he sees you, he’s striding across the carpet, gathering you in his arms and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You respond eagerly, albeit slowly, not wanting him to feel like he has to rush this. You’ve missed him in the months he’s been away, and you’re not afraid to admit it.

You slide your hands through his soft, damp hair, the scent of your shampoo filling the air and sending a thrill down your spine at the thought of Soap smelling like you. You tug gently at his hair, and a low groan escapes his throat, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Love, please,” he whispers against your lips, hands slowly growing more frantic as he pushes up your shirt to feel your bare skin beneath his palms, like he needs more proof that you’re here and in his arms. “I can’t-”

“Shh,” you whisper back, going up on tip toes and pressing your body more fully against his, using your grip on his hair to tilt his head just so, kissing him deeper. “Take me to bed, John.”

A soft whine is pressed against your lips before he’s gripping your thighs and picking you up, holding your body tight against his as he quickly moves towards your bedroom. He moves with purpose, a soldier’s stride, quickly and efficiently navigating your flat without taking his lips off of yours.

It makes something warm curl in your belly, that he knows your home so well, that he’s so comfortable here.

He gently lays you out on the bed, eagerly crawling on top of you, resting in the cradle of your thighs as he trails kisses down your neck. You keep running your fingers through his hair, tugging gently and making him let out all manner of delicious noises.

“That’s it, baby,” you coo at him, slowly rolling your hips against his as you feel him harden through the sweatpants. “Go on, take what you need.”

He whimpers again, his own hips rutting desperately against yours as he tries to relieve the tension that must’ve been building for weeks. It’s abundantly clear that he’s reacting on instinct alone, and you use your grip on his hair to drag him up to you, kissing him deeply. He’s sloppy, messy, dazed, and you feel a swell of affection at how quickly you’re able to get him to start relaxing.

“Good boy, Johnny,” you sigh into his mouth, hooking a leg over the back of his thigh, encouraging his frantic grinding. “Come for me, yeah? I know you need it, so bad. Do as I say, baby. Let go.”

The high pitched whine that escapes his throat sounds like it hurts, but he obeys orders and comes in his pants, twitching violently as he clutches at the sheets on either side of your body, trying to keep his head above the tidal wave of sensation wracking his body. You don’t even care that you’re barely close, all you care about is getting Soap off as soon as you can. He needs this, you can tell, and you wanna give him everything.

Immediately, you’re whispering praise, stroking fingers through his hair and down his back as you try to calm his shaky breathing as he comes down from the abrupt high. He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel as tears drip from his eyes onto your skin, tension bleeding out of his muscles as he lets the cradle of your body support him as he can finally fully relax.

For a long moment, the two of you lay there, Soap crying silently against your skin as you run your fingers over every inch of him you can reach, as though your touch can wipe away all the pain and suffering he’s been dealt over the months he’s been away from you.

Eventually, his tears dry up, a few shaky inhales and exhales before he pushes himself up and away from your body, propping himself up with his hands. His eyes are bloodshot, but his face is less tense, the lines of stress that had been present on his brow cleared away.

“Bonnie, I-”

You press a gentle finger to his lips. “Don’t you dare. There is absolutely nothing to apologize for. You did exactly as I said.”

Even with the reassuring words, he still looks troubled. “You didn’t come,” he murmurs against your finger, silent apology clear in his tone.

You sigh, only slightly exasperated. “John, you know I don’t care.”

But he’s not to be dissuaded, not this time.

“But I do,” he says, pressing reverent kisses down your chest as he slowly makes his way down your body. “Wan’ ye ta come, love.”

“Johnny-”

But he won’t be dissuaded, and you honestly just don’t have the heart to turn him away, not as he finally seems to be coming back to himself.

It’s simple, lifting your hips so he can slide your shorts down your legs, a routine the two of you have done hundreds of times before. He still gets that same dazed look he gets every time, eyes flicking up to yours for permission.

You cradle his face with your hand, thumb brushing over a faded bruise on his cheekbone.

“Go on, baby,” you murmur, a small, sad smile playing at your lips. “Whatever you need, love.”

A broken groan escapes him, and he wastes no more time. You’re spread out so beautifully, just for him, and fuck, he needs this so bad he can’t even breathe.

His tongue slides through your folds, a deep rumble escaping him as he finally gets to taste you again. It’s been far too long since the last time, he fucking missed this.

You let your head tip back, whimpering quietly at the pleasure that surges through you as Soap seals his lips around your clit and sucks. He knows exactly how to drive you straight towards the edge of insanity, and it’s knowledge he shamelessly abuses.

He feasts on your cunt like he’s on the cusp of starvation. He hooks his strong arms under your thighs and then up over your hips, hands flat on your belly as he buries his face between your thighs. You couldn’t squirm away if you tried, as though you’d want to.

His mouth is warm and wet as he fucks you with his tongue, the sound of his feasting absolutely lewd in the quietness of your bedroom, but the only thing it does is turn you on even more. He’s entirely focused on you, and the intensity of his attention is almost stifling.

“Fuck, baby, I missed you,” you whine, fingers curling into his hair, tugging gently as you grind your hips against his face. “Missed your mouth too- oh!, yes, Johnny, just like that, please!”

As soon as you start talking, he doubles down, focusing his attention on your clit, sucking rhythmically on that senstive bundle of nerves until you’re damn near suffocating him with how tight you’re pressing his face into your needy cunt.

It’s clear he’s in heaven, though. Every time you try to loosen your grip, or pull him back, he whines, this pathetic little noise that vibrates through the very core of you, making you gasp and squirm.

“J-Johnny, fuck baby, you’re gonna make me come. Fuckin’ missed you, baby, missed how good you are to me, fu-uck!”

His pleased little hum makes a different kind of warmth spread through you, as you realize he’s finally coming out of that dark headspace he’s been in since god only knows how long. He takes your words to heart, stops teasing you and instead focuses on trying to get you to tip over that edge. He releases one of your hips, only to gently press a thick finger inside you, clearly delighting in the way you gasp and clench around the intrusion.

It doesn’t take long for him to be able to add a second finger, your slick absolutely drenching his hand, making the slide of his fingers far easier than it has any right to be considering how long it’s been. He’s quick to find that spot inside you, crooking his fingers in that come hither motion and stroking in time with your sobs.

“S-So close, baby, please!”

He lets out a moan, the vibration adding just the right amount of stimulation to make you come with a sharp cry, your legs tensing and your fingers twisting in his hair. Your back arches off the bed, but Johnny’s arm across your waist keeps you anchored to the mattress as you ride out your release against his face.

There’s a soft buzzing in your ears, and it slowly disappates as you come down from your high, and you can hear yourself babbling frantic words of praise and adoration at John.

“Good boy, fuck, good boy Johnny, thank you baby, oh shit you make me feel so good.”

He lets out a muffled sob, and begins to tentatively suck and lick at you again, careful not to cause you pain, but physically incapable of stopping yet.

Even as sparks fly up your spine, even as your body aches in protest, desperate for a break after such an explosive release, you stroke your fingers through his hair, and spread your legs even wider around his broad shoulders.

“That’s it, baby boy,” you whimper, eyes slipping closed. “Just take what you need. ‘m gonna give you everything.”

[hummingbird24220]

A part 2 with shanks and more swordsmith reader would be great! I think it would suck for any of the swordsmen if their swords got damaged in any way but it could be good angst (though I think only zoro would get emotional and only if it was Wado maybe law too, I think Yoru is to tough to be damaged and I don’t know if shanks’ sword has a name) but Reader being scared of shanks but just straight up walking up to Mihawks front door is hilarious.

hoohoh part 2 is here. Daddy Shanks time. Kinda all over the place but its just scenario ideas .

Enjoy :3

Sharp Tongues, Sharper Blades (Part 2)

One Piece x Swordsmith!Reader

You weren’t technically part of the Straw Hats.

You helped them sometimes. Fixed their blades. Teased Zoro. Mocked Law into drinking water. But most of the time, you wandered. You went where the wind (or talking steel) called you.

Which was how you found yourself on a quiet island dock one evening, minding your business—just admiring a sunset and eating a mango—when he arrived.

Red-Haired Shanks.

You spotted him from a mile away. The coat. The effortless presence. The “I accidentally destroyed a country but still get invited to parties” energy.

You promptly panicked.

You immediately stood up, dropped your mango, and bowed like you were about to be knighted.

“HELLO SIR. GOOD EVENING SIR.”

Shanks blinked at you like you’d just recited poetry in reverse.

“…Hi?”

You straightened up, hands at your sides, smile stretched way too wide. “I’m just—admiring the clouds. Definitely not hiding. Definitely not eavesdropping on the world’s most legendary pirate captain. No sir.”

Shanks raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“YES SIR.”

You were not okay.

Then you heard it. A low, dreamy voice in your mind, slow and soft like incense smoke in a drum circle:

“Heyyyy. Wow. You’ve got a cool aura.”

You froze.

You looked down at Shanks’ sword, resting on his hip like a perfectly normal, terrifying, world-ending accessory.

It sparkled faintly in the sun. You could feel its energy—calm, mellow, and incredibly high.

“You ever think about how swords are, like… just really long truths?”

You twitched.

“Don’t react,” you whispered to yourself.

“You’ve got chakra all tangled up in your left ankle. That’s emotional stagnation.”

You gritted your teeth.

“Also, have you tried mushroom tea? Really opens up the blade-body bond.”

Breathe. Ignore it.

“I once talked to a seagull for two hours. Changed my whole perspective on sharpness.”

Finally, you snapped.

“Oh my god, can you just shut UP for like, five minutes?! You’re making my teeth feel round!”

The dock fell silent.

Shanks blinked. “...Were you talking to me?”

You turned slowly, eyes wide, face pale. “No. No, sir. I mean—yes, sir. I mean—NOT ON PURPOSE.”

Shanks tilted his head. “You can hear my sword?”

You dropped to your knees so fast you nearly ate wood planks.

“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to intrude! Please don’t kill me, I know I’m technically trespassing, but I promise your sword is just really chatty and high and floaty and it will not stop telling me about its opinions on dream geometry—”

Shanks stared at you.

“—and I just wanted to enjoy my mango and now I think I’m spiritually allergic to sandalwood and also, again, please don’t kill me.”

Shanks just started laughing.

You blinked up at him in confusion.

He doubled over, one hand on his knee, the other wiping a tear from his eye. “You—you think I’m gonna kill you? What am I, a marine admiral?!”

You sat back on your heels. “...You’re literally Shanks.”

“So?”

“So your sword vibrates like a Tibetan singing bowl and won’t stop complimenting my aura.”

Shanks looked down at his blade, amused. “Yeah, she’s like that.”

“You’re doing great, Captain. Beams of intention, man.”

You squinted. “What does that even mean?”

Shanks offered you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you a new mango.”

You stared.

“…You're not gonna, like, challenge me to a duel for yelling at your sword?”

Shanks laughed again. “Why would I? Honestly, it probably needed that. It’s been on a ‘vibrational cleanse’ since Jaya.”

You let him help you up, still in a daze.

His sword hummed softly.

“I forgive you. Anger is just unspoken music, you know?”

You groaned. “Please stop talking.”

-

You were sitting on a barrel now, legs swinging off the edge of the dock, mango juice on your hands and a sense of lingering dread slowly being replaced by confusion.

Because Shanks? Was actually kind of a vibe.

He was sprawled on the dock like a dad on vacation, cloak tossed lazily over one shoulder, cup of something suspiciously fruity in his hand. You still weren’t convinced he wasn’t dangerous, but he hadn’t smote you for screaming at his sword, so… progress?

“So,” he said, sipping. “You travel with Luffy a lot?”

You blinked. “Uh… yeah. Off and on. Not really part of the crew, but I hop aboard sometimes.”

Shanks straightened slightly, eyes brightening. “How’s he doing?”

You smiled. “Loud. Hungry. Nearly broke a guy’s neck trying to befriend a mechanical crab. Typical Luffy.”

Shanks beamed. Like, full-on sunshine-beam. “That’s my boy!”

You stared. “…You’re really happy about that.”

He nodded, grinning. “Of course I am! I haven’t seen the kid in ages. Tell me more!”

And you did. You told him about Luffy eating soup off the deck with his hands because he dropped his bowl. About how he tried to give Usopp a crown made of seaweed. About the time he declared war on an island’s bread tax. And every story just made Shanks laugh louder.

Then he leaned back, stretching. “Alright, so you travel, you sword-speak, you Luffy-sit. What else do you get up to?”

You shrugged. “I... do therapy.”

He blinked. “You what?”

“With Mihawk’s sword,” you said casually. “Yoru.”

Silence.

Shanks stared at you.

You continued like it was nothing. “It’s a little intense. Very proud. Kind of like if a grand piano had a superiority complex. But we’ve made progress.”

Shanks nearly choked on his drink. “You give therapy to Mihawk’s sword?!”

“It needs it!” you insisted. “It brags constantly but clearly has a lot of unresolved tension from centuries of duels and being held like a declaration of war.”

Shanks was losing it.

He wiped his eye, wheezing. “Okay, okay, wait—you were terrified of me, bowed like I was gonna throw you into the sea, but Mihawk—Mihawk, who literally radiates ‘I will kill you for breathing too loudly’—he didn’t scare you?”

You tilted your head. “No? Why would he?”

Shanks fell over.

He actually doubled over on the dock, laughing like you’d just confessed to arm-wrestling a sea king for a sandwich.

You waited, blinking, unsure if he was crying or just joy incarnate.

Finally, he looked up at you, wiping his face. “I just—I can’t believe I’m the one who gets the ‘yes sir, no sir’ treatment, and that bastard gets therapy sessions.”

You sipped from your mango drink, expression flat. “You glow, Shanks. Like spiritually. I thought I’d die if I looked you in the eye too long.”

“Maybe I should start wearing sunglasses,” he muttered, still laughing.

From his hip, the sword hummed gently:

“You’ve got a very high-frequency soul. It’s intimidating. But like, in a nurturing tree-father kind of way.”

You groaned. “I am never going to survive this blade.”

Shanks grinned. “You’re surviving just fine.”

-

You thought you were out of the woods.

You thought, after screaming at his sword, oversharing about Mihawk’s therapy blade, and nearly crying over a mango, that you’d hit your peak embarrassment quota for the day.

You were wrong.

“Hey,” Shanks said casually, turning slightly so his sword shifted into view. “Would you mind giving her a once-over? Just to check for any damage.”

Your brain stalled.

“You—you want me to touch your sword?”

Shanks grinned. “You’ve yelled at her already. Might as well get to second base.”

You made a noise that was probably a wheeze. “Yes, sir.”

He unbuckled the sword and handed it over carefully, like he was passing you something sacred. Which, to be fair, he was.

The moment your hands closed around the hilt, something inside you snapped—not emotionally, but professionally. All your fear got elbowed out of the way by pure, focused swordsmith instinct.

You crouched down, rolled up your sleeves, and locked in.

The blade practically purred in your hands.

“Ooh, this is new. I like this energy.”

“Shhh,” you muttered. “Work time.”

You slid your fingers along the edge, testing for microchips, then ran your thumb along the ridge with exacting care.

“Spine’s got a slight imbalance. Nothing serious. Could be from a parry against a heavier blade. Finish is still intact, though…”

You shifted angles, holding the sword up to the light.

“…a few spots of rust beginning to form in the ridge vent, though. Probably from exposure to sea air without a sealant coat.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“And what oil are you using?” you asked sharply, not looking at him.

Shanks blinked. “Uh. Some stuff from a blacksmith in the South Blue?”

You looked up at him, judgment incarnate.

“That’s sesame oil, sir.”

Shanks frowned. “It smelled nice.”

“It’s for cooking, sir.”

You turned back to the blade, muttering to yourself as you wiped it down with your own cloth from your belt pouch, hands already reaching for a proper oil vial.

“Unbelievable,” you grumbled. “Legendary sword passed from generation to generation, and you’re moisturizing it with salad dressing.”

From your hands, the blade murmured gently:

“It was very aromatic, though. I smelled like tempura.”

“Not the point,” you snapped.

Shanks was watching you, brows raised, both amused and slightly alarmed. “You really know your stuff.”

You finished re-oiling the blade, wiped it clean, and pressed your palm to the hilt, murmuring something only the sword could hear. A quiet blessing. A whisper of respect.

Then, blinking like you’d just come out of a trance, you stood up straight and handed it back.

“…There. Good as new, sir.”

A beat.

Shanks stared at you.

“You called me ‘sir’ again,” he said, lips twitching.

You blushed. “Habit.”

“You just yelled at me over cooking oil.”

“With respect, sir.”

His grin split across his face.

“You’re weird.”

You bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

The sword whispered to you fondly as it settled back against his side:

“I like them. Can we keep them?”

You coughed and looked away. “Pretend I didn’t hear that.”

-

You didn’t technically sneak off Shanks’ ship in the middle of the night.

You left at dawn. That’s different. Sneaking implies guilt. And you were mostly just… tired.

Tired of being called “aura child” by his sword. Tired of hearing "good vibes only" from blades that had definitely seen war crimes. Tired of pretending Shanks didn’t terrify you just by existing.

Still, you left the Red Force with every sword onboard polished, oiled, and whispering contentedly like they'd just gotten back from a spa retreat.

You patted one of the crewmates’ twin sabers on the hilt as you passed. “Don’t forget to oil the tang, not just the edge.”

“Tell them to stop using me to open bottles!” the saber wailed.

“I will not,” you muttered.

The last to see you off was Shanks himself, who leaned lazily against the rail, one hand raised in a casual wave, grin too sharp to be comforting.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” he called.

You smiled with forced calm and mild trauma. “Very sure, sir.”

“Suit yourself! My sword says you’re its favorite manic energy gremlin.”

You saluted him half-heartedly. “Tell your sword I’ll be in therapy.”

He barked a laugh, then turned back toward the deck, his crew already chattering about you like you were some strange wind spirit that came through and reorganized their lives.

You hit the shore, took two steps inland, and collapsed onto a sun-warmed rock.

“Holy shit,” you wheezed, staring at the sky. “How am I still alive?”

You laid there, letting the adrenaline seep out of your bones. Your fingers twitched, still subconsciously twitching through sword checks. You could still hear one of Shanks’ daggers humming sea shanties in your head like it missed you already.

Eventually, you sat up.

“Well… yeesh,” you muttered, brushing yourself off. “Welp. Back to Luffy, I guess.”

You didn’t even try to act casual. You were already mentally prepping for Usopp’s dramatic reunion pose and Nami’s “You left without warning again?” scolding. You’d accept it all if it meant a break from Yonko-level emotional stress.

Maybe Zoro would let you bully his swords again.

Maybe Sanji had something fried and sugary waiting.

Maybe—just maybe—Luffy would tackle-hug you like always and say “YOU’RE BACK!” like you hadn’t been nearly vaporized by charisma incarnate.

You smiled to yourself.

Yeah. Back to Luffy.

And this time, you were bringing better oil.

-

The moment your boots hit the Sunny’s deck again, you barely had time to wave before Luffy launched himself at you.

“YOU LEFT!!!”

You hit the floor with a wheeze and a very enthusiastic captain glued to your torso.

“I came back,” you wheezed, tapping his back. “Hi. Breathing. Remember that?”

Luffy sat on your chest with his arms crossed. “You didn’t say goodbye!”

“I said I was going for a walk!”

“FOR FOUR WEEKS?!”

You blinked. “…Has it really been that long?”

Nami folded her arms. “Yes.”

Usopp appeared dramatically behind her. “I had a whole eulogy ready. I was gonna do a funeral with a flaming sword raft!”

Chopper burst into tears and clung to your leg. “I thought a sea king ATE YOU.”

You awkwardly patted his hat. “Nope. Not eaten. Just traumatized.”

Zoro, leaning on the railing, grunted. “Where were you?”

You shrugged like it was no big deal. “Shanks’ ship.”

A beat.

Luffy’s eyes sparkled so hard you thought they might explode.

“SHANKS?! RED-HAIRED SHANKS?!!”

“…There’s another one?”

Cue instant barrage.

Luffy: “WHAT DID HE SAY? WHAT DID HE LOOK LIKE? DID HE REMEMBER ME?!”

Nami: “You met Shanks and didn’t write anything down?!”

Usopp: “Did you touch his sword?!”

You: “Define ‘touch.’”

Eventually, Luffy let you go—mostly because Sanji showed up with fried things and a drink—and the day settled into its usual loud rhythm.

Until you caught a glint. A wrong one.

You froze.

You turned, eyes locking on Zoro’s swords resting nearby.

There. A chip. Tiny. Barely visible.

But you could feel it.

Your entire body shifted into pure instinct.

“Zoro,” you said, voice level.

“Hm?”

You marched over, grabbed him by the ear like a misbehaving child, and yanked.

“OW—WHAT—HEY—”

You shoved his face within an inch of the chip.

“Do you see that?”

Zoro squinted. “…Kinda?”

“That’s a fracture in the blade’s edge. One good clash and this thing snaps.”

“It’s fine—”

“You are so lucky it didn’t already snap and embed itself in your collarbone, sir.”

Zoro blinked. “Did you just ‘sir’ me?”

“Yes, and you don’t deserve it.”

You turned to the others, voice loud and proud.

“FRANKY. I need your workshop.”

Franky leaned out from the doorway with a wrench. “YEAH?”

“I’m commandeering it. It’s a blacksmith's now.”

Franky’s shades glinted. “MAKE IT COOL.”

“Oh, it’ll be cool. Lava-cool.”

You dragged Zoro’s swords inside, already rattling off tool needs, oil types, forge temps, and structural supports.

“DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING WITH SESAME OIL,” you shouted.

“Why would I—?”

“ASK SHANKS.”

Brook leaned to Robin. “Do you think they ever stop?”

Robin smiled. “Not a chance.”

-

The sound of steel meeting steel rang through the Sunny’s workshop like a heartbeat.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Each strike was deliberate. Focused. Rhythmic, like the beat of an ancient drum. The forge glowed with golden heat, and sweat clung to your skin in glistening beads, trailing down the lines of your arms—arms built from years of honing your craft, of wielding tools heavier than some swordsmen could lift.

You weren’t just working.

You were in it.

Muscles flexing with every swing, your shirt—thin and loose—clung to your torso with sweat. You’d tied your hair back to keep it out of your face, jaw set, eyes burning with the same fire that lit the forge. Sparks danced in the air around you like fireflies drawn to the aura of your intensity.

Outside the workshop, the entire Straw Hat crew stood at the doorway.

Staring.

Absolutely silent.

Nami whispered, “Are they… always like this?”

Usopp’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—did they always have arms like that?”

Sanji had stopped breathing entirely. “Mon dieu…”

Zoro squinted. “They’re doing it wrong.”

Wado Ichimonji, in your voice: “No I’m not, shut up.”

Zoro jumped.

Inside, you didn’t glance up. You were too deep in the conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You want a mirror polish, but this isn’t a spa day, sweetheart,” you muttered, tapping a long, thin blade resting on the anvil. “This chip runs deep. You want it gone, we’re digging for it.”

“I’m just saying we could buff the rest of me first. A little self-care before trauma repair?”

“Emotional damage control after the physical, you drama queen.”

The crew exchanged looks. Brook’s nose cavity should have bled if he had flesh.

Chopper blinked. “Should we… say something?”

Robin tilted her head, smiling. “Why ruin the view?”

Franky crossed his arms, jaw slack. “That’s the most super thing I’ve ever seen in my own damn workshop.”

Luffy, munching on a snack, finally spoke.

“They look cool. Like a fire demon who gives hugs.”

Back inside, you adjusted the blade’s position, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, smearing a little soot across your cheek in the process.

The sword whispered: “You know you’re making people fall in love with you right now.”

You scowled. “I’m literally fixing a chip.”

“Hotly.”

“Stop talking.”

You raised the hammer again. The forge crackled behind you. The crew stared in awe.

Another swing. Another spark.

Clang.

And still, you didn’t notice the stunned crowd in the doorway.

Because in that heat, with that steel, you weren’t a crewmate or a wandering craftsman.

You were a swordsmith.

And gods help anyone who dared bring you sesame oil again.

[queenerdloser]

arggggggh so the writing sample i want to use for my grad school apps is a portion of one of my novels in progress except that it's a portion that's still VERY rough and part of a novel that's still being drafted and i've been having SO MUCH trouble writing this stupid thing. and i'm like. okay maybe i SHOULD just do short story excerpts like i have some fairly polished short stories that will probably be stronger works. but genuinely i'm a novelist at heart and i don't plan to write short stories, i plan to write. this novel. in grad school lol like this is what i want to write as a project there. but i'm worried i won't have enough time to refine the sample and i really don't want to submit something half-done arggggggh

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I know those eyes.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[nami-moittli]

I think you like Leah

…A little

[puppppppppy]

i think the reason why im so drawn to spirit tracks and pkmn scarvi is that having the legendary/princess as a companion rather than a goal that marks the games completion makes me feel satisfied the way i would after helping a friend

my brother always teases me about how I still havent finished botw after almost 7 years bc "id rather be out picking flowers" which i wont say is untrue. and yes i know Zeldas been holding off ganon for 100 years, yes i can get some sort of idea what her relationship with link was like by recalling memories and going through her diary. ive always loved botw for its unique storytelling and setting which makes it stand out, because it lets you get to know who you're saving.

but because theyre memories, it only works if theres something for the player to investigate that already happened. its retroactive (but effective nonetheless)

on the other hand, spirit tracks does something similar but instead of having the player try to piece together memories and interpret them as a spectator, you actually have an opportunity to get to know zelda yourself by talking to her and working together. besides making it a gameplay mechanic, giving the player control over how they interact with zelda makes it so much more personable.

and I find that making the goal feel personal instead of an obligation gives me more of a reason to work towards it. I know what kind of person botw zelda was but as the player, shes still very much a stranger to me. but spirit tracks zelda? thats my friend!!!! she invited me to go to the beach after we get her body back!!! i dont want to whip her to make her move faster thats mean :(

you know how hostage negotiators are trained to introduce themselves and get to know the person theyre negotiating with because its harder to hurt someone when you know what their favorite food is? its kinda like that, because it feels like im helping a friend than being told or led to do smth

and although i havent played scarvi myself, i feel an attachment to koraidon and miraidon even just watching playthrough clips because its like!! thats my weird scaly dog!! it loves sandwiches and we're friends!!! you know!!!!!!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you’re spoiling us so much with this amazing art thank you so much😭❤️❤️

of course my friend !!! thank you all for spoiling me with all the love and support ^^ !

[catcze]

Drafts count: Currently at 94 and I’m hoping to pull that number down to around ~50-60 by the end of the day ⭑.ᐟ /ᐠ > ˕ <マ

[savage-rhi]

Magenta kinda?

[thebeautifulfantastic]

<3

[coridallasmultipass]

GET SCRUNCHT!!

[lucithornz]

hellooo!!

as someone who just finished red horse, i have to ask, will we get ch 9??

Hi omg yes. That project probably took the biggest hit after my accident because it's the hardest to write (complicated etc) so I needed to work on some shorter stuff to cope.

I will be getting back into it in a few weeks. I have a rough schedule (we'll see how that goes lol)

Now I have been slowly writing scenes for it (the chapter is probably gonna be long lol) and I will use this ask as motivation to add 500 words to the chapter today o7

[birdboy-blues]

think of these thoughts as nefarious

(idk what the rest of the lyrics should be so you do them /musi)

lawa la ike mute mute a!

insert the rest of the start if the heart acoustic except it's just mute xhowever many times you need and an a is appended at the end if needed to fit the syllables

choose / to / sit / safe / ly / out / of / the / sun

mi / a / wen / e / su / no / a / la / la

NOW I HAVE TO FIGURE OUT OKO LI PONA ALA PONA.....

ok so let's use oko

i originally said mi moli bc i figured being blinded by the light was a more flowery way to say mi die but THAT IS NOT TRUE and becoming bad isn't true either and i could say mi pakala but that isn't true either why do all of these sound ableist

oko is a lot of specification and more syllables and i already have too many syllables. this could be fixed by replacing kalama with mu but HEART WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT IT'S INCONGRUOUS TO THE TONE OF THE SONG

a / way / from / rays / so / blind / ing / to / the / eye

o / ko / mi / li / i / ke. / mi / wi / le / a / la

wile ala = i don't want, so i don't do that, makes sense but like. he's already blind tho. question mark. but isn't that why he's avoiding the rays? bc they r blinding? CHONNY STOP USING METAPHORS I CAN'T TOKIPONIZE THIS

WAIT IS IT JUST A STUPID ADJECTIVE???? BUT LIKE. OKAY. HE SAYS "SAFELY" IMPLYING LIKE HE AVOIDS THE SUN BC IF HE STAYS IN THE SUN HE WILL BE INJURED OR SOMETHING