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writingoddess1125 · 1 year ago

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Ok, I just have to ask you. Can we have more daddy Mihawk? 🫠🔥

Please 🥺

You Got is Sugar!

Mihawk x FemReader +OOC Children

Liniște! {Be Quiet!}

Since Mihawk is Romanian 🇷🇴 I thought him speaking the tongue/culture would be fun!

If I got shit wrong PLEASE tell me!

• Most people do not realize this, because Mihawk keeps it behind closed door. But- He is very heavily tied to his culture of birth.

• Most of the time at home, Mihawk has developed the habit of just speaking his native tongue. Feeling comforble enough to do so- As well as wanting to pass it on to his children.

• Mihawk summoning Alucare to his study one frosty morning, humming a song from his youth as he has a stack of papers and books before him. The gloomy teen stepping in and raising a brow at his father-

• "Închide ușa" (Close the Door-) Mihawk said calmly waving to his child who stares at him confused. "What language are you speaking old man?-"

• "From now on I'm only speaking my native language to you. So you learn or you starve-" He says calmly as he hands his son the book. "You've got to be kidding-"

• "Nu glumesc" (I'm not kidding-)

• He adores you and will speak with you privately in his native tongue, teaching you important words that will only ever be used for you-

• Does not use tradional physical punishments. Truthfully he doesn't believe in them- Yes he will be a harsh teacher in training since that is different.

• Laying next to you in the soft silks of bed whispering "Te iubesc" Softly to you. Teaching you the meanings of every word, as well as being more vocally affectionate in this language.

• "Well at least youre learning the language" Mihawk said with a heavy sigh looking at Alucare who got his ass handed to him-

• "Face din nou" (Do it again) Mihawk says calmly tapping his sword clean as Alicare laid on the ground trying to get up.

• "Du-te dracului!" (Go to Hell) Alucare growls out.

• Mihaela is constantly in his arms. He truthfully refuses to let her go, doting on her heavily and seeing her as his star in his sky.

- Mihawk walked into his father's study, raising a brow at seeing the man holding Miha still while going through papers. Mihawk glancing up at his eldest rather quickly-

• He is delicate and handles much of Mihaela nightly upkeep. Letting you sleep throughout the night since you worked so hard during the days.

• Changing diapers, getting bottles, dealing with any midnight fussiness. He handles it all with grace and making sure you sleep- As well as takes this time to clean up the nursery or the bedroom so it's something you don't stress about.

• He will immediately wake up at the first sounds of his darling daughter fussing. Walking calmly to her nursery and always greet her the same way-

• "Scumpa mea~" (My treasure) Mihawk smiling at his fussing daughter. "So beautiful, like your your mother-" before scooping her up in his arms.

• Spoils Mihaela fucking ROTTEN- The whole house does really but Mihawk is the worse..

"Seems girls ate favored in this family" Alucare muses, his words having no mallace and just a simple jest at how his sister was so heavily spoiled. Mohawk raising a brow at this and staring at his child-

"Favored?" He questioned rather calmly.

"Yeah like favorite chil-"

"No-" Mihawk said calmy but firmly, cutting off his son. "Miha is my Sun, Bright, Innocent and Sweet but clearly with a fire of an attitude. You are my Moon, Smart, Ambitious and Loyal but can be cold. And your mother, She is my sky. Day or Night she guides me and holds the two most important things in my life. You are all equally needed and important to me. Without one or another all would be lost" He clarified rather sharply.

Alucare face getting a hint of pink at the rather kind words his father spoke. Now unsure how to respond or explain to his father he was just making a joke.

Bonus!-

Mihawk notices his cigars are missing- While he doesn't personally smoke he does have expensive cigars for guest or have gifted to him as gifts-

He knew he had counted 30- yet he had only 27 in his collection. Irritation hitting him as he closes the box and calmly grabs his hat-

On the otherside of the Island, Alucare is sitting on one of the old abandoned pillars- a place he had turned into his hide out were he could relax. Currently with one bottle of wine he had snuck from his father's secret stash and a cigar.

This had turned into his favorite pass time. Drinking directly out of the bottle and taking a mouthful of smoke as he sat there looking over the gloomy island-

However this was soon to end when a menacing shadow with glowing yellow eyes stood behind him- Alucare feeling his hair stand up on end as he slowly turned to see the invision of the devil himself there.

"O să număr până la trei-"

(I'm gonna count to Three-)

#x reader #one piece #one peice x reader #one peice live action #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #dracule alucare #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk

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snrland · 3 months ago

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Deci de aceea nu mai sunt în ordinea originală + lipsesc unele versiuni din unele cântecele Pingo Boingo (eu când din motive neștiute știam playlist-ul pe dinafară și o voi face din nou)

Why are you

Why are you baiting me with the playlist to make me obsessed with your singers

I know what you're doing

I know

de data aceasta chiar nu am avut asemenea gânduri în mintea mea de mirunel

m am enervat din cauza faptului că. existau multe cântece pe care nu le am pus în playlist-ul francezului. așa că am șters tot din el. și am luat o de la capăt

#nu am avut intenții malefice #eu zic că a fost mâna lui pușkin #:3 #<-#nevasta mea mă buleșe din nou... </3 #мне не верится #asks/answers

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sgiandubh · 2 months ago

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Savannah you are still a rude bitch. O and if you are going to make allegations, back ot up with documents, evidence. You know like marriage licenses, posts by friends, cast members, mentioning the father and husband's name in congratulations. If he's such a con, bad business person, prove it. You are the one who is making the statement, you need to provide the documents. Tell others to go look it up doesn't cut it.

Dear Savannah Anon,

I have a surprise for you, darling:

If you don't understand anything, this is normal. It was my wicked pleasure to record this in my first native language - Romanian. But since I don't suspect you do speak or understand it, I will first transcript it as is and then translate.

Sinceră să fiu, nu știu cum unii oameni nu se rușinează de propria prostie. Savannah! Nici mai mult, nici mai puțin - serios? Însă asta este, puișor și regrete eterne: după cum poți constata, ai scris din nou tâmpenii, fără să verifici. Pentru că, hai să fim măcar o dată cinstite - sunteți speriate de nu mai știți de voi de apariția mea pe ecranele ordinatoarelor voastre.

Ani de zile și cam de când cu jocul absolut murdar al unui bătrân fără minte care a jucat într-un serial SF de succes, cam pe când Mama Shipper era la liceu, v-ați permis cam orice, fericite și numaidecât consolate de liniștea consensuală și lașă a echipei de producție, a presei, a actorilor principali: am mai scris chestia asta și am să o tot scriu de câte ori am chef, până vă intră în cap. V-ați crezut apoi protejate de șmecheria la fel de fără minte a cuiva care s-a lăudat că vă denunță și apoi, din câte înțeleg, a fugit cu banii trimiși de către o mână de oameni naivi și disperați „să afle adevărul”. Și ați continuat, pentru că știți foarte bine că foarte puțină lume ar fi, în fond, dispusă să vă dea în judecată, peste mări și țări, pentru un motiv atât de pueril, expunându-și familia, viața personală și cheltuind aiurea pe avocați, expertize și așa mai departe. Asta nu înseamnă că lucrurile pe care le faceți nu se constituie într-o infracțiune, și încă una în formă continuată, cu pedepse substanțiale în mai toate sistemele de drept în care trăim: și eu, și voi. Ceea ce faceți voi se numește hărțuire, zi de zi de zi: puțină lume rezistă și, din punctul ăsta de vedere, mă tem că ați încurcat-o, fetele. Cu mine, v-ați găsit nașul, în sensul în care voi răspunde absolut de fiecare dată la porcăriile pe care le trimiteți, cu riscul de a trece drept nemernica de serviciu.

Este dreptul vostru cel mai strict să rămâneți la fel de tâmpite, chiar și în momentul în care veți vedea foarte clar că ați speculat în gol. Este dreptul meu să nu cred o silabă din câte scrieți, iar motivul pentru care nu am să dau niciodată un ban găurit pe ce spuneți, este unul foarte simplu și evident. Cum să cred ce spuneți despre doi oameni complet străini, când am văzut din prima secundă a mea în această comunitate ce tâmpenii spuneți despre mine? Pe care apropo, nu mă cheamă Savannah, dacă nu ați priceput încă chestia asta (știu vag despre cine ar fi vorba și nu, nu sunt eu, slavă Domnului!). Așa că va trebui să vă hotărâți dracului odată: ori trăiesc la Boston, ori la Sydney, ori naiba mai știe pe unde. Ori habar nu am ce spun, ori sunt o cățea brutală, ori sunt nebuna de serviciu, ori inventez. Înțelegeți măcar că prostiile astea nu fac decât să mă informeze că aveți în mod clar o problemă personală cu mine și ați fi nemaipomenit de fericite dacă aș dispărea, intimidată și dezgustată de atâta răutate fără nume. Ar fi, poate, mai înțelept, să nu judecați pe toată lumea după prostiile pe care le faceți și minciunile pe care le spuneți. Cât despre mine, a fost și încă este o mare plăcere să vă fac de râs, total și iremediabil.

And here is the translation, just to make sure the above was in no way a friendly message: but really, darling, what were you expecting from a rude bitch, anyways?

'I honestly don’t know how some people manage to not feel ashamed by their own stupidity. Savannah! Nothing less than that - seriously? But it is what it is, pumpkin and I am sorry to say one more time: as you can see by yourself, you wrote again some mighty bullshit without even checking. Because, let’s be honest, at least for once: my apparition on your screens seems to have scared the shite out of you.

For years in a row, just about the same time a mindless old man (who starred in a successful sci-fi series when Shipper Mom was in high school) was playing a very dirty game with this fandom, you thought you were allowed pretty much anything. Happily comforted by the consensual, cowardly silence of both OL’s production team (and main cast) and the press: I wrote that before and I will write it again, every single time I feel like it, until you get it. Likewise, you felt somehow protected by the mindless trickery of a person who bragged about denouncing you and then, if I understood correctly, ran away with the money she collected from a handful of naive people, desperate to ‘find out the truth’. And on and on you went, because you know very well that few people would eventually be able to sue faraway you, for such a puerile reason, exposing their family and private life, and spending foolishly on lawyers’ and expertise fees. That does not mean, however, that what you do is not a continuous offence, punished as such by pretty much all our countries’ legal systems. What you guys do, on an almost daily basis, is called harassment: few people can stand it, but unluckily for you, I am afraid you’re screwed, girls. You’ve just met your match, in the sense I shall always answer to all the garbage you send and I really don’t give a damn if I am just the bitch you love to actively hate, or something.

It is your strictest right to remain idiots, even when it will be very clear that all you did was just empty speculation. It is my own right not to believe anything you write, and the reason for it is very easy to understand. How could I ever believe what you are saying about two perfect strangers, when I could see from my very first moment in this fandom all the idiocies you wrote about me? And by the way, in case it wasn’t already crystal clear for you, doll: my name is not Savannah (I vaguely think I know who that is and thanks God it’s not me!). So you’d better decide: I either live in Boston, Sydney or God knows where else. I am either clueless, or a rude bitch, or insane, or making things up. It is high time you understood that all these idiocies tell me you and I clearly have a personal problem, and that you’d be over the moon if I disappeared, intimidated and disgusted by all this nameless malice. Well, it would be wiser not to judge everyone by your own drivel and lies. And it was and still is one of my greatest pleasures to make a complete fool of all of you, over and over again.'

#anon #fandom #shitshow #weekly audio

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slowd1ving · 4 months ago

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✦ I. PRINCE OF ARROGANCE, PRIDE HAS A HEAVY PRICE

"His fate was sealed the moment he could taste choleric resentment on his tongue, followed shortly by spite: for spite is the desire to thwart. The path he instinctually set out on—to seek knowledge about the abuses of wisdom in the palace—was one that would only end in despair. " • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is) wc: 1.5k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Eight words rang clear on the Day of Silence against the backdrop of a fruitful year. Amidst the din of the crotalum, woven through the hordes of mute crowds, thus did the honourable Sophos Nous proclaim to His Highness:

For all knowledge one must pay equal price.

This was the first and last lesson Sophos Nous ever imparted unto the seventh prince of Metis before THEY left: as quietly as the noiseless festival-goers. Perhaps it would be the only lesson ever recorded to grace the Kingdom of Metis from the Sophos: a feeble mark to acknowledge the extraordinary scholar the seventh prince was. Though, the arrogant youth knew this was anything but; such an obvious deduction was no morsel of wisdom, but a reproachable grain of sophistry that any fool could have mimed. Mimed, because the Day’s hallowed silence had been broken for the first time since its inception, and perhaps that was the biggest insult of them all.

In his wrought tower, the youngest prince of Elation’s lineage seethed. For the weeks following that sacreligious day, he barely ate, barely breathed: barely lived. From the moment of his birth to this summer, his efforts to earn the venerable Sophos’ acknowledgement had not borne fruit—and now, they probably never would.

His damson locks tangled in his fingers as he pored over those eight words. They ripped, twisting and breaking and splitting in his desperate grasp. Those records were all he had left of the learnéd being: a measly report detailing the teacher’s crime, summarised in a single paragraph in the battered codex that was unceremoniously dumped on his desk at his request.

If he knew anything about his Sophos, it was that nothing could ever be taken at face value with THEM. Twined in all the manuscripts THEY had written—which Veritas Ratio Metis had reverently studied, every single one—were the buds of dialetheism and bivalence, threading and looping against each other like two snakes on a caduceus.

Had he missed something?

Deconstructing the sentence literally, the price of knowledge was time and dedication. Nothing came from nothing; obviously knowledge was gained only through cogitation and learning. In less abstract terms, the hippocampus was a finite space and minute neuron connections were lost with each new wisdom gained. Though, such an axiomatic method of interpretation was sure to be fallible.

Thus, his deft fingers wasted no time in penning a new heading: warning. Presumably, Nous wouldn’t be so kind as to bestow a lesson on the youth: not even out of pity for the erudite young mind who followed THEM around just for a glimpse into THEIR insights. No, Nous wouldn’t have spared him a glance. Therefore, it was not a teaching at all, but rather a last, merciful warning.

Knowledge was burden. He knew this, Nous knew this—any respectable scholar in Metis knew that ignorance was more oft than not bliss, especially when it came to divinity and existentialism. This much, too, was a salient interpretation of these words. Don’t study things you aren’t ready for. The prince scoffed. A waddling baby knew as much—taking first steps primarily, before learning to run.

Unless… Upon examining the wording, there was a critical sign in its structure. Four words on one side, four on the other—equilibrium. Life on one side, and certain death on the other. His breathing came in neurotic waves as his pen struggled to keep up with his intuition. It may have been foolish to follow his gut, but there was just something about how the lexicon flowed that dried his mouth and made his tongue leaden with foreboding.

What is it?

Seraphic beams of light cast their dappled rays on the gleaming equipment: bronze astrological instruments, beakers and shining ocular lenses; stacks upon stacks of manuscripts and codices, on everything from law to philosophy to anatomy; and the precariously balanced alembic and crucible in the corner, concealed by a large sheet for supposedly warding off dust.

The gaze of cerise lingered briefly on the alchemical tools.

Equivalent exchange.

With a sigh so heavy it brought his youthful appearance into question, he buried his aggravated face in his trembling hands. Neither blessing or lesson was shrouded by the phrase; rather, Nous had lent him an equivocation as a final misrespect. One hint of information, and the other a warning.

Translated, he gleaned that the Sophos referred to the rumours surrounding Aha and THEIR progeny. Archon basileus—the foolish sovereign and ever-so-foolish descendants. Though the capricious Aha had outlawed the ages-old practice of alchemy and other similar disciplines decades ago, there was hearsay in the stone-paved streets that the imperial family dabbled in activities now heretical to keep control over the populace. Whether it be through transmuting the dissidents to lustrous gold sculptures, or turning insurgents to mindless jesters through drugs and other disciplines, it was clear that Aha held keen interest in monopolising knowledge and ruling with an iron fist.

Or, at least, that’s what Veritas heard through the reticent walls of his tower. There was no viable method of testing the theory: not when the seventh prince held minimal sway over politics in the gilt palace.

This was the bitter fruit Nous had broken the sacred silence for.

You are no match for your family, THEIR eye seemed to lament.

This knowledge is far too heavy for you, boy, THEIR mouth appeared to rebuke.

All these years, and you have still not broken from the alabaster coating of a fool, THEIR departure concluded.

The prince had long surpassed the rest of his peers in mind and body alike, yet with this realisation he was a mere child once more: just another bastard of the lineage. Not to be taken seriously.

His fate was sealed the moment he could taste choleric resentment on his tongue, followed shortly by spite: for spite is the desire to thwart. The path he instinctually set out on—to seek knowledge about the abuses of wisdom in the palace—was one that would only end in despair.

But the blame could not solely be attributed to him—for despite his prideful erudition, he was no prophet. A clever mind like his had not yet tasted scholastic defeat yet, begetting carelessness. And to provoke an arrogant, clever, careless youth with no real world experience—yes, provoke, for that is what the esteemed Sophos did—was sure to birth a calamity.

Indeed, the hubris of the seventh prince led to tragedy borne of his own making; yet, the fault also rested with another.

This was the ‘price’.

Two people, bound in impossible balance.

Eight words, foretelling only disaster.

This was ‘equivalent exchange’.

One clever prince, seeking a knowledge far too cataclysmic to bear.

This was the heresy known as ‘alchemy’.

On that Day of Silence, the Moirai assigned a fate threaded bloody: all for the modest cost of one lonely prince’s grief.

. 　⁺ ✦

“Oh dear,” the maiden crooned. “It looks like he’s made up his mind.”

The distaff held in HER graceful palms perpetually dripped crimson, though not a single drop bled into the spindle as SHE wove fate: pain, ecstasy, hopelessness, delight.

“Just like the rest of them,” the matron uttered. “He is a fool.”

Unceasingly, HER rod measured out the new life-threads. SHE impersonally gazed at every strand—quantifying and fairly allotting time. Time, the most precious commodity of anything and anyone.

The hag remained silent, for HER glinting scissors expressed HER thoughts. Snip. A thread was cut. Snip. A life was lost. Snip. Yet another soul crossed in the afterworld.

But there was one sanguine allotment of fate that wouldn’t be cut with HER shears. Many a mortal wished for such a boon: bartering with the divine for an extension of their pathetic lives. That was a paradox SHE witnessed time and time again: humans wishing to prolong their misery through staying awake in the raging current of the universe. Death was the true alleviation of suffering—this was the one mercy SHE could afford man and their kind.

Living and the futile struggle was all humanity had known; SHE understood, in HER omnipotent way, how this stagnancy was a comfort for the lost souls.

Though, SHE mused, staying alive would not do this particular prince any good. For what gift is evading death, when one cannot truly live?

“It would have been better for him to live under the yoke of his family and die as all mortals should.” The crone’s withered voice was dry from disuse. Under HER shroud, neither the mother nor the youth could see the aged path of tears that meandered down HER wrinkled face—for with age came sentiments, and the Moirai were the oldest of all in the cradle of the universe.

“Atropos.” It was the maiden who finally replied. “Do you feel sorry for the boy?”

Snip. Another marked fate concluded—though not abruptly, for it had been ordained since the moment of their birth.

“No,” the beldame answered. “The little prince was warned by a being far wiser than he, taking it only as affront.”

For the first time in centuries, HER shears ceased their steady rhythm.

“Should I feel sorry for the hart that approaches the arrow out of its own volition?”

. 　⁺ ✦

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