Sometimes, Gods Demand Sacrifices. Other Times, They Never Even Need To Ask

still thinking about your fic and how the strawhats were like 'we waited two years for him, we can wait again' and those few hours turned into weeks, then months, then years AND YOU'VE MADE THEM WAIT 20 OUGHHH YOURE SICK (but i love u for it)

I think that at first glance, 20 years is a long time, yeah, but if you really think about it -

20 years is an entire lifetime. In 20 years, parents see their kids, babbling and waddling, grow into adults who pay their own taxes. 20 years ago, the One Piece manga was at Skypiea. 20 years ago, it was 2003 - I wasn't even born then, so just imagining spending that long looking for someone you don't even know is alive - what does that do to a person wink wink

THIS IS SO SICKED AND TWISTED

love u anon 🙈

THANK U THIS WAS THE PROJECT I WAS TALKING ABOUT

10K MORE TO GO

the definition of whipped

modern monkee

youre actually trying to kill me because

EXCUSE ME????????

@fluffyartbl0g drew me a thing from my fic and i need you to know i actually screamed - the only reason my family didnt barge into my room is because my AC is loud af so thank you AC

IM STILL SCREAMING ABOUT IT THANK U LOOP I LOVE YOU <3 I LEGIT SOBBED

monkey d luffy my beloved 

cringetober day 15- song lyrics!

(lusan opening… you will always be my fav…)

Happy Halloween

Marine number 47 cowers behind a much too small crate and prays to every deity he knows to save him. 

His crewmates have long since abandoned the ship. Or maybe they are dead. Who knows. Not Marine 47. 

Marine 47 had wasted no time. The second that infamous Jolly Roger had emerged from the fog with agonizing slowness, 47 had booked it. Had shoved past his equally terrified friends and superiors and had hid here, down below deck, behind a much too small crate in the ship's only cargo hold. 

Screams and shouts and rifle fire. 

And then silence. 

His breath is loud in the tiny space but not loud enough to drown out the rapid footsteps coming his way. 

tap tap tap tap tap. 

Fast. Joyful. 

Deadly. 

tap tap tap tap tap. 

Up and down the hallway. Passing the room he's hiding in once, twice, a third time. 

Maybe… maybe…. 

The door is thrown open and all the air seems to be sucked out of the room. 47 clutches at his chest, his heart is suddenly beating hard and fast to a rhythm he has no control over. It skips and jumps and beats against his ribcage and he wants to scream but he doesn't have the breath for even a whisper. 

He can see the rest of the room behind him. It's being mirrored in one of their canons standing upright at his feet. 

'Polish them until I can see myself in them', their admiral used to say. 

Bastard. 

Number 47 can see everything now and it's the last thing he wants. He can't close his eyes. When he tries, the beating of his heart vibrates in his eyeballs and it hurts. So he keeps them open and watches that… thing enter the hold. 

The canons are not perfect mirrors, so the figure is slightly distorted. Arms and legs longer than they should be, head misshapen. But 47 sees enough. He sees blinding whiteness and red eyes and a large grin. Sharp enough to bite clear through his jugular. 

The figure laughs, loud, jarring. Number 47 slaps his hands over his ears but it's futile. This laugh, it penetrates everything, every thought 47 might still have had other than terror. 

He closes his eyes. It goes bump bump bump behind his eyelids. He snaps them back open. 

"Yo!" 

Number 47 rears back and the crate seems to swallow him. It's not wood anymore. It's soft and malleable and 47 sinks into it. The thing crouches on top of the crate that is not a crate anymore and stares down at him, upside down. 

Red eyes stare out of a face framed by white clouds rocking in non-existent wind. The eyes are swirling with an unholy light, madness lies in them, a depth as deep as the deepest sea and just as dark. They dance, seem to jump from number 47's forehead to his nose to his chin and back again. 

They are the only light in the room. 

"Yo!" The thing, this otherworldly being, repeats, grin wide and threatening. "Why are you hiding in here? Are you a coward? Hahaha I hate cowards, you know?!" 

Number 47 shakes his head. He doesn't know why. 

The being cocks his head, humming, chuckling. "Your friends ran away! They were cowards too. What's your name?" 

Never tell them your name. Never give your captors information. 

Not even Gods devils. 

"Marine Nr. 47-3981. Infantry Beta Alpha 39-"

The being laughs and throws himself backwards, holding his stomach and rolling around on the floor. The floor turns into the sea, a rolling storm making 47 sick. "What a funny name! Omoshiroi!" 

He laughs and laughs and laughs and number 47 chokes on the matching laughter in his throat. He doesn't want to laugh. Nothing about this sound echoing off the walls is funny. 

It's terrifying. 

The being stops and sits up, blinking large eyes at his surroundings. "I better get Robin." he mutters, dreamlike, eyes staring at nothing. "She'll know what to do about you." 

The smile as he turns away is distracted, his thoughts already a mile away, the marine with the funny name nothing but a footnote in his journey not worth thinking about any longer. 

Marine number 47 doesn't know any of that. He doesn't know that he is nothing to a God. Doesn't know that he is about to walk out of this ghost story of his own making with nothing but hurt pride and some food to tide him over until he reaches the next island. 

Marine number 47 panics and hefts his rifle, pointing it directly at the back of the one being God man that could be his salvation. 

His finger curls around the trigger but before he can take proper aim something moves in the shadows behind him. A huff of breath hits his neck, hot and cold at the same time. The sound of steel sliding free almost gets lost under the oblivious God's easy humming. 

47 freezes, can only turn his head an inch. It's enough to witness his end. 

Green hair. Dark eyes. Golden earrings. 

"Bad idea." the demon growls and three swords descend upon their chosen victim. 

Marine number 47 only feels the first blade. 

watching TV