#everything about her hat is to die for

[sachi]

☆ Melty de Granite // Shining Hearts ☆ 1/8 / Kotobukiya ☆ November 2011 ¥7,480 ☆ Sculpt Hiroshi

[daughterofhecata]

Hab Das Mädchen, das allein nach Haus geht zuende geguckt. Ganz offensichtlich ist der Grund, aus dem Nina in den nächsten Folgen nicht mehr dabei ist, der, dass sie zusammen mit Julie in den Flieger gestiegen ist und die beiden zusammen ein neues Leben angefangen haben. Ganz eindeutig. Eine andere Erklärung gibts nicht.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“ 

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths. 

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds. 

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping. 

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.” 

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner. 

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute. 

“Pretty banged up.” 

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else. 

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?” 

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym. 

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm. 

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause. 

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.” 

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more. 

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home. 

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise. 

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s not awake.” 

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see. 

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion. 

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.” 

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision. 

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation. 

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”  

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go. 

She's not wrong. 

You need to go to bed. 

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him. 

Simon asked you stay with him. 

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back? 

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap? 

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all. 

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs. 

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery. 

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients. 

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment. 

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh? 

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here? 

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested. 

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath. 

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown. 

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job. 

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck. 

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway. 

[yanderestarangel]

tio miguel o'hara au

art cr: @/Andalusia_lu-

TW: EXTREMELY DARK CONTENT, STEP INCEST, OC MIGUEL, MANIPULATION, VIOLENCE, ALCOHOL, DARK THEMES, TRAUMA, GRIEF, BROKEN MIND, DUB CON, NON CON, POWER PLAY, HARASSMENT, GN READER, THREAT, PAIN KINK, DOLLFICATION, NSFW, BREEDKINK.

˖⁺ ⊹୨ notes ୧⊹ ⁺˖ no negativity please. If this isn’t your sort of content you’re more than welcome to block me and move on with your day.

I just wanted to make a definitive AU for my version of "Tio" Miguel O'Hara ✧⁠*ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ.

[PART.1.]

♡ ┆Tio Miguel is your non-blood uncle who is thirty-five years old, his skin tanned by the hot midday sun accentuates his body and he has greater muscle mass than most men of his age; brown hair usually combed back and dark brown eyes that seem to penetrate your soul.

♡ ┆ He arrived like a hurricane in your life and that of your family, right after you moved to another quieter place in the Mexican city, practically a rural place where Miguel lived just a few meters away on a large farm, isolated from curious eyes.

♡ ┆ You had a grandmother who already lived there and she introduced the previously unknown man to you, saying that he was Miguel O'Hara, a close neighbor who always came to visit and was always nice to her, practically a son for the older lady. The tall Mexican man helped your family unload the moving truck, he was the first to approach like a silent plague and the target was always you, since the first time he saw you he had felt something more like his life had meaning again.

♡ ┆ Soon he began to frequent your house, being a friendly and solitary gentleman keeping everything from his past between his teeth despite the entire reception of his family with his persona. You, on the other hand, saw how he always seemed to look for you regardless of the situation you were in, even asking you to call him "Uncle" and that was when it all really started for both of you, the demand to be called that was subtle but already functional that even your parents told/demanded that you respect the man as someone in the family and in a short time he was already an influential and feared member of your family.

♡ ┆He is almost always seen dressed in ranch clothes or dress shirts and jeans - punctuated with cowboy or work boots, most of the time they are expensive fabrics that are not compatible with the minimum wage he receives for his work as a caregiver of farms or livestock. He is occasionally seen wearing a shabby brown suede cowboy hat.

♡ ┆When you ask him about his profession he just smiles and uses the same excuse that he got extra money from some competitions he won at the local bullfight ─ and the mysterious gain is not only used for his own use but also to buy gifts for you, he is not afraid to manipulate or seduce you with monetary gains to capture your attention and keep it, if you want something he will give it to you without thinking twice just to keep you for him, whether for his money or by making you afraid. Miguel secretly ran the underworld of drugs and smuggling but he would never tell you that and he would rather die than for you to discover his source of money in reality.

♡ ┆He always uses affectionate and possessive nicknames with you, like 'Mi vida' 'Mi angelito' 'Mi carinõ'; practically like a passionate lover would do or even he would grab you and hug you, touching you in different places and leaving a trail of heat wherever his fingers passed, even though he was your uncle he would treat you like a possessive companion would.

♡ ┆He drinks a lot, his favorite drink is expensive and pure whiskey. He also becomes almost predatory when he's drunk, often coming into your room on celebratory nights and whispering dark promises to you ─ you've seen him kneeling at the side of your bed as the warm alcoholic breath comes from his thick lips, phrases like: "You will always belong to me", "anyone who dares to come close to you I will kill them.", "I will never let you slip out of my hands, my precious angel." Or even the secret desires to use your body escaped his lips on those rare nights when the drink overcame his stoic and cold demeanor.

♡ ┆Most of his cold behavior is the result of the fact that he never had children and also due to the death of his late wife, killed by a fateful fate that he refused to talk about. He tends to be extremely rude to everyone but he tries to be as gentle as possible with you, even though it can be scary at times. He is domineering, impatient and quick-tempered, looking for your company during family outings or parties. Miguel will manipulate you by saying that his behavior is normal, saying that you were his family and he was just trying to make your bond grow and he will also manipulate your family to sweep away any complaints you may make. from the carpet or say that you were being dramatic and if you try to return his advances he can be extremely rude and easily hold your body, whispering subtle threats like: "You don't want to see me angry, do you, angel?" While leaving your wrists marked red from the force he had put there.

♡ ┆He doesn't let you have boyfriends or girlfriends, if you dare to have a partner he will do everything to make your parents stop this relationship. Even if you are an adult he will do everything in his power to make your life hell if you dare to leave him for a random person. Most of your relationships ended mysteriously because your dear tio used his influence in the underworld to threaten your partner. It will also alienate you from friends or acquaintances, a useful way to maintain control over yourself.

♡ ┆He always invites you to his farm on the weekends, always with the promise of some expensive gift or comfort from all the weekly stress. If you accepted (through free and spontaneous pressure from him) he would spoil you and always spend exorbitant amounts of money on you. If you have problems with your family, he will convince you to leave your home and talk to your parents to let you stay with him in his house for an indefinite period of time. Your Tio I planned to make you his perfect future companion, submissive and untouched by the evils of the world, a husband/wife so he could have a real family again, even if he was your uncle.

♡ ┆He tries to make you sleep with him several times, be it with monetary gains, manipulation or breaking you to the point that you throw yourself into his arms because he thinks you won't get anyone to love you like he does. During sex he plays the role of a tough dominant, often treating you roughly and likes to use your body to vent his frustrations. Miguel will choke and bite you, marking your neck and shoulders with painful, red bites, - even hitting you if you try to struggle or struggle against him, whether it's slaps to the face or butt making you whimper and become more still and controlled in his control. He uses his greater physical experience and constitution to hold you back if you try to run. Your Uncle likes to fantasize about getting you pregnant and making you a perfect little doll for him, he fills all your holes with his semen. He can spit in your mouth, hit his dick on your face, giving you hickeys on your neck, strong bites, or cumming on your face and recording everything afterwards to threaten you if you don't want to accept his marriage proposal later.

[oceantornadoo]

a ghost lives

price came to your door and told you simon was killed in action. three months later, who's that at your door step?

angsty but turns smutty. happy ending dw :)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“no.”

you slammed the door, hands shaking. “no, no, no. it’s not possible.” your shaking hands raised to your cheeks, clawing. tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. the door opened, a dark figure walking through it. you flinched, taking steps backwards until your back hit the wall. you kept shaking your head, murmuring “no, no, no” without sound. you slid down the wall, staring at the man in front of you.

simon was in shambles. the moment he was medically cleared he had jumped on the next plane home, not bothering to tell anyone. he needed to see you, to hold everything he held dear, to believe in good again. and instead of a warm welcome, instead of your customary jump and kiss, you were breaking down. he didn’t understand it. what did he do wrong?

“love? it’s me. i’m home.” he said almost stupidly, unsure of his next move. he closed the door and locked it, and you flinched again. you were sitting on the floor now, tears running down your face with your head in your hands. he set his bag down gently, not wanting to spook you. he ripped off his mask and gloves, tucking them away. you gasped, finally making eye contact.

“you’re not real. you died. my husband died three months ago. you’re in my imagination. please, just go away.” you pleaded, prayed. price had come to your doorstep three months ago, hat in his hands, tears in his eyes. he talked about a difficult enemy and unfair terrain. the only word you heard was “k.i.a.” you died that day, and had been a breathing ghost ever since.

simon was in shock. he had left the hospital so quickly that he had never talked to his unit, didn’t know what they told you. he dropped to his knees, your pain flowing through him tenfold. “i didn’t die, love. i was just lost. i survived for two months in the woods until they found me. i was so badly injured i had to be treated by foreign operatives. price doesn’t even know, i thought they told him. i’m so sorry. i am so, so sorry. i’m here.” you shook your head at his every word. your nightmares were terrifying, but this was the worst one yet. you had never hallucinated in broad daylight. his familiar scent of musk and that cologne you bought him last christmas wafted through the air, punishing you. 

“i don’t believe you. you’re not real. i buried you.” you couldn’t afford to hope. the last months had been about survival, and you had just started eating regularly without bursting into tears, imagining simon cooking his famous meat pie in your kitchen. “casket was empty, lovie. i’m going to touch you now. i need you to know i’m here.” he reached his hand out slowly, like he was approaching a feral cat. you flinched again, breaking another piece of his heart and burying it like that empty casket. his fingertips brushed your cheek and your mouth dropped, tears stopping. 

“si? tell me this is real. convince me.” he maneuvered over until his knees touched yours, bringing you down to earth. you couldn’t believe him. your ghost was alive. there was no way. maybe you had too many melatonin gummies last night.

“look, dove.” he pulled up his shirt, showing you new scars. you had his scars memorized, mapped down to the millimeter, and you would never dream of him being hurt more. he showed you his bandages, moving your fingers over the wrapped bullet hole. he grimaced and you gasped. you would never wish for simon to be in pain, so the fact that he was meant…

you flung yourself at him, shedding new tears. “you’re here, you’re really here. you’re alive.” he nodded against your shoulder. you hear a small meow and drew your head back, looking at riley jr., your ball of fur. she padded over softly and nuzzled her head against simon’s knee, drawing a short laugh from him as he scratched behind her ears. through all of your nightmares, riley jr. had never acknowledged your ghosts. which meant simon was real. which meant he was alive. 

“i’m here.” he kissed your forehead, brushing back your hair. “i’m here.” he kissed between your eyebrows, smoothing the creases there. “i’m alive.” he kissed your tears away, drying your face. “i’m never leaving, dove.” he kissed your nose, finally drawing a small smile out of your. “i’m home.” he kissed your lips, and you kissed back fervently. your husband was home and alive and here. “simon, i’ve missed you. you have no idea. i died that day. i’ve been waiting to join you ever since.” he shook his head as tears rolled down his face. “be ready to wait another 70 years, love. we’re alive.” you tackled him again, pushing him down on the ground. you kissed him with the passion that had been gone for the last three months, cracked and dried out inside you. you climbed on top of him, needing to feel him, needing to believe. 

you grinded your hips against his, drawing out a low moan. “let me inside. let me show you i’m alive.” he said, still not convinced you believed him. you nodded, overcome with love for the man beneath you. he rubbed his palm against your clit, rocking you as you kissed. you hadn’t even thought of sex in the last three months, and it had somehow built up to this. you were instantly wet, always ready for your simon. you felt his hardness underneath you as he bucked his hips. you unzipped his pants, taking him out, long and heavy in your hands. he pulled aside your shorts and you sunk down on him with a low moan. “my husband. my simon. you’re alive.” you finally, truly believed it. he bucked into you, the friction of his clothes stimulating your clit. “my wife and her beautiful cunt, sucking me in. look at you.” there were dried tears on your face, sweaty clothes clung to your body, and your cunt squelched with every thrust. you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. you were so pretty, even when you cried. 

he flipped you both over, fucking into you hard on the floor. his hand wrapped around your head, protecting it from bumping. “i’m back because no one could ever fuck you like this. no one as good as me. say it.” he ordered, needing reassurance. “no one as good as you, si. no one will ever be you.” you moaned, your orgasm building up, with something behind it. he sucked your neck and pinched your nipples, reminding your body of how good it felt to be owned by him. “come on, dove. come for me.” you felt so wet and achy, your emotions out of control. his voice was the only thing keeping you conscious. you felt stuffed, full of your husband. “come on, my dirty girl. let me fill you up. my welcome home gift.” you gasped as you came, a tingling sensation following it. you looked down as you squirted on simon’s cock, so overwhelmed. he came, the juices mixing, trailing down your holes. “gonna give you a baby so you won’t ever leave. we’re never leaving each other, yeah?” he grasped your hair and pulled you in for a kiss.

“never, simon. i’m yours.”

[bobabisch]

side rant that probably nobody cares about or agrees with but I need to get this outta my brain. Water 7 made me genuinely upset for Usopp. he was so valid and so right and the rest of the Strawhats were so fucking insensitive and oblivious (except for maybe Nami and Chopper). but like if you seriously think about it, the Going Merry was the only part of his home that Usopp had left. everyone else had their pieces of home. Nami had her tangerine trees, Zoro has the wado ichimonji, Sanji is not only chasing his dream but also fulfilling Zeff's dream (who he owes his life to) in chasing after the All Blue, Chopper has his hat, and Luffy has his hat. you know damn well the rest of them would lose their minds if they lost any of those pieces of their lives and they would be valid in doing so. yet when it comes to Usopp and the only thing he was able to bring from home no one cares? not to mention Usopp ended up being lowkey right about the Merry. Usopp put his everything into that ship. he was the only one repairing her and treating the Merry like she was a real part of the crew and their home. without Usopp's (somewhat shitty) repairs the Merry would've been done with so much sooner than Water 7.

and I'm not saying that Luffy wasn't right about needing a new ship, but the way they went about telling him and how they treated him when he was just upset about it was plain ridiculous. I mean even Luffy was in denial about the leaving the Merry behind but they couldn't even allow Usopp time to grieve losing the last connection he had to his home?? despite all this what really pissed me off about the whole thing was Zoro saying that the only way Usopp could rejoin the crew was if he apologized first. like what??

when it comes to this I'm an usopp defender till I die. I think the crew was seriously effed up for this ngl.

however, I do agree that Usopp's insecurity problems were his own though, and he shoulda delt with that quietly and not projected his insecurities onto Luffy or the others.

[sophswritingthings]

Mizu x Fem!Apothecary! Reader who is also her wife and she is bandaging up mizu after the fight in shindo dojo

pairing: mizu x apothecary!fem!reader

warning(s): mentions of blood/injury, swearing

a/n: YOUR MIND MY FRIEND. also that sceneeeeee….. 😳

summary: you've been staying at your shop, somewhere warm, somewhere safe. that’s when mizu stumbles in, your wife, battered and bloodied. 

word count, 751 words / 4,109 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you were humming, softly, tapping your fingers to the beat of the music in your mind. you were mindlessly cooking something for yourself, between mixing up medicines and herbs.

everything was quiet; serene and simple.

you had settled down to eat, with a small cup of sake beside your table. you took one small sip, before the door to your shop burst open.

you flipped around, scared out of instinct.

but then.. there was mizu, your muscles relaxing. your wife—your lovely samurai wife who always managed to get herself into some kind of trouble.

and that much was true; because there she was, covered in blood, some of which you could assume wasn’t hers—with a deep gash on her shoulder.

you swiftly collected yourself, walking over to help her inside. you settled her against the wall, pressing your door shut to keep the warmth inside. you settled in front of her, gazing her up and down.

you removed her hat and glasses, placing them to the side to see those beautiful eyes you loved so much. with a soft smile, you placed a soft kiss on her lips, pulling back with narrowed eyes.

“what did you do?” you hiss, “you need to be more goddamn careful, mizu, or were seriously going to have a problem.”

“It was a simple duel, (y/n), I'll live,” she narrowed her eyes back.

“yet here you are, covered in blood.” you pulled yourself to your feet, collecting mixes of herbs. as well as a needle and thread, which you kept on hand, in case things like this happened.

“most of it isn’t mine, my love,” the faintest hint of a smirk crossed her lips. you roll your eyes, settling down beside your wife.

“I assumed as much, darling.” you grumble, pulling off her overcoat. you pull down the corner of her undershirt to reveal the deep wound nestled on her right shoulder. “did you at the very least get what you were looking for?”

she nods, adverting her gaze from the wound. “I have,” her voice is rather soft, like it always is with you. though it’s still raspy, and masculine, keeping up her appearance. “I will leave tomorrow to find him.”

“you act as if I am not coming with you,” you narrow your eyes again, dabbing a poultice to her wound. mizu hisses, the stinging pain causing her eyebrows to furrow.

“because you won’t be,” her gaze flicks to you, resting on your slim, brown eyes. “you must stay here, and stay safe.”

“no,” you finish cleaning her wound, turning to grab your needle and thread. you gently begin to thread the needle in her skin, “I’m not going to stay here while you're miles on miles away from me, doing who-fucking knows what. probably getting yourself killed—“

“listen,” she placed a hand on your cheek, turning your head to look at her. “I cannot take the chances that you will have even a hair on your head hurt. i will live, (y/n), and finish my task. that or be given death, so be it.”

“you cannot..” your words trail off, “you can’t do that to yourself, mizu. please, think about taking me with you.. if you are to die I want to die with you.”

she shakes her head, “I will not let you throw away the rest of your life because I am gone,” she hissed. “stay here, please, my love.”

you press your forehead to hers, shaking your head with tears in your eyes.

“I-I can’t, mizu, I can’t,” you stumble with your words. “I-I love you. take me with you, please.”

mizu searches your expression, wiping the tears from your eyes. she ponders on it for a moment; you weren’t going to back down until she agreed, she knew you. your determination is why she loved you so very much, why she married you.

“okay,” she finally conceded, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “okay. you—you can come.”

“r-really?” you sniffled, your eyes wide. you had basically forgot about stitching her up.

“I would not lie to you,” she hissed. “but you're going to listen to me. if I tell you to run, to leave me, you will. alright?”

you sigh, finishing stitching up her wound. “alright,” you whisper begrudgingly.

she pressed another kiss to your forehead, allowing you to finish stitching her up.

“I love you.” she whispered, her blue eyes locked onto yours.

you smiled softly, returning her kiss on her cheek. “I love you, too, my darling.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: it’s short but I enjoyed writing it <33

[sevencolorsatlast]

Archons Reacting To Their Creator Singing Pt. 2

Part 1 [Venti, Zhongli, Ei and Nahida] || Part 2 [Furina] (You're Here!)

Author's Note: 4.2 Update Spoilers! You've been warned! Song used: "Curses" by The Crane Wives. No beta, we die like my heart while playing this quest.

Update: I changed the verse weeee. Also corrected a couple of mistakes.

Content Warning(s): None.

Other Notes: Default SAGAU / GN!Reader / Drabble / 800+ Words / Ao3 Link

[ Furina ]

"There's still cobwebs in the corners

And the backyard's full of bones

Won't you stay with me, my darling

When this house don't feel like home?"

You came down from the heavens weeks ago, knowing Fontaine is in danger but kept your head low and disguised yourself as a Fontainian to seek solutions to their prophecy. No one suspected you aside from the Vision wielders and a few Guardes who eventually left you alone since you seem to be harmless. You also manage to avoid any unpleasant encounters with your followers while roaming around the city.

Visiting Focalors in the opera house when no one was around was... rather an eventful one; she hopes you do not intervene with her plans to save her beloved people. You tried to reason with her: you are her god — you can forgive her and her people but she says it is her duty as Hydro Archon as prophecies cannot be changed. To pursue "justice", so to speak, is via the death of her and her throne.

You no longer attempt to pursue the topic which Focalors tacitly appreciates. Instead, you promised to look after her "human" self... Furina.

She smiles ever so graciously, knowing that such a divine being like you would keep Furina safe and sound - even after she meets her fate. You ask if you can hug Focalors, she happily accepts as this will be your first and last meeting her. You give most of your strength to hug her and you pull away, saying your tearful goodbye.

Everything went down according to her plan; watching scenes unfolding right before your eyes. Furina's trial was heart wrenching to watch, you want to jump and defend her... but this was all part of her "divine" self's plan. You shouldn't interfere, you reminded yourself, you clench your fists as the last puzzle of the prophecy reveals itself in front of you and the rest of the audience.

After the flooding in Fontaine died down and you let weeks pass by to let the country recover, you sought out Neuvillette. He is surprised to see you, easily seeing through your disguise. He bows before you and airs his concerns about Furina who had moved away from Palais Mermonia. You gently grab his hand and hold it in-between yours, telling him to stand up. You reassure that you'll be discreetly visiting Furina and the Hydro Sovereign gives you the address on where she currently lives.

During sunset, you found Furina cooped up in her new home. You knock and it took her a while before peeking through the small gap of the door. To put it lightly, her place is in disarray even when the gap of her door is small — her things are littered on the floor and she... doesn't look too good. She is far from well-presented and she looks like a ghost.

You can tell her eyes are red from crying and lack of sleep is evident on her unusually pale face. Her once kept hair's a mess and her clothes aren't well-presented like they usually do. Her hat is also nowhere to be found, it must've been included in the pile of mess scattered about her floorboards.

She weakly asks who you are and tells you that she doesn't accept visitors. You look around, making sure no one is around to see your transformation. Once you know the coast is clear, you transform into your normal self; soft glow emanating from your skin.

Once you are done dusting off your robes, Furina suddenly pulls you into her home and slams the door behind her - stuttering "Your Grace" under her breath and muttering how she's embarrassed that she's in a mess.

You turn around to speak and, instead, you are met with a tight hug from Furina. She buries her head into your shoulder and clutching onto your robes.

She doesn't understand why you hadn't come down from the heavens sooner... and you tell her Focalors wanted to do her part while you witnessed everything. She remained silent for a while before letting out a few sobs. You finally let your arms wrap around her; like a parent hugging their long-lost child.

To calm her down, you sing a song you know from the depths of your heart; the one that is ingrained to the forefronts of your mind even as a child. You alternate between singing and humming while gently running your hand up and down on Furina's back.

Her sobs subside as the last lyric of the song leaves your lips. She wipes her tears away with her hands and regains her composure. She pulls her head away from your shoulder, her eyes yet to look at your direction.

"My apologies for seeing me in such a state, Your Grace." She says, her voice slightly above a whisper, "And ...That's a wonderful song you've sung. I... appreciate it..."

She sniffles; it reminded you when you were a kid. You smile at the fond memory.

"The song was sung to calm me down by my caretakers." You say, "I suppose it still holds its charm."

She lets out a weak chuckle and meets your eyes, "I... Thank you, Your Grace."

"For what?" You inquired despite knowing the answer. She pulls you into another hug, you could've sworn you had seen her genuinely smiling for the first time.

"For being here with me." She says, a small spark of joy coming from her voice, "For seeing the 'real' me."

As she hums your song, you hold each other close until the sun finally sets from the horizon.

[mo-aiki]

Maximillian Black

Summary: The imperial dog, the hero of the Bloody 10 Year War, a prestigious war hero that somehow became your personal guard.

Warning: obsessive behavior, violence, slut shaming

A/N: THIS ART IS NOT MINE, IT'S THE MALE LEAD OF I TAMED MY EX-HUSBAND'S MAD DOG.

Connected to Yandere Isekai M. Characters x F. Reader

A ball.

A stupid one at that.

A ball ran by the royal family for congratulatories.

How stuffy.

The amount of fake people with fake smiles that surrounded him. He hated it. He was used to these fake smiles when he was younger. Working as a stableboy for a prominent polo club before running away and becoming a knight when he was 11. Everyone around him were terrible people.

Nobles who'd kill over a horse and servants who are willing to kill for them. Money is dangerous.

He was always blamed for everything. He was the youngest and the son of a brothel whore, starving for money, in thousands of coins in debt and taken in by an old man who was a stable man himself.

If a horse wasn't as fast as one servant claimed, the servant would blame it on him.

If a horse wasn't available, he would be blamed.

If a beloved horse died, he was blamed for letting it die.

He didn't want to be stuck as a stable boy. He hated everything. To live only to be thrown under the carriage by savages, from both the poor and the rich.

But when he was 10 years old, he saw something, or more like someone. A girl. Her face, lighting up when looking at the horse. It spooked him when he was surprised by her. "I'm sorry, but I really wanted to see the horse!"

Her eyes sparkled in delight when looking at the horses. "Could I pet one, or is that not okay with you?"

He was speechless with her beauty. Her nice voice, her (e/c) eyes with glitter in them, and her kindness and asking him, even though he was a lowly stable boy. The old man spoke for him. "You can pet the horses young lady. I'm sure people you understand."

Her eyes lighted up. "Thank you Mister..."

The old man took off his hat and held it. "My name is Otto, my lady..."

She smiled, a beautiful sight for his eyes. "Thank you Mr. Otto!"

She petted the horses as he watched in awe. The laughter and the smiling face of that young girl, stuck with him as a beautiful sight.

When he ran away, Mr. Otto was on his deathbed. The only one to take him in. He had told him to run, as far as he can before he becomes like one of them.

He ran, and ran, and ran. He wanted to run away from those looking for the money from his mother. He ended up at a mercenary camp, where he learned about how to protect himself.

He spent a lot of time with them. He had a gist on how to use a sword, but it definitely improved from the mercenaries. They were kind guys but were reckless and a tad bit unhinged at times.

But something all of them brought up were women. How their dream woman would be, what they liked about women, and even the nasty parts, he all heard.

But all of it brought him back to the girl he met at the polo stables with the most beautiful smile and personality. He couldn't help but think of her often.

She had appeared and disappeared in his life, leaving him in regret of not talking to her, the first time. He can only imagine her growing up, as he grew up. He trained for days with a new goal in mind, to meet her at any cost.

The mercenary group he was apart of were sent off to war against the rivaling empire over territorial disputes 6 years after the war had started. He was, as described by his comrades, a monster on the battlefield. He was recognized by the higher ups as someone who could lead troop morale and someone who could monstrously deal with the many soldiers and the creatures that came. He had dealt with the dragon the enemy empire managed to tame with a single hit from his sword, Glamdring.

All of this came from his motivation to survive and to see her once again. He had planned on leaving to find her, but the war dragged him in. He had originally wanted to run, but he overheard the talk about the prestige it would bring to him. If that girl was a noble, maybe he would impress her with his title and newfound fame.

And thus it led him to be the monster that he was, on the battlefield.

And now back at the ball. He held onto his wine glass, dressed in something he had never worn before. A white, heavily embroidered suit with a cape and a sash of all the medals for his accomplishments in the battlefield.

He only looked in disdain as all the noble ladies around him were drooling at his fit.

He went outside for a breath of fresh air. Walking along the garden until, he got to a fountain. He then saw a woman. Her (h/c) hair, perfectly laid, her dress, well thought out, and her hand holding the wine glass of half drunken champagne. He didn't know why, but somehow he was attracted to the woman sitting on the fountain edge.

He walked closer, to be bewitched by her looks, but somehow she felt familiar. Like someone he has been longing for. He was right next to her when she got spooked and almost fell into the fountain, while he caught her before she got wet.

Guiding her up and letting go of her waist, she looked at him. "Hello, thank you for catching me at that moment. May I ask for your name? I would like to repay you..."

He smiled. "My name is Maximillian Black, what is your's my lady?"

She smiled. "My name is (y/n) (l/n). Maximillian Black..."

She seemed to ponder for a few seconds. "Ah! You're the star of the ball tonight!"

He raised his eyebrow out of sarcasm. "Am I? Really?"

She laughed. Her laugh was beautiful to his ears. It almost reminded him of the little girl he met as a stable boy.

They walked and talked. He had never had a more enjoyable time then learning about you. But all of it was interrupted when a man's voice came in. "There you are (y/n)."

He looked directly at him as the woman turned her head towards him. "I have been looking for you since you said you needed to powder your face."

The woman blushed out of embarrassment. "Oh...I seemed to have spent too long out here, Duk-"

"I told you, you can call me Augustus, (y/n)"

The man held her hand as he pushed her towards his body. "I'm your fiancé after all...", he said, looking directly at him with a cold glare.

He had never felt so pissed after that interaction.

"Maximillian Black....MAXIMILLIAN BLACK?!"

Your voice, shocked as he stood right in front of you. A couple days later after the ball, the Emperor asked him a wish he could grant. He said, "To become a guard for the (l/n) family."

"Oh? Why my boy? Wouldn't you want riches?"

To Maximillian, riches were small in comparison to her. The Emperor granted his wish, and thus he became (y/n)'s personal guard.

He is always near her or at least 5 feet away. He always enjoyed the interactions he had with you more than anything. His favorite words were always your nickname for him. "Maxi! Could you please help me pick this orange? It's a bit too high for me to reach!"

"Maxi, could you sit down with me. I'll ask Anna to come as well."

"Maxi, I can deal with it myself. Do not fret. I will be careful!"

"Maxi, have you ever read this romance book? It is so sweet!"

Your kind and tender personality, melted his cold, stoic heart. But he soon saw how there were pest around you.

First was the stupid fiancé who never let you leave his sight, but always shooed him away like he was a pest. Giving you gifts of jewels, ribbons, dresses, bows, and books, he would beat him by a long shot just from his wealth alone. He did overhear that he was a Duke after all.

Second was the childhood best friend. The son of an Earl. Nobody was closer to you both physically and mentally than him. He would cuddle with you, get lap pillows, and be cared for. He wanted nothing more than to break him in half and tear him to shreds, but couldn't from his lineage alone. He was stage extreme of clinger.

And finally, third were all the men trying to flirt with you on a daily basis. He would shoo them, glare, threaten, and maybe if kill them if they didn't listen. Didn't matter if they were a noble or a peasant, someone filthy stained your ears.

He had to get rid of them.

He was in love after all, but at the end of the day, you were still going to get married to your fiancé, that arrogant duke.

He had overheard about your plans of annulment. He felt ecstatic, but his face looked the same.

Now all he had to do was to kidnap you and take you away to a forest to live out each other lives in peace, away from those pests. Easy enough, right?

"Night time would be safer to travel with a sleeping girl in my arms. Everyone is asleep after all..."

A/N: FINALLY DONE. NOW I CAN DO COMMISSION WORK OR IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST ANOTHER TYPE OF YANDERE, I'M ALL EARS!!!!

[writersblg]

how the cod characters would react to their partner having a hyper-feminine bedroom

It was late at night when you brought your boyfriend/girlfriend back to your place for the first time. Still having a few lights on in your apartment you went around to turn them all off and check if you have closed all the curtains while you told your new partner to make themselves comfortable. So they looked around the rooms - all painted in white with some greenery with timeless emerald green furniture - until they got to your bedroom. Pink. Everything was covered in pink or white. White walls, pink bed sheets, white wardrobe, pink lamps and carpet. Tons of fluffy and big pillows laying across your bed in pink and you expected them to be normal about this?

Simon

Closest he’ll ever be to experience a stroke

Never slept worse in his life

Starts acting like he’s in a haunted house at first

Literally hyper aware suddenly

Genuinely has a hard time adjusting since he feels so out of place

Has to smoke before coming to your place to calm himself down just because of your bedroom

He’s going to end up as your phone background when he snored on your pink bed

Will slowly start to enjoy how soft and sweet the room actually is and how he maybe doesn’t need a gun on the bedside table

TeenLoose Ends!Simon (shameless self promo)

Best place on earth for him 💕

One of the pink pillows is his designated one

Thought it was just because you never cared to rearrange your room since early childhood

Would see if something is positioned differently right away

Would definitely make sure all photos will be deleted with him wrapped up in pink bed sheets

Soap

Giggles

Throws himself on the bed in an instant and is off - you can’t get him to wake up again

Definitely takes up the entire bed

Falls asleep with a plushie in his arms

Will buy a few pink items to drop at his home for you to feel more comfortable at his place

Gaz

Weirded out a little? But never slept better

Will address you with “Hi Barbie” from now on (Hi Ken 💕)

Mentally gets ready for weekly skincare routines together the second he sets foot in the bedroom

He almost once choked on a blanket in your bed in his sleep

He’s so unproblematic I’m gonna die 🫠

Price

Feels like he’s in Disney Land

The age gap just hit him in the face and is now convinced all of gen z has a room like that

Once had to answer a zoom call while being surrounded by pink plushies and he got bullied BADLY by his superiors

Will actually start to find your pink sleeping mask for him really useful and bring it with him when he’s travelling

Alex

“Awh that’s cute”

Doesn’t want to touch anything because it looks so nice to him

Also gets very giddy

Will show up with one of these pink cowboy hats with feathers on your door step

Farah

Stroke; call the ambulance

But will get used to it after some time and will kinda have the chance to rediscover girlhood in a way

Will trigger a Pavlovian reflex after some time and gets super sleepy at the sight of pink

Starts to get cuteness aggressions with you

Valeria

Will tell you that you’re too soft but secretly loves the bedroom; definitely her favourite room in your place

Steals little pink items she thinks you won’t be missing and places them in her place

Will choke someone if something she stole went missing or someone looks at it for too long

Alajandro

Will take a picture and send it to a group chat. Sorry

Will ask so many questions as to why this room looks like that. Not in a judgy way - more genuine curiosity

Will sleep on the edge of the bed because he feels so uncomfortable at first

I hc him regularly drooling on the bed sheets 😭

Rudy

Will actually act normal about it?

You’re waiting for a comment but there’s none

Will casually slip into his PJs and get under the pink covers and fall asleep

I think he has a thing for hyperfeminine partners in general so maybe that’s why 🎀

Keegan

“What the fuck?”

BUT he’ll literally fit in so well 🥹 and get used to it

Absolutely will start calling you “Princess”

Will start buying pink stuff because it reminds him of you; but don’t force him to wear anything pink - he won’t 🥲

I’m going insane over the picture in my head about his Siberian husky eyes and black hair in pink bed sheets

Really don’t want to bother you guys but if you have a few minutes maybe consider signing the petition for inquisitor ❤️ the link should be at the top of my blog

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil. You've been my favorite author since I was a child, and last year I got to see you in Eugene, Oregon. Though, I nearly didn't have the chance to go.

The fall before, just a few days before my birthday, I attempted suicide but couldn't go through with it at the last minute. I had been in the store to get what I needed and I saw this truly awful hoodie. Lavender with full body tigers printed all over in black ink. It made me think of my childhood friend who I was still close with. It was ugly but, she would've loved it. I went back to the helium tanks and just stood there almost like I had suddenly forgotten why I was there. I just thought about that hoodie. I ended up buying it with the money I had planned to use for the tools I was going to use to end my life. I got to my car, looked at this thing in my lap, and remembered what I had been there for. I cried and called the hotline, because now I had to live so I could send it to my friend. In that moment, I just wanted to give my friend something that would make her smile more than I wanted to die. And, at that time, it was enough. My 29th birthday a few days later carried this weight of knowing I nearly didn't see it. Last year, I survived to 30 and couldn't help laughing at what felt like absurdity.

When I saw you were coming to Eugene last year, I was so excited. I went alone since I didn't have anyone who was as interested in going. I'm not one for celebrity or anything like that. I had admired you for so long for all the things you created that it felt surreal. You're not just a writer, you're a storyteller. You've created stories using all sorts of different types of media and I've always thought that was amazing. Like a magician. Whether they use a coin or hat or card, they make magic. To me: whether it was a book or a comic or a movie, you made magic.

This is probably a bit long-winded so I apologize for babbling but all of this is for me to tell you something I've wanted to tell you since that day in Eugene. I took so long to say this because I wanted to find a way to tell you how much weight this carried for me. I drove home that night, thinking to myself, "I'm glad I'm still alive." That was the very first time since the attempt and, frankly, in my life that I had ever thought that. I had always lived for other people and their happiness. I survived in part for the same reason. That night, it dawned on me that it was okay to live for my happiness too. Even if it was small. I felt like I had the sun in my chest and it was everything. I wanted you to know what that meant for me. So, thank you. Truly, thank you

Oh, thank you. I'm so glad you bought the hoodie, am so glad you came to see me in Eugene, and am really happy you are here and that you got to be happy. Stick around.

[loonylupinblack3]

Could you do fic for Mark Webber with wife reader? Just her being their children to the paddock and everyone quickly gushed over the kids. Both Lando and Oscar act like big brothers to them and felt very protective of the Webber's family. Would absolutely do everything the kids asked them to. So, there was chaos every time she brought them to the garage. But everyone wouldn't trade them for anything. Just something fluff and cute. Tag me later!! Thanks:)()

Pairing: Mark Webber x Reader

Warnings: extremely vague suggestive content

Summary: Mark brings you and your kids to the grand prix

A/N: was very fun to write this request, hope you enjoy <3

You fixed your son’s hat, turning it the right way and giving it a slight pat. Ever the moody nine year old your son Connor scowled up at you, batting your hand away.

“Now, is that the sort of way you treat your mother?” came your husband’s voice, accompanied with an arm around your waist.

You smiled as your husband finally finished getting ready and as your five year old daughter waddled behind him, ever the follower. Wherever Mark went, Lily went with him. You knelt down and picked your daughter up, the girl giggling and hugging your neck.

“Ready to go?” you asked your family, though it was Mark who answered, nodding his head and putting his hand on the small of your back, leading you outside to the car.

You buckled in Lily, Connor insisting he could do his seatbelt himself, and got into the passenger seat as Mark started the car. Lily was full of questions about her first grand prix event, a constant stream of words leaving her mouth at all times.

You answered them the best you could, though some of them were quite….. Unique questions.

“What if a dinosaur went on track during the race?” Lily asked, kicking her feet. “Would the race stop? Would people die?”

Lily looked a bit too cheerful at her words. Connor rolled his eyes at his sister.

“That wouldn’t happen, dinosaurs went extinct ages ago.”

You smiled at your son through the mirror. “Someone’s been doing their research.”

Connor smiled, puffing his chest out slightly. His early defiance was forgotten and he was looking quite pleased that you’d noticed his education on dinosaurs. 

“I learnt it at school. Also, did you know….”

You listened intently as your son explained his learnings of space, smiling at his excited rambling. Mark’s hand moved to your thigh, resting there comfortably. Your smile widened. You’d known Mark a long time, and during that time you’d figured out whenever Mark was happy he’d touch you. Like he felt contentment and touching you just mirrored his feelings. Like touching you was the icing on the cake, the perfect addition to his perfect feeling.

You looked at Mark with a smile. He noticed your gaze and smiled back, squeezing your thigh gently. 

“Also Mum,” Connor continued, “when we get to the race can we have a hot chocolate?”

Lily gasped. “Please Mum!”

You sighed at your children’s antics, and you knew sugar would just hype them up and then have them crash down, but how could you say no to them?

“We’ll see,” you conceded, which was basically a yes.

You arrived at the circuit, parking in the VIP car park Connor was all too excited to talk about as you walked to the grid. You held his hand as you walked, something Connor had complained about at the start but you were insistent. It was a crowded place and you didn’t want to lose him.

Mark was holding Lily, the girl curled up in her father’s arms. You smiled at the sight before listening to Connor, paying him the attention he expected from you as he swung your arms back and forth, chattering about his latest discovery.

Hefting Lily to one arm, Mark took your free hand and together your family walked into the paddock, receiving the sudden flash of cameras as people tried to get your attention. You held your son closer, feeling his hand squeeze yours in panic, though unfortunately he was used to this. You could see Mark doing the same thing for Lily, letting the girl hide her face into the crook of his neck.

When you’d passed the paparazzi, entering the VIP section of the grid where they didn’t have access too, Mark gently put Lily down and you let go of Connor’s hand, trusting the two of them to walk freely.

Mark held onto your hand more tightly, tugging you closer to him. You laughed, shaking your head, and Mark grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head.

“Oscar! Oscar!” 

Lily started bolting forward, making your eyes widen and an immediate reaction to run after her seize you, but when your brain understood what she was saying your gaze travelled further and found the Australian driver grinning, arms out for your daughter.

Connor was quick to follow, running after his sister, and you and Mark shared a wry grin before walking after them. Lando appeared next to you from who knows where, giving you a tight hug.

“There’s my favourite F1 wag,” he murmured into your ear.

You laughed and hugged him back. “It’s good to see you too, Lando.”

The two of you pulled back just as Lily noticed Lando, letting a dramatic gasp leave her lips before she was running after him, Connor hot on her heels. You smiled, watching your two kids embrace Lando as Mark greeted Oscar, squeezing his shoulder.

As they talked you kept an eye on your kids, making sure they didn’t overwhelm Lando with their questions and chatter. The young Mclaren driver seemed to be doing just fine however, enjoying the conversation almost as much as the kids themselves.

Oscar walked over to you and you tore your gaze away from your children, instead focusing on your other child that Mark and you had practically adopted. Oscar gave you a grin and hugged you tightly, his figure towering over you slightly.

“Thanks for coming,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back, giving him a fond smile. “Of course. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

A faint blush spread across Oscar’s cheeks and you grinned, letting him go. Mark immediately replaced him, hand snaking to your waist and pulling you to his side.

“Mum! Mum!” Connor asked, running up to you. “Lando said he’d take us to the Mclaren garage. Can we go? Please.”

You smiled and nodded. “We can all go.”

Your kids let out a cheer and trailed behind Lando and Oscar who’d joined them, the two Mclaren drivers listening to your chattering children as they led them to the garage.

“How about you and me disappear somewhere?” Mark whispered into your ear, a devious grin on his face. “Lando and Oscar can mind the kids for a while.”

You turned to your husband and smirked, hands wrapping around his neck. “What did you have in mind?”

[purplerabbite]

i know capitalism is trying to suck every last bit of money out of every last one of us and that war/civil unrest is happening everywere all the time every second of every day but you know what else.

im gonna cook and paint and maybe finish my verson of a stitched quilt blanket thing i saw at target for too much money that i liked the texture but hatted that it was like 100+ dollars for a white comforter with black stitching all down it.

i made the same one out of 2 cotton sheets my grandma had and i got rainbow thread its 1/4 of the way done and everything is over priced and on fire but i got that beautifulthread from an estate sale that had ended and the queer man that ran it said he couldnt sell the old womans yarn and that i could have this ( 1) rainbow ream of thick thread if i would take all 6 boxes of yarn that that woman probaly had collected for years.

i gave the yarn to my mom and told her a nice man gave it to me and she said he probaly didnt want to see sit in his shop for ever and she was glad the womans collection would get used. im sure that woman would be happy to know even though shes gone theres kids that have hats for winter now. old people got blankets and my mom can crochet for free so she didnt mind one bit giving away nearly everything she made.

nothing is free and everything cost money and people die and are selfish.

sometime tho it isnt ture and people arent and even if bad things happen I have a blanket and a hat. those things dont matter but what i feel about them does and no one can take that away from me.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

"Luffy... help me..."

It's often been said about One Piece that you should "read it until Arlong Park," but it's one very specific MOMENT in Arlong Park that's important here. If this resonates with you, you're a One Piece fan, and if it doesn't, well, maybe it's not for you.

Let me tell you about it.

TRANSCRIPT:

Which are the best panels in One Piece?

It's often said in the One Piece community that you should stick with it until Arlong Park, and if you're not into One Piece by that point, THAT's when you know it's not a series for you.

I think this is true, and the reason why is this scene. This scene is how you know.

Nami has spent eight years working on her own, since she was a child of only ten, lying, deceiving, stealing, fighting and scamming, all to gather the money that Arlong wants so she can save her village. And now with the goal in sight, Arlong uses the Navy (all Marines are bastards) to steal her money so he can keep exploiting her.

The villagers she has been protecting have had enough, and are going to throw themselves at the fishmen and die, and the beloved friends she made on the Straw Hat Crew keep refusing to leave even though she KNOWS that Arlong will kill them. Her every ray of hope and all of her attempts at keeping control have failed and now, reduced to incoherent rage and sorrow, she sits in the dirt stabbing a dagger into the tattoo on her shoulder, because hurting herself is the only thing she can do to spite Arlong.

And then Luffy comes along and stops her.

She yells at him, throws dirt at him, rejects him, tells him to f*** off basically, and when he doesn't… because she has nothing else left, because there's no plan, because everything is falling down around her, she finally lets down her walls, and says what's in her heart. "Luffy… help me." (p 200, first panel)

And Luffy takes off his hat, his treasure, and gives it to her, and walks forward, and with his characteristic cartoony ridiculousness screams as loud he possibly can "OF COURSE I WILL."

Luffy doesn't know why she needs him. He doesn't know why she lied, why she stole the ship, he doesn't know about Belle-Mère or Nojiko or Nami's deal with Arlong. And he doesn't need to know, because she's his friend and she's his crew, and he loves her, she doesn't need a tragic backstory to deserve his help, she deserves it because she needs it, she deserves it because she asked.

Luffy knows that every time Nami tried to push him away, every time she told him to fuck off and leave her, her heart wasn't in it. Just like he'll know it with Robin, just like he'll know it with Sanji. And he knows that when she asks him for help, she has never meant anything more deeply in her life.

For that, he will move mountains. For that, he will level fortresses, he will smite gods and he will slay dragons. For love does Luffy do these things.

People hype up the moment when the crew get together and go to Arlong Park as the best moment of this chapter, and I'm not gonna say that it isn't awesome. Badass as hell, absolutely certified.

But… this chapter belongs to Nami, and her moment right here, because this is the moment that a girl who has fought so hard and so alone for so long finally finds the strength and the courage that it takes to trust someone else to lift your burdens.

[dykealloy]

spoilers up to the end of dressrosa arc here but. I can't stop thinking about how Law takes on Rosinante's will. Corasan freed him from Doflamingo and the marines and the world government and everyone that ever could have touched him at the time, but has Law really felt free? “Everything I do until I die represents what Corasan achieved” is sweet until you recognise that Law is willing (and planned) to go to the grave for that belief. Until Doflamingo dies there is always a part of him stuck in that treasure chest, constrained by what Law felt happened to Corasan due to him that day.

It's crazy how textbook survivors guilt victim Law is (I’m new here so I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t the first time this has been brought up), but let’s just quickly go over some symptoms:

Obsessive thoughts about the traumatic event ✅ (will go over this in greater detail below)

A sense of disconnection or detachment/need to isolate oneself from others ✅ (Law doesn't fully isolate himself but he definitely has his walls up at all times, though there are often subtle hints of him enjoying the company of the people he chooses to surround himself with. He is notably more reserved, emotionally unavailable, cold and distant than others around him, and watching closely you'll notice that even physically he has a tendency to situate himself three steps behind the group)

Insomnia, nightmares, flashbacks of the traumatic event ✅ (if we can assume some of his backstory expressed in Dressrosa are flashbacks, and also assuming that the perpetual eyeliner he wears are covering some pretty heavy eyebags. Also mention that the only time we see him resting is against Sunny's mast on the way to Dressrosa - and that was 1. a filler episode, and 2. if he was sleeping, it was very quickly interrupted by an attack by petplay guy - a nightmare in of itself)

Irritability and anger ✅ (though elements of this could just be attributed to Law's personality or a natural response to the straw hat's shenanigans, as well as Luffy's total inability to stick to a reasonable plan)

Feelings of despair and thoughts of suicide ✅ (that's Law's Dressrosa arc babe)

Now, there's many reasons why Law is unable to move past this guilt (an apparent lack of therapists in one piece being one of them) - but his inability to believe in unconditional love is likely the biggest offender.

Law may have started off (initially) with one of the most fortunate, stable beginnings, with a loving family and a big house in a rich country (wealth of which was built off the back of lies and corruption and the murder of innocent future generations - we'll get there). But he had a mother and a father who loved and nurtured Law (and were both highly respected doctors in their own right who citizens trusted and relied on). Law's happy beginnings really juxtapose the unfathomable horror that had been lying in wait in Flevance.

Even when shit started to hit the fan, at a very young age (<10 yrs old), Law was already stepping up and showing love for his little sister (lying to her when she was on her deathbed, knowing full well he would likely face the same fate after reading his charts, putting on a brave face for her so she wouldn't be afraid when the screams began to reach their front door, hiding her away when soldiers sieged their home and rushing to check on his parents). Given everything that happened in Flevance, it's completely understandable that, while Law will likely never forget the love his family gave him, remembering it became twisted in the lasting memories of his home — parents riddled with bullet holes. a closet holding a sick little sister waiting for him in a house engulfed by flames. stumbling through a town of friends, neighbours, just... people he used to pass by on the street, now all dead.

Seeing hell, knowing why and how it transpired, who were responsible (spoilers, the World Government; the same body that most citizens believe exist to protect them — yeah, sister "a merciful hand of salvation waiting to help" were perhaps the worst possible combination of words you could have left Law with here. Likely instrumental in having him lose his faith "I don't believe in anything anymore."), knowing he is the only survivor, and fated to die anyway due to the terminal illness that is slowly killing him because some figureheads years back were greedy and the governing powers above the figureheads were willing to cover up everything if it meant garnering a portion of wealth and maintaining influence and control. It's beyond grief, beyond rage. And there's absolutely nowhere Law can put it. No one he can retaliate against. Who could come out of hell knowing this and not want to see the world burn?

So, smart little Law escapes under a pile of bodies and goes to the one person infamously revered for being in the business of that kind of thing. And boy oh boy I can only begin to imagine how a young and impressionable Law - fresh from a genocide, with a hole in his heart and a hatred for everything still alive - had his concept of love warped whilst surviving those two years around Doflamingo and his family. A family where members are only welcome so far as they are useful to Doflamingo and his aspirations. Of course Law's going to pick up some fucked up ideas about how love works outside this little white fence he grew up and watched burn down.

Then. Enter Corazon.

Their relationship may begin on shaky legs (near-juvenicide via defenestration in a failed attempt to ward Law away from sticking around) but Corazon quickly becomes the one person in the world Law can trust and rely on again. And Rosinante can only do so much in terms of healing and guiding this broken kid (yes, his position both as Doffy's brother and as a double agent made things difficult, but need I mention he was only 26! 26 when he died!) but he showed Law kindness and compassion when he was at his lowest. He had faith in the existence of a cure that Law was long past believing. Was determined to help him, even against Law's wishes, even if it meant having Law relive his trauma over and over again. Corasan becomes incredibly important to Law, giving him a reason to live beyond just destruction and revenge.

After the rest of the world had long turned his back on him, when he had been nothing but a dying puddle of rage and self-destructive nihilism, Corasan saved Law. He told Law "Aishiteru" - a very rare way of saying "I love you", never used casually due to the depth of its meaning and the massive connotations behind it - in essence translating to "I love you so much I cannot possibly imagine life without you". There's a high likelihood that at his age, Law had never heard these words before, and probably didn't quite understand the weight of Rosinante saying it at the time.

Corasan frees Law, then he dies at the hand of Doflamingo, Rosinante's own brother.

All Rosinante wanted was for this poor kid to go on and live his life unburdened by his more than turbulent history and his connection to Doffy, but I think for all his planning, Rosinante's one critical error was well and truly underestimating how much him loving Law, and loving Law to the extent he did, would mean to that kid. Law really went from that ten year old hollow void sentiment of "why does anyone or anything at all get to exist when everything that was important to me is dead, burned to ashes and wiped off the map" to "I should have died at age thirteen and every second I've lived since then, I've only lived as a result of Corasan's efforts and as a personal affront to Doflamingo." This time, Law has a tangible, heinous 10 foot monster of a target to direct 1. his grief and anger and 2. justice for Cora towards, and this time he has the power and will to follow through. More than that, he believes Corasan sacrificed himself for him because he's a D. (someone destined to rain down destruction on the gods - Doflamingo, in this case). Corazon becomes a saint that Law dedicates the rest of his life to. Which is something that Law is not vocal about to just anyone he comes across, but is so unbelievably obvious once you know what you're looking at — his tattoos, his jolly roger, his crew, his ship, his ambitions, his beliefs, his fucking. custom-made Corazon jacket. all of it for this man that showed Law - at a time when he hated the world and everything in it - love. For all of six months. max.

And his whole life and personality and behaviour CONTINUES to be guided by this trauma — the way he's reckless with himself, his borderline self-destructive actions, the way he keeps telling himself that none of it would've been worth it unless Corasan's last wishes are fulfilled, the way he surrounds himself with bright people and soft things, the way it doesn't register that his crew genuinely loves and cares about him, the way he's terrified of losing anyone important to him again (and I would say this is one of his biggest downfalls as a Captain compared to someone like Luffy - who is just as reckless as Law is but trusts his crew, doesn't try to send them away, isn't afraid to let them grow and risk their lives for him like Law is with the heart crew), his inability to take a damn compliment. The way he doesn't understand Luffy AT ALL.

Doesn't understand that this alliance that he's brokered means nothing to Luffy because he sees him as FRIEND. No transactions or mutually beneficial pacts necessary. Doesn't get that he's the one that inadvertently asked Luffy to be his friend, thus breaking a long chain of people (mostly parental figures and siblings) abandoning or leaving Luffy behind/no one taking the first initiative to ask to be around him. Law is complete and utterly in the dark as to why someone would ever bat for him when the stakes are this high for no other reason than because they like them and care about them as a person.

Luffy, with his playground rules where he loves unconditionally and will take on the world for a friend he made five minutes ago, perplexes Law with his sheer simplicity.

When Sengoku tells Law, "Don't try to find a reason for someone's love", I do NOT think he takes it well. Because there must be a reason. There has to be. Between the two options of Corasan saving Law's life and freeing him because he believed in the will of D., or Rosinante saving him for no other reason than because Law was a kid that was loveable, and because he loved him unconditionally... everything we've learned about how Law functions up until this point suggests the former will always make more sense to him, and after everything he's been through, is most likely less painful for him to accept.

[loveliest-venus]

bittersweet - straw hats crew x reader

includes: Straw Hats crew x f!reader warnings: major character death summary: In your last moments, your crewmates reflect on their time with you before saying goodbye. content: angst, slight fluff, can be read as romantic or platonic, no spoilers, 1.5k words.

Dying was never part of the plan.

Then again, none of this was ever part of the plan, from getting experimented on to meeting a rowdy pirate crew that called themselves the Straw Hats to end up joining them, thus starting what would be the biggest adventure of your whole life. Of course, you regretted it from time to time, it was a wonder how this wasn’t one of those times.

Well, maybe a little bit. You didn’t like seeing tears further dirtying Luffy’s face. It didn’t suit him, you weren’t used to seeing him with anything but a huge smile on his face, the smile that gave you hope despite everything. Your ears were still ringing but you thought you could vaguely hear Nami’s cries, or were they Chopper’s? It was hard to say, the poison had spread fast and you were certain that the blurriness in your vision wasn’t because of tears, as your eyes were dry and bloodshot, most likely from the toxins pumping through your veins, making each breath just a little more painful and… Was it just you or was Zoro screaming? You honestly couldn’t tell anymore. Your eyes closed as your body fell forward, stopping as Luffy’s arms wrapped around your torso to hold you up, making your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Hang on!” Your captain called your name hoarsely, snapping his head to the side, desperate yells piercing through the air as Chopper clumsily dashed over to where you were, slumped over Luffy’s shaking form. “Chopper!”

“D-Don’t worry, I will save her!” Chopper’s fur was wet, snot and salty water mixing as he cried, his voice cracking at the vowels of your name while his arms reached out to help stabilize you. It hurt your heart to see them so distraught and you hated that there was nothing you could do to comfort them.

“Chopper… Stop.” Both of them froze, Luffy’s body growing stiff against your clammy skin. “It’s okay… I’m not scared,” the words tasted bitter in your mouth, in contrast to the serene look on your worn-out features. Blood was trickling down your forehead, hanging on your eyelashes and joining the tiny trail spilling from the corners of your lips. “I’m happy to die… for my crew.” You meant it, your heart had never felt lighter.

“Oi! What the fuck are you going on about?! You can’t just–!” Zoro’s voice was unmistakable, rough like the numerous knives on your body. From the looks of it, your peaceful declaration hadn’t settled well with him. You wished you could meet his gaze one last time, blissfully unaware of the milky sheen on yours. It was then that Chopper realized, with a heartbroken sob, that it was truly too late. “Chopper, do something! Hurry up!”

“Moss-head…” Zoro’s earrings jingled when he turned to look at Sanji, ready to cuss him out until he saw the look on his face, somber and pleading. It dawned on him that the cook had already begrudgingly accepted that this was it. But the swordsman wasn’t known for admitting defeat that easily, if ever.

“Save it, you damn– ,” he was cut off when a pale, delicate hand landed on his broad shoulder, Robin’s lips set in a thin line, the only thing betraying her true feelings was the tight grip she had on him.

“Zoro.” Her eyes were fixated on your battered form, her brow furrowing at your labored breathing. “This isn’t the time. She’s too far gone.” It was Franky’s turn to lose composure, aggressively kicking away the remnants of what had once been a beautiful tree. Taking away the destroyed flora, the unconscious enemies around you and your own blood splattering the ground, this could’ve been called a scenic place to die.

“B-B-But Chopper can fix her up! He always can! R-Right, Chopper?! Tell Robin that she’s wrong!” Usopp’s arms were tightly wound around Nami, both of their eyes growing misty, holding each other up in a fruitless attempt to hold it together. At the archeologist’s soft murmur of your name, their hopes were shattered, Nami’s knees buckling under the weight of her grief, almost taking Usopp with her, forcing him to stand up straighter than before, for once staring at death right in the eye. If only it wasn’t your bloodied face staring back…

Brook remained silent, for once devoid of all joy. It was happening again, someone he held dear was being taken away from him all too soon, your life cut short at the capricious hands of fate. Jinbei had a similar expression on his face, choosing to honor your wishes as you clearly didn’t want to leave them without a proper goodbye.

“Why…?” Luffy, who hadn’t stopped crying, tried shaking you as if that would rip you out of your dazed state, your hair tickling his cheek as you didn’t have enough strength to lift your head up to look at him properly. “Why did you do it?!” He kept yelling your name, now crushing you against his scarred chest, refusing to let you go. “You can’t leave us!” A choked sob rocked his body, a shiver running down your spine at the sheer pain lacing his youthful voice.

Chopper was clinging to your leg, burying his face in your calf to hide his swollen eyes. “I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry! Please…” The mink was talking to himself at this point, stuck between begging whatever deity was listening and apologizing to you for not getting to you in time, for not being smart enough to find a cure. Zoro’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, loathing the helplessness wrapping around their group viciously, refusing to look away from you, still being held up by the devil fruit user’s embrace. His heart was fighting tooth and nail to keep itself from breaking, minuscule cracks growing the heavier your eyes got. Unbeknownst to him, there was already a scar in the shape of you.

Sanji gritted his teeth, taking a few steps in your direction, blinking away the moisture building up in his lash line, he didn’t want to miss any detail in your face, knowing it was the last time he’d ever get to admire it. In his eyes, you were as beautiful as ever, not even death could take your beauty away from you. Nothing would convince him otherwise.

Their allies could only watch, growing restless as the silence continued, were you gone already? None of them were close enough to see your face clearly, your crewmates had formed a circle around you, protecting you from unwanted eyes. Each of them had different opinions on your rambunctious group, however, none of them could deny that you were fiercely loyal to each other and seeing such a tight-knit crew lose a member was disheartening, a few of them inching closer to their own. It was an unspoken agreement, to pay their respects to the person who had given it her all to win this battle, saving them from a similar fate.

“Because… you called me your friend.”

Your soft voice cut through their thoughts seamlessly, a few gasps escaping from Nami, Usopp and Chopper. Zoro’s eye widened, almost losing his grip when the meaning behind that phrase registered in his brain; whereas Sanji chose to let his feelings take over, slowly sinking to his knees. Brook hung his head, and if he had eyes, he would’ve closed them, not wanting to witness the inevitable. Franky, on the other hand, kept his steely gaze on you, his fists growing tighter with each droplet of your blood that had touched the ground, none of this made any sense to the cyborg whose robotic body shook with the strength of his pained weeping. Your sweet words were like a knife to Jinbei’s kind heart, all of his memories with you as part of the crew playing like a cinematic sequence in his mind, you were one of the first to approach him when he had finally accepted Luffy’s invite. Robin could only smile, finally allowing her tears to drip down her face, wishing she could hold you for one last time. Life without you was unfathomable to them at this point, could this truly be reality? Wasn’t there any way to rewind time to save you?

None of them could see Luffy’s face, his reaction to you admitting that you were willingly exchanging your life for theirs in the name of your friendship. But it wasn’t hard to guess, seeing as he’d pressed his face into your neck, inhaling your scent to soothe his racing heart, torn to pieces by you and his inability to help you. He knew from the moment that he saw you that you would become an important part of his crew, however, he never imagined that it would end like this. He wasn’t ready to continue his journey without you. How could he become the King of the Pirates if you weren’t by his side?

“You truly are the best crew I could’ve asked for. I’m thankful for you… From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” Your eyes were fully closed, the corners of your lips curling up ever so slightly in a loving smile. It was a breathtaking image that would be branded into their hearts forever, sealed with your very last words to them.

“I love you.”

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