#awaken god

[helenapsent]

Continuing my obscurantism with an emotional challenge

This time depicting my four main blorbos

Leo - a little bit failed, I'm too lazy to fix his head shape; Absolutely thrilled with Helen's facial expression (I can hear the meme "pathetic"); While drawing Werner I really felt a drawing vacation (I especially like how his hands turned out, I really leave the "chief's kiss"); Oddmand as always has one emotion for all occasions…. Ah, stop, he doesn't really have emotions)0))

[knightsambassador]

A few sketches with my long-suffering characters from the novel. This time I did a portrait of Oddmand and his raven, because… I need to. He's the one with the least amount of concepts, and I need to fix that

briefly about their relationship throughout history:

- Let me eat. - I don't care anymore…

[milkywayes]

GARRUS VAKARIAN: DATABASE IMAGE ACCESS. > PT. 1 : 2160, 2166, 2170. > all files backdated according to user preferences: (terran_coordinated.calendar).

[passion4christt]

REST and thank God for what he has already done🙏🏽❤️

[xxivletxx]

i locked the fuck in for this doodle HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO THE GAME THAT RUINED & SAVED MY LIFE!!!!!! LOVE YOU LOTS GAYASS GAME

[faithfulf4wn]

As a christian, you need to understand that your FAITH alone is enough to change the lives of the people around you. DONT stop praying for your loved ones that haven’t encountered God yet.

[turtleblogatlast]

I will never be over Leo’s 4D chess play in “Many Unhappy Returns”. Like, just in general it is a spectacle to see this character who we’ve seen goofing around time and time again, who’s only sometimes decided to take things seriously, only to show him making a maneuver like that.

And here’s what gets me the most about his plan against Big Mama: he comes up with it on the spot. The second he sees that Big Mama has the solution they need, he’s already in game mode.

It is so satisfying watching the episode back when you realize his plan, because he literally sets the stage entirely for a decisive victory. He sees that the champion is a kraken, and comes up with both the solution to defeating it and a reasonable excuse to get that solution into the battle with them on the fly:

“Like your champ aaand those six guys. In fact, we don’t want this over too quickly. You should armor up those rookies. The whole shebang. Especially with these pointy helmets.”

And this is why giving him teleportation powers is perfect, too. He analyzes the battlefield and makes use of all the assets, moving pieces around to guarantee a win. It is honestly so impressive to witness and one of my favorite parts of his character.

[captainfern]

fern !! i'm BEGGING you to write something based on this post https://www.tumblr.com/ghostlywhiskey/734923544920801280?source=share

(only if you're willing ofc) but god ur my fav writer and you always capture the essence of price so perfectly in your writing and yeah !!

again, only if u want to! <3

i knew what post it was before i even opened the link 😭

@ghostlywhiskey nic i love your brain sm <3

18+, fem!reader

you jumped slightly when the door to your and price’s shared bedroom slammed open, thudding loudly against the wall, the hinges rattling. you put your phone down and went to sit up as your husband approached— his face was shadowed, eyes dark, and your stomach clenched nervously at the way he stalked towards you.

“john—?”

“sweetheart, ‘m gonna need you to shut your mouth and bend over,” he uttered lowly before he had even reached you. when he did reach you, he placed a gentle hand onto the side of your face. “i’ll… i’ll explain later. just… trust me, okay?”

you nodded, clenching your thighs together at the heat of his gaze and the feather-light touch of his fingers. he looked as though he wanted to eat you alive. and maybe you wanted that.

without another word, the hand on your cheek slid around to the back of your neck, and Price grunted deeply as he spun you around and physically bent you over the edge of the bed. he held you down with his large hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, while his other hand was pulling your pyjama bottoms down to about mid-thigh.

you breathed hard against the plush duvet, gripping it tightly as you felt price shifting behind you. he pulled the front of his trousers down enough to pull his leaking cock out of his boxers— the tip was flushed an angry red, dribbling pre-cum, twitching in his fist as he guided it down the curve of your arse.

he grunted, still pushing you down against the mattress with his other hand. hips grinding against yours, he rubbed the fat head of his cock through your wet folds, collecting as much of your arousal as he could. you whined out at the sensation, wiggling your arse back against him.

“please, john—”

“uh uh, s’enough of that,” he growled, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. “s’captain or sir, or y’shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

you whimpered at his words, but the sting of it was gone and replaced by shock as price rocked roughly against you, thrusting his cock into your tight cunt, splitting you open in one deep thrust.

his pace and movement was brutal— the girth of his cock stretching you open, thrusts pulling your wet walls tight around him. you let out warbled cries into the duvet, still pinned there by his warm, heavy hand. price’s hips smacked against your backside, the sound ear-splitting in the silence of your bedroom, paired only with price’s grunts and growls, and your frantic moans and whimpers.

price was unlike himself tonight, and it was turning you on. his thrusting was brutal and unforgiving, the leaking head of his cock bullying up against the base of your cervix. he had one hand on your hip as he leaned over you and fucked you into the side of the bed, clothed chest pressed tight to the thin fabric of the back of your pyjama shirt. the other hand he had on the back of your neck was unrelenting in it’s hold.

you whined as the bed creaked beneath you, your cunt clenching tight around his cock with each heavy knock to your womb. you fisted the sheets, price’s body draped over yours, pace never faltering. you whined again, and he responded with a deep grunt.

“y’just need to shut up an’ take it, baby, come on—” price grunted as your pussy squeezed around him. “take it in this tight fuckin’ pussy. take it— fuck— just take it.”

he continued to pound into you, fast and rough. the soft skin on the back of your thighs rubbed raw from his trousers and zipper, your arse tender from the force of his thrusts. you couldn’t help but moan into the bed, your entire body hot and shaking beneath him.

your cunt fluttered around him with each drag of his cock against your gummy walls, slick dribbling out in wet squelches, running down the insides of your thighs. price couldn’t help but lean back a bit to take a quick look, before he was folding himself back over you again, fingers squeezing gently around your neck.

“christ, look at this tight fuckin’ cunt takin’ all’ve my cock—” he muttered more to himself than you as he fucked you. “s’my pussy… s’my fuckin’ pussy, isn’t it, sweetheart?” his words were a deep growl now.

you nodded deliriously, trembling against the bed, clit throbbing. “yes—!”

“yes what?” he grunted, snapping his hips harder and harder. you sobbed, pleasure heavy in your lower stomach, immobilised by his hold on your nape. his fingers tightened. “yes, what?”

“yes sir!” you cried. “f-fuck—! yes, captain, fuck, s’yours!”

“s’my what?”

“ah, oh my god—!” you moaned loudly, quivering beneath him, mouth parted and breaths coming in shallow pants. “it’s your pussy, sir— fuck! oh fuck, mm— s’your pussy, captain. all yours—”

“yeah, that’s— fuckin’— right—” price growled, satisfied, thrusting roughly to punctuate his words. your cunt was so wet, audible as his cock slid in and out of you. the grip he had on your hip and neck was warm and heavy, just like his cock as it stuffed you full. you could feel him in your stomach now. price groaned quietly.

you shook beneath him, your orgasm nearing. your t-shirt clung to your sticky body, sweat covering almost every part of you. price was much the same— exertion pulling droplets of sweat from his hairline, wetting his hair and letting loose strands drop over his forehead.

his mouth remained parted as he panted, grunting and groaning like some kind of wild animal as he fucked you, his cock unrelenting. it filled you up, again and again, every smooth ridge and vein sliding along your silken walls.

“captain, m’gonna come.” you told him, mewling high-pitched at him, growing whinier by the minute as your orgasm neared.

he didn’t say anything, just continued to fuck his cock into you at a fast, rough pace. you whined and whimpered until your release hit you, then you began to moan. your orgasm was harsh— coursing through your body, limbs trembling, cunt fluttering tight.

“m’gonna fill this cunt with my cum,” price suddenly whispered against you, cock slamming up into the base of your cervix. “an’ you’re gonna lay there and fuckin’ take it.”

the hand on your neck didn’t loosen, and his thrusting didn’t ease even as price came. he groaned lowly, emptying his load into the right heat of your pussy, muttering nonsense into your damp back. the rutting of his hips eventually slowed when the last of his cum dribbled into you, filling you just like he said.

[carrinth]

I'm sure it's fanon that the Warden-Commander must make the most random non-sequitur comments about their Origins Love Interest during Awakening or what's the point???

Marzel missing his witchy lover. Everyone then played 'Shape-shifted mage' or 'Actual Giant Spider WTF Commander'.

[princenotsocharming]

Morning after an absolutely innocent sleepover at Harrington's... Billy will totally stay for breakfast.. or will he?

(closeups under the cut)

[helenapsent]

I'm back to aesthetics again...

[skatingbi]

So hear me out on my headcanon guys:

Sanji with heterochromia (i cant spell that fuckin word man..) where one eye is blue and another is brown. He always hides the blue eye.

The first one to notice is Zoro, who is immediantly like "holy shit youre eyes are pretty" and sanji is like "what the FUCK"

Actually fuck it im gonna write about this nobody can stop me.

Sometimes, on lonley nights in the gallery, when Sanji is busy prepping, he looks in the reflection of his knife. Underneath the frizzy mess of a fringe that is part of his hair reveals the blue eye he struggles looking at. He stares, scrutinizing that light blue in the gleam of his knife gripped tightly in his hand. He looks away to force his attention back on prep work. His hands are always slightly unsteady after those moments. He always ends up with a cut on his hand one way or another on those nights.

When Sanji was a kid, his brothers would use his heterochromia as a weapon against him. He was the freak with two colored eyes. They would say his blue eye was creepy, too. Not only was he weak but also too different to be called their brother.

When you're a kid, you take these insults to heart. Eventually, when you're barely into adulthood, they'll still plague you. They become a part of you, just like how Zeff's teachings became a part of Sanji.

Judge looked at his eyes with disgust masked by indifference. It was another reason for Sanji to assume why he was the failure. The outcast. The runt of the litter.

His mother had blue eyes. She always claimed Sanji got his blue eye from her because her father had heterochromia, too. That was the only time little Sanji felt normal. When she died, Sanji started to grow out his hair to hide the only thing he had left of her: her eyes.

Now, Sanji still hides her eyes from view. Realistically, Sanji is fully aware that none of the crew would give a rats ass what he looked like. Regardless, old habits die hard. He feels safe under the mask he made for himself. As he goes about preparing lunch, perhaps grilled sea king again with how luffy is always eager to fight those things, he lets his mind wander to his eyes more. While hands expertly move through his knife like an extension of his body, he thinks about the mess of blond hair that's always in the way. He'd never admit it out loud, but his hair actually bothers him. Since it started growing out, it gets everywhere; his mouth, in his eyes, and tangled in the buttons of his shirt. Is sanji happy with his longer hair? Absolutely. It's a nusiance to leave it down constantly, though.

As he's thinking this, he's blowing the fringe of hair covering his face out of the way every so often so it stops tickling his nose. He continues to evenly slice through a portion of sea king meat until somebody, Nami he realizes immediantly, speaks up.

"Do you need a hair tie, sanji?" Nami asks sweetly. Her smile is radiant, as always, while she looks up from the map shes been studying. Sanji didnt even realize Nami came in and made the kitchen table into a study until now, but he doesnt dwell on it. Nami is welcome in his kitchen, after all.

"Oh no, thank you, Nami-swan! I think I just need a haircut soon," Sanji lies as he's moving through the kitchen. He gives Nami a quick smile before turning back to the meat on the cutting board and avoids Nami's gaze under the disguise of being busy. His lie wasn't as believable as he wanted it to be, especially when he's stumbling over his words while he is usually eloquent with them towards Nami and Robin.

"But until then, you should take one! I probably have hundreds lying around my room anyways," She says. It's a peace offering designed to be in Sanji's language of communication. It secretly says he's getting that hairtie whether he wants it or not, and Sanji is weak enough to accept the offering. He takes the hair tie with a grateful smile, wrapping it around his wrist and going back to his current task. Nami and Sanji work in comfortable silence after that, but the hair tie weighs on his wrist like a weighted bracelet.

A few days pass by. Through every single one, he stares at the hair tie in the morning. He really should tie his hair back. It reaches his shoulders for gods sake, and it keeps getting in his mouth - but that small part of him that clings onto grief like its all that he knows refuses to. He doesn't think he can bring himself to share the only part of himself that he truly loves deep down. What if the crew really thinks it's weird? What if his brothers are right?

These what if's roam in the back of his mind. They lurk just beneath the surface like an unknown predator hidden in murky water. He ignores it along with the anxiety that crawls up his throat every time he looks at his wrist.

Then, a week passes by. Now he's in his kitchen making a simple breakfast for his nakama. Franky, in particular, will enjoy this since his tastes lie within American style food most of the time. He focuses on seasoning the eggs, some of them cooked differently to cater to everyone's tastes. While he goes through the familiar and therapeutic motions of cooking, the door opens to reveal an annoying head of mossy hair and the steady noise of three swords bumping each other at the hip.

" Oi, go to sleep in your own bunk. I dont need you stinkin' up my kitchen while im trying to work." He utters without looking up from the stove.

"Why can't I just sleep here shit cook?" Zoro grunts. Sanji hears him shuffle around on the gallery's couch behind him. He's probably lying down, or maybe he'll sleep sitting up again, or maybe he'll watch Sanji cook. That's the most irritating one, which usually ends up with them fighting out on the deck one way or another.

"Because youre fuckin' annoying, get out."

"The hell I am, I'm taking a nap here."

"Oh my - You know what?" Sanji whips around to glare at Zoro, making sure the knife he was using is now in his hand to point at the source of his ire, "Fine, but if I hear a single snore out of you I'm kicking you into the ocean!" He threatens and turns around to finish up with breakfast. By now, all he has left is pancakes. The batter was prepped earlier, so now it's just focusing on pouring evenly. It's task that's menial but still important to him regardless.

His hair is covering his face too much. He tries to shake his head to flip it to the side. It falls back to where it was before he can pick the bowl of batter back up. He brushes it over his shoulder, and it simply flows back over it. He blows his hair out of the way, a classic move, but not even that works and he's slamming the bowl down on the counter before he can even stop himself and walks away from his work to grab the hairtie from around his wrist. In a few fluid motions, he ties his hair back haphazardly into a poor attempt at a low bun, but it's out of his face, and now he can focus.

He's too deep in concentration to even remember that he has heterochromia in the first place. Cooking lowers his guard unlike anything else in the world. The gallery acts like a safe space and cooking is his comfort. He still forgets, too, while calling for Zoro to get his lazy ass up to help since he's decided to loiter in his kitchen.

"Hey moss, if you're gonna laze around my kitchen, set the table for me." His request demand is met with a middle finger, which Sanji gladly returns as he walks over to the couch to kick Zoro on the stomach. The half asleep annoyance is now suddenly alert and glares at Sanji for a moment before it's quickly replaced with a look Sanji has yet to add to his mental notes he likes to call "Marimo Dictionary". Zoro's eyebrows are slightly raised, and his eyes glitter with something Sanji rarely sees. He's never been able to place a name on that look. Now he's confused. "What? Dont give me that youre tired crap youre not fuckin 10." He says.

Zoro is still looking at him, though, and now Sanji looks back with confusion because what the fuck is he-

Oh. His eyes.

Shit.

Sanji rips the hairtie out of his hair at light speed, probably pulling a few strands out by accident in the process but he could honestly care less when theres something more important. Like whatever the fuck just happened.

Before he can turn away and go set the table himself to distance himself from the marimo, Zoro's hand moves suddenly to grab his wrist, stopping him from running away.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Zoro pleads. And what the fuck. Zoro has never said anything like that and its fucking with Sanji's head because what the fuck. "You...uh." He continues in his signature graceless way. "Your eyes..." He pauses after that, sitting up and looking at Sanji, but not just looking, he's looking.

"Marimo," Sanji's own voice is riddled with anxiety with how shaky it is now. "Let me go dumbass," He demands but it could have been mistaken for him begging with how much he's struggling to keep himself together.

He's anticipating the worst. He knows what he's expecting. Sanji has experienced it countless times before, and he's aware he will again right now while a pancake is probably burning on the pan for all he knows.

It doesnt.

Zoro is looking at him still, maintaining eye contact but also darting between both eyes. He's looking at him like those golden eyes are looking into his soul and its too much.

It's too much because Zoro's response is uncharacteristically soft in so many ways. Zoro speaks to him like he's speaking with reverence, "Your eyes are beautiful."

Sanji shatters on the gallery floor there. His soul is bare for Zoro to see suddenly and that terrifies Sanji. Nobody has ever told him he's beautiful. Especially his eyes. He yanks his wrist from Zoro's grasp and speed walks to the stove to turn it off and remove the burnt pancake from the pan. He doesnt respond. He cant, not when his heart flutters when it should have been anchored down by rejection.

Then, Sanji walks up to Zoro, grabs onto both his shoulders, pushes him out the gallery door with surprisingly little resistance, and slams it shut. He leans against the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees. His face is burning and his face is probably red like a tomato right now. He stares at the ground with wide eyes and a weirdly giddy feeling in his chest and stomach nearly akin to happiness but also dangerously close to feeling freaked the hell out.

"What the fuck."

[emlan]

Was thinking that the otherworldly and awe-inspiring sight of the literal hands of God descending from the heavens must've gotten quite wasted on a boy that has no real frame of reference when it comes to things that would count as something out of the ordinary

[time-woods]

composure check failed my guy

[xxivletxx]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU👏👏👏👏👏

[fhtagn-and-tentacles]

CONFRONTATION

by Artem Chebokha