Oh Please Imagine...

Mirkwood family cuddling in bed time! With Elithien watching over her boys. 

Sunflowers and their sun ☀🌻💕

I can be shaped by more than the things that hurt me

Soooo…

Can we just

Talk

About

THIS

I've got to tell you guys to watch the sea beast on netflix. I think it just came out today, but it's already stolen my heart. if the mandalorian, moby dick and how to train your dragon got mashed together in beautiful animation, this would be the result.

karl urban as a blonde bombshell/dad/goofball. a 10 year old ball of rage and righteousness who likes to wield knives. a sea monster called red. a sea bug called blue. jared harris screaming at the ocean. vastly diverse characters with gorgeous designs. sea witches. danger. death. destruction. hope. hair. heroes who are wrong sometimes and that's okay. beautiful music.

I haven't enjoyed a movie so much in a long time. it was insanely sweet and I encourage you to sink into this movie like it's a warm bath and hot chocolate and a hug, mostly because I want another one 🥲 look at these goobers

When you kiss them in places they don't expect

Didja miss me? Hehe, yeah a lot of things happened emotionally and otherwise. Enjoy! And seriously. Give me more requests. I love those.

Crocodile

The man is private for goodness sake. Why would you kiss him in public unless it's warranted? Because you damn well love him too fucking much that's why. How can you not want to kiss him when he looks so beautiful to you? If you could you would compose poems, carve his face into marbles, paint him in likeness even when no one else will buy or care about them and because you couldn't care less. You love him after all. Even if he has his own rules of what to and not to do in public or in certain spaces, you'd happily follow them regardless. Anything as long as you could stay next to him after all. Anything in the four seas if it means staying in a relationship with him.

But, there are times where you bite your lip and have to stop from actually drowning the poor man in kisses. This is one of them, where he's walking with you and he's kneeling down letting a tiny puppy lick his fingers as he scratches it's belly. Seas, you shouldn't. You shouldn't. Don't focus on how cute he looks, don't focus on how adorable this is, don't-

"Aren't you a cute thing?" He coos and fuck it.

When he looks at you, you press a kiss to his lips. Out in public. Hands cupping his face. He pauses, then raises an eyebrow at you, a slight frown on his face. The crowd which was slowly forming is now filled with 'aww's and 'that's so cute!'

You huff, leaving his face. "Don't blame me here, you usually aren't like this." There's a grin on your face you can't seem to remove though.

He rolls his eyes, and then comes to his full height as the owner of the puppy -a young child- comes for it, picking it up and looks at him, thanking him for finding it. Giving a vague, single nod he whisks you two away in a cloud of sand, reforming at the doors of Rain Dinners.

"Brat. Think before doing that again." He ruffles your hair. You grin. Looks like he didn't mind so much, maybe you could do it again....

Corazon.

To be clear, you don't know much about the man more than he lets you know. You know him as 'Corazon, Younger brother of the Warlord Doflamingo' but tonight when you two met in the same inn, he sat on the edge of the too-small bed, spreading his legs and letting you stand in between them, close to him as he rests his hands on your hips. He writes to you that he has a secret, you loop your arms around his neck and let one hand play with one of the tails of his hat. You're reassuring him both in speech and body language that you'll listen and you'll keep it to yourself. His amber eyes search yours for a moment more, before leaving one side of your hips to snap his fingers, saying, saying, "Silent."

The noises around you quieten. You don't hear the vendors downstairs bark their wares, you don't hear the chatter and sound of the inn below you two. You don't hear the slight moans of the couple opposite to your room. But you do hear him speak. "My name is Donquixote Rosinanate, Marine Commander code 01746 on a mission from Fleet Admiral Sengoku to stop operations of Warlord and pirate Donquixote Doflamingo."

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him in surprise as he holds your hips again, telling you the story of how he came to be in this wretched situation. Of how his heart holds so much rage and hatred, of his worry and sadness. He tells you in that low, melodious voice of his and you just stand there starstruck as you picture the unwoven scroll of the man you love's past as he tells you. As soon as he's done, he has a mixed picture on his face, of weariness, and exhaustion. So of course you pull his head to your chest, to your heart, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"You brave, wonderful man" You mumble. Your heart is breaking and mending itself, newfound love, appreciation ,and fear now entering with the new information he gave you. "You strong, handsome, perfect man"

He freezes, but soon comes to hold you tighter against him, tension seeping out of his body, as he listens to you. One or your hands goes up his hat, fingers tangling within the strands as you hold him tighter. "Loverboy, look at me please"

When his eyes meet yours you smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. "I'm so proud of you." You whisper, watching his eyes grow wide, a goofy smile blooming on his own.

That night, you two don't do much. You talk some more, and fall asleep, his much larger frame curled around yours, your hands holding his head close, tucked under your chin, face buried in his hair.

Sanji.

It's late, and you wake up with your hair mussed, with the sad, miserable feeling that it's too cold and where the Hell is your warm, snuggly lover coupled with a scowl on your face. So you stumble to the one place he's most likely to be. The kitchen. There have been times when you've genuinely been looking for him because you thought he was not in the kitchen only to find out that he is, in fact in the kitchen, he was just looking for something in the lower cupboards and couldn't hear you. Hell, you've chided him a few times for working in the kitchen even after a big fight, so it's safe to assume that really, the blonde would be in the kitchen. You once sat and watched him, wondering that if it was legitimate, would he be this planet's greatest cook in the world, would be allowed to show at competitions? Would he be sought after then? But oh well.

When you finally get to the kitchen, you see him, baking. Uh oh. Now see, baking at night isn't the issue here. You've helped him make croissants and all sorts of stuff in the dead of night. The real issue is that he's doing it alone, at.....you spare a glance at the clock, 4:45 AM. By the four seas......so yes it's an issue. So yes, it's bad, when it isn't baking before he went to sleep. It's bad when he went to sleep in your bed, all snuggly and warm, and woke up in the ass crack of dawn to bake. Hell, it's even worse than in the ashtray next to the knives, it's filled. That means it was something he was terrified of, or something that came to him and he couldn't shrug off.

You run a hand through your hair and enter. Neither of you says anything just yet, and you take your time settling comfortably into the chairs in front of the counter, hand supporting you head as you watch him do his stuff. Your eyes fall onto his frame where you can see some tension in his movements, a slight jitter to the usual grace which he does his job in. Your eyes move to the tiny snail in the corner which plays music. You switch it on, and watch as the music ebbs and flows. And with it, so does the tension, the stress emanating in the gallery.

Some time later which could have been hours, or even minutes later you get up and come behind him, looping your arms around his hips from behind. "How're you feeling, sunflower?" You murmur.

He pauses in his work, most of them done anyway, and takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing out smoke. ".....Better"

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really"

"Okay. Wanna take a break?"

"....Fine. Let me just pop them into the oven"

30 minutes later, Robin walks in as per her usual timing to see him, head pillowed on your lap snoring softly, one of your hands in his hair, and the other holding one of his to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm. You smile slightly at her arrival and point at the oven. "Could you take them out? Blondie here wanted me to wake him up when they were done but...."

She chuckles, nodding. "I'll handle it. Want some tea?"

"That sounds lovely"

Shanks.

Shanks was open about a lot of things. Laughing, being an oaf, and acting like a goofball, many things. Another thing he was very open about was his relationship with you and the affection he showered on you just so. He would give kisses, hugs, and even random spanks on your ass when he could. He would laugh if you threw a fit but you couldn't help but also want to trip him up just so. Just once.

Your chance finally came when he got injured in battle, causing Hongo to order bed rest and STRICTLY bed rest "No leaving the bed for at least a WEEK, captain. That's an order"

"What? Nooo, I can't!" Whined your boyfriend

Hongo sighed, looking like he was ready to strangle the man based on what shenanigans he would probably start to pull to get out of bed. "Captain, please. Just a week. 5 days is all I'm asking here."

"3!"

"5"

"4!"

"5. No more, no less"

The redhead huffed, turning over in bed "Awful doctor, no man should ever treat his captain this way"

Hongo now looked at you, looking three seconds from yanking his hair out and with desperation. You sighed, sitting on the bed next to him and trying to reassure him.

"Come on, Shanks. Listen to the poor guy. I'll be here helping when I can anyway."

He shifted. Gave you a look. This dumbass.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Shanks, I swear to-"

And that was that. You'd help him when you could, not that you minded. However, when he tried to do anything with you, kissing, hugging, you'd pull away, a grin on your face. In fact, you'd end up giving him kisses where he didn't expect it. Is he leaning in for a kiss on the lips? You kiss the bridge of his nose. He wants to hug you? Lean away and a pat on the head. He tries to kiss your cheek? You move and kiss his ear. It drove him nuts.

"Aw c'mon, not again! What did I do to deserve this!" He complained after you had successfully dodged his attempt to kiss you on your lips. Only to be thwarted when you kissed his jaw instead.

"This is payback baby." You grin, sly and fun.

Then it clicks and he laughs that full, happy, lively laugh of his.

"Awright. But as soon as I'm rested up and good to go...." His eyes gleam with a spark of mischievousness. "You're gonna get it, babe"

True to his word, as soon as Hongo says the word "okay", Shanks leaps out of bed and starts running. You were in the fields of the island, looking around and wandering. You flinch as you feel a familiar presence behind, and you've barely turned your back to see who it is, before he crashes into you, scooping you up and lifting you in his arms.

"Caught you!" He yells with glee and all you can do is laugh and squeal with joy, before curling into him and kissing him on the lips.

all I can say after reading Rough Day: AGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (in the best way possible)

AGGGGGGHHHHHJHH

if shanks had a nickel for every time someone ate a devil fruit because of him he’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it happened twice

Stay the Night (Smoker x Reader)

Synopsis: Smoker is surprisingly, bafflingly competent at taking care of you while you're drunk.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol, Intoxication, Alcohol Sickness, Vomiting, Fluff, No Reader Pronouns Explicitly Mentioned (Reader Wears Heels, Makeup, and a Wig), Language, Mildly Suggestive, Two Longtime Friends and Peers who are Clearly in Love with Each Other

Notes: I felt like Smoker was the kind of guy to reluctantly hold your hair back while you're throwing up.

Unlike the rest of his present company, Smoker usually avoided overindulging in elaborately planned social events, especially those with an open bar. It was best to stay out of the way. 

The Marines rarely allocated funds to such frivolous occasions, and so most officers and honored guests took it upon themselves to find the bottom of the generously offered bottomless champagne. While the hangovers were never worth it, that didn’t stop even the highest leadership from stumbling out of the ballroom doors with hair tousled and neckties hanging across their shoulders. 

Smoker preferred to sit at a table out of the way: a sanctuary among the chaos, away from the main path of foot traffic, with a clear view of the door. That’s where he nursed his single glass of whisky. If he were feeling especially celebratory, he would have two. 

You, on the other hand… were already standing on top of a table. Your stilettos were positioned on either side of the floral centerpiece in the middle, and the tiny point of your heels barely allowed you to balance as the bottle in your hands exploded in a loud, crisp pop. 

Smoker watched how the sea of Marines that gathered around you in disheveled formalwear cheered, and your hypnotized face admired the bubbles pouring from the bottle's neck. 

A group of newly trained officers jumped up and down together in time with the music on the opposite side of the circular table in celebration, knocking some tall glasses over onto the white cloth below. Smoker nearly leaped out of his chair as your knees began to buckle. But even despite your tiny shoes and even tinier dress, you managed to catch yourself. Your laughter resounded loudly among the voices around you.

Smoker heaved a deep sigh, sitting back down, swirling his drink with a flick of his wrist. 

He didn’t even need to see that stunt to predict what would come later that night. 

The streets were utterly empty. Aside from the glow of the street lamps, the only light that shone was from the venue as the staff hurried their clean up. Smoker strolled out of the double doors, tie loosened around his neck and suit jacket draped neatly over his arm.

He barely had to make it outside before he saw you. Hell, he’d be able to spot that glittery ass anywhere, even without your blinding choice of attire. 

You were bent over on your weak knees as you hurled your guts out into a bush. Smoker let out a low, resigned grumble, swiping a hand over his fatigued face as he approached you. You barely registered the large shadow that overtook you, let alone the hands that gingerly and neatly gathered your hair away from your face. 

You sputtered, coughing as a few tears streamed from your eyes. The insides of your cheeks were wet and bitter, and your throat burned. You spat onto the ground to get more foul-tasting mucus out of your mouth. 

You were a Marine, dammit, and a few too many took you out quicker than any pirate ever did. 

“Koby?” you whined. Tears continued to stream from your eyes at the pressure in your sinuses. You spat again. God, something was in your nose.

“Sorry to disappoint, Lieutenant Commander,” Smoker gruffed from where he squatted next to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” you whimpered, not wanting to be reminded of your rank during such a state of weakness. Your stomach convulsed, causing your sickness to start again. Smoker’s gaze drifted to the still street like another weekday night. “I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Mh-hmm” was about the only noise you got out of Smoker. He sat patiently and wordless, not one to croon words of assurance at you as you paid for your night of over-indulgence. But for his silence, he continued to pull your hair back, meticulously smoothing the bundle back as best as he could so as not to knot or tug at your stands. 

In a moment of relief, you finally turned over to sit on the curb. Despite the extra alcohol emptied from your stomach, you were far from sober. Smoker knelt on one knee in front of you. You could hardly get his face to focus, let alone register the warm jacket he hung across your shoulders. 

He took the pocket square from the left breast pocket and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. Smoker swiped the fabric over your mouth, clearing away saliva and slime. The backs of your fingers knocked against his wrist belatedly as you shook your head.

“‘M gonna fuck up your hankie, Smokey,” you sighed, even though he had already wiped your mouth. He shoved the square roughly into his pocket, paying no mind to you as he heaved you onto your feet. “‘M alright. I can make it home.”

“Like hell, you can.” You stumbled as you tried to step forward, but Smoker caught you around the waist. “These, too. You know the whole street’s cobblestone, right?.” His movements felt incredibly fast to you as he bent down again to slide your shoes off, and with two large fingers hooked around the pinch of your stilettos, Smoker moved to throw you over his shoulder. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait…” Your hand flew over your mouth, and the other splayed across Smoker’s right shoulder. He held you at length, studying your face and movements carefully. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head in small but rapid swivels.

“Can’t do that.” You heaved a deep breath, slowly removing your hand from your mouth. 

Smoker grumbled a hum of acknowledgment, pulling his jacket closed over your chest before shepherding you down the street toward your apartment. 

You barely remembered the walk, although you were sure your drunken meandering was more than a test of Smoker’s patience. Even so, he hardly said a word, only breaking his silence to ask you where your keys were when you reached your doorstep. 

They were in your clutch, which Smoker was holding with your shoes, of course. 

As soon as the door opened, you nearly collapsed into your apartment. With Smoker's help, you fell neatly onto the couch by the entrance. He slipped off his boots— no matter how formal the event, Smoker was wearing his combat boots— and disappeared somewhere into your apartment. 

You didn’t even care. Your head was so heavy that all you wanted to do was sleep as you slowly sank into your couch cushions. 

“Sit back up.” You heard Smoker call sternly from the other room. You didn’t think you could obey him if you wanted to. 

In a second, you were being repositioned. The light from the lamp in the corner of the room was sobering and borderline upsetting, but it allowed you to see the small trashcan Smoker brought for you on the floor to your right and the bottle of make-up remover on the coffee table in front of you. Smoker sat beside you, tilting your chin to delicately rub your make-up away with a prepped, textured cotton pad. 

It caught you off guard, to say the least. Even in your drunken haze, Smoker still didn’t seem like the type to have patience for tender acts of service. Hell, you didn’t even know he knew what make-up remover looked like. 

But despite your judgments, Smoker sat on the couch next to you, one elbow resting against the back cushion as he held your chin while his other hand swiped away your perfect contour. 

“Who taught you this?” you giggled. Smoker, make sure to get the creases around your nose. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Where do you want your lashes?”

“What?—” 

Smoker had already pulled your left eyelash off, the entire strip. 

“I’ll put ‘em back in the book I saw.” Before you could protest, Smoker had already pulled off your right lash. He stood quickly, stuffing the solution-soaked pad into your hand as he pivoted to carry your lashes to the other room. “Work on the rest of the glue.”

He turned back to you slightly, leaning over you just a bit to grasp your wrist and manipulate your hand to move in a circular motion on your face before you slapped him away. Smoker disappeared once again into your apartment. 

You finally noticed the plastic cup of water on your coffee table and mustered up the energy to take it. The outside was wet with condensation. It was cold. You couldn’t remember the last time you drank water. 

“What do you wanna do with your unit?” Smoker appeared from around the corner again; some linens balled in a wad under his arm. He held a pillow in his opposite grip as if he were holding a stray dog by the scruff. 

His white collared shirt had been pulled from the waistband of his dress pants sometime during the night. The black tie that was already draped over his shoulders drooped to one side, making one side longer than the other. The first three buttons of his shirt sat on his chest untethered. A dampened towel rested over his shoulder.

You blinked at him between sips of water. Your stomach was handling rehydration so far, but you were about to push it.

“You’re not touching my hair, Smokey.”

“Though I’d offer.” He set the pillow down to take the towel off his shoulder. Smoker wadded it in a ball before throwing it your way. You somehow still had the dexterity to catch it out of the air. A generous amount of adhesive remover had already been applied to it. 

Smoker pulled the coffee table out of the way, and as you stared at the towel he threw to you, Smoker began arranging blankets and pillows around you. You supposed he was trying to get you to sleep somewhere you could sit up. He draped a fuzzy throw blanket on your lap and moved two large decorative pillows to your right and left.

As your eyes moved from the remover-soaked towel to Smoker and back, you couldn’t help but laugh. The sensation moved through you before tearing out of your chest. Unrestrained by the liquor, it probably came out louder and more shrill than it would have usually, but if Smoker had any comments, he kept them to himself. 

He knelt before you, both his wrists resting on his bent knee. He shook his head as if regretting the question he was about to ask in advance.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

You swayed forward, racked with trembles, as you continued to laugh. The back of your heels knocked against the bottom of the couch. Smoker didn’t move, even as your face inched gradually towards his. Your cheek settled into your palm, allowing you to sit folded over to meet his eye. He waited as your laughter gradually subsided.

“What are you doing here, Smoker?” 

He stared directly into your irises, and you didn’t know if his expressionlessness or the intensity of his gaze made your smug smile waver. Intending to tease him, Smoker didn’t humor you with an expression. Nothing you had done that night—nor anything you would do—could sober you up faster than the sharp and sudden twinge in your chest that came with simply meeting Smoker’s dark brown eyes. 

What the hell?

“Your girlfriend’ll be pissed.” You sharply recoiled, kicking your legs over Smoker’s bent knee to swiftly stand. You made a beeline deeper into the apartment. 

Smoker only wavered a moment, his eyebrows creasing for a second in confusion before he stood and followed you.

“What girlfriend?” he shouted. He nearly ran into you as you closed a small cabinet by the bathroom. The side of your lip drooped downward in an acute pout. Smoker, never one to enjoy feeling left out of the loop, hovered over you expectantly. You entered the bathroom without a second thought. Smoker found himself in the doorway.

“Weren’t you with that…” You snapped your fingers as you tried to recall her name. You didn’t have to wait.

“Six months ago… and we only went on a few dates,” Smoker defended, although he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to defend himself to you in the first place. The two of you had known each other for longer than he recalled knowing anyone else, and more prominently, the two of you were peers. Why should it matter if he took some petty officer out for a few drinks a few months back? His eyes narrowed at the back of your head. “Why?”

You shrugged. You seemed far less worried about the whole thing; your face practically pressed against the mirror to remove the remaining patches of product Smoker missed. He did a more than adequate job. He hardly missed anything regarding your makeup, but the pointed glance you stole in the mirror escaped him. 

“Now I know I’m pretty wasted—” You met his gaze through the mirror. You cocked your head, and your hands gripped the side of the sink in pure bafflement. “But you said ‘lash book’—?”

“Got it. Got it.” Smoker crossed his arms as he tore his attention away. Steam filled the air. He hardly noticed the shower running, and he most definitely didn’t realize that you were standing in front of him, presenting your back, until you started speaking again.

“So, you’re just kind of a—" You glanced over your shoulder at him, and for as off as your judgment was, you knew you probably shouldn’t finish your sentence—even if his reaction would have been hilarious. You turned back around. “Get my dress for me?”  

You could have noticed Smoker’s single beat of hesitation if you were any less intoxicated. But for yet another instance that night, Smoker went quiet as he slowly tugged down the back zipper of your dress. The invisible zipper was thin and difficult to grip, but it slid down your spine like butter regardless, revealing the soft skin underneath.

“I have a pair of your shorts in the bottom left drawer of my dresser. The couch is yours.” You pivoted again on your heel, one hand holding your dress up on your chest and the other pushing Smoker back through the doorway. “Now get out.” 

You shut the door. Smoker sighed and resigned himself to rifle through your dresser, wondering why he had clothes at your place at all. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Based off my personal headcanon that Smoker has a surprisingly extensive dating history and an equally surprising library of knowledge about girly stuff because he's an extremely involved boyfriend. I'd say most of his previous relationships had amicable break ups. Reader was also going to say "so you're kind of a whore" but decided against it.