#anti never stop blowing up

[dropoutconfessions]

Love d20 a lot, especially the shenanigans in the middle of a season. However, Brennan’s tendency towards really binary parent types (either terrible or extremely forgiving and good) gets me sometimes. There are deffo exception (Sandra Lynn?) but the nsbu finale kinda annoyed me. It just kinda took the wind outta Livs whole arc to have been under all this pressure to be perfect and then her parents were actually completely fine with her taking a gap year? As someone who’s been that kid it felt crazy to me. But I also get the instinct for fun happy endings at the silly action movie season.

-

[lovecolibri]

OKAY, but I SAID that Eddie's stache makes him look like a fucking cop and also like he's from the '80s, AND THEN!! While catching up on last weeks NSBU, what do I see but art of an '80s cop with the SAME MUSTACHE!

Please, I need to be set FREE from this nightmare! 😭😭😭

[gallifreyanhotfive]

What Would Have Happened If The Other Doctors Stepped on the "Boom" Land Mine

One: The land mine is diffused by the power of parental love much sooner. Splice and Mundy join the TARDIS team after he decides that Splice will be his next fill-in granddaughter.

Two: Plays the recorder instead of singing. Jamie attacks the ambulance with his knife as soon as it attaches the lines to the Doctor, and it's only Zoe that stops him from getting killed. The detonation happens much sooner because the Doctor gets antsy and plays with the fiddly bits.

Three: Expertly controls his blood pressure to stop a premature detonation. Tries to keep his companion far away, but they discover the land mine anyway. Takes the land mine with him after it is diffused to use for spare parts in the UNIT lab.

Four: "Harry, I'm standing on a land mine." Doesn't bother with a counterbalance and just stands on one foot for the whole episode. Snacks on some jelly babies while waiting for the right moment.

Five: Has an in depth conversation with Nyssa about how he is regulating his biology on a molecular level. They use a cricket ball from the TARDIS as a counterbalance, meaning that he never gets shot or targeted by the ambulance. One of his companions still ends up getting shot, at which point he falls over, immediately self destructs, and blows a giant hole in the planet.

Six: Gets far too irritated for his blood pressure to stay low. Could really do with some of Evelyn's cocoa right about now. The land mine blows up because he cannot calm down enough to disguise his presence.

Seven: A much longer conversation on how the Doctor is a complex space-time event. The countdown finishes, but the land mine doesn't blow because he had disarmed it at the beginning of the episode. The entire time, he was just pretending the land mine was live in order to teach his teenage companion a life lesson.

Eight: Forgets he's standing on a land mine and blows up. Gets into a passionate conversation with his companion about the war industry complex. Soliloquizes about life and death. Almost sacrifices himself in an inferno of self-loathing, but his companion saves the day.

War: His associates go back in time and extract him before he steps on the land mine. This new version of him continues fighting the Daleks while the time echo standing on the land mine is used to blow a hole in the nearby Dalek command ship.

Nine: Has flashbacks to the War while standing on the land mine but somehow manages to stabilize his blood pressure thanks to the presence of Rose and Jack. Jack manages to diffuse the bomb while he is on it thanks to his experience with Villengard tech.

Ten: "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Tries to convince his companion to evacuate as much of the population into the TARDIS as possible because they would be safe there. Almost lets himself blow up, but his companion forces him to find a way to survive.

Eleven: The mine blows up in about ten seconds because he can't stand still. The entire planet is blown to smithereens, but his friends are okay because he locked them in the TARDIS.

Twelve: Gets into mind games with Clara while she is trying to figure out what he is standing on. Clara tries to take his place, but he doesn't let her. Missy eventually shows up and disarms the land mine because she wants to be the one to kill him.

Thirteen: Only manages to stay still because the Fam calms her down. Is oddly stoic about the entire thing and disappears into the depths of the TARDIS for several days after it happens. She never brings it up again even though Yaz tries to get her to talk about it.

Fourteen: God damn it this guy is supposed to be retired. He's supposed to be having a break. He talks about how much he loves his companion and how so, so sorry he is that he can't fix this.

Fugitive: This is a normal Tuesday for her. Probably has some sort of anti-land mine device in one of her coat pockets.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!

I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3

Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara. 

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao

warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13

wc: 3.5k ish

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

Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.

Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things. 

Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax. 

Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration. 

It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers. 

"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler. 

"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."

Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words. 

"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers!  How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?" 

"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"

"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!" 

"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."

"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."

"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling. 

"I could do this all day, princesa. " 

You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure. 

~~~

You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit. 

You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive. 

He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time. 

You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far. 

That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him. 

You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.

"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar. 

"You okay?" 

He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you.  "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all." 

You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."

He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."

"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."

~~~

As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two. 

Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand. 

Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over. 

It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you. 

You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.

You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.

You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass. 

It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder. 

"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?" 

You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink. 

"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar. 

He stretches out his hand, and you take it. 

"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."

Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words. 

"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"

"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck. 

"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."

The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do. 

And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him. 

Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you. 

~~~

He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.

You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.

He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer. 

He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in. 

You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness. 

"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him. 

You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension. 

You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip. 

"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck. 

He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders. 

He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out. 

"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper. 

Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."

The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile. 

You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face. 

~~~

It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more. 

He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words. 

Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is. 

He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate  all your needs. 

When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order. 

So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk. 

He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach. 

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -" 

"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains. 

You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary. 

"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?" 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-" 

"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious . 

"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body. 

"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something. 

You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up. 

He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?" 

You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression  is steady, just as unreadable. 

"Do you want to?" 

You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over. 

"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me." 

You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust. 

"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod. 

Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man. 

You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper. 

"Fuck, Miguel." 

"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot. 

You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares. 

"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans. 

"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."

His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters. 

" M-Miguel …"

He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm. 

" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?" 

You nod frantically with a stifled sob. 

"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."

"...fuuck you."

" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."

"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.

"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."

" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please." 

"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?" 

"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks. 

He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers. 

You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath. 

"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought. 

You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy. 

He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum. 

Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago. 

"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process. 

"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?" 

"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."

All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles. 

"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa." 

_

_

_

[anonymous-existences]

DCxDP Prompt 10 :

Death Defying Ship. Danny and Dick are childhood friends where the Fenton's would often bring Danny and Jazz to the circus to hang out with their old friends the Graysons, where Danny and Dick are very close and do dumb kid stuff but jazz is there to watch them so they won't get into too much trouble when the parents aren't looking.

In there Danny learns from the Graysons some basic Gymnastics and Dances that require two people and all that brings them all closer.

Dick and Danny lost touch after the tragic incident with the Graysons, Many years later the story progresses as usual. Danny moves to Gotham to pursue his pursuit in getting a Professional Engineering Recommendation to W.E. with a Bonus Dani that appears every so Often and Dan a normal Mechanic that's acting as his older brother.

Sam Manson happens to be once again forced to attend a gala but this Wayne Gala was Unique because of it's setting as a Masquerade Ball. Sam is thrilled as she can add spice to her gothic aesthetic clothing with a more gothic mask, Danny is being dragged along as because of BFF code, (if I get to suffer, you suffer too.) thus Danny is also wearing an almost as gothic clothing that matches Sam.

Dick and Danny meet there but ofcourse they don't recognize each other, a specific song plays and Dick ever so playful tries to dance a specific routine that only He and Danny knows as they both made it as kids with the help of Jazz. Dick is surprised that Danny is keeping up, Danny is ecstatic and pacing faster as both are in full rhythm and sync in movements.

They don't even realize it but they've become the center of attention as they danced right in the middle of the ballroom. The song comes to a halt and Danny and Dick are breathing heavily, both smiling in excitement until Sam grabs Danny in a headlock and drags him away, scolding him for ditching her for another man.

Dick tries to stop them but was immediately blocked by many who wanted to converse or get his attention as he loses sight of Danny in the crowd of people.

Danny and Dick only ever meet in a gala but something keeps pulling them away from each other, both unable to get each other's names, Dick is totally mesmerized by Danny just as much as Danny is too. Sam finally tells him at some point that he's Dick Grayson. Danny's memories of their past flooding in but Danny didn't want to tell Dick about that because what if dick doesn't remember? What if he asked Dick and he didn't remember him? So Danny kept quiet until he can finally give Dick his name but that moment never came.

Danny is forced to go back to Amity because of the GIW and their Plan to once again destroy the Ghost Zone and Declare War, Danny is captured by the GIW and Sam in desperation with Tucker finally found a way to bypass the GIW firewalls and Break through to connect to the JL.

In the process of saving the captures ghosts with the help of the Justice League in infiltrating and dismantling the Anti Ecto Laws for going against the Meta Protection Rights. Dick doesn't recognize Danny as Phantom, they save him and all that process through Frostbite's help.

Jazz immediately recognizes Dick even as Nightwing and calls him 'Robin' and Dick immediately recognizes her because she is the big sister he always had and wished he kept. Jazz doesn't blow his Identity as expected but she does tell him about Danny as Phantom and Dick as A Wayne once again is processing all of those information in the Manor, Jazz had reassured them that Danny would visit at some point once he is fully healed and Dick waits everyday, waiting for Danny to call or text him that he'll visit.

Dick realizes he's fallen deep in love with Danny with his desperation and also everytime they've met and interacted with each other even for brief moments in the galas they've attended. Danny become the sole reason he'll force himself to attend a gala as he wanted to see the man, his best friend and his first love.

Danny eventually visits Dick and from then you can tell the story goes that way, it's sweet fluff with angst and Dick and Danny gets their happy ending.

[blu3n]

[ Could you please write something like Jason and her are already in a relationship, but she doesn't know he's Red Hood and she falls and Red Hood catches her and he starts flirting she is all "I have a boyfriend, back up" and she goes back home and tells Jason everything complaining about the Red Hood and Jason sits there with a smirk enjoying her ranting? Maybe she punches him in the stomach and comes home and sees Jason has a matching bruise? Honestly, I leave the writing to the writers..😅 ]

@angel-eyes-777

Author: thanks for asking! 🐞

Description: You had no idea Jason was from Red Hood

For several reasons, Jason wouldn't tell you that he was Red Hood, both to spare you from the atrocities he committed and for fear that you would leave him when you found out what he did.

He would feel bad about it, his mind would be so tight that he would almost speak as soon as you asked him something about it, but he did it to protect you from the evil that he was.

He would cry a lot if you left him, Jason loves you and doesn't want to be left alone again.

When you found out he would freeze, try to stop you from leaving or want your attention on him so you wouldn't stop to think about how violent he seemed.

It was cold in Gotham City, the wind blowing in your face making your skin colder than usual. Your work shift was quite tough, your grumpy boss pulling your foot to deliver piles and piles of work.

Letting out a sigh of discouragement, you try to cross the street, taking a shortcut that was sometimes convenient. So focused on your stress and headache, you couldn't see the huge hole that was in front of you..

.Before you could fall, you felt a pair of firm and strong hands holding you, saving you from falling into that place.

Red hood you look up, observing that familiar face that you saw on TV, usually not frowned upon by society as an anti-hero or something like that.

"We usually look where we're going, gatinha?" Sua voz era sedutora e profunda, faria qualquer garota se apaixonar por ele em um minuto se ele quisesse.

"Thanks for saving me, now I'm going," saying firmly, you walk past him, after all, your boyfriend was waiting for you at home so you could sleep together in a warm bed for another day.

"Hey, what's the rush, baby?" He holds your wrist with his rough and thick fingers, his touch soft.

"I said no, and that's it." When she realized that this guy wouldn't leave you alone, in an act of self-defense she punches him in the stomach, making him grunt in pain and bend over a little.

Without wasting time, you run back home, trying to hurry, you just wanted to go back and see your boyfriend again.

When you walked through the door, you noticed that he had something in his stomach and the TV was on.

Jason looks at you with an amused expression. He never told you about his Red Hood persona, and he managed to hide it surprisingly well throughout your relationship. The TV was on, covering a news story about how Red Hood saved some kids from a burning building.

You stopped and sighed as you walked into the house "I don't have much to say about him, he saved me from falling down the drain but he's still a flirt" she says in disgust

"Well, he saves people, doesn't he?" he says nervously, running his fingers through his hair so as not to look as nervous as he looked.

Following your eyes to his abdomen she frowns and realizes something was wrong, moving slowly towards him you see the same mark on his abdomen. "What?" without even needing to ask properly he already collapses in front of you knowing that you found out.

"i'm sorry- baby please- baby" jason stands up the pain stinging in his stomach he tries to reach out to touch you desperate for you not to leave "please don't leave me..."

"No, no, I won't leave you" your voice soothes him and he holds onto you holding you there...needing your warmth and your love, the rest of the night you two slept together while he clung to you

he loves you.

--------

🪼 Thank you for requesting the writing, and I hope it is what you asked for.

[qqueenofhades]

"We're thankful that the Biden administration played the long game on sick days and stuck with us for months after Congress imposed our updated national agreement. Without making a big show of it, Joe Biden and members of his administration in the Transportation and Labor departments have been working continuously to get guaranteed paid sick days for all railroad workers."

Yeah, I AM gonna point this out, and be blunt and annoying about it: remember how the Online Leftists have spent MONTHS screaming about Biden Selling Out The Working Class and heaping vitriol on him for proposing the compromise agreement to Congress that stopped the rail strike, but didn't include sick days, and this was the Biggest Betrayal Ever To Betrayal? And showed that he was terrible and a corporate sellout and anti-labor and whatever else?

Well, guess what: now the rail workers have paid sick days! Biden and the Department of Labor/Transportation worked nonstop to get it done, didn't brag about it or blather on endlessly, and then got it done! Because it turns out that it was better to take the partial agreement, keep things moving, and continue to work in good faith and make progress, thus resulting in what they wanted without just blowing everything up and calling that a good plan! Shocking!

[half-oz-eddie]

Sorry I missed you (on purpose)

Buck knew Tommy's schedules and habits, and he knew exactly when Tommy wasn't home.

Tommy's schedule fluctuated from week to week, so how did Buck know this? Well, Buck started anti-stalking Tommy, which is...still stalking, but he was only doing it to avoid running into Tommy. It doesn't make sense. To you, to anybody, but it makes sense to Buck, and Buck's gonna Buck, right?

Tommy liked to keep the porch light on because he fed a neighborhood cat whenever he was home, and he wanted the cat to know it was safe to come on his porch and have a bite to eat. Tommy was just good like this.

It's so hard not to love him.

Monday. Porch light on. Tuesday. Porch light off. Wednesday. Porch light on, and the curtain was open. Buck's heart raced when he saw Tommy walk past the window. What was he doing? Was he alone? Buck didn't intend to stick around too long and find out, so he drove off.

Thursday. Porch light off. Perfect. Buck left a post-it note on Tommy's front door.

"Wanted to drop some things of yours, but you weren't home and I didn't want to leave them on the porch. Feel free to call or drop by anytime! -Buck"

There. Simple enough. Now Buck just had to get the hell out of there before Tommy returned.

Two days passed and Tommy hadn't called, texted or stopped by. Why?

Did the post it note blow away? Did the cat eat it? Maybe he should've reinforced the post-it with some tape or something.

Or maybe...Tommy didn't want to talk to him at all. Maybe he just hated him.

Buck carried that thought to bed.

The next day after Buck's shift, he returned home to find a post-it on his door.

"Sorry I missed you. I have some of your things as well. You can drop mine off and pick up yours this week. Or I can stop by. Your choice. -Tommy"

Buck read the note over and over again. He could hear Tommy's voice in his head with every syllable his eyes scanned on the note. It even had the lingering smell of Tommy's cologne.

Buck stuck it to his fridge.

He missed talking to him.

The next day after his shift, Buck drove past Tommy's house. Porch light on.

Buck kept driving.

The day after, Buck returned to Tommy's again. Porch light off. This was his moment.

"Sorry I missed you again. I just can't seem to remember your schedule. Stop by whenever you can."

He stuck the post-it to the door, but he was unsatisfied, so he pulled out a second post-it.

PS: hope you're taking care of that knee that was bothering you a few weeks ago. You never took that compression sleeve. Should I bring it? -Buck"

It was a little ridiculous, sure, but Buck was talking to Tommy again. Sort of, and it was great.

Buck stopped baking as often, and everyone at the firehouse thought he was making some sort of progress. He told them he was. He just didn't explain the sort of progress he was making.

When he returned home from his shift 3 days later, there were 3 post-its on his door and his eyes lit up with excitement.

"We've gotta stop (not) meeting like this. I can't seem to remember your schedule either. I'm sure we'll sort this out soon." Buck smiled as he grabbed the first post it, before reading the second.

"My knee's better, but I'd still like that compression sleeve. Do you think you could drop it off with my stuff? Or I'll pick it up." Buck smiled wider. He was glad to know Tommy's knee wasn't bothering him as much anymore, but he was happy to know he still wanted his help.

"Let me know what works for you. PS: Is that wrist still bothering you? I hope it's all healed up now. -Tommy"

Buck stuck the post-its to his fridge and smiled to himself. He was almost convinced they'd talked via post-its enough to talk via text, but he didn't feel like it was the right time yet.

He continued anti-stalking Tommy for days, waiting for the day his porch light wasn't on. It had been 4 days since the porch light was off.

Finally. He hoped Tommy wasn't too worried. Then again, he probably wasn't worried at all, Buck assumed.

"Sorry again. I just have a lot of things keeping me busy so I stop by whenever I get the chance. I'm going to try again until we get this right." Buck stuck the first note to the door.

"PS: my wrist is fine now, thanks for asking. I've been putting it to use a lot lately because I'm baking so much."

Buck stuck the second note to the door, but wanted to leave three post-its like Tommy did, just to seem equally as invested in this post-it tag.

"PPS: I almost tripped over the bowl by your front door. Are you still feeding that cat? -Buck"

Buck stuck the final note to the door feeling satisfied. He even laughed to himself when he realized he stuck them to the door in the shape of a heart with the first two on top, and the third beneath.

Tommy probably wouldn't even notice.

When a week passed and Buck hadn't seen a single post-it on his door, he was beginning to worry that Tommy grew tired of their game of tag.

The next day, there was one, single post-it on his door.

"I think maybe I should text you."

Buck's heart was beating out of his chest. Was Tommy going to text him finally?

When? What time? What day? Today? Please be today, Buck hoped.

Buck was back to checking his phone for the next few hours. He started baking again to pass the time so he'd stop obsessing over his phone.

When he heard his phone ding, he nearly jumped across the counter for it.

Buck and Tommy continued to occasionally text for a week. Occasionally became frequently, and frequently became constantly, until they were talking again about any and everything that crossed their minds.

When Tommy addressed them finally meeting in person to exchange their belongings, Buck dreaded the thought. He was convinced that exchanging their belongings would end their text exchanges, so he blew Tommy off several times with various excuses about why he was too busy to meet.

Tommy was willing to wait and continue to text Buck, until one day, the texting turned into a phone call.

"Are you avoiding me on purpose?" Tommy asked.

"I-uh-no-I-I'm not. I'm not avoiding you. Not...intentionally." Buck stammered.

Tommy laughed on the other end of the phone. "Evan." There was that teasing voice Buck so dearly missed.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I am. I wasn't ready to do this face-to-face, in case this was going to be the last time we ever saw each other. So first, I dragged it out with the post-its..."

"I knew I saw your car that night! I thought maybe I was imagining it. Maybe...I dunno, wishful thinking."

Buck listened to the momentary silence and the soft sigh on the other end of the phone.

"The notes were cute, though. I...liked them. I suppose I was avoiding you too. Just to keep this going for a little bit longer."

"Really?" Buck smiled. "Y-you were? I didn't think you even wanted to talk to me anymore—"

"Are you kidding? Of course I do. I just...I know we broke up so suddenly. I...thought maybe we wouldn't work out. I guess it all felt too real and I...ran. I've done nothing but act cowardly since that night."

"I don't think you're a coward, Tommy. I didn't mean to scare you off. If you don't think I'm ready, I can promise you that you're wrong. Since the moment you left, I haven't stopped thinking about you. The baking was just to keep me from reaching out to you so I could give you space."

"I hate space. I hate avoiding you. I miss you, Evan. So much."

"I miss you too."

There was another silence while they each gathered their thoughts.

"Do you uh...do you still want your stuff back?" Buck worriedly asked.

"The only thing I left at your apartment that I want back is you."

Buck smiled so wide, his cheeks were aching. "You mean it?"

"Of course. When are you free?"

"For you? Whenever your porch light is on." Buck answered, getting a lighthearted laugh out of Tommy.

"Well...they're on right now."

"Yeah? I'll be right there."

Leave me kudos <3

[loveswrites]

Hi!🫶🏻

How are you? You haven't written in a long time. Btw, i really like your fics.

I was wondering if you could maybe write a poly!cullen x reader fic?

If you don't like it, you don't have to, of course🫶🏻

So I'm Tasty? Poly Cullens X Reader

Time it took me: 1 hour

Word count: 624 words

To Anon: Hey love! I'm doing lovely! Thank you for read my writing! I love when you guys tell me how much you like what I create! I wrote this one just for you. It might be a little short but I heard you guys miss me?

Love <3

“I’m better when I’m with you.” Jasper said, holding your hand as the two of you strolled through the woods. Well the eight of you. You and Jasper just separated yourselves from the group a little. 

“What do you mean?” You questioned looking up at him.

You were the one that had suggested that you guys go for a walk. You were feeling stuck in cluttered sitting inside of your own house all day. You much more preferred sitting in the Cullen's house rather than your own. 

“My thirst for human blood is easier to tame when I’m with you.” Jasper said, keeping his eyes front as you stepped on the wet wooded area.

“So what you're saying is I don’t smell good enough? I’m not intoxicating? I’m offended.” You pouted, crossing your arms. Hearing laughter next to you and a few laughs and snickers behind you made you turn around stopping in your tracks. 

“And why are you laughing?” You yelled slightly offended.

“You feel the same-” 

“Yes.” You were cut off as you continued.

“You think I wouldn't taste good!” You said pointing to each individual Cullen who each had a slight smile on their face. Their golden eyes look at you with so much amusement. 

“I actually think the opposite.” Emmett said, raising his hand.

“Me too, You humble our desire for you a little too much sweetheart.” Esme said, also raising her hand causing Carlisle to laugh a little.

“You were the first human in a long time. I didn't think I would be able to resist.” Rose said, raising her hand as well.

“You think this type of resistance is just here and easy?” Alice said, holding her hand high. 

“Though I would never ‘eat’ you, I’ve seen it.” She smiled. You shook your head as you smiled Alice always uses her powers to see a little further into the future to calm your nerves rather it’s because of a test or if a plane was going to blow up tomorrow. 

“You already know how I feel.” Edward said, raising his hand with a slight smirk on his face.

“I think what we meant was we also feel the same as in your presence. Your presence is so calming and relaxing to us that the urge to ‘Eat you’ As you say is buried deep inside.” Carlisle said, smiling at you. It’s like his Golden eyes shimmered every time you looked at him.

“But trust me it’s still there.” Jasper added, making you laugh immediately. Because as much as he loves you and you knew that for a fact. There are still some times when you can’t be around Jasper Because he hasn’t eaten for a few days.  

The rest of the Cullens nod in agreement to Jasper's words.

“So I am Tasty?” You questioned just wanting to confirm.

“Yes darling. Now let’s go.” Jasper said, throwing his arm around your waist guiding you to start back walking. The sun was creeping back down and with Vampires or not you never liked to just sit in the woods at night. 

“So hypothetically if I were to bake a cherry pie with just a little bit of blood you think you guys would notice?” You questioned walking with Jasper.

“Don’t do that.” 

“A cherry pie sounds good actually.”

“Immediately.”

“That doesn’t look like a good decision, please don’t make that.”

“I don’t think it counts as biting a human right?”

“That would break my no blood streak sadly.”

“You guys are no fun.” You pouted still thinking about it.

“Don’t make it!” Alice yelled.

“Why not!” You yelled back starting a bickering war all the way to the Cullens house.

 Something you loved to do with your anti blood lovers.

[dropoutconfessions]

I'm in a similar camp to some of the prior people finding Jacob Wysocki extremely annoying, but for me, it's only in a certain context. He reads to me as having a total lack of sincerity, which I do find funny in make some noise and game changer, but GODS, it was intolerable for me during his time on dimension 20. Like him on nsbu made it genuinely unwatchable for me. Like I tried to sit through it but I just couldn't after like 2 episodes of it just feeling like he didn't care about anything.

i do actually know what you're talking about and i think that may have been his resting James Bond face UPDATE BELOW:

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #17

(I had this idea when I learned that there are some people who give out their phone numbers for people to give to someone who is harassing them/giving creepy vibes/or just plain not interested.

Btw, if you wanna add a ship between Danny and any of the mentioned captured vigilantes, go right on ahead! If you're not a fan of ships, that's fine too. Later!)

✦

Who You Gonna Call?

After the Anti-Ecto Acts were dismantled and the townwide internet/communications blackout is dismantled, Danny's social media for his alter ego blows up. He won't lie either, he loves the mostly positive attention whereas before he'd only been met with fear and hatred.

It isn't until he makes a post where he jokingly mentions the Fenton patented Anti-Creep Stick™ (yes it actually works on ghosts) that he gets loads of comments on how many wish it would work on human creeps giving unwanted attention (it actually does because it's literally just a baseball bat covered in anti-ghost paint, but meh) or really just have Danny himself scare away the creeps because of the whole "being a ghost" thing. Naturally, this sets off Danny's protection obsession and he decides to do something about it.

With a little help from Technus, Danny learns to manipulate and travel through phone connections and then releases a separate phone number for people to use/give away if they're stuck in an uncomfortable situation.

Here's the funny part tho.

Red Hood somehow uses the number kinda as a joke to, well, sic Phantom on the Joker while him, Nightwing, and Red Robin are tied up for another one of the clown's schemes. It works a little too well though. Turns out the Joker is wanted in the Infinite Realms for continued interference on peaceful relations between said Realms and the Living World, i.e. - terrorism. It's then discovered that Joker is in fact considered liminal by ghost standards and therefore falls under Danny, the Ghost King's, jurisdiction.

So basically, Jason calls Phantom's Anti-Creep number as a joke, Phantom actually shows up via phone connection, and all three of them wind up witnessing firsthand the Joker being dragged into a glowing green, concerningly Pit-like portal, bound in chains + kicking and screaming. Phantom even stops long enough to untie them, shake hands with a shocked Red Hood, thanks him for his help, and then leaves like it never happened.

Now. How the hell are they going to explain this to Batman?

✦

This idea has probably already been thought of before but I haven't seen it. If someone has, please direct me to it. 👀

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 07 TAEHYUN FROM 3RD GRADE

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes, some more anti daegal agenda from haechan, jaemin is still a bitch but trust that will change shortly

NOTES | written cut ahead!! also just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's reading and interacting, I love reading all the comments 🫶🏼🫶🏼 +++ just a warning to be careful and stay safe for everyone in the uk with the ongoing violence :( please take care of yourselves!

Jaemin sighs.

Luck hadn't been on his side today, not when he woke up 20 minutes after his alarm, with the worst bedhead of his life and his hungry kittens practically hissing at him to be fed, not when he was late to school and the first class of the day and certainly not now.

Now as campus feels suspiciously empty, almost too empty, considering practise had ended only 5 minutes ago, jaemin stares up at the sky, thunder clashing, grey clouds looming overhead.

It doesn't take much longer for the rain to come, not a light drizzle but a full blown storm, the wind making the rain splash in his face, his pink hair matted to his forehead. A frown lines his lips.

And as if luck hadn't fucked him over enough, the bus service was cancelled all week.

If it wasn't for your slow, cautious footsteps, jaemin would've found himself trudging through the rain for the next half an hour to get back home.

He sighs in relief, convincing himself he'll ask the student approaching for a ride home, and like most students, who he was pretty popular with, he'd get a positive answer.

Jaemin's relief is short lived when he realises, that student is in fact you making your way over.

The way the concern paints your features and you rush over in the rain, not too bothered about getting yourself wet but still offering an umbrella out to him, the way you feign selflessness, the way you seem so innocent, it all convinces jaemin that maybe walking back home in the rain isn't too bad. He's already turned around before you can say anything.

He doesn't know why he stops when he hears your voice call out for him

"Jaemin" he doesn't know even more why he turns around to face you, holding perhaps the most eye contact he has with you in years.

"Do you need a ride home?" you ask, smiling as you wait for him to take the umbrella from you. He only shoves it back into your hands

All jaemin can focus on is that one word, did he need a ride, need?

Jaemin had never and would never need anything from you. He'd like to make that clear, but it's a lot less validating when he knows you won't respond the way he'd like. His bitter remarks were always met with silence on your end.

"I don't need anything from you" he spits the words out anyways.

You nod, but you don't let up, and apparently neither does the rain, it's speed doubling by the second and the size of each falling droplet growing.

"Would you like a ride?" you try again, despite the fact that you could barely make out jaemin in front of you and all you can hope is that he'll say yes.

His facial expressions telling you otherwise.

"Fine" he says, walking past you and towards your car, you can't help but smile, even if you had gotten completely soaked in the process of convincing him.

For a moment, you're close enough to blowing your cover, forgetting to ask for directions, but jaemin seems a step ahead, taking the initiative to put his apartment address into your satnav. Now you couldn't pretend that being next to him was easy, even if you tried to, jaemins presence left you in a constant state of uneasiness, like you were hyper aware of every sound you made, every word you spoke, worried you were breathing too loud or something completely out of your control would tick him off. It wasn't that jaemin was a horrible guy, he wasn't— you knew that better than anyone else, you just never knew why he had decided to be so horrible to you.

You choose to sit in silence, phone connected to the aux but no music playing as you drove. For just a second, you remember how comforting the silence between you both had once been, how there was never an awkward moment or thoughts of self doubt in jaemin's presence. Now it felt heavy, unspoken words and underlying emotions lingering in the space between you.

"Don't think we're friends just because I accepted your ride" he says, his tone sour.

"I know we're not friends jaemin, just doesn't hurt to be cordial"

You're not sure if he even hears what you said, but if he had, jaemin chooses to ignore your words. You don't say anything of it either.

He turns to face you, concentrated on driving through the heavy rain with a heavy grip on the wheel. You seem stiff for some reason, though he can't figure out why.

This is the first time, jaemin realises, that he's let himself look at you completely.

Your hands grip the steering wheel, some fresh red scratches on them, he wonders where they came from but moves on from the thought quickly, supposing you were just as clumsy as you once were. It's the only similarity he can notice, everything else seems painfully different to the old you.

Your hair is tied back in a ponytail and seems longer than he'd last remembered, perhaps a couple shades darker too, your facial features seem more mature and your eyes seem more tired.

For some reason each change, large or small, still manages to suit you well.

"Good game out there" you say and jaemin notices the changes that came to your voice, you've developed some confidence but speak in a softer tone than before, the smile on your face seems permanent, a realisation that makes his eyes roll.

"Can't say the same for you"

You nod, this really hadn't been your best game and the lack of sleep last night really hadn't helped.

"I hope you're not going to continue the rest of the season with the weak shots and shitty playing" he clicks his tongue, "it's not exactly best player of the year material is it?"

Most days you'd let jaemin take these shots at you, the wordless ones, the bold ones, and the quite frankly unnecessary ones, but today something urges you to defend yourself just a little.

"We all have our moments jaemin" you sigh, and despite wanting to say more, you decide against it, besides you were almost home anyway.

"Too many of those moments and we're in the same situation we were last year, wouldn't want to let the team down more than you already do would you?"

You don't respond, the car coming to a stop outside the front entrance to your apartment complex. You're glad it does, tears pricking your eyes as a smug jaemin steps out of the car.

"Thanks"

When the door shuts behind jaemin you can't help but let the tears roll down your face.

You wonder why you even make an effort.

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[still-searching-for-something]

Let's talk about Israeli cuisine.

Unfortunately, I have less experience with it than I should, as it looks absolutely delicious, but I've never had any. Diaspora Jew in a place with few Jews or Israelis moment :(. And I'm talking less about Israeli cuisine and more about how it's perceived--namely how it's taken from Israelis, denigrated as 'not Israeli', as having been 'stolen' from Arab cuisine as a part of a broader project of 'cultural conquest'. Looking at you, Joseph Massad.

This assertion is not only a bald-faced lie, it is also deeply antisemitic. People have the right to make food. Nobody's going to call a non Italian racist for making or eating Italian food. Nor would an Italian be culturally appropriating if they eat sushi. Yet Jews and Israelis are stealing if they make Middle Eastern food?

More than that, though, it ignores Jewish history. Jews have lived in the Middle East for... as long as homo sapiens have lived in the Middle East? Mizrahim, who make up most of Israel's population, did not grow out of the ground in Israel from 1948-1979. They were expelled, violently chased out of the Muslim-majority countries they had lived for millennia. Before then, they sustained themselves on falafel, couscous, hummus, tahini, halva, shawarma, and every Middle Eastern food under the sun. If there were such a thing as the 'right' to make food, they'd absolutely have it.

But it's instead 'colonization', 'cultural appropriation', and 'cultural conquest'? To bring the culinary practices they and their ancestors had been practicing since Judaism began to the only country that had thrown open their doors to them? After experiencing pogroms, riots, anti-Jewish legislation, the world once sat by and did nothing to stop it. Again. And then members of these countries have the gall--the audacity and sheer disrespect--to accuse them of pilfering their own fucking culture?? After violently kicking them out???

Like, it blows my mind how many injustices Israelis are subjected to by moronic protestors who think 'Zionism is racism' or whatever. Every time someone posts about Zionist colonization of Palestinian food and culture, they're ironically themselves indulging in cultural erasure. The fact that Palestinians often make the same foods isn't indicative of a supposed Zionist plot to exterminate Palestinians and steal their culinary practices, but rather reflective of their shared origins as being Middle Eastern. But these online 'activists' don't care--nor do they care that the implied 'Zionist plot' that runs through their claims is textbook antisemitism.

Middle Eastern food is widespread in Middle Eastern countries. When Middle Eastern people get kicked out of Middle Eastern countries and go to another Middle Eastern country, they make... Middle Eastern food. Shocking, I know.

It isn't stealing. It isn't cultural appropriation.

Now, gut shabbos everyone.

[hoshinasblade]

hoshina found you in the rooftop of the training building.

the lights from the skyscrapers miles away from the base looked like beacons from this distance, hoshina thought to himself. you were however looking at the moon, crescent-shaped in the sky, dark clouds swallowing some of its luminescence.

hoshina knew he would find you here. he would have dropped by sooner, but the close-door meeting of high-ranking officials in the force took longer than he expected. even now, his top uniform unzipped and both his hands in his pockets, hoshina can still feel the tension and fatigue from the discussion earlier.

"i'm thinking of quitting." your face is indecipherable, but your voice betrayed the emotion swirling inside you. "i'm no good here."

the commanders of the anti-kaiju divisions met a few hours ago - an emergency session to discuss possible strategies on how they're going to handle kaiju threats going forward. it has not been a week since the attack in the tachikawa base where several officers in your platoon had died protecting each other. the image of people you'd trained with, worked with, even shared a meal with, dying under your command is forever etched on your memories, unable to be erased.

the truth is you cannot even stomach looking at yourself in front of the mirror without feeling like a complete, utter failure.

hoshina stood beside you, the cold breeze blowing the stray strands of his hair away his face. he wanted to offer his jacket to you but settled on putting his arm around you instead. "it wasn't your fault", he said, because it really wasn't. he faced the strongest entity in the horde of monsters that attacked the third division base that night and survived by the skin of his teeth. his only consolation is he didn't lost you in the whole ordeal.

you sniffled. "i'm not like you, soshiro. i'm not... strong." hoshina wanted to assert that what you said is a lie but decided against it. "tell me what i need to do," you pleaded, "cause i don't know anymore."

hoshina wished he could take away your pain even if it means he'll have to be the one to bear its burden.

"as your vice-captain, i am going to ask you to stay," hoshina said before turning to look straight at you. "we've lost a lot of people already, we cannot afford to lose any more." i cannot afford to lose you, he wanted to say.

your scoff surprised him. "and as my boyfriend?" you presented your follow-up question.

"as your boyfriend, i need you here," hoshina answered too quickly. he reminded himself to slow down; the last thing both of you need is an argument. he let the silence enveloped you for a few seconds, just enough to calm his own erratic heartbeat. hoshina, watching you from the corner of his eye, started to speak again. "you remember when you said you wanted to be a defense officer? we weren't even dating back then," hoshina pointed out. "i wanted to be one since i was little, but you, god, i have never met anyone else who wanted to protect people so bad like you do. honestly that's part of why i love you," he told you.

hoshina understands all too well how you feel - the horror of knowing you could have saved people who laid their trust on you but didn't. there are a thousand reasons why he wakes up each day as the vice-captain of an anti-kaiju division, and one of it is because he has to make it up for the people he's lost along the way - he's decided to continue on his mission of eradicating kaijus because if he stops he's scared everything and everyone he's lost will be in vain.

"look, if you really want an out, we know i can't stop you anyway", hoshina said matter-of-factly. "but if you stay, i'll be here for you." his hand lightly touched yours. "i'll protect you. i'll take care of you so you can take care of other people too. i'll protect you."

you did not reply. you did not have to.

[dearly-somber]

SLUMP | h.js

-> pairing. jisung x 9th member!reader (f)

-> genre. angst, emotional hurt/comfort

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1382

-> warnings. angst; Y/N overworks herself; Y/N passes out; a lot of worrying by the members; emotional distress

-> a/n. This song is 🥹🥹

-> collection. songfics

-> started. ???

-> fin. Dec. 28th, 2020 @ 10:32

-> edited. Wed., Oct. 24th, 2022 @ 21:25

You were stuck staring at your ceiling, mind blank and body restless.

You felt like you were lagging behind at this point. Chan had reassured you that there was nothing wrong and you were doing as well as everyone around you, if not better. But you felt otherwise. A lot of anti's had been posting tweets, posts, videos, all about how you were meaningless to the group, except for the fact that you were the only girl and therefore gave the group a bit of pizzazz.

You wanted to prove yourself.

You wanted to prove that yes, you were a good rapper. You were a good singer. You were a great dancer. But they always compared you to your members.

“She can't rap like Changbin, Jisung or Felix.”

“She can't sing like Seungmin, Jeongin or Chan.”

“She can't dance like Minho or Hyunjin.”

“She can't write or compose like Jisung and the other 3RACHA members.”

“She's useless to the group, except for publicity.”

You pulled off the covers and walked to your bathroom, putting on some light make-up and brushing your teeth and hair before heading over to your closet to get into some decent clothes for practice. You pulled out your phone and checked the time:

03:45 a.m.

It's fine. More than enough time to practice. You shook your head, managing to sneak out of the dorm and head around to the practice room. When you got there you immediately connected your phone to the speakers and started practicing to songs with which you wanted to improve rapping. That you did for two hours until 5:45 am. Then you did vocal practices and warm-ups until 6:45. Then for the last few hours until the other members would show up, you practiced your choreography and dance in general. You had muted your phone and couldn't hear any message notifications, hence why you couldn't hear your members blowing up your phone.

•••

"Where is she? She's not anywhere in the dorm—"

"She's not picking up her phone, either..." Jeongin added anxiously, looking between his hyungs.

Chan, though worried, tried to keep cool to make sure chaos was kept to a minimum. "Don't worry, guys. I'm sure we'll find her somewhere in the building. She probably went to practice a bit earlier today."

"You think so? She usually never wakes up early." Changbin said, biting his inner cheek as he tapped his phone case worriedly.

"That's true. We always have to wake her up." Minho added, folding his arms as he finished fixing his hair.

"I'm sure she's fine." Felix said hopefully, smiling in a calming manner before heading out to the practice room with the others.

•••

You stopped for the third time in the last 2 minutes. Your whole body was aching and your head hurt. You took a sip of water and a quick 30 second breather before restarting the song. It was midway through the Side Effects choreo that the members stumbled into the room, frantically looking around before visibly relaxing at the sight of you. You tried to put on a bright smile, turning around to look at them fully. “Who's late, now?" You stuck your tongue out half-heartedly, laughing airly as you went to unplug your phone, flinching at the large amounts of texts and missed calls.

"Where've you been?" Jisung asked as he walked over for a hug, his blue hair illuminated in the light. You shrugged, opening your arms to hug him. Once you leaned into him you went limp in his arms, your eyes closing blissfully and body appreciating the break. Jisung cocked a brow as you pulled away almost forcefully, but decided to keep quiet, staring blankly after you since you refused to tell him what was up.

•••

"Okay! Five, six—five, six, seven, eight!" Minho counted you all in and you missed the beat, stumbling forward and bumping into Seungmin.

"Sorry, Minnie. You okay?"

"I think I should be the one asking that question, noona… You look pale."

"No, I'm goo—woah.” The floor danced beneath your feet as a sudden wave of dizziness overcame your senses, Changbin catching you as you fell back.

"Y/N, you don't look good." Changbin said worriedly, keeping his hands close to you even after you had shoved them away.

"I'm fine, don't worry."

"Y/N—"

"I said I'm fine!" You snapped at Chan, your shoulders tense. Everyone looked at you nervously. You were known for your patience and almost never got angry, though when you did it never ended well. Sniffling, you swore under your breath, storming out and into the bathroom.

With a collective sigh, Hyunjin stopped the music, watching as Minho ran a hand through his hair while others paced nervously, Jeongin fiddling uncomfortably with his fingers.

“Jisung?"

The blue haired boy turned to look at his leader attentively, his bottom lip captured between his teeth.

"Would you mind trying to talk to her?"

Nodding, Jisung walked over to the door and gently wrapped his knuckles against it.

"Come in..." You said hoarsly, sounding like you had been crying. It was pretty obvious that you had a soft spot for Jisung, hence why Chan thought you'd talk to him.

"Noona..." Jisung said quietly, walking over to your hunched form at the end of the bathroom: leaning against the wall and crying into your knees. He wrapped his arms around you and you cried further into his shoulder, trying hard not to be too loud. Jisung was on the verge of tears himself, rubbing circles into your back in hopes of comforting you. When you calmed down, you explained to him that you had been practicing for at least seven hours and after he did the math he looked at you seriously.

"You've been here since three a.m?" You nodded, leaning forward and resting your head against his shoulder, eyes closing. "Noona, that's dangerously long!"

"I know, Sung-ah... It's just that... I wanna do a good job, you know? It's like everyone's miles ahead of me, just out of reach, and I'm the only one at the bottom of the pile, waiting to be forgotten…” You were crying again, and Jisung felt his heart ache as he hugged you closer.

“I just want them to root for me, too. I wanna show them all of me because they're all watching but I don't know what they want."

Jisung gently leaned back and took your face in his hands. “Whoever 'they' are, they don’t matter. You're giving us everything you've got and it's more than enough. You don't have anything to prove, noona. You're doing fine just as you are and doing this to yourself is far from what we want from you."

You nodded, leaning into his touch and slumping down slightly. Jisung nodded and brought you closer, eventually noticing that you had passed out, most likely from exhaustion.

"What happened?" Hyunjin asked questioningly when Jisung came out carrying you. He shook his head, looking from you to his members.

"She passed out. She's been practicing since three this morning. I'm taking her back to the dorm to sleep it off. We'll be able to check up on her later. She should be awake by the time we finish up here."

Chan nodded and told Jisung to head on up to the dorms as practice continued.

•••

When you woke up, you smelled pizza. Rubbing your eyes tiredly you walked into the living room where Jeongin attacked you with hugs.

"You feeling better yet, noona?"

"Innie~ that's a bit tight, love.”

"Ah, sorry—" Jeongin pulled away with a hint of pink on his face because of your pet name.

You ruffled his hair and nodded. “I'm feeling much better, maknae-ya."

"That's great! We left you your food in the kitchen and there's a buddy coke for you in the fridge." Jeongin smiled happily as he joined his hyungs by the TV where you guys were they were watching fail army.

"You better not do that again, okay?" Jisung said seriously as he walked up to you, leaning against the counter while watching you get your food and drink.

"I won't, Sung. Thanks for helping me today..."

Jisung smiled as he side hugged you quietly. “Always."

[queserasora]

ZORO X FEM READER | NSFW / Soft Smut ™  WORD COUNT: 7.9k CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, nudity (duh), unprotected sexual intercourse (just don’t do it folks, only works in fiction), biting, scratching, kissing, lots of angst and sexual tension, if you’re looking for light and fluffy this isn’t it, excessive mentions of the moon (so if you’re anti moon gtfo), groping, nipple play, zoro talking too damn much and being a little nasty, for ZORO this is pretty TAME because he is like….enamored, so just let him be, allow this moment of softness because it doesn’t come often, so, SOFT ZORO, and like this is zoro being soft so if you don’t think it’s soft enough…idk what to tell you, it’s zoro, i proof read it twice so if you find a typo ignore it, if you tell me there is a typo you need to suck my dick first, thx

NEW MOON 

A dreamer has no home in Mock Town. 

Dreams were for children. Quaint little stories made of glittering sand sprinkled into their eyes, blinding them to the harsh truth of the world. The sting would force their eyelids shut, and they’d drift off into lands made of fantasy and fluffy clouds, carrying them off to somewhere peaceful; somewhere they would never be hurt, a haven safe from pain. 

They’d lay in their bed woven from lies while the moon spills its light through the window.

It had been a long time since there was any moon watching over you. You slept in darkness, holding the lies you told close to your chest. A romantic heart held prisoner in a chest constructed by cynical chains. You spoke like a realist, even when it split your tongue in half. The taste of copper grounded you to your reality, and you swallowed it down, finding it a fitting exchange.

Your blood for the chance to avoid their scorn. It was the price you paid to live in anonymity.

Loneliness went down easily when you drank it with whiskey. You had learned this years ago, so you consume it daily; a necessary evil. It is smooth on your tongue as you watch them from your corner of the establishment. The back of their heads are unfamiliar as they sit at the bar. You think you imagine it, the way your heart seizes at the sound of his voice. A gruffness so rugged it cuts into your skin, spilling everything you held inside. You scoop it up immediately as you throw the rest of your drink back into your throat. The burn in your chest is antiseptic. 

Dreams had nowhere to run in Mock Town. This is where dreams came to die.

It is a mantra you repeat, with every blow they deal on the loud captain and his swordsman. It is a mantra you clamp down on with aching teeth, when their navigator begs them to fight. Your fingers twitch around the etched glass in your hand. You grip it so tightly it cracks, like fault lines across the illusion you had been hiding behind. When they leave the bar, everything shatters.

You wake up, at last, from the nightmare you had built yourself only to plunge into a different colored one. 

They’ll never come back. It is a lie you feed yourself, cram it into your mouth and down into your stomach, until everything overflows. Until you believe it. You pick up the fallen pieces left in their wake and start gluing them back together, before your heart can escape again. But he does come back, and a hammer swings into you when his fist flies into Bellamy’s face.

You chase after him as he takes his prize, your oversized kusarigama attached to your back. The chain links clink as you run, its sound chasing your steps. His name is stiff on your tongue but you cast it out, a coin entering a fountain–one last desperate wish. Luffy finds your proposal comical, and so is the weapon on your back. He smiles until the corner of his eyes crinkle, a smile so radiant you swear you’ve only felt the same warmth under the sun. 

“Please!” your voice pleads, hands grasping at invisible strings. “I want to see the sky island too!”

His hum is contemplative. You feel time stop. You don’t breathe, you can’t, until he answers you at last: “Sure!” His laugh is infectious and odd. “You seem pretty strong, Kusari.” It isn’t your name. It never has been, but it sounds right when he says it.

It still sounds right when he introduces you to everyone; feels right in your bones. The swordsman’s eyes connect with yours–his gravity too large for you to avoid its pull. Inside you, the ocean’s tide begins to change. A smile graces your lips, congenial and friendly. One that was practiced and rehearsed, like every lie you told. Pretending was a curse you had been tasked with. It was easy and it was necessary. The method that always kept you safe.

Zoro shakes his head at everyone’s enthusiasm. Luffy’s impulsiveness was something he was used to, but disagreed with, time and time again. You were a risk he would have never taken. There were too many dubious variables, your background as a bounty hunter made you skilled and dangerous. His doubts on your genuineness are cast aside by excitement of a new adventure. Zoro lived on the edge of his swords, betting his life at every hurdle, his destiny always held firmly by his own capable hands. Sky island or you, it didn’t matter what the peril was. If it was in his way, he’d cut it down without mercy. 

It would be a shame, he thinks–an afterthought polluting his resolve–if he would have to make you his enemy. Your weapon intrigues him, at least that’s his reasoning. There would be no other behind his curiosity. You had a face he could forget, if he really wanted to try. 

He’d just have to want it badly enough.

WAXING CRESCENT

A persistent irritation, like a rash from a poisonous leaf, plagued him. You were too familiar, too quickly ingrained in his routine. Your sense of humor reminded him of Robin. Your mouth was always twisted, in a cynical kind of smile–but only with him. It annoyed him. You had no riddles for Sanji or Luffy or Usopp, but when you’d speak to Zoro–he was constantly baffled. 

What was your insistence on befuddling him? He figures ignoring you would do the trick but your presence is unforgivable; a sin, like a nick on his blades, a scar on his back, a sake poured on dirt. He wanted to obfuscate your existence, like a dark cloud in a night sky, hiding the moon from sight.

Robin and you quickly become a pair, synchronized jokes, and synchronized looks. You team up and prepare riddle after riddle that Zoro can’t seem to solve. He contemplates leaving you two with Nami to your devices but there are so many unknowns in the jungle his conscience doesn’t allow it. His worries become unfounded when he watches you wield your weapon with ease. There was no sign of hesitation when you acted on Chopper and Nami’s behalf–placing their safety as a priority. His shoulders relax, but doubt still circles–a fin in the water–reminding him that it was still too early to tell if you were friend or foe.

Friend or foe, he can’t deny it.

Your face was one he could forget, if he really wanted to. The problem was, he was starting to believe he didn’t want to. In the brief free moments, his eyes would search for it–like a dry tongue seeking water. The softness of your cheeks beguiled him, made him wonder, like a fool, if they were soft as they looked. But your smile was a blade whose sharpness he knew too well. He couldn’t allow himself to be cut. It was a shame he could never live down.

FIRST QUARTER

An adventure on Sky Island had been one you never even had dreamed of. An island in the sky was something only children thought of. It had been a long time since you basked in innocence. 

The thrill of surviving by the skin of your teeth still thrummed through your body. You giggled, a drink in your hand as you enjoyed the kitchen to yourself. The crew had gone to explore Water 7 and while you were happy to be part of the team–it was still something you were getting used to. Working by yourself, for yourself, had been something you’d done for years and were good at. Now, there were others; people you had started caring about.

He finds you in the kitchen, and immediately is envious of the glass in your hand. Not because the dark amber contents swirling around two blocks of ice is alluring. Not because of the way condensation clings to the glass, a sign of deliciously cold temperature enough to soothe most kinds of thirsts. He is envious of the glass, how you cradle it possessively when Zoro steps closer. He is envious of the rim, how your tongue flicks out to lap at a stray drop, sliding down–how it is graced by your lips when you bring it up for a drink.

“Looks good,” he says with strain. Tension pulls at his neck, making it difficult to talk. “Is there more of that?” 

You gesture at the table, where you had left the bottle of whiskey. He intends to move, truly, as he is mere steps away from your body but your eyes are bright and mystifying. They jumble his thoughts and it takes a quirk of your brow to kickstart his brain once more. 

As the moon commands, the tides obey, and a series of events unfolds that can’t be stopped. There’s so much to think of, you almost forget how much Zoro ails you. You forget how you think of him at night while you try to find a comfortable spot to sleep in. You forget the way his eyes pierce you during dinner, how they steal your breath. You forget the strange moments his hand brushes against yours when you pass him by, and the strange way he says your name as if it was a kiss given in secret.

You forget until Sanji is irate, top lip curled in anger. His words bounce off you, and you frown with a small shake of your head. You shake it, not because you find the accusation incredulous–you and Zoro had fought the best you could to protect the money–but because it feels as if you should care more. Zoro–usually calm, composed, quick to avoid drama–always flies at the handle at Sanji’s provocation. This time it’s no different. He comes, not to his own defense, but yours. The cloud over your mind lifts, and there’s a light beaming into your chest. Your mouth twists into a grimace.

You try to keep the light out by bringing a hand to your chest. Beams slip right through the cracks of your fingers. 

Your hand is still over your chest when Robin goes missing. You seek her out, desperate for an ally to make you forget–to remind you of the dangers of letting others in. There was an unspoken understanding between you two; a darkness shared and understood. You understand this even when you find out about Robin’s possible betrayal. In your heart, you try to reason, in your mind you find enough to doubt. When Zoro speaks up, like the devil on your shoulder, and makes it clear he isn't holding his breath when it comes to Robin, coldness sets in. People were complicated. You had learned that lesson with blood in your mouth. You wonder if Zoro has learned this as well–or was he the darkness too? Did he find it hard to trust? Had he been forced to cement walls around himself?

You begin to sink in, hiding behind your usual facade. Lies slip out of your mouth, one after the other, snakes with two and three heads. It was better this way, fabricating a self so different from your true source that nobody could ever hurt you. Desire could only lead to disappointment. Whatever embers he had left behind on the back of your hand, you try to smother it out, covering it with your free hand.

WAXING GIBBOUS

Raucous laughter meets shadows and light.

Luffy could never pass up a party, and after saving Robin there was so much to celebrate. The taste of sake on his tongue was familiar; a pleasant burning whose limits he knew all too well. This was something he could control, a phenomenon that did not incite fear or anxiety. 

He could not say the same about the phenomenon of your skin under the light of the moon. A throat so dry he feels choking seizes his words, so he drinks and drinks and drinks. Relief never comes, sentences he repeats in his head as he circles around you fester in the pit of his stomach. You are so happy–elated even, that Robin is back. You haven’t left her side, cracking joke after joke.

It’s sickening how much it irritates him that you refuse to be alone. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nami clinging to your hand, offering you another drink. If it’s not Nami, it’s Luffy trying to shove more food at you–food you gently refuse. If it’s not Luffy, it’s the stupid cook, hearts shooting out of his eyes as he touches your hand.

Your hand–the one he hasn’t touched.

He bites down so hard he thinks he’s cracked a tooth, so he spits at the ground, expecting blood. He sees nothing, and chooses to believe that this means nothing. The sake is rotten, and he is tired, so so tired. Zoro doesn’t pray, he has never prayed in his whole life but he considers it that night when he closes his eyes. So he hopes instead. He hopes he’ll be over it in the morning and you’ll be nothing–a long forgotten moonbeam in a distant night sky.

He wakes up, and realizes quickly that you are still not nothing.

He swings his swords repeatedly, motions that he is familiar with. He focuses on the strain of his muscles, the ache slowly setting in. He focuses on the sweat on the back of his neck, the one dripping down his rippling muscles. He focuses as much as he can, but your gaze on him is fastidious. 

He senses you watching him, a strange lecherous feeling that twists his stomach. He refuses to meet your gaze and bites down again. If his teeth cracked then so be it.

You are shameless, he thinks, as he swallows his drink. Your dark eyes are unwavering, focused on his neck. Zoro swallows, heart beating in his chest like a wild animal. His foot is under the table, tapping away as he tries to keep the rest of him still. Nami is arguing with Luffy, and Zoro shakes his head slightly, trying to wake up from the spell you have casted on him. He should laugh with the others, he should ignore Sanji’s pointed stare, he should ignore the cold sweat on his forehead and the sudden dip at the pit of his stomach when you lick your lips. 

When you finally drag your eyes away from his neck, in a way that looks like it pained you, Zoro takes a sharp breath. He thinks you have set him free from this twisted prison but you ensnare him again when you meet his eyes. Zoro brings his glass to his mouth once more, and swallows the remains of the whiskey.

It burns his chest on the way down, but there is a fire more heated and consuming at the bottom of his stomach. One that builds higher and higher when you smile at him.

Later that night, when he’s prowling the newly constructed Thousand Sunny like a restless large feline, Zoro has to remind himself why he even set out from his hometown. He reminds himself that he has to become the strongest swordsman, as he fights the urge to slide his hands down his stomach, to reach further down for the arousal that bothers him. His forehead pressed against the cold wood of the training room, he tries to reason with his breathing. He thinks about the new bounties announced, the thrill of new adventures. There is no room for deviation in his goals. He knows this. There is a set path to follow–the one the moon has been guiding him to all along.

Turning to you would just lead him to darkness. Zoro refused to be swallowed up by it, no matter how alluring the flash of its teeth were.

FULL MOON

A life for a life.

He thought nothing of it at first. He thought it necessary. At first he had lived selfishly, seeking to keep a promise given a long time ago. Somewhere along the way, his Captain’s dream had become as important as his. Somewhere along the way, he had friends he cared about, friends he wanted to protect. His strength alone had not been enough, and so for this sin: he offers his life.

If there was anyone who could protect the rest, it would be Luffy.

He tries to hold on to this hope as pain cuts into him. It rips at his skin, making tatters at what keeps him together. Blood splurts, hot and searing. A pain that burns so deep he thinks it’s in his soul. He clenches his teeth, willing for them to crack and splinter off, if it means keeping quiet. A man should not cry when his mind has been set up.  His eyes are open but he sees nothing–not in particular, except his own blood clouding his vision. 

He tries to focus on other things, when a pain so blinding and deep makes him want to drop to his knees. He thinks of Nami and Usopp, and hopes they’ll be okay. He wonders if Chopper will grow happier. He wants to believe Sanji will get stronger, enough to continue protecting everyone. That stupid, idiotic cook who had tried to offer his own life in his place. Zoro grimaces, a pained groan almost leaving his mouth so he bites down on his tongue–metal taking over his taste buds.

He had no regrets. He never had any but as his vision becomes blurry there’s a face that fills his eyes. A different kind of pain booms in his chest, until it fills everything, until it pushes out the air from his lungs. He takes a ragged breath, and feels fear for the first time in a long time. He fears regret. He fears never seeing her face again. He fears never knowing.

He should have held her. He should have kissed her. Just like he always wanted to.

He curses the sound of your voice, the same that cuts through the pain, and reminds him to hold on. He curses the softness of your skin–the back of your hand, the only sensation he knows of you. He curses how he craves to know more even in the face of this endless pain.

He curses you over and over again, until it is done, until all he knows is the pain you leave behind.

Sanji annoys him. Zoro tries to not lash out. His body feels heavy but he feigns it. He tries to keep it  together for as long as he can. He has to make sure they’re all okay. Once he is convinced that it was all worth it, once he sees your face wearing an expression he doesn’t want to think about, he allows himself to rest. It takes all the energy he has left to leave you–to walk away from you without touching you, to not run his fingers through your hair, to press your body against his. 

As consciousness fades, he wonders how much longer he can hold back. Would he regret it later? If he died? Would he regret never telling you? His inner voice becomes slurred, incoherent, distant until darkness takes him under.

Robin tries to tell you, even though Sanji tried to stop her. She tries to tell you the truth about Zoro but you dismiss her. You insist it is none of your business. Your voice is calm, flat even, as you fold laundry in an attempt to hide your trembling hands. In your mind, you’re screaming. In your mind, you want to run and grab him by the neck. In your mind, you want to understand what possessed him.

But in your heart you know why. In your heart, you know that Zoro wouldn’t have had it any other way, so you try to pretend you don’t know. It was the least you could do to pay him back for what he had given you all.

You know he will be fine. You know he will recover. He just needs time. You want to give it to him, and you do, as you try to stay busy. Still, your feet are treacherous. They keep taking you back to him. You watch him sleeping, a sickness weighing you down. Your eyes feel full, a heart so heavy you think you might collapse under its weight. Heavy feet root you to the spot by his bed. Trembling fingers reach out, so hesitant they can only touch lightly. You softly brush fingertips across his forehead; your silent prayer for him to wake up soon. The sight of his battered body makes you sigh, and your tear filled eyes rest on his hand. Those hands that had protected everyone time and time again. They seemed so strong every time he wielded his swords. Not once did you think they could look this frail. You reach out to touch the bandages, and gently squeeze his wrapped index finger.

Just as gently, you reach down and kiss his temple. 

“Wake up, idiot,” you whisper, lips brushing against his clammy skin. “I miss you.”

Your confession feels like a knife you pushed into your own chest. You move quickly, almost run out of the room. Blood gushes, and you hold up a hand, trying to push it back in; the feelings, the words, that kiss.

When he wakes, it takes a moment to feel like he is awake at all. It isn’t until the straw hats leave Thriller Bark that he feels more like himself. Per Luffy, there’s a celebratory dinner. Brooks–someone Zoro was still getting used to–had taken it upon himself to be the night’s entertainment. Fish-Man Island was the next destination and Zoro’s excitement was slowly overtaken by hazy thoughts of you. The more he drank, the more he thought he should finally tell you. The more he watched everyone laugh, eat, sing, drink—the more he thought he should just accept it.

He should accept the pull you had on him. He should accept the command, the order of things; like the moon and tide.

He follows this pull up to the crow’s nest, newly remodeled by Franky. There’s little time for Zoro to admire the modifications. He is too busy trying to find a way to breathe again after the sight of you left him breathless. You’re bent over the telescope, gazing at the sky–he figures maybe the moon, maybe the stars. He’s not sure. All he’s sure of is that his heart might burst if it beats any faster. All he is sure of is that if he doesn’t find a way to silence it, you might hear it past the bones, and flesh entrapping it. 

A fluttering of anxiety fills him with dread. A strange feeling he isn’t familiar with. It feels as if it was imperative he touches you; as if he didn’t, only death would follow, as if he didn’t hold you, the world–his or everyone’s–would end. It was such a dramatic, sickening feeling he wanted to rip his own heart out. If that was the solution, he’d do it but he had a feeling at the pit of his stomach that even that wouldn’t work.

He tries to quiet his breathing, not wanting to disturb you, too mesmerized by the sight of your round and plump ass. There’s fire over his skin, blistering and searing the hairs on his arms. He clears his throat, alerting you to his presence.

You turn around, embarrassed that you didn’t feel him entering the room. It’s a fleeting emotion, quickly overtaken by something much more complicated; heavier, infinitely more deadly. It is sickening, really, how insanely attractive he is. You swallow with difficulty, suddenly annoyed that you didn’t bring a drink with you; anything to whet your appetite if it meant keeping your hands off Zoro.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to buy time for your mind to kick into gear. The cogs in your brain are sluggish. You blame the alcohol, and not the fire in your belly. You want to tell him you’re glad that he’s awake. You want to tell him how scary it was, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear that. “I’m sorry I drank all your sake while you slept,” you tell him instead, your mouth stretching into a crooked smile. “I figured someone should.”

He scoffs, matching your grin.

“That’s a poor excuse. You’re such a liar,” he tells you, and you take a sharp breath. You’re not sure if he meant it–that you were a liar–or if he just said it in passing. You blame the alcohol for your confusing thoughts, and you blame it again when you don’t notice the way he has quickly breached the distance between you two.

The moon is full and bright, hanging high in the inky night sky. Its light is bright and it shoots through the window, spilling over the floor. Zoro is mesmerized by the way it glistens on your brown skin. You look so small against the window, with your back to the moon, it makes him want to crush you against his chest. His mind is hazy, his tongue heavy. He blames the sake. He blames the sake and the moon. He blames them as his hand reaches out to brush a curl out of your face. He tucks it behind an ear, his eyes memorizing the roundness of your cheek, the shell of your ear. He blames the moonlight on your skin, when he cups your cheek to see if he can trap it there, between your skin and his calluses.

He blames the night sky, the smell of the sea when he reaches down to softly brush his lips against yours.

You can’t breathe when his nose brushes against yours. You still can’t breathe when he pulls back, enough to look down at you. His eyes stare into yours and you still can’t find your breath. You think you’ll die now, by Zoro’s mouth, by his hand on your cheek. Your heart pounding against your frail ribs reminds you that you’re still alive. It is a resounding call to arms. You think you should pick up your weapons, but the fire in his eyes burns your resolve to ash.

His heart is on fire. Zoro knows that is a ridiculous thought. He knows that’s not even correct or possible, but the longer he looks at you, the more he feels it to be true. He hears it in the distance; the sound of war—drums, and screaming, blades scratching against each other, sinew tearing, blood gushing; throbbing in his ears and in his veins. 

The sound echoes in his body, a rush of adrenaline lighting small fires throughout his being. This moment feels infinite, as if he is frozen in time. A want so desperate pools inside him until it ignites. 

He comes tumbling down when he kisses you again. A ravenous mouth open and seeking against yours. His large hands hold your face, as he brushes his tongue against yours with the sole purpose of consuming; conquering. Your tongue is warm and soft, slippery, a sensation he can’t get enough of. He hums when you give in, when you let him suck on it without inhibitions. His breathing is harsh through his nose, and it becomes quicker when you place your hands over his, when you move them down his arms onto his chest.

You grasp on to his shirt, as you return his kisses. His teeth are unforgiving. They bite down on your bottom lip, on the corners of your mouth. He is insistent on discovering everything about it. He runs his tongue against your bottom lip, his forehead pressed against yours. He wonders as he sucks on it, how many times have you bitten down on it, how many words have you swallowed in place to offer lies instead. He’s never told you how often he sees right through you. He sees it even now, as you struggle for control.

“Don’t fight it,” he breathes against your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Not now. Not tonight.” He kisses your closed eyes; one at a time. He kisses your cheeks, lips blistering hot. You feel him brush his mouth against your jawline. “Don’t think. Not until tomorrow,” he asks you against your neck, trailing kisses down the column of it. You think about this offer, consider rejecting, but when his teeth snags against the soft flesh on the hollow of your neck you forget everything. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he follows your collarbone to one shoulder. He bites down with enough force to make you cry–one that turns into a soft moan.

It is enough. That is the sound that snaps his resolve. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to make this moment last, as if he would never have it again, but you are something he was never prepared to fight against. When you moaned, with your nails digging into his back he was left with no choice. He had to have you, tonight, at all costs.

His hands are as unforgiving as his mouth. They rip into your clothes, ignoring your protests. The sound of tearing fabric is accompanied by the sound of your gasps. His breathing is harsh against your ears, causing a wetness between your legs you try to take no responsibility over. It is the sight of his chest, wide and thick when he rips his own shirt that makes your mouth water. Your hands reach out immediately, just as you always dreamed of. You run your palms over his muscles, memorizing every dip and sharp angle, as you press your open mouth to his neck. You suck on a spot, determined to leave a mark–any. It was desperation. One that was fed by fear. You feared this moment not lasting. You feared never again touching his skin, kissing him, holding him.

His own desperation was evident by his greedy hands. They way he seized your hips, to press his erection against you. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, and he digs his fingers into the supple flesh. He’s kissing you again, a clash of tongue of teeth; sloppy, and messy, a wetness on your chin he licks up before sucking on the spot. Zoro’s eyes take in the sight of the floor, as you kiss his chest. He moans when you bite down over a nipple, and he pulls on your hair.

“Stop that,” he hisses, pushing you back towards the benches. “Or I’ll fuck you on the floor.” It doesn’t sound unappealing to your ears, so you try to bite his other nipple but he is faster than you. He picks you up by the ass, forcing you to shout in surprise.  Zoro carries you to the bench, and he sits down after placing you back on the ground.

You look down at him, and his naked chest. His pants are still on and you feel extremely exposed. Zoro had, in his efficacy, ripped every single article of clothing you had on. Leaving you naked, and heated. You scoff.

“So you get to keep your pants on?” you ask him, pointing with a frown. Zoro laughs at you, as he reaches into his trousers with one hand. He pulls out his hardened cock, and strokes it gently. There’s a lump in your throat, one with no name, so you swallow it quickly. The sight of his pink tip is enticing. He smears the precum over his slit with his thumb. You think it a shame, and almost tell him so but he’s speaking trying to get your attention. 

“Pay attention,” he tells you with a raised brow, his hand settled now at the base of his cock. You raise a brow to match his. Zoro smiles, and pats his lap with his free hand. “Come here,” he commands you to move towards him, heart hammering away at the prospect. You had thought of this moment before. You had no shame admitting it now. You had thought often of how it would feel to have Zoro inside you, so deep you could feel like dying. It seems Zoro had other plans when you approach him as he spins you around by the hips. “This way. Your back to me.”

You swallow and sit on his lap, feeling his cock pressed against your ass. He kisses your shoulder, your neck as his hands roam over your thighs. There’s a slick coating your folds. You’re more aware of it the more he touches your skin. His breath is hot against your ear when he speaks again: “I’m going to spread your legs,” he tells you, and follows through quickly on his statement, spreading them by grabbing your thighs. You gasp, cool air touching your heated core. Zoro runs his tongue along the shell of your ear. He nips the top of it, teeth sharp and digging hard enough to leave an imprint. You feel yourself getting wetter. 

“You’re wet,” he breathes out–a heated whisper, almost trembling. His fingers rifle through your folds, slickness covering his fingertips. Zoro presses his mouth against your ear, his eyes closing at the pleasure. It feels so silky and soft in his fingers. He craves more. “I’m going to make you cum,” he tells you, slipping one finger in slowly, one knuckle at a time. “I’m going to make you cum over and over again. I want to touch you everywhere, deep inside.” He slips in another finger when you moan, curving them in search of that spongy spot. His desire builds the wetter you get, the more you moan and whimper in his hold. His cock is hard, and it leaks again against your back. You feel it there sticking to your skin. “I want you,” he growls against your shoulder, as he picks up the pace, scissoring his fingers inside your squelching pussy. “I want you so badly. This isn’t enough.” His teeth sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder. You cry out, as he clamps down harder, leaving a mark on your skin. He kisses the blooming bruise, hand moving desperately as you clench around his fingers. The soft pad of his palm beats against your clit, his calluses eliciting a pleasure you never knew could be possible every time they brush over your sensitive nub.

He leans over you, his broad chest making you feel vulnerable and small. Your thighs are aching as he continues to push his fingers in and out of you. “Maybe another one,” he grunts in between pants, peering over your shoulder. He watches himself insert a third finger into your soaking pussy. You cry out, at the sensation of being stretched. He is watching himself work, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Sweat clings to his temple, and runs down his cheek. You’re doing your best to hold back, the fear of being heard keeps you from giving in entirely but the sight of him so enthralled with the way he’s beating into your pussy makes you want to fold. “Do you like it?” he asks you, panting against your ear. You whimper and bite down on your lip, almost drawing blood. “You’re so wet and so tight. I think you do,” he insists, licking your ear, and sucking on your earlobe quickly after. “But why are you holding back?” His mouth is flushed against your ear, his breath humid. “Are you scared they’ll hear you?” 

Zoro chuckles lightly against your ear, picking up speed until it becomes a brutalizing pace. The sounds in crow’s nests are lewd enough to make you blush. You hear the wet sound of your pussy, the way you keep whimpering and gasping. Your body is shaking. 

“Come on, babe,” he asks you in almost a whine. You gasp, and moan, surprised at the visceral reaction your body had to the sound of his soft voice. “Let me hear you. The real you. Or do I have to fuck you harder?”

The moon continues to hang high in the sky as he works his fingers inside you. Its beams scatter in the room, casting shadows over the side of your face, and over your breasts. He wishes he could see more than he does. He wishes he could memorize the sight of you, falling apart to his touch, and never forget it. The scent of your shampoo haunts him, so he scissors his fingers inside you in a desperate attempt to even the odds. 

He kneads one breast with his free hand, squeezing its nipple between index and thumb. When you cry out, he gasps loudly against your ear, surprised at how much that turned him on. He wants to hear it again, again, and again; so he repeats the motion, twisting and pulling until you’re moaning and whimpering in his embrace. Your skin looks so soft under the moonlight. He brushes his lips over your neck and shoulders trying to taste you. It isn’t enough so he tries again, chasing the essence that makes you who you are. He nips at the flesh of your back as you bend over, a particular strong jolt of pleasure forcing your tummy to contract. No matter how many times he digs his teeth into your skin, until you’re covered in crescent shaped marks, he can’t seem to get his fill of you. You feel so good around his fingers, your arousal dripping down his wrist and his forearm.

Your orgasm catches him unaware, and he slows down his fingers, surprised at the loudness of your voice. He finds himself laughing against the hair above your ear, pleasure making him shiver. His fingers slow down slightly before he pulls them out entirely. “About time,” he whispers before he has you flip over to face him. He adjusts you on his lap, until you’re grinding your soaked pussy on his cock. “But we’re not done. I need more.” He brings your face to him, a hand on the back of your neck. The kiss is forced, mouth pressed tightly against yours. You whimper softly under its weight. Whatever tenderness that kiss held evaporates when his attention moves downwards to your breasts. 

He sucks on your breasts, as he grips your hips. His fingers hold you so tightly you’re compelled to move them against his length. He leaves bites over the swell of your breasts, and the fire inside you continues to burn. You had stopped trying to hold it in, your moans cast into the shield of darkness like stars on the inky sky. Zoro seizes them with his mouth, teeth bearing down on them. He pins them to his body like decoration and seizes to find more, conquer another every time he nips at your sensitive nipples. You hold on to Zoro, desperation forcing you to dig your nails into his back. Every time he kisses your breasts you feel like melting, disappearing into the heat of his mouth. 

Your hands reach out to his face, trembling. Your hips move still, the heat of Zoro’s hands keeping them steady. His eyes on your face send a shiver down your spine. Your breath feels so out of reach, as if you’ll never catch up to it, to place it back in your lungs. You trace over the angle of his cheekbones, try to memorize the sharpness of his jawline by going over it with one index finger. Although pleasure continues to build, you’re distracted by the sight of his ears. His earrings trap the light of the moon, and they blink repeatedly, little stars hanging from his earlobe; a mesmerizing sight that makes you want to make a wish. If you wished with all your heart, would it come true? If you wished for a dream, would it be fulfilled?

Your breath hitches, eyes glued to his swinging earrings. Their beautiful golden color is made all the more striking against his tanned skin. You touch them, fingers playing with them. Zoro takes your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist, the pool of your palm. He moves your hand to his chest, and presses it there. The feel of his heartbeat steals your breath. You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness, but Zoro is kissing you, taking your bottom lip into his mouth gently. You hold his face between your hands when he pulls away, feeling like you’re holding on to water. His hands are back on your hips. He lifts you up, as the fingers of one hand drifts to his earrings again. You brush your fingers against them, and they make a soft tinkling sound–a quick little song–as he buries his cock inside you.

It is better than you could have ever imagined. He fills you in an instant, provoking moan after moan to flood your mouth. Soft, and steady, you tell yourself, pressing your forehead against his. He lets you lead at first, his fingers tapping repeatedly against your hips. He’s counting, for who knows what, timing an entrance. 

Zoro thinks he's finally lost his damn mind. He was determined to savor this moment—like an expensive whiskey, consumed in small sips, swirled around the tongue before swallowing, but you’re so wet, your arousal coats his belly, and sinks into his pants. You’re hot inside, fiery, and smooth. Every swirl of your hips reminds him of how desperately he wants to ram into you, again and again. He thinks about you clenching around his fingers as you moan against his mouth. He sets his jaw, trying to tighten his grip around his willpower but your pussy is even tighter. His breathing is ragged, he shakes his head, trying to cast off the sudden heat in his eyes making him see red. 

But he can’t help it. He can’t fight it any longer.

“Okay,” he says against your neck as you continue to bounce on his cock at a slow pace. His hands are on your hips, they grip tighter. It should have been your warning but you’re so caught up in the feel of him, eyes shut as your face is turned to the ceiling, that you don’t realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry but I need to do it my way now.” He holds you still, and starts thrusting up into your pussy at a maddening speed. You cry out at the sudden change of pace, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. He hisses, but he doesn’t let up, selfishly chasing the high of your tight pussy. 

“Oh my God,” you cry out, eyes shut tightly, as pleasure courses through your body. 

Zoro laughs against your pulse. He sucks on it even as laughter rumbles in his chest. When he comes up for air he asks you: “Who’s that? Don’t know him.”

You laugh but it turns shrill, morphing into a cry of pleasure. Zoro feels you clench around him, faster and faster. He moans, and bites your chin. He picks up the speed, angles his hips with his eyes on your face, determined not to miss a single thing. When you cum, fall apart around him, he watches you with his mouth open–barely staving off his own orgasm. You fall into him, and he holds you, your body twitching in his embrace.

“No,” he says, pushing your back on the bench. You look up, eyes fluttering close, your body feeling heavy and sore. “A little bit more. I need just a bit more.” You shake your head, weakly pressing a hand to his chest. Zoro takes your hand, wraps the arm attached to it around his neck. “Don’t act weak with me. I know how strong you are. So just take it. You can take it.” He takes one of your legs and places it on top of the backrest of the benches, your ankle bumping into the wall. Zoro stares down at you, and you’re caught again–by the heat of his gaze. Dark green lashes fluttering under the moonlight, his swinging earrings blinking at you, his mouth parted, a flush on his cheeks. It all looks so divine, you think this a sight belonging to the gates of Heaven. You think you’re close to dying.

And death comes calling when he enters you again. You have nothing left inside you to fight it. You moan time and time again, with every brutish slam of his hips against yours. His balls sound loud and impossibly perverse every time they slap against your ass. There are bruises forming, you’re sure, but you don’t care. You hold on to him, wrap your arms tightly around him but he pushes you down, determined to watch your expression. You cling to his hips instead, the ones that keep pummeling into you, harshly, his cock ramming into your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He thinks the sight of your face, twisted in a mixture of pain and pleasure is the sharpest knife he has ever been cut open by.

Zoro staves off a cry of pleasure by diving in for a kiss, desperately sucking your tongue into his mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth. From his mouth, he hears stupid promises but his mind can’t believe it even through the haze of lust. He tries to take them back but he whispers into your ear again, soft and sweet things he wouldn’t dare speak in the light of the sun. You know he’s only saying this because he is not thinking straight, because like you, he is consumed by this burning lust. You know when a new moon comes, when this has waxed and waned, that he would forget the words uttered in a moment of madness. 

He loves the way you feel, the way it’s so easy to kiss you. He loves the way your voice catches on his skin, slipping into the little cracks to stay forever. He hates it too. Hates how he thinks he’ll carry you always. Even in the light. Even in the dark. He thinks he should take it all back, the kisses, the words. He thinks this even buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around his length again. He thinks this even as he gasps and moans, cuming with you. 

His body shudders as he spills inside you. You feel it start to ooze out of you, but you ignore it, just like you ignore the sudden flush of your face. 

Zoro crumples over you, and covers you in kisses. Your hands are shaking as you seize his shoulders, trying to find the sense to speak about what just happened but he is gone the moment you grasp him. There are towels nearby, and he drapes one between your legs. He lowers himself over you, trapping your body between his arms. His mouth is still relentless, kissing your bruised lips over and over again. You see the moon caught in his earrings again, and you reach out for it.

Someone once told you, a dream was a wish you made on a star. Your fingers dance along his earrings. The gold blinks back at you–twinkling stars hanging from his ear. You wish, on all three, for the same dream. 

You wish that maybe when the new moon comes, the pull it had on you two would bring you together time and time again.