#failure to appear in court

[the-cinnamon-snail]

our sister has been arrested for 10 days now

[reasonsforhope]

"The sleeping giant of the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has stirred.

In the past month, an avalanche of anti-pollution rules, targeting everything from toxic drinking water to planet-heating gases in the atmosphere, have been issued by the agency. Belatedly, the sizable weight of the US federal government is being thrown at longstanding environmental crises, including the climate emergency.

On Thursday [May 18, 2023], the EPA’s month of frenzied activity was crowned by the toughest ever limits upon carbon pollution from America’s power sector, with large, existing coal and gas plants told they must slash their emissions by 90% or face being shut down.

The measure will, the EPA says, wipe out more than 600m tons of carbon emissions over the next two decades, about double what the entire UK emits each year. But even this wasn’t the biggest pollution reduction announced in recent weeks.

In April, new emissions standards for cars and trucks will eliminate an expected 9bn tons of CO2 by the mid-point of the century, while separate rules issued late last year aim to slash hydrofluorocarbons, planet-heating gases used widely in refrigeration and air conditioning, by 4.6bn tons in the same timeframe. Methane, another highly potent greenhouse gas, will be curtailed by 810m tons over the next decade in another EPA edict.

In just a few short months the EPA, diminished and demoralized under Donald Trump, has flexed its regulatory muscles to the extent that 15bn tons of greenhouse gases – equivalent to about three times the US’s carbon pollution, or nearly half of the entire world’s annual fossil fuel emissions – are set to be prevented, transforming the power basis of Americans’ cars and homes in the process...

If last year’s Inflation Reduction Act (IRA), with its $370bn in clean energy subsidies and enticements for electric car buyers, was the carrot to reducing emissions, the EPA now appears to be bringing a hefty stick.

The IRA should help reduce US emissions by about 40% this decade but the cut needs to be deeper, up to half of 2005 levels, to give the world a chance of avoiding catastrophic heatwaves, wildfires, drought and other climate calamities. The new rules suddenly put America, after years of delay and political rancor, tantalizingly within reach of this...

“It’s clear we’ve reached a pivotal point in human history and it’s on all of us to act right now to protect our future,” said Michael Regan, the administrator of the EPA, in a speech last week at the University of Maryland. The venue was chosen in a nod to the young, climate-concerned voters Joe Biden hopes to court in next year’s presidential election, and who have been dismayed by Biden’s acquiescence to large-scale oil and gas drilling.

“Folks, this is our future we are talking about, and we have a once-in-a-generation opportunity for real climate action,” [Michael Regan, the administrator of the EPA], added. “Failure is not an option, indifference is not an option, inaction is not an option.” ...

It’s not just climate the EPA has acted upon in recent months. There are new standards for chemical plants, such as those that blight the so-called "Cancer Alley" the US, from emitting cancer-causing toxins such as benzene, ethylene oxide and vinyl chloride. New rules curbing mercury, arsenic and lead from industrial facilities have been released, as have tighter limits on emissions of soot and the first ever regulations targeting the presence of per- and polyfluoroalkylsubstances (or PFAS) in drinking water.” ...

For those inside the agency, the breakneck pace has been enervating. “It’s definitely a race against time,” said one senior EPA official, who asked not to be named. “The clock is ticking. It is a sprint through a marathon and it is exhausting.” ...

“We know the work to confront the climate crisis doesn’t stop at strong carbon pollution standards,” said Ben Jealous, the executive director of the Sierra Club.

“The continued use or expansion of fossil power plants is incompatible with a livable future. Simply put, we must not merely limit the use of fossil fuel electricity – we must end it entirely.”"

-via The Guardian (US), 5/16/23

[azsazz]

You Know My Desires

Kinktober Day 1: Azriel x Reader [Wingplay]

Summary: Azriel is a jealous male, and you know just how to calm him down.

Warnings: Smut, wingplay, jealousy, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics.

Word Count: 2,892

Notes: Alrighty, let’s do this!

_________________________________________

He’s trapped.

Boots rooted to the unusually pristine floors of the Court of Nightmares ballroom. Body rigid and frozen, nearly vibrating with rage. His wings ache from being held taut, and his teeth are on the verge of cracking from how tightly set his jaw is.

If he moves, this entire sub-court will perish.

A patron indulging on the gluts of the party—rich, fae wine and hor d'oeuvres paired with teasing touches and lew moans—stumbles nearby, her steps faltering as she passes through the bubble of his anger. Azriel watches her from his peripherals as she locks up, shivering as if his shadows are raking their way down her spine. His hazel glare stays locked somewhere across the dance floor.

Right to where you’re dancing with him.

Not even the fire that had scorched his hands when he was young hurt as badly as watching this bastard twirl you around the ballroom.

Rasor’s grin is a wicked one. It’s twinged with secrets and chaos that Azriel doesn’t like; pale, gray eyes alight with mischief and lust. He hates the male leading you in this less than formal dance. Of course he does—he knows every single creature lurking at this unnecessary party. Rasor is a suck up, a male who gets off on trying to be like his High Lord, snarky and silver-tongued. 

He is a failure at even that.

Azriel fantasizes about killing him for the way that his hands are on you. One, settled so low on your hip it’s nearly on your ass, the other clutching yours tightly as he guides you gracefully across the floor.

Everyone’s attention is on the two of you and it stings. If he knew anything other than hundreds of ways to torture a male for touching what is his, he might have asked you to dance. The shadowy corner of the room provides the darkness he requires to seethe like the fucking pathetic male he is.

You need to calm down, Rhysand says gently within his mind. Azriel desperately wants to roll his eyes at the High Lords warning, to cut a glare to where he’s lounging on his throne, but his mind doesn’t allow him to let his gaze stray from you for even a moment. Or everyone’s going to wonder why the ballroom is pitched in darkness. And I can only cover for so long.

Immediately, Azriel reels his shadows back. He watches the way your brows furrow and cast over Rasor’s shoulder when he pulls you against his chest in a move that makes even the fae fucking in the corner gape in awe. You’re seeking him out, wondering if he’s reigned his shadows back because he’s left.

No. He would never leave you.

I hate this, is all Azriel replies, but he means much more than that.

I need her for a bit longer, Rhysand says, and Azriel can feel that violet gaze on him, even if he’s shrouded in darkness. Do I need to have Cassian remove you?

Azriel wants to fight. He wants to launch himself across the ballroom and land a killing blow to your dance partner. No—he wants to paralyze the male and then take you to the floor and fuck you, claim you, mark you with his hands, his teeth, his cum, until every last patron knows who you belong to.

He takes a breath but it’s a struggle.

No.

But you laugh at something Rasor says and Azriel sees red.

His shadows consume him, moving him from his spot in the corner of the room to the middle of the dance floor.

A female shrieks at his sudden appearance but he doesn’t care, baring his teeth when her partner runs into his side. He’s behind you, catching you around the waist mid-twirl. Your dress is still the silky smooth it was when he caressed your thighs and had taken you before you left, his cum leaking down the insides of your thighs masked by the dark fabric. He had wanted to lap the mixture of both of your orgasms from your legs like the Godly ichor it was, but instead he’d asked you to let it dry, a warning to any male who’d try to make their move on what’s his.

Rasor either hadn’t taken the hint or he’d ignored it completely, a dangerous act, and one Azriel will kill over.  

The shadowsinger swears he can feel the other male’s fingerprints on your hips, and he doesn’t like it.

Not. One. Bit.

Your gasp is soft as Azriel’s hands gently but possessively wrap around you. It makes his cock twitch in his leathers. The way that your hands find his, clutching them tightly as he moves you makes him preen on the inside, his face a solid mask of steel.

Rasor looks less than pleased to have his dancing partner taken from him. His eerie gray eyes flicker over to where the High Lord has sat up in his throne. Azriel doesn’t like that, fighting the urge to strike. Rhysand pounds on the solid walls of shadow in his mind but Azriel doesn’t answer the demand. He doesn’t care if he’s not invited to the next ball, he’ll kill Rasor before then so there’s no chance of him getting his hands on you again.

As badly as he wants to growl ‘mine’ to the still-staring male, Azriel allows his shadows to twine around the both of you in an intricate manner that has some of the patrons flushing. His pets put on an extravagant show as they twist and turn around you, swallowing you to take you from this plain to the next, and Azriel grins like a feral beast, meeting the eyes of the wretched male who had taken you from him tonight, before the darkness consumes you both.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“What was that?” you ask, annoyance lacing your tone. You hadn’t finished your mission—hadn’t schmoozed Rasor enough to slip you the information your High Lord desired. No, Azriel had appeared—though you hadn’t been surprised, you could feel his anger writhing through the room like a beast stalking its prey—before he had stolen you away from the party, depositing you back in your shared chambers.

Azriel stares. His demeanor is calm, but his hazel eyes are brimming with fury. You cross your arms, looking right back. A challenge.

“You laughed at something he said.” It sounds silly now that he says it aloud, but it irks him, your eyes lighting and that sweet sound falling from your gorgeous lips because of another male. A more disgusting male. A more untrustworthy male.

“I didn’t mean to,” you reply, a touch softer. You tug on the bond tethering your souls together, but Azriel does not react.

“It was no accident.”

“You know my desires,” is your simple answer. And with it, you tug on the bond again, harder this time, watching how Azriel sways slightly towards you, the way that his throat bobs. A teasing smile threatens to stretch your lips, but instead you bite at your lip, a taunt. “Do you want me to show you?”

There is no waiting for his answer. You slide the shoulders of your dress off, heat pooling between your legs from his heated stare alone. Your nipples tighten as Azriel follows the movements of your manicured nails, the salacious way your body writhes as the buttery fabric slips down your body. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a gasp as the dress slides across your sensitive breasts.

Azriel closes the distance in one step but your hand flies out, planting right over his pounding heart to stop him in his tracks. 

“No,” you whisper as his brows pull tight. “I want to show you.” Punish him, you mean, for ruining your mission.

He grunts roughly, shaking his wings out to dispel some of the frenetic energy rushing through his veins. Your eyes catch on them, and it gives you an idea. Your heart beats with desire, right in time with your mates. 

Stepping forward, you help him out of his leathers. Your movements are slow, a tease of your fingertips across his chest as you reach around him to undo the buttons of his shirt. Azriel growls low as you intentionally brush across the ridges of his wings, and his large hands come to plant themselves on your hips, steadying you so that you don’t touch them again. 

You look up at him through lowered lashes, licking over your lips seductively. Your mate tracks the motion, and his arms tremble with the effort to keep his hands still instead of dipping down between your thighs where your arousal calls to him.

“Sorry,” you whisper against his lips, and when he closes the distance you pull away, kneeling in front of him. 

Gods, do you look fucking delicious on your knees for him like that. Staring up at him with wide eyes and a sinful smile on your lips. You look like you're two seconds away from taking out his length to lick down his shaft and shove him down your throat, and he can’t wait.

He stays silent, patient as you lean forward to mouth at the fabric keeping his throbbing cock contained. Every breath is a shudder, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, empty by his sides. He wants to bury them into your hair and guide your head down his cock, but you’ve said that you want to touch him, and until you say otherwise, he will obey.

Azriel’s cock springs free as you pull the leathers from his legs. His glorious, thick thighs on display, packed deep with muscle. You’re soaked, and the urge to grind yourself against him hits full force. Azriel steps out of his trousers and you almost whimper at the sight of his cock pulling away from you, but you remind yourself that you have ulterior motives here.

Your mate helps you to your feet upon your request, and then you’re throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing him deeply. Distracting him is what you’re doing. Azriel’s hands find your waist and hold you tight, lifting you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart skip. He’s thoroughly occupied with touching your exposed skin and dipping his tongue into your mouth, and then you strike, trailing your fingers across the tips of his wings again.

Instead of ripping his mouth from yours in irritation, Azriel presses further into you, tasting you deep with a noise that you take as approval. Again, you gently finger over the rugged skin of his wings, dipping lower as he raises them for you to touch. 

They’re silky and soft, raised in places where they’d been wounded, but even the silvery scars make him shudder with pleasure. He bites your lower lip, grunting and bucking his hips into yours when you breeze over one of the more sensitive parts of him.

“Bed,” you gasp against his mouth, and he has no complaints.

You seem more than eager, tugging on him with both hands and bond, so Azriel lays himself on the bed, keeping you flush to his chest while he settles. 

It’s perfect for what you want to do.

Azriel bucks but you pull your hips away from his. He groans your name, hands sliding down your sides to curl around your waist and tug you back into his body, but you’re not having it, no matter how much your body craves to be against his.

You chide, “I want to touch, Az, remember?” 

He sighs in frustration. He loves when your hands are all over him, needy and desperate, stroking his cock and leaving marks across his chest, but right now, still annoyed with Rasor and Rhysand and the entirety of the Court of Nightmares, all Azriel wants to do is fill you with his seed until he owns you and you’re screaming his name.

You peck him on the mouth once, twice, pressing your chest flat against his. You shiver at the touch of your hardened nipples against the warmth of his body, but you keep your hips high, hovering above his cock. You can feel the heat it’s giving off, the throbbing uncomfortableness that’s shared down the bond with you, like you might take pity on him and sink down on it.

You won’t.

Instead, you spread his arms wide, tracing the dips and curves of his musculature until your fingers slip off and onto his wings, spread flat against the bed. 

Azriel jumps. Your name is a low warning from his mouth but he doesn’t have the time to say anything else because you’re scratching lightly down the softness of his wings and his words break off into a breathy moan. 

“Fuck, baby.”

And you know he likes it, no matter how much he warns you to stay away. You can feel the heat blooming in your own gut, mirror to his emotions that are drifting down the bond. It feels good, albeit dulled because you’re not him, but it makes your cunt wetter, dripping onto his cock below.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, kissing along his neck. It’s exposed from the way that his head is thrown back at the sensations wracking his body from your touch, and you take full advantage, marking him in the way that he wants to claim you.

“I’d feel even better inside of you,” he curses when you swirl your fingers around the base of his talons, followed by spreading your palms wide and dragging them across the velvety body of his wings again.

“We’ll get there, Az. Soon,” you respond, peeling your torso from his. His hands steel themselves to your hips. He’s afraid that you’re pulling away completely when actually, you’re leaning over one of his wings and brushing your mouth against it.

Your lips on his wings feel like your mouth on his cock—wet, warm, and sensitive. Your touch is gentle, a soft scrape of your nails against the thin skin has him pressing his head further into the pillows, biting through his lip to keep himself from cumming.

The taste of his blood only adds to his arousal.

His body shakes, hands planted so firmly on your hips as you hover above his aching cock that you know he’s leaving bruises. You don’t care, not because he ruined your assignment from the High Lord, but because he is yours just as much as you are his, and you were made to be marked by him.

“If I could make your cum stain my skin, I would,” you whisper against the flesh of his wing. You know he’s heard you because his hips buck higher, seeking out yours, and the debauched moan that slips from his mouth is a song to your soul. “So everyone knows that I am yours, Azriel.”

He cums with a noise that he’s not all too proud of, but his mind is muddled and he’s seeing stars. He spurts hot and white, coating the inside of your thighs and you quake when it splatters on your opening, legs nearly giving out from the feeling alone.

You work him through it, though it feels even more tortuous now, because his wings are sensitive. Your fingers trace pretty lines across the expanse of the leathery skin, tongue lapping across raised scars and dips that have never been touched, so sensitive that he chokes back a whimper, cock twitching, trying to rise again.

It’s as if you’re on top of the world, making your mate cum without touching his raging cock. It’s neglected, red at the tip and weeping still as you slowly retract your touch from his wings. His hands are slack against your waist but his body is taut, rock solid, and there’s a full body blush creeping from his chest and up his neck, embarrassed that he’s cum from your mouth on his wings alone, even if they are the most sensitive part of an Illyrian male. 

But you’re beaming, gaze heavy and hot, aroused at the sight of him undone beneath you. Your cunt clenches with need. Your thighs are soaked and for a fleeting second you regret letting him cum because you need his cock filling you up right this very second or else.

Azriel senses it, as a good mate does. His fingers dig into your hips again before one releases you. He takes his cock in hand, giving it a few rough tugs before guiding you lower. Your head falls back on your shoulders at the feeling of his cum-coated cock nestled against your entrance. Your entire body shudders, but you force yourself to look at your mate, a questioning look in your eyes.

“I need you again,” his voice is rough, strained. Azriel’s cock is sensitive but it’s already filling up again at the touch of your cunt alone. It will be a bit painful until he’s fully erect again, but it won’t be long because you are the most beautiful female he’s ever seen, and your cunt is otherworldly. He’s going to keep you here all night, he decides, and he will take you until the both of you are cum drunk and unable to move. His hazel eyes grow a shade darker at the thought. “Now be a good girl and ride it.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist: @bunnymallowo

[synchodai]

HBO's Continued Insistence on Dumbing Down Westerosi Politics

So there have been countless thinkpieces already on how GOT simplified the feudalist politics of Westeros (by giving a lowborn sellsword lordship over The Reach, by having no consequences for destroying the Sept of Baelor, etc.), but I haven't seen a lot of people talking about that for House of the Dragon.

The worst being that the show presupposes that Rhaenyra is the lawful heir when the books showed there are plenty of lawful arguments why she wouldn't be.

Mind you that I've been enjoying the show a lot so far. This is just to vent out my frustration with the writers' failure to fully engage with the values and protocols of the Middle Age-inspired setting. The show seems uninterested in laws of the Realm in a story ostensibly about politics, save for when they're using it as an excuse to amplify depictions of sex and violence.

Blacks vs Greens wasn't a matter of misunderstanding of who each side thought Viserys wanted on the throne. It was the Targaryens' belief of their absolute authority clashing with the Realm's established traditions. Everyone always knew who Viserys chose as heir. In Fire and Blood, Grand Maester Orwyle said as much when he was parleying with Rhaenyra on behalf of the Greens.

Rhaenyra heard his terms in stony silence, then asked Orwyle if he remembered her father, King Viserys. "Of course, Your Grace," the maester answered. "Perhaps you can tell us who he named as his heir and successor," the queen said, her crown upon her head. "You, Your Grace," Orwyle replied. And Rhaenyra nodded and said, "With your own tongue you admit I am your lawful queen. Why do you serve my half-brother, the pretender?" Munkun tells us that Orwyle gave a long and erudite reply, citing the Andal law and the Great Council of 101. Mushroom claims he stammered and voided his bladder. Whichever is true, his answer did not satisfy Princess Rhaenyra.

(For non-F&B readers: Munkun is the Grand Maester who served Aegon III, the king who came after this civil war. Munkun's book, The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling, is one of Fire and Blood's source texts. Mushroom is the King Landing court jester from Viserys I to Aegon III's reign. One is a source written with academic rigor but is secondhand at best. The other is a firsthand eyewitness account but is from a literal fool who will take every chance to make things more scandalous and sexual to please the crowd.)

In House of the Dragon, they replaced Orwyle with Otto and Orwyle's discussion of legal precedent with Otto handing Rhaenyra a book page from Alicent. It's quite evident here that the writers, much like Mushroom, thought a discussion on the actual laws of the Realm were negligible in this story about a succession war.

Even Alicent made no pretense that Viserys chose Rhaenyra over her children and I have no idea why the HBO writers decided to make her mistakenly think otherwise. Maybe they thought a queen regent pushing her son to take the throne over another woman made her appear unsympathetic as a character, but if anything, this only makes show!Alicent less politically savvy and more delusional than her book counterpart, fully believing an addled king's vague muttering on his deathbed was sufficient grounds to change heirs last minute.

Book!Alicent following Andal laws instead of her husband's wishes makes sense given her Andal upbringing, her devotion to the Faith of the Seven which enforces said laws, and her desire to protect her children from Rhaenyra given that Rhaenyra has shown she's not above murdering family (see: Laenor).

In the books, there was a long discussion between the former king's council on who should succeed Viserys.

Here are the arguments for Rhaenyra:

Rhaenyra was older than her brothers and had more Targaryen blood

the late king had chosen her as his successor, that he had repeatedly refused to alter the succession despite the pleadings of Queen Alicent and her greens

hundreds of lords and landed knights had done obeisance to the princess in 105 AC, and sworn solemn oaths to defend her rights.

Here are the arguments for Aegon II:

many of the lords who had sworn to defend the succession of Princess Rhaenyra were long dead [...]

Ironrod, the master of laws, cited the Great Council of 101 and the Old King’s choice of Baelon rather than Rhaenys in 92

the hallowed Andal tradition wherein the rights of a trueborn son always came before the rights of a mere daughter

Ser Otto reminded them that Rhaenyra’s husband was none other than Prince Daemon, and “we all know that one’s nature. Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us, a king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was [...]”

Should the princess reign [...] Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her. “Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne.”

Once again, the show chose to cut out this long political discussion. Instead, the council had already made up their mind and decided to stage a coup (when in their perspectives from the books, it would definitely not be a coup).

For all their marketing how two sides are equally grey, HotD is actively delegitimizing Aegon II. The strongest argument for him is how his claim follows the laws of the Realm, but the show doesn't seem to care about the laws of the Realm or the political need to maintain a more predictable/tested transfer of power.

Instead, the show focuses on Viserys's relationship with his daughter and the mysticism of the Targaryen bloodline. In doing so, they emphasize Rhaenyra's strongest arguments for succession — that she's more of a Targaryen than her half-brother and that her father prefered her.

And what for? Because in our modern-day, we don't have male-prefered inheritance and people can only imagine misogyny as the only injustice here? What about the injustice of a monarch exercising absolute control, thinking that his "superior" heritage makes him above the established laws of the native people?

This is not to say Aegon II is unquestionably the heir. But this is to say that the show removed the political nuance of why people are questioning in the first place. Precedence isn't the end-all-be-all of succession, but neither is "because daddy said so".

[simpingland]

The rumors// Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader.

Requ: May I request a piece with Aemond x Blackwood!Reader? Was thinking that the oldest daughter of the Blackwoods gets betrothed to Aemond in order for the Greens to gain their support, Aemond is not ecstatic about it but he finds that lady Blackwood is fascinating person, very intelligent and very much..like him.So of course he slowly falls for her and in spite of her cold/sarcastic demeanour she truly sees Aemond for who he is and falls for him at first glance (but of course he doesn't have to know that:).

Summary: Aemond is forced to marry a woman he was more than happy to ignore. But her sarcasm, brain skills and a knee injury makes him feel a bit too passionate for her.

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

Your father had quickly changed his colors as soon as the largest dragon in existence landed on the mountain closest to his castle. Of course, Aemond showed no threat; he knew he had to get an army that was willing to defend Aegon, not hate him. So he passively aggressively asked for the army of Lord Samwell Blackwood, who ruled a considerable part of the Riverlands, in exchange for something else. And of course, the lord had you, a daughter of appropriate age, hard to marry and smart enough to know how to grow the Blackwood power at court. So he asked for a marriage. You could see the Prince let out a sigh from your hiding place, but he agreed. It was a conscious decision that you found yourself "indisposed" in the days leading up to your wedding. In these, you spent your time wandering the corridors in the shadows, following the Prince at a distance and meeting the women with reliable sources who told you what Aemond Targaryen was like. Best of all, you knew he knew nothing of you. That was an advantage.

The wedding was rushed, held in your own home, making it clear to the Tullys and Bracken that their support for Aegon was expected. If they did not support your House, you were likely to be the victim of a mysterious death, and the Brackens would be happy with the news, but the Tullys would not. You were dressed in red, the black was entirely removed from your dress, and your jewels and veil silvered. Under the veil you could see him watching you with that blue eye, and when he withdrew it, you could see an indecipherable change in his face. Whether he was happy or not didn't matter to you, because he was surprised, and that was interesting. You exchanged vows, touching his hand for the first time, as cold as you expected, and he could hear your voice. He only looked away when you looked at him, but the rest of the time you were sure he was following you. He kissed your hand courteously at the end of the ceremony.

"Does your wine not please you, my lady?" His voice surprised you, his gaze resting on your glass, still full.

"It pleases me as much as it surely pleases you, my Prince," you replied. He hadn't had a drop either.

"I'm tryingto keep a clear mind."

"Some men drink their fill precisely to clear their heads. Besides, you shouldn't be nervous, I'll tell you which hole is the right one."

The sly grin that appeared on your face made him clench his jaw in frustration. Perhaps, a dragon rider, such a fearful prince, would react with fists and shouts at the taunt. But Aemond decided to pick up his goblet and take a good swallow.

"It's going to be a long night, I'm afraid," he said it as a kind of threat, but to you it sounded as if it was more of a nightmare.

And he stared at his failure to scare you, as you continued to eat with glee.

The bedding was not public thanks to your father, but you did spend the night with Aemond. He was reluctant to undress, so neither did you. He sat in front of the fire in your room while you watched Vhagar from your balcony.

"Are you going to force me to ride on the dragon to King's Landing?" You asked without turning around.

"If you prefer, go on horseback. But by the time you reach the castle I will have marched off to war." He sounded serious.

"It doesn't sound as bad as you think it does."

You heard him rise from the chair, and then you were a little afraid. He walked quickly towards you, placing his face inches from yours, his hands grasping and squeezing your arms.

"Then you will enjoy an extremely lonely time, my dear. No one will know who you are and neither they would want to find out. And if I die in battle, with no heirs, no one will ever care for you. They'll send you back here and you'll become old and a burden. And if we lose the war, there will be no one to protect you." His soft voice spoke calmly despite the venom they gave off.

"I never said I didn't want to ride in Vhagar, my Prince." Your reassurance surprised him, as did your hands resting on his chest gently. "I'd rather ride and stay there with you...I'm sure it's much more fun."

And without further ado, you turned away and set about sleeping, or pretending to. Aemond never got to lie in bed with you. But soon he would, you needed time. The flight to King's Landing was quick, in silence and quite impressive. Clinging more to the chair than to Aemond, you didn't tell him how impressed you were with the sensation. He didn't want to ask you any questions, but looked at you in search for something to make him feel satisfied, but it was hard to impress you. When you landed, he helped you off the beast and you decided not to let go of his hand. And so the Dowager Queen Alicent saw you.

"Did you enjoy your flight?" she asked politely.

"The truth is, yes. Now I understand why children are willing to lose precious things in exchange for flying with them..." they both looked at you quizzically. Of course, the source of the loss of Aemond's eye was just a rumour, a rumour you had heard. You smiled, noting the tension in both of them. "Like little Ronnel Arryn when Visenya asked him to surrender."

Your explanation was enough for Alicent, but Aemond could tell it was a trick answer, that you had someone else in mind. And when you reached your chambers, the one you would share for the rest of your lives, Aemond did not hesitate to corner you against the wall in one of his graceful moves. His hands rested on your cheeks, squeezing hard enough to keep you quiet and your gaze locked with his.

"I don't know what's going through your mind, but I don't like a single tone in your voice." His voice was laden with anger, anger at not knowing. "You think by smiling at the end of every sentence people forget how irritating you are."

"You barely know me..." you tried to say with his fingers so tightly pressed to your face. "But I'm glad to see I was right to bet that I was going to have a good time with you."

"I'm not a buffoon." His face was so close to yours that you had to turn your own away.

"I know better, my Prince. With that hair and that dragon there is no doubt about it. It must bother you that there are people in the kingdom who don't see Jacaerys and Lucerys for what they really are...mustn't it?"

His hand loosened slightly, and Aemond seemed to calm down. He waited for you to draw another smirk again, watching your lips slowly. But that smile did not come, for you knew you had hit the nail on the head. Your bad luck was that Aemond was almost as smart as you, and only trusted you for those brief seconds. Then he squeezed your face again before releasing it abruptly.

Even though Aemond was constantly wandering, Helaena was the best company. She was the one who explained to you everything that was really going on in that castle, even though it was hard to understand her. Her words were never clear, and she got lost in the middle of conversations. What reassured you most was that Aemond was a tender brother, caring for the children Aegon had neglected from the beginning. And if Aemond was patient with a girl like Helaena, it indicated that there must be something good in the prince everyone feared. Now all that remained was to keep him more than a few minutes at your side.

Then came the opportunity to visit Oldtown, to meet Daeron and make sure that the Hightower would support the Greens and how good that support was. On this dragon ride, you decided to put your hands on his waist, consciously moving them all over his abdomen, trying to unnerve him. And at your attempts, Aemond commanded Vhagar to fly in a brute and exaggerated way. A bad idea, for although she managed to scare you, the dragon was very old and hurt herself, brushing against the mountains as you passed Horn Hill. Had they been higher, you would have been killed, but Aemond controlled the situation before it got worse, and the fall only resulted in a rough landing in the mountains.

"Why did you do that?" you shouted as soon as you saw that Aemond was still alive, a few metres away. He was able to get up and approach you, putting on the patch before you could see him without it. "We could have died!"

"You were the one triying to to piss me off!" You were still lying on the ground, your leg felt sore, and you didn't want to move it.

"Is that why you asked Vhagar to shake himself in the air?" You were indignant, somewhat flattered, but mostly indignant.

"You were trying to distract me!" he justified himself, looking down at you from above.

"You should have told me to stop!"

"And would you have stopped?"

He watched as you fell silent. Obviously you wouldn't have, you would have ended up finding some other way to irritate him. Then Aemond offered you a hand to help you up, and you took it. But a pain in your leg made you grunt and fall back down. It was sharp, but not exaggerated. Aemond bent down to check your wound, and without any embarrassment, lifted your skirt.

"Wow, you can do that and I can't hold on to your chest?" Even in pain, you still laughed at him. And Aemond's gaze commanded you to shut up.

His hands gently touched your knee, and the pain returned. You saw Aemond quickly pull his hands away and cover you again.

"Good thing it's not broken," he said, standing up again.

"What a joy... Now you're just going to leave me lying here?"

With another deep sigh of his own, he lifted you up without difficulty, careful not to move your knee too much. And it took you a while to mount Vhagar again.

This time you would not be behind, but in front of Aemond, both legs to one side, and Aemond's arms as a barrier. He placed your hands firmly on the collar of his coat and your legs wrapped as tightly as possible around his. Your face was basically buried in his neck and his scent clouded any other scent.

"Don't move" he whispered in your ear. And you didn't, also, you didn't wanted to. The rest of the flight was quiet and pleasant, and you could watch Aemond's face as much as you wished to. The arrival in Oldtown was rushed to say the least, Aemond wanted to leave you with the Maesters while he met with the more important lords.

"But I want to be present," you demanded, still in his arms.

"Your leg must be checked," he justified.

"I want to know everything, I refuse to have made this journey to stay locked up in my room.

"You simply can't."

He spoke to you as if you were stupid, but when you grabbed his coat tightly, you surprised him with your change of tone.

"Take me with you right now, Aemond, or I swear you will lose the support of the Rivelands with one word from me."

He could barely attend to the meeting, seeing you sitting with dignity in the chair, attentive to the words of the lords and maesters, and disguising the pain in your leg. He felt rather guilty, for besides, Aemond had gained nothing, for you continued to impress everyone who came across you. You knew by heart all the information you had received, you knew what your father was planning, and what Otto was planning. You looked like the Princess, not Aemond. And when the meeting was over, he saw you stand up with a grimace, and ran to hold you, letting you lean your full weight on him slyly.

"Now you're really going to see a Maester, wife."

"About time, this is all your fault."

He was going to argue, but as he turned he saw that smile again. Something in him melted and he knew he had to surrender to you, for he was losing that futile battle.

In the room, with your knee smeared with a medicated cream and covered with care, Aemond saw you reposition yourself on the bed, now comfortable.

"I didn't know you liked politics," Aemond said, watching you from across the room.

"I don't. But I want to survive."

"You don't trust us to win this war?"

"I trust nothing, ever. You have to be prepared for anything."

"I agree," he moved closer to the bed. He brushed your sore knee gently. "Does that mean you'll never trust me?"

"For starters, you tried to shake me off your dragon."

Aemond's gaze softened, moving his hand away from your knee but sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry. You made me nervous."

"And to continue," you interrupted him, "you won't let me get to know you. And I remind you that you are now my husband."

"I've never met a woman who wants to be so involved with her husband's affairs." He smiled slightly, wryly.

"That's because you don't know many women...as the rumours say."

"The rumours?" you nodded. "Do you listen to the rumours?"

"No, I just listen and wait. You'd be surprised how many times I've seen them confirmed. Just now was one of them."

"You think I haven't been with a lot of women?" Aemond slowly bent down to close the distance, and his breath circled over your face. You had to hide your nervousness, for he didn't seem angry this time.

"You don't like my touch... But I assumed it was because I am little more than a stranger to you. I do not think you a virgin, but I know you have loved few women. If you ever have..." His weight began to fall on top of you, covering you with his body.

"And what else do the rumours say?"

"That your eye is replaced with a diamond. Though I've also heard that it's empty dark, and that's why you cover it."

His lips landed on your neck, where he left you a soft kiss.

"And what do you think I'm wearing?" His voice sounded husky and you felt its vibration.

"I've seen your books, many of history, and many of gemstones, an incredible boring reading... But not to look like a diamond man." You turned your face to him, forcing him to look at you, and saw his blue eye with the pupil dilated, glittering. "It's a stone, but not a diamond."

"And what stone do you think it is, wife?"

"I don't know. I've been thinking more about other things. And I have little interest in what's behind a patch. You covered your eye for a reason and I will respect that."

He seemed surprised, your tone was, for the first time, serious and cutting. And he liked that better than he expected.

"Everything I've heard about you is that you were a hard woman to marry."

"That's because no one delivered what I asked for. I have not been so obedient to my father's orders when offering my hand to a random lord."

"And what is it you ask, my lady?"

"I am no longer a lady."

"True, my princess." He couldn't help but smile when he saw the pride appear on your face.

"What I ask, my prince...is that my marriage will bring change to House Blackwood. It is because of us that The Riverland is so powerful. And the Tullys and Brackens get all the credit. We were kings once. And we can be kings again. Just one dragon can be incredible powerfull."

Aemond stroked your hair, then your lips with his thumb. You let your husband touch you tenderly for the first time. You caressed that face too, and Aemond kissed your fingers.

"I find it hard to believe that my wife seems tailor-made for me," he said at last. "We may die as Princes, but I swear to you our children will be kings."

"But that requires some irritating and distracting...Touches."

"I will have to make the sacrifice then of-" Aemond tried to joke, but you cut him off, kissing him at last on those lips.

They were warmer than you had expected, perhaps, in the comfort of the bed, with the lust stirring and the fantasy of creating a family, Aemond's body had been comforted by the feel of yours so close. And he fell surrendered in your arms, eagerly receiving and sharing that kiss that ended in something much bigger. That day, without rumours, without theories, you got to know Aemond completely, as a prince, as a husband, as a lover, as a man. He was all your, as you were all his, maybe, and just maybe, because he trusted you as much as you trusted him.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

bitchimasnake-sss presents: the one piece AUs [cause i want these men in every universe]

01. i serve! (my ex's head on a platter) ft. roronoa zoro!

brought to you by my current hyperfixation with challengers and zendaya. set-up: you've worked your ass off; early mornings, late nights, diets, workouts, everything. only to still to fall in the shadow of the current badminton world champion and your ex: roronoa zoro. bitter, agitated and absolutely exhausted, you had decided to never see him or even think of him again. but when an email from his coach dracule mihawk finds you, proposing you and zoro team up for the upcoming mixed doubles champion's cup, can you refuse? here's part 02 cw: smut, angst and dumb shenanigans! warnings: dumb people even dumber plot by me <3 zoro is a pain in the ass. nsfw includes: oral (f!receiving), penetration, doin' the do raw, more angst and more shenanigans. did i mention zoro is a pain? yeah that. mdni, shoo now. wc: 9.4k [IM SORRY I PUT TOO MUCH EFFORT INTO IT] m.list

13th of june, 10:02 a.m

"i didn't think you would come."

"me neither."

you felt dracule mihawk's gaze study you as if you were an opponent on the court, eyeing every little movement from the involuntary twitch of your fingers to the shallow breaths you heaved out. an unease crept against your throat and made a residence in there as you stood at the entrance to the kuraigana mansion, waiting for the retired world champion to say anything.

by anything, you didn't exactly expect pleasantries.

"how have you been?" mihawk's face eased, a shallow smile carving itself against his usual vampire-ish appearance.

"just fine." you replied back coolly, "and you, sir?"

"ah, you know, the usual. tournaments, training zoro." his words stilled at the mention of his moss-haired son-turned-student and he eyed you motionless face.

if mihawk wanted you to give away anything about how you felt about zoro, he was setting himself up for failure. although the mere mention of the man's name made your skin crawl and fill you with bugs, you simply smiled, "i heard he won the last men's singles in france, congratulations."

"the praise is reserved for the player, not me." mihawk stepped aside, slowly beckoning you in, "well, come on in, then."

you stepped after him into the castle-like mansion. kuraigana residence. the interiors were classic black and white with random, almost-haphazard pops of pink and purple sprinkled in, probably perona's influence on her otherwise classy father's tastes.

"looking for someone?" the man enquired, not turning around to look at you as he guided you through the main entrance.

"no." you replied quickly before putting on a faux smile, "just admiring the interiors. you have a wonderful home, sir."

"thank you. credit goes to that enigmatic child of mine, perona." the man replied modestly, now taking you through the main living room. the room was huge. littered with two black couches, a large flatscreen, coffee-table, a table tennis table that didn't match the aesthetic whatsoever, with art plastered on each otherwise barren, white wall.

"are you home alone?" mindlessly, you looked around again, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain dreadful man.

"zoro is out with a couple of friends—"

"—i meant perona."

"well," mihawk sighed, now leading you into the gigantic kitchen, "you know her. she hates to stay home for more than two days. she's in milan right now, working with a label." he pointed to the seat near the marble kitchen island, "have you been in touch with perona?"

"no," you admitted casually as you sat atop one of the many seats, as he stood opposite to you on the other side of he island, "i mean, we follow each other on instagram, that's about it. we were never really close."

"i see." mihawk grabbed two wine-glasses, perching them on the table before pulling out a unopened wine bottle from the top cupboard, "wine?"

"i'm off alcohol for the season." you answered politely, and left out the fact that it was ten in the morning.

the man hummed a faint yes before pouring himself a glass full of familiar, maroon-hued liquid. he sipped in a drink, eyeing yourself before keeping the glass back on the marble, "well that's enough chit-chat, let's cut to the chase."

you perked up, elbows propped on the island as he continued, "i presume you got my mail."

"of course."

"then you know that i want you and zoro to team up for the upcoming doubles championship."

"i do." your fingers clasped together, chin resting atop them. you took a steadying breath, "and my answer is no."

mihawk crocked up an eyebrow as you continued, "it was always gonna be a no, sir. you are- were like a father to me, and that's the only reason i dignified your request with an actual visit. it does not change the fact that i will not team up with roronoa zoro."

"calling him by his legal name?" mihawk mused, "i thought he was 'zo to you. he only let you call him that, anyways."

that was in the past, though, wasn't it? years before he was number one in the men's category and you were at two in the women's category. years before he started pretending as if he had never known you. years before you showed up at his house only to turn down the offer to play alongside him.

"we are nothing more than strangers, i'm afraid."

the man hummed as he gulped down the rest of his drink alongside your words. as he poured himself another glass, he continued, "i have to be honest. my request is a bit more selfish than what i'm letting on."

he paused as you straightened up, "i'm retiring from the position of his coach after the doubles champions' tournament." you stared at the older man as he continued, "this is his last tournament with me as his coach."

"does zo- roronoa know?"

"not yet. he needs to focus on the game." mihawk shrugged, tipping his glass towards you, "and you and him both know i am at the age where i should move away to italy and open my own wine cellar, rather than running around on the court."

a laugh escaped you at the absurdity of mihawk's request, "what are you suggesting, sir? roronoa doesn't need me to win, he is capable enough to with with anybody."

he's the bloody number one, isn't he?

"you won the champions cup last year with that kid law, did you not? i would rather take the chances with you than somebody else."

you stilled, thinking of a flattering response before spewing out, "i only won because roronoa did not play last year, sir. the competition was slim, and me and law made a good team."

mihawk set his glass down, "don't try to sell yourself short. you are not inferior to zoro, we both know that."

maybe. but you would not team up with that bastard. not ever.

you dragged your seat backwards, standing up, "i am afraid it is still a no, sir. and if you do not want me as an opponent, i would happily withdraw from this year's tournament." you bowed, "thank you for having me over."

mihawk called out your name as you turned your back on him, "i would never beg, you know that. but zoro needs you to win." you looked over your shoulder at the older man, "and i need him to win this time, no matter what. do it for this old man, for old time's sake."

for old time's sake, is it?

you looked away from the man, letting his words turn sour against your skin. a sigh escaped you, "fine. we can discuss the details through my manager. but—" you turned around, casting a sharp glance at the coach, "—i am doing this only for your sake, mihawk. nothing more, nothing less."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

16th of june, 7:52 a.m.

three days later, you were clad in your practice set, and the duffel bag with your equipment felt heavier than usual in your right hand as you run the doorbell to the kuraigana residence.

the winds were unkind, the clouds were greying and ashy, a clear reflection of your spirit as a certain moss-head opened the door. your gaze tangled against his, and for a second you felt as if somebody punched you in the gut and left you paralysed, and a seventeen year old with a broken heart again.

he was so much prettier than he seemed on camera. tousled moss hair, a scar on his eye from when you were kids and a crooked smile that he gave the cameras when he won. fucking bastard. you couldn't wait to break a badminton racket on his stupid head. put him in a fucking coma.

so what if you both didn't win? you would kill him. yes, that will satiate your hunger. prison be damned.

a wayward shock running down your spine as you moved past him and inside the mansion. wordless.

"wh-what are you doing here?" his throat seemed to have gone dry as he hurriedly walked after you, carefully avoiding saying your name lest you were a demon he could summon.

"what?" you asked as you made your way to the living room, never once turning around lest you see his face and start punching him, "what do you mean why am i here? don't you know?"

"no?" irritation snipped at the raw edges of his words, "why are you here?"

your eyes widened in part amusement, part astonishment. is he dumb? is he actually clueless? that's roronoa zoro for you, i suppose.

"she's your partner." mihawk replied coolly from where he sat on the sofa, "for the mixed doubles campion's cup."

"HER?!" his voice cracked, eyes widening as he peered down at his own father, "DAD?!"

the annoyance in his voice set you aflame and you stared down at mihawk aswell, "you didn't tell him, sir?"

"well, i did." mihawk answered nonchalantly, sipping down wine slowly, "didn't i tell you, zoro? that your partner would be coming today to practice?"

"you didn't tell me it was her." he grumbled, and your blood pressure rose as you stared down mihawk, "sir, i would not team up with such a fucking idiot."

"zoro, do not behave like a hooligan—"

zoro whipped his neck to look at you, his jaw locked and eyes narrowed, "who are you calling a fucking idiot?"

you craned your neck to stare him down in return, "you."

zoro stepped forward towards his father and pointed accusatorily towards you, his earrings chiming ever-so-softly, "i am not teaming up with her."

"me neither." you grumbled, stepping forward to match his stance, "i take back what i said, i cannot partner up with him! he's insufferable."

but mihawk stared down the both of you and for a moment, you both were two sixteen year olds who just got caught making out in his room instead of adults in your twenties about to go for a international champion's cup.

"are you both gonna behave as adults or do i need to give you a stern lecture?" mihawk asked coolly.

"'m sorry, dad." zoro mumbled and you joined him as you both stared down at the floor, "i'm sorry too, sir."

the coach stood up, "apologize to each other. now."

zoro gave you a side-eye, "sorry."

"hm. sorry."

"much better. no animosity should linger between partners." mihawk put down the glass, "onto practicing we go, now. zoro lead her to the indoor court, i would be there soon."

indoor court? what the fuck.

zoro refused to dignify you with anything as you both walked through a maze of hallways that finally opened into a proper, full-sized indoor court.

"shit." you mumbled as you took in the open roof of the court. the grey overhead clouds casted a gloomy look on the court. zoro grumbled something under his breath before switching on a button which closed the metallic roof with a soft creak.

what the fuck.

well, soon enough, you realized two very important things: first, this mansion was insane. and second, roronoa zoro was number one for a reason.

you were heaving, chest rising and falling so rapidly that it felt as if your lungs and heart would burst inwards and paint you red. your calf muscles pulsed mercilessly as sweat dripped down your eyebrow and onto the flat plane of your cheeks. blinded by exhaustion, you tried to match the movements of the man opposite to you.

he was tired but he was graceful.

roronoa zoro was heaving, sweat trailing down his hair and neck and disappearing down his black shirt. but his gaze was focused, his steps ever-so-calculated as he ran from one end of the court to the other, and as he shot down the shuttle, the muscles in his bicep rippled and came alive with a strange delight.

"zoro, don't run so much. you have nothing to prove, you look like an idiot and you would exhaust yourself." mihawk noted, his voice booming between the sounds of the air being sliced by your shots and the soft sounds of pants and groans.

mihawk called out your name next, "do not restrain your arms. think of the racket as an extension of yourself, and allow your hands to move freely. hit harder. taking it easy gets us nowhere."

"i am trying." you grit through your teeth, trying to expend force as you hit back the shuttle with all your might.

zoro moved backwards, his arms being pulled back before he hit the shuttle back to your left. you attempted to run, to catch the shuttle before it fell to the court, but your right calf cramped up and your feet wobbled as you lost your footing and fell down.

"that's enough." mihawk concluded, "this is enough practice for today."

you allowed yourself to lay down on the court, holding your pulsating calf to your chest and panting through your mouth as the oxygen slowly flooded your muscles and eased your body up.

"are you okay?" mihawk asked you as he stood above you, peering you down with his hawk-like eyes. you nodded yes with a red face and tembling lips, assuring him you were fine.

as you stared up at the ceiling, you heard zoro pick up his duffel and walk out of the court without even as much of a "good game" or a "are you okay?" and it was crystal clear how far ahead roronoa zoro was, because you were on the ground trying to catch your breath while he was whistling and walking back to his room without as much of a water break.

fuck. lot of work to be done before you could kill that asshole.

"perhaps, you should stay here." mihawk suggested as you finally pulled yourself up and he offered you a bottle of water.

you spluttered on the liquid and some of it dribbled down your lips uncharacteristically, "wh-hat? here?"

"you would have to come in every morning," he answered back, "there is no point in travelling everyday now, is there? we have many spare bedrooms."

"i-" you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, looking up at the coach with furrowed brows, "i don't know, sir."

"we have spare rooms in the west wing, and zoro's room is in the east wing." mihawk crossed his arm, "the rest is your decision, of course."

you sighed, "is it really my decision?"

"no. a room has been set for your already." mihawk shrugged, "i thought you would agree for this old man's sake."

"jesus fucking christ, you're good at emotional blackmailing."

8:31 p.m.

"i don't understand why she's here." zoro grumbled as he munched on his dinner.

"because it is pointless for her to come and go every day," mihawk dabbed his lips with a white cloth, "and do not talk when you're eating."

"so i need to see her face everyday?"

"can you stop talking about me as if i'm not here?" you glared at man sitting opposite to you, "i don't want to see you face everyday either."

zoro smiled so politely that it made you want to rip his hair out of his scalp with a kitchen knife. prison be fucking damned.

"then, leave."

"i swear on any god—"

"—what? what do you swear? if you're asking favours from god, maybe ask for getting better at badminton." the man scoffed, thoroughly happy with his own little jab.

"mihawk," you glared daggers at zoro, "if i kill roronoa, would you turn me in to the police?"

"of course he will." zoro squinted.

you squinted back at the athelete, "no, he can just adopt me and forget about you instead. he likes me better, anyways."

"oh, does he?" zoro quipped up rhetorically and mihawk shrugged, dabbing his lips before admitting a casual "she is quite lovely."

"dad!—"

a cashmere grin, eyes never leaving the athlete. "thank you, sir."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

3rd of august, 11:07 a.m.

the next few weeks were a strange repetition, days filled only with three characteristic things: first, you woke up at five in the morning, practiced with a very-angry zoro (because god knows how much he resents those five am alarms) till you were about to pass out. second, ate food that their divinely gifted chef made. and third, bickered with zoro like a child.

"who the fuck puts a table-tennis table in the living room? money clearly cannot buy some sense of design." you glared at him as he glared right back at you. mihawk was out, the house was eerily quiet and you two had just finished up with the first practice session of the day, the adrenaline still pumping high through your mortal bodies.

"how do you know i put it in here?"

"'cause perona actually understands decor? you are the directionless idiot."

"okay. not that i have to explain to you but— first of all, it's practical for when my friends come over." he paused, thinking, "oh, do you know what friends are? they are people that voluntarily hang out with you and like—"

"oh, so funny." you mockingly laughed before crossing your arms in front of your chest. the sportsman momentarily stared down at your chest. jesus christ. he was reeled back into reality, quickly looking away and pretending to hit a mosquito. there are no mosquitoes here. a blushed crept up his face, to the tips of his ears, "yeah, i know. i'm funny."

"doesn't excuse your poor fucking decor skills."

"well, for starters, i can do what i want because it's my house—"

"—your dad's."

"and you are living in my house."

"because your dad asked me to because he likes me better."

"i-" his jaw was clenched shut as he stepped forward. his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath ragged as his gaze slowly cascaded down to your lips. his breath staggered helplessly, eyes quickly darting upwards to stare you in the eyes, "why don't you go and practice? get on my fucking level instead of bitching and moaning about meaningless shit?"

ah, you had almost forgotten how quickly his saccharine words turned sour. you had almost forgotten how well-versed roronoa zoro was in destruction, whether at the court or with your heart.

a certain ache built up in your chest as you pushed him back, and for a moment you both were sixteen, having your first fight all over again. except he was taller now, his eyes hardened and his tongue sharp enough to cut through you instead of kissing you sweetly and making amends.

your lips trembled, glaring up at him as you stepped closer to the man you had once been disillusioned enough to believe you knew, "fuck you, roronoa."

"roronoa? we're being formal now?" he stared down at you, eyes boring down in yours as he held himself off with barely tangible threads of sanity. his voice was barely a whisper when he spoke again, "didn't realize that's what you called me."

"i call you nothing, let me make that clear. we are not friends nor acquaintances, strangers is all."

well, strangers don't know how it feels to kiss someone in a poorly-lit room and taste of reckless first-times and childhood innocence, they do not know of each other's long-forgotten dreams, and they certainly don't look at each other as if the only thing holding them back was their own wounded prides.

you walked past him, your shoulder brushing against his bicep as your quick steps led you away from him and into the room you had temporarily come to call home.

fuck roronoa zoro.

11:02 p.m.

you refused to go out of your room for lunch, or for dinner for that matter.

had you been a greater woman, perhaps you would have walked out, kept that conversation behind you for the next two and a half weeks, and simply focus on winning. had you been a lesser woman, perhaps you would have locked your door and cried into your sheets about anything and everything roronoa zoro.

but you did neither.

you sat on your bed and stared down the spotless ceilings, trying to come up with ideas to kill that man without ever getting caught. well no, prison be damned. orange wasn't such an awful colour anyways. if trump could make it work, so could you.

your phone buzzed, and the low rumbling pulling you out of the symphony of wicked thoughts that begged you to either go kill zoro or kiss him so hard that he forgets he belongs to this mortal plane — both ideas that would ultimately land you playing a gamble with death. you picked up the device only to come face-to-face with an email from your manager asking for updates.

to: ynlnbiz@gmail.comfrom: vsanjibiz@gmail.com do you want me to kill him? for legal reasons, this is a joke. update me on how things go. don't lose your radiance over that moss-head.

"fuck," your voice was soft as your feet hit the carpeted floors, eyes locked at the time. 11:02.

although your pride held up to the resolve to starve yourself of any human contact, your stomach sadly didn't wish to comply. an embarrassing rumble made you well-aware of your hunger and you decided with a defeated sigh to go down and beg the chef for whatever he could make you at this time of the night.

you walked to the door, opening it slowly as you came face to face with—

"you?" your pupils were blown wide open, taking in a the image of a guilty-looking zoro halfway-crouched at your door, "you."

your palm found purchase against your hips, face in an easy scowl, "what the fuck do you want, now?"

"nothing?" he argued back haughtily, pulling himself to his feet hastily, "i- i was going to the bathroom."

"on the opposite wing of the mansion?" your eyes drifted down to his hands where he held a white plastic bag, "with a whole grocery bag in your hand?"

"yes?" he clutched the bag tighter, "and it's none of your business."

you gave him a look he was well-versed in. a look that practically begged him to drop this act of nonchalance and come clean. a look roronoa zoro crumbled under.

the sportsman shifted on his feet, his eyes drifting downwards to your feet as he slowly held out the bag towards you. when he spoke, his voice was matter-of-factly, "you didn't eat today."

"huh?—" you clutched the plastic in your palms, peering down to look at two packets of familiar cup noodles, a six pack of beer and a toblerone thrown in for good measure. you looked up at the man as a strange feeling made home in your veins. warmth?

you stared at the packaging, dumbfounded, "cup noodles?"

"i- i don't know if you still like these ones." he admitted softly, gaze still avoiding yours, "but i heard you said you liked these in... in one of those interviews in the last women's singles, uh the one in tokyo—"

"you watched my match?"

his fingers twitched, "no. whatever, if you don't like it, i can just take it away—"

"—how did you think i did?"

the tokyo finals were against the number one in the female category: boa hancock. beauty, grace, talent: everything good and holy found a home in her, it seemed. because at the end of the match, she defeated you with a neck-to-neck match. your 20 points to rival her 22 points. her number one title to rival your number two.

roronoa zoro finally met your eyes, a proud wayward glint in his eyes that gnawed at your insides, and a simple "you did good."

"i lost."

"doesn't refute the fact that you did good."

"if i had done good, i would have won."

"don't talk bullshit." he crossed his arms, eyebrow arched and shoulder leaning against the doorframe. the muscle bulged under his navy blue shirt, earrings glittering cautiously in the dim light as his words cut through your flimsy counterattacks, "you did well, so, take the compliment. it's not about winning, it's about getting better. you did way better than last year's sweden semi-finals."

"you saw sweden too?" you asked softly, the disbelief in your voice evident in your face, tainting your pretty features a murky shade of confused.

but zoro refused to answer what was obvious, instead rambling on about the actual game, "your shots have gotten a lot more crisper since sweden. your breath control has gotten better, and your wrist work too. not to mention that—"

"—roronoa." you halted him, "what if you lose this tournament 'cause of me?"

"we're playing as a team. if we win, we both win. if we lose, we both lose." he didn't bother comforting you. just laid the truth bare in front of you, "simple as that."

"would you... hate me? if we lost, i mean?"

his face shifted, something inkling to the ghost of a smile on his lips, "how could i ever hate you?"

what the fuck.

your gaze betrayed you as it found a home against his lips. you mind begged for answers. why did he know all that, how did he know all that, why did he fucking care? and most importantly why were you not listening to his helpful advice, instead admiring his pretty eyes and the scar that ran across them.

zoro stopped himself, features going still as he propped himself back and stood up straight. he cleared his throat and hid his features under an usual cloak of nonchalance. the sportsman nodded to the plastic bag, "just eat, and sleep soon. we need to be up early. don't think dad's gonna let us off the hook cause we were fighting in the middle of the night."

you stared at him, a furious blush building up in your cheeks, "right, thanks." you looked down at the contents again, "but you brought me two packs and six beers?"

"and a toblerone." scrambling to find an excuse, the mosshead tripped over his own words, "i– well, i mean you must be hungry. are you not? of course, you are, right? if you don't want it, you don't have to eat it."

"no, it's just— uh, do you wanna come in?" you paused, "i... don't think I can finish six beers alone."

he stood before you dumbstruck. 5'10 of muscle and flesh and skin, standing before you with a flabbergasted look in his eyes. as if he didn't want that with every inch of his body and soul. but he was a man of great restraint, so, he shook his head, "thanks, but uh— we both need to be up early tomorrow."

your throat went dry, your words as it barely audible, "of course, see you."

"hm, yeah. g'night." he grew awkward, thumbing his earring just to have something to do, "i just didn't want you to get the wrong idea— like you know, we shouldn't fight among ourselves—"

"—no animosity between partners, as mihawk says?"

"something like that, yeah." he sighed, and you found yourself being kicked in the face by whatever self-esteem you had left. of course, he was just making amends. your wretched heart and it's stupid daydreams be damned. "okay then, i'm sorry for the morning. and uh, 'night."

"'night." he turned, ready to leave and his name left your lips before you could register what was happening, "zoro—?"

he turned around immediately, an apprehensive plea in his eyes, "yeah?"

"i—" you fished for the chocolate and held it in your hands, "you can have this, i don't really like it."

he took the bar, ideally turning it in his palm, "i thought you liked these?"

"used to. five years ago. i'm not seventeen anymore." you pressed your lips into a thin line, "people change."

"uh, yeah, i guess they do." a pause, "or maybe they... don't?"

that was the last (luke)warm conversation you had with roronoa zoro. days passed you by as did a rigorous, drilling schedule. wake up, practice, practice, practice, sleep. but hey! two and a half weeks of this and you would walk home with another champion's cup to your name, so, how bad can it possibly be?

that moss-for-brains asshole was a problem for two and a half week later you. yes. indeed. indeed.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

21st of august, 9:51 a.m.

you let out a shuddering breath, adrenaline pumping through your veins and hands gripping the handle tighter. you took a step backward, positioning yourself as zoro stood to your right, ready to serve the shot.

the sound of his racket slicing the air rang through the court as the shuttle made it's way over the net and onto your opponent's side. the woman in front of you lunged forward, shooting the shuttle back towards you.

mixed doubles champion's cup. barcelona, spain. finals. you and roronoa zoro vs. ino takuma and nobara kugisaki. your 19 points vs. their 17 points in the third round. just two more and you'd win the cup.

your arm pulled backwards, right foot behind your left, head tipped back as you smashed the shuttle back into their side towards where ino stood, ready. the shuttle whirled past his racket by a hairsbreadth and fell down on the court.

"20 love." the umpire announced pointing to you and zoro, and then to the rival team, "17 love."

just one more.

"fuck yeah." zoro gave you a feral smile. his hair was drenched, sweat slowly dripping off of his jawline. he moved forward, a new shuttle in his palm and he got ready to serve again, the jersey with roronoa on it crinkled and sticking to his back. he looked over his shoulder, giving you a nod, "ready?"

"fuckin' hope so." you huffed out, nodding slowly and backing to take your position.

the shuttle left your side of the court, tearing through air and onto their side. the air was tense, the audience growing impatient as both the teams lunged to their left and right to land definitive shots. ino takuma took a step back, jumping upwards as he delivered a smash that whirled past your cheekbone and landed on the court, "fuck."

"18 love." the umpire declared, "and 20 love."

just one more.

you walked over to zoro, and he wiped his forehead off with the back of his hand. his face was angled downwards, words right against the shell of your ear, "'s fine, we're leading. we're winning."

just one more.

the next few minutes were a battle on the court. flicks of wrist, sweat trailing down your back, the feel of feet shuffling on court as you and zoro worked in sync. his shots to your steps and your shots to his, as the team opposite to you kept up their assault.

your feet moved to their own accord, skidding forward before you jumped upwards. your racket made contact with the shuttle and you smacked it down with every bit of force you had. your breath was caught in your throat, heart beating loudly, blood rushing past your eardrums as you saw kugisaki fumble and drop the shuttle.

just one more.

a roar went through the audience, mihawk yelling out in an uncharacteristic manner, and you found yourself sinking to your knees. the court felt cold and sturdy against your knees, relief washed over your shuddering form and wayward tears pooled at the edge of your eyes. your gaze lifted up, and within the blindness from the overhead lighting, you found zoro giving you the smallest of nods with a reckless smile plastered to his lips.

and then roronoa zoro proceeded to ignore you for the rest of the evening. the problem for two and a half week later you was here. fuck.

12:44 p.m.

you glanced at the man next to you through your eyelashes. how he looked annoyed and shook his head, how those cursed earrings chimed as he answered a question that the press asked, how he ignored you for the nth hour of the night.

the fucker didn't even thank you or appreciate you to your face the entire day. what a bitch.

"is it true, then?" the reporter's bangs moved enthusiastically, "are the rumors of you dating true? everyone seems to notice that the air seems charged between the two of you."

"of course not," zoro leaned into the mic, his eyes boring holes into that reporter before he chased it away with a polite smile, "those are just rumors. we're just partners." he looked at you once, twice, "right?"

"yeah." you answered, monotone. "just rumors. having him in the same team was taxing enough for me, mentally. i cannot imagine him as a boyfriend."

the reporter grinned, as if having found something worth exaggerating, "so, was having him as a partner hard? would you say law was much better?" as the mention of the brunette, you noticed zoro pick up one of the water-bottles in front of him and attempt to crush it. the reporter paused, "and you, roronoa? was it hard for you too?"

"well, we've had our differences." he crossed his arms, letting go of the poor, unassuming bottle. was he hoping his biceps would distract the crowd of rightfully-thirsty ladies? slut.

"but the most important part of any doubles game is team-work." he continued, without even giving you half a glance, "and without her, i would have failed to win. that much is for sure."

"isn't that sweet?" the woman cooed.

isn't that sweet? no. no it is not.

"so would you partner up with each-other? are we gonna see more of this dynamic duo?"

"ah," zoro looked at you, at a loss of words. you leaned into the mic, plastering on a smile, "we'd see where fate leads us."

12:03 a.m.

fate led you here.

you stared at your phone as another headline caught your eye: turns out badminton is more than a clash of rackets, it's a clash of hearts! find our the story of roronoa zoro and his partn—

the only clashing will be of a plate against that bastard's head.

you scrolled further, just to run into another headline: roronoa zoro admits feelings in press conference after the match. click to—

your fingers hovered over the link, almost opening the headline just to confirm if they saw the same press conference as you. cause there were no feelings anywhere there. right? right.

then another: love island? no! it's the champion's cup! catch the story of team-mates turned lovers—

"—what bullshit." you huffed, scrutinizing the photo under the headline that depicted you looking at zoro as he answered some question with the caption "lovesick gaze."

you threw your phone to the side and it bounced twice before falling fce-down. a pathetic groan left your lips as you dragged your palm over your face.

you should be celebrating, getting drunk somewhere maybe? or you should be sleeping, feeling satisfied after the big win. instead, you were rotting in your bed, staring at the ceilings wondering what was the easiest way to ensure you never saw your ex again. this was a one time affair, after all. all because mihawk asked you—

knock knock knock.

your feet hit the wooden floors, absentmindedly walking to the door. did you order room service? maybe they wanted to give you a cake to celebrate you? or—

"—r-roronoa?" your words died in your throat as you stared down the man in front of you. he was dressed in a casual navy t-shirt and black sweats. his hair was wet, strands sticking to his forehead, and he held a bored look on his face. "do you want something?"

"can i come in?"

he looked tipsy.

"ye- no? no." you paused, a tsunami of emotions building within you. you were supposed to get away from him! "i need to sleep. it's late."

"this won't take long." his brows furrowed, eyes softened, "i promise."

you hesitantly stepped to the side, allowing for your former partner to step in. a sigh fell past your lips as you closed the door and locked it shut.

"what is it?" you asked, and your breath hitched as zoro stepped closer. his arm on either side of you as he peered down at you as if he would devour you whole. "w-what? roronoa."

"did you hear what they're publishing 'bout us?" his words felt like thunder against your soft skin.

"no," your face grew hot with the impossible possibility that somehow he knew what you were browsing minutes before he came. you blinked up at him. careful. "what are they saying?"

he scoffed, and stepped back, "that we're lovers. it's stupid."

you looked down at the wooden floors, goosebumps erupting across your body at the fleeting contact, "it's just gossip, it'll die down. don't worry."

"i guess." he sighed, running a hand across his face. he didn't meet your gaze, muttering a cowardly "i am gonna go, then."

"what?" you looked up at him, the fiery feeling in your body turning to soot and ash, "that is all?"

"yeah?"

"you don't wanna say anything else?" you found yourself walking forward, and he stepped back to maintain the distance. a glare crossed your pretty face, "this is it?"

"did i do something?" zoro looked from your eyes to your lips to your unrelenting steps towards him, "hey, woman?"

"hey, woman?" your brows furrowed, exasperated words tumbling past you and clashing against his stone-cold exteriors, "fucking hey, roronoa? hey! how are you!— are you fucking for real?"

you stopped a mere inches away from him, index finger jabbed against his solar plexus. you looked up at him, eyes filled to the brim with mirth as you found his, "y-you didn't even fucking thank me! or say congrats— or any fucking thing."

"i didn't?" he tried to ask but the dam of your emotions was open, the ugly and grotesque that were buried within your mortal body for five years toppling over each other till they turned even more vile, "shut up."

"after all you've done and said five years prior, i thought you would have the fucking decency to end it on a good note this time around." you scoffed, eyes boring into his, "i was fucking wrong. you can never change. you'd always be roronoa zoro, the star player. and i'd be the fool that waited on you."

your name made past his lips, eyes closing as he tried to fend himself off.

"—oh now you're using my name? after two fucking months?" the laugh that you choked out was barely a laugh. you jabbed the finger deeper against his muscled body with every stressed syllable, "you left. you fucking left me. just. like. that."

"let me explain. we were seventeen—"

"—shut up. i wake up one morning, and you're gone. you fucking left town and the next i see of you, you're on the national news winning bronze in olympics." a humorless laugh, "and all that after you said you loved me."

"i still do."

"fuck you, roronoa."

"that's not what you call me." he breathed out slowly, fingers finding purchase against your wrist and bringing your hand upwards to press a chaste kiss, "that's not my name."

"fuck you, zoro." you spat out, and your fingers pulled his face downwards and towards you. you halted, your lips a hairsbreadth away from his, and he decided to close the distance by crashing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

his hands skimmed over every inch of your body, never staying one place for too long — from the back of your neck to your hips — as he drunk down any unruly noises. your fingers dug deeper against his cheeks, pulling him into your impossibly closer.

"i hate you." you whispered through the fury of kisses, as the man dragged himself downwards and placing kisses across your neck. his teeth sunk against your pulse and you whimpered as he soothed the spot with another messy kiss, "i know."

all teeth and spit and broken resolves as you pushed him backwards till he fell atop your bed.

"i hate you." your body felt like lead, as if each action was one step forward to your untimely demise.

"i know." he propped himself up, face titling upwards as you sinfully teased him. your face so close to his, so pretty as you just barely kissed him, but never getting too close lest you lose control and allow your wicked fantasies to run amok.

"don't tease." he grinned — the savage kind — as a hand came up to pull your face downwards. his fingers were firm against the hollow of your cheeks and the kiss, bruising. as if he wanted to do enough damage to make up for the past five years.

"we sh- we shouldn't." you whined into the kiss as his fingers danced under your tshirt, teasing the skin with brief contact before swiping a leisurely thumb across your perky nipples. he pulled back, face flushed as his deft fingers pulled the hem of your tshirt upwards, "don't lie. you want this."

"don't get cocky." you glared daggers at him but complied nonetheless. your fingers softly over his as he dragged your oversized tshirt upwards. his breath hitched, eyes locked on how your skin erupted into goosebumps and perked up. he leaned forward, soft lips around your hardened nipple and he hummed at the contact, "'m not gettin' cocky."

you keened into his touches, fingers pulling his still damp hair, which only prompted him to suck harder, and then chased it with a soft kiss. but you grew impatient, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, "off."

"yes ma'am."

your fingers grabbed ahold of his jaw, tipping it backwards as you took him in. the damp hair stuck to his nape, gaze half-lidded and lips parted as he looked up at you. your gaze hardened, words caught in the thick air between you two, "this means nothing."

zoro took his shirt off, his hands pulling your warm ones to his torso. he nodded slowly, uttering false promises between open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, "nothing at all."

"i- i mean it," you whispered, your fingers tracing up and down the rigid plane of muscles and skin. your chest pressed against his as his hands snaked around your waist, "i know, baby." hot kisses smothered against your skin, "i know."

and world's number one had you pinned under him. hovering over you, the damp strands hanging loosely to frame his face. your face burned up as he traced the tip of his index finger across your face, then slowly dragged across your skin from your chest to your stomach and to the waistband of your shorts.

your hips bucked up as he thumbed the skin above the said waistband, "z-zoro."

"what do you want? tell me." his warm, calloused palms massaged your inner thighs, spreading them open to put up a show for himself. he swiped your clothed core, "wet already?"

"fuck off." a smug grin crept across his lips, head dipping down to press kisses to your exposed skin as his fingers dragged down the waistband and took off those layers off of you. he stared up, hands growing rougher, impatient, "tell me, what do you want?"

you squirmed as he continued pressing kisses, carefully avoiding your needy core. "i-" you clenched your eyes shut, embarrassment sewing itself against your skin. you mumbled, "don't make me say it."

"i need to hear ya." he licked a languid stripe, collecting the honeyed slick on the tip of your tongue. maybe he had less resolve than he had assumed, because at once he found himself licking fat strips up and down, catching your trembling bud between his lips and sucking. you tasted of divinity and sin all wrapped in one woman and he found himself at your altar, nothing more than a helpless man.

and just like that, roronoa zoro lost all sanity.

"fuck." he hummed against you, lapping at you like a man starved. his eyes stayed train on you, gaze fixated as he watched you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and arch your back. you were so pretty. it made him ache from within, something primal that made him dive into your divine cunt nose-deep and rut against the mattress like a man who knew no patience.

when roronoa zoro pulled back, you saw a man devoid of any and all trace of rationality. he was a demon ready to devour you whole. or die trying.

he held himself back, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs and hips lest he couldn't control himself. out of breath, out of mind, "tell me."

"wan' you." you mumbled, shying away from him. squirming, trying to pull away from his iron-grip on your thighs, trying, "need you t-to fuck me."

"louder." he met your eyes in a challenge, and you rivaled his stare, "fuck me."

the kiss he lay atop your hip bone was impossibly soft, his voice even more soft, "on it."

he licked quick stripes, drinking you down like you were some forbidden nectar. words barely audible as he put two fingers in your mouth. a moment later, his fingers were drilling into you. experienced hands thrusting up into you, hitting that one gummy spot over and over and over and over—

"z— ohmygod ohmygod oh—" you tried to catch your breath, tried to make sense of the situation but the mosshead caught your pulsating clit against his lips, humming and ramming into you like a mad man. watching you as you fell apart on his tongue and fingers.

twitching, bucking up, trying to run away from him as his fingers fucked you senseless. trying to run away from him?

he pulled you towards himself, putting his weight on top of your hips. you cannot run away. "don't run, don't run. not when i just got you."

"z-zoro— stop, stop it." you cried into the air, head lolling backwards as he continued his assault on your poor pussy.

"what?" he asked, gaze predatory as he continued pumping in and out of you, "see how she's gripping me? she wants me 'sbad." he thrust up harder, fingers playing against that one spot, and your body tried to turn left, to run away. but he wouldn't let you. he pulled his fingers back, just to fuck into you harder, "see. wants me so, so bad."

zoro pressed a hungry kiss to your clit, "am i taking good care of her?"

and all you could do was grip the sheets and withstand the pleasure as another tsunami built in your lower stomach. his thumb found your clit, pressing and rubbing the little nub, "answer me."

and the pressure built and built within you. tugging on your insides harshly, as he toyed with you and your aching pussy. and then it all came crashing down. spotless white washed over your eyes, head lolling back, fingers gripping the sheets so hard and a silent scream caught in your throat.

when he pulled back, his jaw was drenched, hair damp and eyes maddened. through his tunnel-vision, he found you spent on the bed. eyes clenched shut blissfully, hair tangled 'neath you, and reddened lips.

when you had the courage to open your eyes and look up at him. fuck. how dare you do that to a man? your eyes were watery, lips trembling as you told him "i can't." and roronoa zoro decided it was as good time as any to fuck you to the point of breaking.

and now he had your legs pushed to your ears, the mushroom tip dragging itself against your walls. a groan past his lips as he hooked his arm under one leg, fucking into you with all the patience in the world. so slow, so patient, so fucking agitating.

your nails dug crescent moons into his biceps, huffing out a, "f-faster, c'mon."

"hm?" his eyebrows bunched, face falling into almost a pout, "faster? think you can handle it?"

"shu-shut up ngh—" a gasp came alive as he thrust into you faster, before slowing down his pace and toying with you again. a delirious grin came to his lips as you whined out, "ugh zoro."

"just remember," he pulled it out till his tip barely kissed your entrance, and rammed it back in, "you asked for this."

and now you were pushing the same nails in his biceps, gasping as he fucked into you with abandon. he pressed kisses to your thighs, to your knees, to any part of you that was accessible to him. hot breath fanning over your skin as his dick pumped in and out of you.

"'fuck, 'zo—" he hissed like it hurt, thrusting harder at the nickname. his pace was bruising, intentions to destroy you, "say that again."

"wh-what?" you played dumb.

strong hands came up to manhandle you to sit you atop him. searing hands on your hips as he moved you up and down his cock. a stutter made past your lips as you fell forward at the sudden change in position. hands bracing themselves against the hard muscle, you bit down on your lips, eyes rolling back, "i— fuck f-fuck, zo."

balls slapping against your ass, the sound of skin on skin deafening enough between his groans and your gasps. his grip on your unforgiving as you he helped you downwards each time to meet his erratic thrusts.

heaving, sweat trailing down his bow, your nails digging into his chest as you hugged him so sinfully tight. what were you doing to this poor man and his sanity? spasming, clenching around him, unforgiving, as he rammed upwards into you.

"i-i'm gon' cum—"

"yeah?" he breathed out, eager fingers coming to tease your puffy clit. sporadic swipes of his thumb against the aching nub, raising himself up to slowly bite down on the column of your throat, "cum f'me."

"ohmygod ohmygod zo—" head thrown back, you choked back sobs of his name as the white-hot pleasure built in your stomach and released all over his abs and chest, "fu-fuck ngh sh-shit, zoro!"

you, covered in your own essence, head thrown back, hair sticking to your chest and back, face flushed, eyes clenched shut. you.

zoro turned you around, your helpless moans trapped against the pillow as his heel dug into the dirtied mattress, and he drilled his cock into you harder and harder and harder. no rhythm, no reason as he chased his own high within you.

your overstimulated cunt spasmed around him, hugging his curved dick like you were milking him for all he was worth. fuck. fuck. fuck.

"ah— fuck." he groaned in the shell of your ear, tongue darting out to lick a languid stripe at the base of your ear as you felt his hips stutter, emptying within you.

his sweaty body stilled above yours, pressing you down into the sticky mattress. a moment later, he heaved out a content sigh and pulled it out. hitched breaths, a new wave of need building within him as he stared at the milky white gushing out of your pretty cunt.

mindlessly, his fingers pushed back the creamy white back into your poor, trembling hole. he swiped at your clit one last time, and you jolted under his torturous touches. a whine into the pillow, hips bucking away from him. you warned him, "zo."

"hah, sorry." he grinned, amused at your compliant state, before collapsing next to you.

you raised your flushed face, dazed eyes finding his pretty face next to you. he looked so pretty, it hurt. his flushed face illuminated by the soft lighting from the bedside lamps, the earrings glinting as they chimed softly against his skin, the soft smile that tugged at his lips.

this was roronoa zoro, the star player.

his fingers slowly came up to your face, pushing the damp hair strands backwards. the same fingers then traced over your nose, and your bottom lips.

and there was you, the fool that always stayed.

"zo... zoro." you pulled away from his skimming touches, "you— uh, what's the time?"

you looked away from him to pick up your phone: 2:11 a.m.

"it's late." shutting the phone, you didn't turn to look at him. what if he called out your name, looked at you, persuaded you? softly, you whispered into the heady air, "you should go back to your room. it's late, and i wanna sleep."

"wh- what are you doin'?" his hands ran over your arms, desperate touches bringing you back flush against his naked chest.

"zoro." you turned to look at him, eyes barely able to hold his steady gaze, "i-" you sucked in a breath, eyes tracing downwards to stare down his tan chest, "this meant nothing, you know that."

a scoff, "are—" the expression died, eyes widening, "should i actually leave?"

you nodded before pulling back from him, "go."

"please, just listen to me—" he sat up, shoulders squaring up as if he was ready to put up a combat for that explanation. his fingers years to touch yours, "i can explain."

you pulled your hand back, holding them against your chest. your resolved hardened. this was roronoa zoro, the star player. and this was you, and you were on your goddamn level now. no longer the fool that stuck around.

"go back to your room, rorona."

"r-roronoa? it's 'zo, for you." he begged, shifting to turn fully towards, "listen to me just once."

you shook your head, "no explanation will be good enough—"

"—i couldn't say goodbye to you. or i would have never felt like leaving that town." he pleaded, hands coming up to cradle your cheek, "and that town was a dead-end for my career. i had to leave—"

"then, leave right now as well. you're good at that shit, anyways."

"please—"

"leave."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

22nd of august, 12:03 p.m.

when you saw roronoa zoro at the checkout counter, you pretended he didn't exist. he was dead. to you, anyways.

the mosshead didn't bother making conversation, too busy comprehending the reality where you didn't even bother looking at him twice. not even as you clutched the LV in your hands tighter, and walked out through the glass doors and out where your driver waited for you.

the chants of your name stopped you dead in your tracks as a swarm of reporters stood to your left, being held off by the hotel security. the swarm of cameras, notepads and haunting questions being pushed back by men in black, pristine suits.

"is it true?!" a shrill, familiar voice caught your attention. you dragged your shades upwards, giving the reporter from yesterday a compliant smile, "is what true?"

"that you and roronoa zoro are together?!"

your eyebrow twitched, and you dragged the sunglasses downwards. the world was tinted a dark brown, and you put on another polite smile. that bastard be damned. "n—"

"yeah." the jock called out, a self-satisfying smile on his face as he stood behind you. his arm came to wrap around you, flesh against flesh feeling familiar as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, "got a problem with that?"

you whipped to look at the man that had come to become the bane of your existence and the object of your desires. but before you knew what was happening, you were being ushered by his 5'10 self into the car backseat. when you came back to reality, the car was already was on the highway and zoro was looking out the window as if he didn't just do that.

"what the fuck?!" your voice was shrill, "what the fuck, roronoa? what did you just do?!"

"it's good for publicity." he replied, solemnly. "my manager told me to do that."

"which deranged bastard is your manager?" you fisted your hand, the leather handle of the purse almost disintegrating under the intensity. glaring at him with murderous intent, you choked out a, "tell me now and i'll get sanji to murder him."

"her." zoro corrected, "name's nami. she's the best in the game."

"you're dead, roronoa."

"ah, no i'm not." he grinned, a mad man. "cheer up, babe. we have appearances to keep up."

what the fuck.

a/n: hello. uh, i have nothing to say except i just really wanted to write this 🤡. not proofread cause its uhm 10k words. nobody's gonna read this shit anyways, i think. if you've read this whole, THANK YOU!!! MWUAH MWUAH MAY BOTH SIDES OF YOUR PILLOW BE COLD AND YOU GET TO EAT SOMETHING GOOD <3 part two? yes, i wanna. roronoa zoro being a menace is my favourite gender. [psss, if you've sent in requests, girlie IM TRYING IM SORRY. may lord give me strength, and i may give you some fics!] tagging: @help-i-lost-my-sock because ur the only one with enough strength to read this. thankyou so much for putting up with my bs <3 m.list

[pandynogatonga]

heres a challenge for you homestuck fans.

watch every movie that has been spotted on a poster in homestuck.

THE ULTIMATE HOMESTUCK MOVIE CHALLENGE!!

FROM JAKES ROOM

the mummy

the mummy returns

the mummy tomb of the dragon emperor

stargate

the incredible hulk

the terminator

the smurfs

raiders of the lost ark

indiana jones and the kingom of the crystal skull

avatar

x men

national treasure

lara croft tomb raider

lara croft tomb raider the cradle of life

little monsters

weekend at bernies

weekend at bernies ii

ghost rider

the fifth element

a knights tale

terminator salvation

star wars episode ii attack of the clones

the wicker man

black night

a knight in camelot

a kid in king arthurs court

army of darkness

FROM JOHNS ROOM

ghostbusters ii

mac and me

deep impact

armageddon

ghost dad

contact

a time to kill

failure to launch

face/off

con air

FROM KARKATS RESPITEBLOCK

serendipity

50 first dates

hitch

FROM VRISKAS SHRINE IN THE VEIL

bangkok dangerous

city of angels

the weather man

windtalkers

FROM JANES ROOM, DAVE AND DIRKS ROOMS, AND ARADIAS RESPITEBLOCK

watchmen

starsky & hutch

indiana jones and the temple of doom

good luck!

(little monsters appears in jakes, johns and janes rooms. just watch once) (con air and face/off appear in johns room and vriskas shrine in the veil. just watch once)

[giovanna-freshly-adopted]

Giovannas containment:

She had done perfectly. It had all gone so well. Her little trick with the magician, making him panic over a lost girl. He'd let her in. The tackle through his portal to enter the main house. She'd even stopped his summoning spell, or she thought she had.

But then that damn boy and his hallucinogen.

And then the devil himself appeared. And the mission was lost. And she knew she had died for a time.

Talon opened her eyes, her neck hurt. She sat up with a groan.

She was in a cell. White walls except for one large window which looked out into a cave filled with various... were they trophies? What the hell was this place.

Would Blackhawk come for her? If the court learned of her failure they may have him execute her. As she would deserve. If she could escape. Find the boy again. Kill him. She would see a lighter punishment.

(( @babsggordon @hinata-rosario-real @crimsonknightly ))

[moon-river-me]

hey i saw you're open to requests!

What about a hotch x reader fic where he's reunited with an old friend on a case and he gets all flirty and flustered? No angst, happy ending if poss 👀

Aaron Hotchner x lawyer!reader

sfw, reuniting, fem reader <3 no haley or jack mentioned and no specific season

Eyes meet across the room. Warmth fills his gut. He knows those eyes, he memorized those eyes, he loved those eyes.

“Aaron?” your voice still sounded the same, like honey and warmth, like the soft and lulling pitter patter of rain on a spring’s night. Just how he remembered.

You made a B-line for him, at a determined speed. That’s another thing he remembered about you, so determined. Throughout all of law school you both would compete, for anything and everything, you almost always won.

“It’s really you, huh?” looking at him with so much admiration he needed to break the contact. “So, what’s a hotshot FBI agent doing here? Come back to beat the score.” You jest, hitting his elbow with your own. The score was something sacred back in your university days. It was a tally between you two, one that would update every time one of you got a higher grade, an award, a commendation, or stayed sober the longest, the last one was always biased. He fondly remembered nights of drunken giggles and takeout while watching badly written court tv shows on your thrifted couch.

“Oh no, those days are long gone. Any more tequila and my liver will go into failure.” A ghost of a smile paints his lips.

“I still get flashbacks after a mere whiff of the thing.” Your laughing sounding more of an amused snort, not caring who saw you. That was something Aaron always loved  liked about you, not once in the entire time he knew you did you ever care about how others viewed you. You were so uniquely you that he truly believes if another you appeared one day, the earth would stop spinning.

Emily and Morgan walked up behind him; he could see their smirks through the back of his head. “Hotch, I didn’t take you for a tequila connoisseur,” Derek was in view now, offering his hand to you, “Derek Morgan.”

“y/n l/n,” you state as you shake, “and you should have seen him in our second year of law, god I thought I was going to have to drag him to emergent care some nights.” Your words were embarrassing, but your eyes were filled to the brim with joyfulness, you make eye contact once again and it is as if the world stops. “But of course I was no better so I would be a hypocrite to say anymore.” You grin, your lip getting a slight tug from your teeth. Aaron felt himself blush as his brain began to create images of that lip, and those teeth, and that smile, and oh those beautiful eyes.

You noticed the change in his demeanor, you always had. Except this time, your eyes twinkled in victory. “So, what do you guys need?” you turn you head towards Emily, although your gaze is stuck like honey to Aarons eyes.

“We were told that you were the prosecutor for the case we are working on. We came to discuss some things about the trial.”

“Oh of course, let me just grab the file. One second.” You turned to walk to your office; it was just principle that Aaron followed you, no other reason.  “Come on agent Hotchner, the file isn’t going to find itself, I need your expert profiling skills to uncover it.” You laugh as you reach your office. Aaron looked at his very amused coworkers and felt the flush of his cheeks get 2 shades darker.

“I don’t know who she is or if they have a history, but he followed her like a dog.” Morgan states, a belly laugh following as he finishes his senses.

Emily observed you through the glass, your head thrown back in laughter, and Hotch’s eyes staring at you with something that could only describe as a child on Christmas morning.

“He is whipped.”

A/N

short and sweet but trust me I will start doing longer ones.

requests are still open, please give feedback.

ik it's not the best but I hope you like it.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Scavenger Kings

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Standing Order #16735-92.1

All Grade 2 technology or higher, regardless of intended function, is to be destroyed if recovery is deemed impossible. In the event of a withdrawal is issued no forces may commence with said order until the previous instructions are carried out and all Grade 2 technology is damaged beyond repair.

The use of any and all means required to carry out this order are hereby allowed by High Command.

Failure to follow this order will result in immediate incarceration followed by a military inquiry to review the matter in question.  ----------------------------------

“Has the commander heard the definition of order 16735-92.1?”

The prosecutor turned to see First Mavark Gelen Freen looking at him with focused intent from the stand.

“I have heard the definition.” Freen replied dryly as his eyes slowly gazed across the courtroom. He took in the measure of each of the commanders gathered to act as his jurors, many sharing a look of mundane interest in the proceedings, and the gathered on lookers behind the separation fence which sat with baited breath. Only the military Magistrate, whom he noticed from the corner of his eye, was focused on the prosecutors questioning.

“Do you know why this order was put in place Freen?” the prosecutor continued only for Freen’s defender to cut him off.

“My client is First Mavark Gelen Freen,” they began, “and as his rank has not been rescinded he will be addressed as such.”

The Magistrate nodded in acknowledgement of the defender’s argument and so the prosecutor held up his hand. “My apologies Magistrate, no harm was intended.”

“I repeat my question then, First Mavark,” the prosecutor continued as the last bit was overly emphasized, “do you know why this order was put in place?”

“Of course,” Freen answered without hesitation, “to prevent technology from falling into the hands of our enemies in the event we are forced to retreat from the battlefield.”  

“Exactly.” The prosecutor smiled as he turned to the jurors. “One would wonder why the most powerful species in the universe would care about such trivial matters, but it is because we are the most powerful that this order must exist. The order is to prevent enemy combatants from gaining our technology and adapting it to use against us.”

He turned back and paced towards the stand, the prosecutors smile fading as swiftly as it had appeared. “So will you care to explain to the court why you failed to follow order 16735-92.1 while withdrawing from the battle on Teratis Prime and allowing the humans to obtain our technology?!”

Bringing his hands down on the stand railing with a loud thud, several of the onlookers jumped slightly in their seats from surprise. Freen and the jurors, who had all served in combat, rolled their eyes at the weak attempt of intimidation.

“As I have stated,” Freen began, “both in my official report after action and since I have been detained I followed the order to the letter and left no military grade technology for the humans to obtain.”

Freen’s mind drifted back to the closing hours of the battle several light years away. The humans had dropped in a reinforcement fleet that derailed a protracted war of attrition against their Nevari allies. Primitive in nature, their military was numerous enough to launch a series of devastating counter attacks that force Freen’s people to withdraw. It had been a chaotic mess at the end with soldiers scrambling for any ship orbit capable to reach the last remaining transports.

As the last surviving Mavark still planetside, command had ordered him to hold the outskirts of the last remaining spaceport still in their control. The humans unleashed a storm of cannon fire that reduced the outlying suburbs into rubble before waves of their soldiers navigated through the freshly made rubble. The shells had not even ceased falling when the first human soldier emerged from the billowing dust cloud and opened fired on Freen’s men.

“Did you say “Military grade Technology”?” the prosecutor zeroed in on.

Freen nodded. “Yes, all military technology grade 2 or higher was destroyed beyond recover as we pulled back to the dropships.”

“Forgive me First Mavark, but I thought you said you understood what Order #16735-92.1 was.” The prosecutor turned towards the jury. “The order states ALL grade 2 technology must be destroyed; not just military grade technology.”

Freen shrugged. “At the time my forces were being hammered from all sides. I made the decision that military technology would take priority and was informed all military grade technology was incapacitated before giving the final order to withdraw.”

“So by your own admission you only half fulfilled the order before retreating and leaving the job uncompleted.”

The First Mavark opened his mouth to rebuttal but the prosecutor pulled out a remote and pressed a button on it. One by one the lights went off and a view screen descended from the ceiling. A picture appeared on the screen that at first confused Freen. It was a picture of a machine easily thirty feet long with a large flatbed being carried by a considerable amount of mechanical legs underneath giving it an insect like appearance.

“Do you know what this is, First Mavark?” the prosecutor asked with a smug grin. Freen nodded.

“It is a farming machine used on Teratis Prime.” He pointed to the series of legs on the undercarriage. “The prime crop only grows on the high peaks of mountain ranges, so the vehicle needs the extra legs to scale them.”

“Very good.” The prosecutor condescended, “Which would make this a grade 3 level of technology.”

“I was in the middle of a battle destroying abandoned photon cannons while keeping my warriors alive.” Freen countered. “I did not have time to pause and look for farming equipment.”

The prosecutor pressed another button to show a warehouse of farming machines. “This shipment was store on the starport’s western storage fields ready for transport offworld to Vergi VI; and you left it intact as the final dropship carried you away.”

He pressed it one more time and a video began playing. The footage was shaky and unbalanced as the camera man appeared to be crawling along the ground. “This footage was taken from Vergi VI three days ago by an operative conducting sabotage efforts behind human lines.”

Freen watched as the footage continued shaking as the operative crawled through tall grass. A sudden mechanical grinding sound in the distance made the operative stop moving and lay still. The grinding sound continued to grow louder as a series of loud thumping noises began mingling in with the noise.

Slowly, the operative moved forward again and parted the tall grass. There, just across a rocky plain, were several dozen humans riding across the farming machines.

Freen looked closer at the machines and saw that they had each been modified from their original design. They were walking at speeds that should have far exceeded safety limits and to his surprise several of the ones in the center of the group had been outfitted with artillery cannons. As the group of machines moved over the rocky terrain the machines at the center kept a constant stream of fire far off into the distance.

“The humans found the farming machines you failed to destroy,” the prosecutor said over the video as it continued to play, “and sent them back to their research facilities. Three months later these new versions were being sent to the frontlines acting as mobile artillery platforms and troop transports that can bypass once thought impassable terrain.”

He pointed to the center machines with the cannons. “The gyroscopic stability matrixes, that had been used to stabilize them while ascending up mountains, were also very convenient at ensuring a stable firing platform for their long range weapons. With the additional movement the platforms provide have become increasingly difficult to retaliate against as by the time we triangulate their firing locations they have already moved on.”

The screen froze on one of the platforms as it fired; the large plume of smoke and fire emitting from it searing its way into the eyes of everyone present.

“Because you made the call, and ignored grade 3 technology, you gave our enemies the means to once again level the playing field against our brave forces.”

Freen wanted to mention that he was part of those “brave forces” but the prosecutor clicked the remote and the screen changed again.

This time it showed a bike like construct as it sped past the camera at lightning speeds. “Grand Mavark thought the same as you when he ignored anti-gravity shopping karts, and thus the humans created the “Screamers” as our soldiers call them. Hypersonic assault craft that bypass anti-air sensors through sheer speed before unleashing a devastating barrage of missiles on their target.”

The screen switched again to show a human soldier put on a cloak and seemingly disappear from sight as a squad of soldiers rushed by. “Scion Indel was likewise in your thinking when she ignored the Phabeon Projector modules used by children’s toys which were then used to create the so called “Chameleon Cloak”, which allow humans to project their surroundings upon the cloak and appear seemingly invisible to all but the most advanced scanning technology.”

As the soldiers passed by on the screen no sooner did the human drop the cloak and open fire on the soldiers as their backs were turned. “This technology was ironically used by human operatives to assassinate Scion Indel and withdraw without retaliation.” The prosecutor added.

With that the screen went dark and the lights of the courtroom came back on.

“This rule is in place because in ours wars with humans,” the prosecutor said while facing the jury, “that while they may appear inferior technologically to us they have a seemingly deadly ability to warp alien technology to serve their own ends; in many cases with deadly efficiency.”

He turned to face Freen. “That is why ALL technology grade 2 or higher is meant to be destroyed, not just military technology. By your own ignorance you have given our enemies yet another arrow in their quiver to unleash upon us.”

He leaned in and glared down at Freen. “Do you have any idea how many of your brothers and sisters you have killed because you “did not have time..”?”

[masqueradereveler21]

Hogwarts Legacy Character Sheet - Gwendolen Hughes (EDITED/REVISED)

General Information

Full Name: Gwendolen Eira Hughes

Nicknames: Gwen, The Hero of Hogwarts, The New Fifth Year, Troll Slayer

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: April 26th, 1875

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Personality Type (MBTI): INTJ - The Architect

Species: Human

Blood Status: Unregistered/Muggleborn (Presumed)

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Nationality: Welsh

House: Slytherin

Wand: Fir Wood, Phoenix Feather, 12 1/2”, Rigid

Patronus: Stoat

Boggart: The mutilated corpse of Professor Fig; later on changes to Theophilus Harlow

Amortentia: Bread pudding, wax candles, old books, fresh linen

Physical Appearance

Hair Colour & Style: Black; occasionally wears down but is most often seen sporting it braided or in a ponytail.

Eye Colour: Grey

Skin Tone: Olive with golden undertones

Height: 167cm (5’6”)

Weight: 55kg (121 lbs)

Clothing Style: Neat and presentable; favors skirts, ruffled blouses, vests, and heeled boots. Almost never wears her robes. Black painted fingernails.

Personality

Positive Traits: Adaptable, determined, loyal, resilient, compassionate, curious, diligent

Neutral Traits: Independent, reserved, ambitious, rational, observant, competitive

Negative Traits: Arrogant, cunning, stubborn, sarcastic, defiant

Strengths: Capable of thinking outside the box and extremely quick-witted

Weaknesses: Thinks she knows what’s best and struggles to let people in

Likes: Cats, Summoner’s Court, Quidditch, organization, leadership, exploring the highlands, reading, Wizard’s Chess

Dislikes: Spiders, Gobstone’s, dugbogs, failure, laziness, clutter, singing in front of people, dancing

Background and Family

Gwendolen Eira Hughes was born on April 26th, 1875, in Swansea, South Wales, to a mother and father of unknown wizard of heritage. The details of her past are unsure; a carriage accident in her childhood tragically took the lives of her parents and left her with amnesia, leaving doctors and police with only documents to help piece her identity together. Her mother was an English woman named Alice Hedera while her father, Meilyr Hughes, was Welsh. After the accident, Gwen was placed in a Catholic convent where she was given an education but subjected to verbal, mental, and occasionally physical abuse. As she grew older, the convent began placing her into homes with the hope of adopting her out but she was returned each time due to her “poor behavior” and attitude. One of the families she lived with, the Trahernes, began physically abusing her which caused her magic to emerge. In a fit of anger, she caused ivy to grow throughout the entire house, damaging it and leaving the Trahernes with painful rashes. She was promptly returned to the convent and shortly after was visited by Professor Eleazar Fig.

After the events of Repository battle, Gwen’s mental health took a steep decline. The guilt and trauma she felt regarding the deaths of Professor Fig, Lodgok, and many more became too much to bear. She isolated herself within the Room of Requirement until Professor Matilda Weasley coaxed her out and comforted her during the last semester of the school year. After some consideration, Professor Weasley offered to become Gwen’s legal guardian so that she did not have to return to the convent. Gwen was initially hesitant to accept the offer, on account of her previous experiences living with adoptive families, but she eventually accepted after some convincing from Ominis Gaunt. It took a while for both of them to adjust to their new roles; Weasley did not want to overstep her boundaries but also wanted to make sure Gwen was being taken care of and provided for. Gwen kept Professor Weasley at arms length, waiting for the day it became too much and she would give up on her. But with time Gwen came to view Professor Weasley in a more maternal light (the feeling was mutual on Matilda’s end).

Biological Father: Meilyr Hughes (Deceased)

Biological Mother: Alice Hedera (Deceased)

Guardian/Adoptive Parent: Matilda Weasley

Adoptive Uncles: Graham Weasley, Phillip Weasley,

Adoptive Aunts: Dorothy Weasley (née Button), Lydia Weasley (née Hawthorne)

Adoptive Cousins: Theodore Weasley, Oscar Weasley, Garreth Weasley, Florence Weasley, Millicent Weasley, Francis Weasley, Edmund Weasley

Relationships

Love Interest: Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow…ehh its complicated…

Best Friends: Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes, Amit Thakkar

Acquaintances: Nerida Roberts, Grace Pinch-Smedley, Lucan Brattleby, Isaac Cooper, Adelaide Oakes

Rivals: Leander Prewett, Charlotte Morrison, Samantha Dale

Enemies: Ranrok, Victor Rookwood, Theophilus Harlow, Ashwinders

Pets: Vivarium beasts, eleven cats, a barn owl named Minerva

Inspirations

• Katniss Everdeen - The Hunger Games

• Annabeth Chase - Percy Jackson series

• Kat Stratford - 10 Things I Hate About You

• Raven - Teen Titans

• Mikasa Ackerman - Attack on Titan

• Beth Harmon - The Queen’s Gambit

• Emma Woodhouse - Emma

• Artwork done by the incredible @millyillus •

[tang3r1n]

cute idea but hero!chizome grappling with a hopeless crush on all might’s daughter figure (jus a chick he took under his wing izuku style)

like UGH. he’s such an old-school gentleman FUCK. he sends flower bouquets with your favorite flowers and like a 4 page letter with the most beautiful and eloquent language used to talk about how in love he is, and he talks like he’s fucking dying. exhibit a;

“i would lay myself at your alter, goddess, my insides laid out for your tasting, your pleasure— please eat of my flesh, consume me whole and let me feel accomplished as a simple, filling meal for you.

oh i beg of you, let my soul forever intertwine with yours, let me feels the silk of your skin, the heat of your breathe, plunge your hand into my heart and cherish it. sink your teeth into my neck and devour me.

i yearn for you, lovely thing. warmly, obsessively, lovingly, carnally, i can only hope you pity my foolish desires— my insane ramblings of fanatic and desperate attempts to gain your affections. please, please by the grace of all that is just and fair, let me worship you. let me treat you as you want to be.

i pray to no god but that of your body, of your mind, of your soul. there is no religion outside of your teachings, my muse. your word is my law, my written oath, music in the grand hall, the rain, the air, the existence of love. i would sooner accept death and the failure of my life’s work than to even acknowledge the existence of beauty that shines brighter than yours.

i beg of you, let my lowly hands hold you, let my soiled and ugly form touch and feel you, let me court you, my fair woman.

let me love you.”

omfg and he’s so petty. randoms in the street and fellow heroes flirting with you? he’s sighing and scoffing dramatically before completing dissecting their speech patterns, body posture, heroing skills, physical appearance, literally anything he can to make them leave you two alone

i feel like he doesn’t care abt how he looks (i mean duh no nose.) but the second you mention liking muscles he’s suddenly finding excuses to flex and stretch around you non stop, he’s doubling up his workout routine and bulking like a MOTHER FUCKER to see if you’re staring yet.

AAAHHH idk i just love chizome and need him insanely badly.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lisa Needham at Public Notice:

It has often been said that Donald Trump was running for president to keep himself out of prison. Mission accomplished.

But the fact that Trump wasn’t behind bars long ago, that he didn’t suffer any consequences for his criming and now likely never will, can be laid squarely at the feet of one man: Attorney General Merrick Garland. Garland dragged his feet on prosecuting Trump for election interference and pilfering classified documents, making it easy for him to run out the clock.  Coming in on the heels of a literal insurrection, Garland was a bad fit for his job from the jump. He made clear early on that he didn’t see addressing issues from the Trump era as a priority, declaring that he would not look backward. Garland is an institutionalist, leading him to see his real job as protecting the Department of Justice rather than imposing any consequences on Bill Barr and others who turned the DOJ into a corrupt playground. Someone who saw the abstract notion of an institution as more important than actual people and actual wrongdoing was never going to be the person who aggressively pursued an ex-president whose crimes were always in full view, which was what the country desperately needed back in 2021.

Bringing a knife to a gunfight

Rather than moving quickly to prosecute people — including Trump — for January 6, Garland’s first moves were to take actions that actually favored Trump, all in the name of protecting the institution. In May 2021, the DOJ went to court to block the release of most of a Bill Barr memo that might have revealed how hard Barr worked to avoid charging Trump with obstruction of justice after the Mueller report. There, Garland was continuing work that had begun under Trump. But while it made sense that Barr would want to block the release of information revealing his role in helping Trump, it made no sense for Garland to want the same. The country had both a right and a need to learn everything possible about what happened during the first Trump presidency and led to a spasm of treasonous violence. That’s far more important than getting a generally favorable ruling on the DOJ’s right to sit on memos. 

Garland also moved quickly to defend Trump against defamation claims by E. Jean Carroll, brought after Trump claimed she made up her accusation of sexual assault to sell books. The DOJ filed a brief substituting the government as the defendant for Trump so it could argue that Trump’s defamation of Carroll was done in the scope of his employment as president, which would likely have resulted in the case getting dismissed. As with the Barr memo, Garland decided it was more important to preserve the DOJ’s general ability to protect federal officials from defamation claims than to acknowledge the unprecedented nature of Trump’s behavior and let him suffer the consequences he clearly deserved.  Taken in a vacuum, neither of these actions would be quite so galling. In both instances, Garland was generally trying to maximize the DOJ’s power, which isn’t necessarily awful. But what is galling is that he took these two steps with such swiftness, only a few months after being confirmed, while not showing nearly the same concern to address Trump’s crimes. 

Fairness to the point of absurdity

Garland’s desire to always appear evenhanded is also what led to the ridiculously aggressive pursuit of Hunter Biden, naming a special counsel and ultimately successfully prosecuting the president’s son for tax evasion and lying on a federal form to obtain a gun. And don’t forget how swiftly Garland appointed a special counsel to investigate President Biden’s retention of classified material. In early November 2022, the White House voluntarily disclosed that some classified documents had been found at Biden’s think tank. The FBI opened an investigation five days later, and Garland raced to name a special counsel, appointing Robert Hur in January 2023. Hur was a Trump appointee, serving as United States Attorney for the District of Maryland from 2018 to 2021, and he demonstrated his hackishness by releasing a report in February of this year that did grave political damage to Biden by gratuitously describing him as an “elderly man with a poor memory.”

While Garland couldn’t move fast enough to protect the DOJ and to aggressively pursue the Biden family to show his evenhandedness, he didn’t get around to naming Jack Smith as a special prosecutor until November 2022, nearly two years after the insurrection. By that time, it was likely already too late. This is true even if Smith had not run into unexpected obstacles, such as Trump winning over the Supreme Court with an absurd argument that he was basically wholly immune from criminal charges.

[...]

All those motions and appeals take time, which is why it was a bad idea to wait until November 2022 to appoint Smith, who then had to convene a grand jury to consider criminal charges over Trump’s willful retention of classified documents and his lies to the FBI about it. Smith didn’t issue an indictment in that case until June 2023. Smith had to convene a separate grand jury for charges related to the insurrection, so the DOJ didn’t indict Trump on those charges until August 2023.

This left Smith overseeing two incredibly complex cases against a defendant with nearly limitless resources, given that Trump could keep tapping political action committees for his legal bills, shifting the cost to his campaign donors and the RNC. By March 2024, Trump had racked up $100 million in legal fees, and while he kept draining the coffers of various PACs, donors were always eager to replenish those funds. Therefore, Trump could file as many frivolous motions as he wanted and run out the clock without taking any money out of his pocket. Smith never honestly had a chance that these cases would wrap up before Election Day. Garland’s foot-dragging on naming Smith is precisely what allowed Trump to run out the clock on his federal criminal charges, setting the stage for a presidential run that culminated Tuesday with his shockingly thorough defeat of Vice President Kamala Harris.

Appointing Merrick Garland to AG was a terrible choice in retrospect, as his timidness allowed a criminal to get off scot-free and run for President (and win).

[berriblossom]

Sorry I can't find your rules for ask I looked at the pinned post but all it said was that asks are open and that kids should not interact (im 22 btw) anyway if you're cool with it can I request a yandere sagau where yandere furina is saved by reader (who hides their creator status from the world) and when she's near the reader she feels all of her pain wash away (like reader has a calming aura which makes people feel safe) anyway when reader leaves all of the pain returns which causes furina to grow a yandere obsession with the reader and gets the raeder accused of some crime so that she can keep the reader with her so only she will have the reader (also you can make the reader any gender you want also if you're comfortable with it do you think the reader might develop a short of Stockholm syndrome?)

Before the prophecy was declared "false" Furina placed her hopes deep into the great divine, so much so it was rumored that she'd end every Opera performance with a small prayer to such of a diety, however near the end of a perfomance, more specifically Lyneys murder trial, Furina spiraled.

For such a perfectionist in her art form, Furina could feel the grip she had on her mind slip to a point she couldn't even try to make right of the trial.

"Was she wrong? What does the public think? How would Neuvillette make right of this? How could a goddess of justice be wrong in her prosecution? What else could I do wrong, what else can I keep onto? What am I doing wrong, am i-"

Furina sat alone on a bench in the quiet streets of Fontaine, her eyes hollow of life as she stared at the famous fountain outside the elevator and Aquabus station entrance. All memories of every embarrassment and failure conjure in her mind. As the street lights flickered awake, a figure sat next to her.

The waves of depression swallowing over her form calm, the sounds and voices come to a whisper and suddenly stop, and the dark and cold water stays still. Furina's eyes come back into focus as she looks at who sat beside her, where this mere force of calm comes from.

Furina's eyes narrow at the person, who has a strange yet familiar appearance. A warm smile appears on their lips as they offer her a small golden candy from their palm. Nothing is said at all. Furina takes the candy and sits in silence. By the rise of the moon, she feels at peace.

These occurrences don't happen as suddenly as they should. Many times, Furina wished they did, but you only appear suddenly, whether at a cafe, on a bench outside the Palais ammonia, or outside the balcony of her apartment. Sometimes, she wishes you'd speak to her or even try to make known your intentions. However, she feels she knows better than to ask.

Days after the meeting with the Knave, who Furina shivered at the image of, she had to be escorted everywhere by a guard, whether Clorinde or a member of the Marecheuse Phantom, random attacks against Furina's image increased, and even Neuvillette was worried for her well-being.

Entering the public is a now daunting task to remain in good light of the people in politics, to make the other members of the court, high and low to see how "responsible" their dear archon is. To see if she could handle the crisis Fontaine was in. News spread after the outbreak of primordial sea water inside the Fortress of Meropide.

Furina walked outside the Palais Mermonia. She looked out at the grey sky and took a deep sigh. Her mind scanning the busy streets, she took calm but vaguely confident steps onto the pavement, her heels clicking against the ground as she walked out for the stores., as she walked past fruit stalls, selling fruits, vegetables, and new fresh flowers, despite the rainy day as she takes small interest in anything, even the small droplets of rain falling against the umbrella of the stan. She could feel dozens of eyes on her, not an unusual occasion. When your fontaines biggest star, you're used to many watching your every move. Even a glance to learn about her would suffice.

However, a particular man, specifically one who looked a little too closenfor comfort, was watching her. He stood under a post with an umbrella and newspaper with the wrong date. She didn't panic well physically, but mentally, she was reeling. She shook her head at the stock of rainbow roses and walked away briskly. Rain followed as she fumbled with her umbrella to get it open.

As she walked, the streets were busy despite the rain. She waved to some locals, actors, and journalists while winding down the path to escape her pursuer. Who followed not to be closely behind, occasionally standing to look at stalls or pretend to watch the crowd. Furina walks past the ramp towards Chioria boutique.

As she walked, she heard the hurried footsteps behind her, and she walked quicker.

He followed, almost stomping as he jogged behind.

Her heels clicked faster, and she was sprinting, running past unfamiliar faces.

The man chased, Furina bolts down the rampway, as she is casuing a scene, gordes, mekas, and people crowd around to see what is going on?

Is that lady Furina? Why is she running? Is it a show? Is she acting? Oh! Is this a new sequeal to her play last year?!

Furina panicked at the voices, all coming back, he feet carrying her somehwere she didn't know yet.

Ironic, a common theme of her life thus far.

She ran before running past an alley and felt a knowing feeling, warmth.

Furina scurried towards the alleyway and saw the familar face she had seen for ages at a time, but jow she sees it fully.

A divine presence.

You were petting a small kitten and looked up, pushing a finger to your small, smiled lips, nodding. The man following Furina stops outside the alleway but huffs when seeing nothing. He turns away. You nodded and continued petting the kitten.

Furina for never doubtful decided.

This feeling is something she can never get bored of. Never be tired of, never wanting to be rid of. She needed it in her presence and life.

As she is watching you hum and pet the kitten, a golden glow emitting off your features, almost like a halo effect, Furina whispered into her mind.

More.....I want more...

That moment, the alleyway-enlightenment as she would proudly proclaim was when she knew. She needed you to herself. For days after this experience, nights, she stayed awake. She rationalized.

No one can hear of this. It could bring harm to you, to the functions of the world, your nature, your power that she had no idea existed or even worked. She couldn't tell Neuvillette if he knew you'd be put away for safety and probably tested by the institution. Not to mention, she found you, and you made your presence known to her...willingly.

It had to be a sign then. For this was for your safety. She knew that having your around 24/7 could help her image, a divine deity with a warming embrace...perfect for the hydro archon... a beacon of life and a god of justice.

So she put the plan into motion. A month after her enlightening, she went into a frenzy, reading logs, articles, journalist papers, and reports on cases for this.

By the end of the month, she had all she needed.

Furina was quick with her proclaim, the audience sat in shock.

Who dare attack the hydro archon? Stalk her? Even try to force her into the rumors of her divinity.? How dare they!

Oh, so beloved by her nation, the skeptics, dramatics, and lovers of a good Opera visit. Sat in shock, this random person, with no record of existence in Fontaine, dares such?

You sat in silence, the bench was cold, the prosecution being Furina herself, you stared at her, compassion and empathy brimming at your eyes as she went on with the case. Arguing to your silence.

Neuvillette watched and multiple times stepped in to offer you an argument, only for you to plead guilty before the end of the trial. The Oratrice Mechanique D'Nalise Cardinal answered in truth.

You were guilty.

Even if no crime was committed, you wallowed in guilt. You felt pity and guilt for her. Maybe she was desperate for a drop of divinity, true divinity. Maybe she feared you or was thinking for her nation. However, it was plain to see.

The Oratrice read guilt somewhere.

You were moved to a "special" cell in the countryside of Fontaine, authorized by the Fortress and Furina with the Opera house. It was like a mock kitchen from a play in the Opera. Old books and playwrites sat everywhere as entertainment. The kitten from before slept on the windowsill but could never go out, nor could you.

Days you'd sit alone and sit in meditation. Some days, Furina would sit with you, never speaking. Others, you'd be alone again.

Some days, you can feel her shame, her compulsive actions speaking, others its delusion and denial.

Finally you figured it out.

This poor cursed human was coping with your existence, her cries at night when she rested with you, even while you lay awake, the nightmares shed have. It was truly pitiful. Your heart beated 2x mkre for your dear creations, so seeing one so special, suffer in so many ways, it hurt your heart.

So when she asked for a melody to hum, you hum. When she returns back from a day of performances, you clap and cheer for her when she talks about her dreams and nightmares. You no longer sit still but now comfort her.

In this reality, she gets the drop of divinity, not godhood, but rather your love and care. Something truly beyond anything Furina could dream of.

Whether you felt like it or not.

-> EDIT: took so long and lost steam halfway, not the worse. But thanks again for the request. I'm sorry for the wait, everyone!

[beforeimdeceased]

🌾🥃🪑 PARADISE — ELLIE WILLIAMS

moodboard layout ib @munsonsfairy

somewhere in southwest texas, glimmering under the sun, was none other than ellie williams. a car mechanic and a damn good one. she’d had her fair share of run ins with the police on a list, taped to the front of the chief’s desk.

possession of illegal substances, aggravated assault, and failure to appear in court. but fuck court. ellie just wanted to come home to her sweetheart, you.

in a small corner just off the highway lay a simple plot of land. two decades ago they’d turned it into a trailer park, but it was becoming more of a community to you.

you and ellie had hauled ass and held yourselves up pretty well there the last four years. she’d been fleeing from bad things all her life. this was her one shot at staying still.

you were fanning yourself with an old newspaper, sat on your porch in a lawn chair that always creaked when you moved. ellie was gonna get to fixing it one day.

you swat a bug off your leg before reaching for your iced glass of sun tea. letting the cold liquid slip down your throat and soothe your body’s rising temperature.

above the sunglasses sat on top of your head was a sweet kiss placed in your hair. ellie had come outside to greet you.

��hey baby, soaking in the sun?” she smiles. a tank top bunched up on her waist at a pair of shorts that were way too big for her. her boxers peaking through as she continued to pull them up and let them fall. pull them up, let them fall. over and over.

“more like the sun’s frying my ass.” you chuckle a bit to yourself. she laughs along with you. “come on inside i wanna show you something.”

what you laid your eyes on festered up tears. she’d made a custom photo frame for the two if you. etchings of your initials with roses and flowers adorned it’s sides. a photograph of you two smiling when you’d first arrived was in the middle.

you envelop her in a hug, wrapping your arms around her neck as hers fall to your waist. “oh ellie! it’s beautiful.” you smile.

she grabs your hips, her grip a bit firmer now as she looks into your eyes. “i’m glad you like it.”

you let a sweet kiss linger on her lips, your mouths dripping with desire. your blood rushing with excitement. you were so content with the life you’d built, you wanted her right then and there.

“cmon.” she trails as her right hand in yours leads you to the bedroom. she carefully places you on the bed, peppering kisses on your face. her fingers hooked into the hem of your jean shorts, struggling to pull them down.

you help her, unbuckling them, and letting them be forgotten as they fall past your ankles to the floor. her hand snaking up your thigh to rub you over your panties.

a soft moan spilling from your lips is caught by hers. she chuckles as you struggle to kiss back.

her fingers slide your underwear to the side and trail over your soaked lips, rubbing your wetness and making a mess of your cunt. your underwear had long before been ruined.

she dips two fingers in, the nectar of your heat allowing her to slip in easily. you lean back onto your elbows looking up at her. she can’t help but smile.

“always so easy to slip in, i’ll never get tired of it. you’re always so wet for me fuck.”

her fingers move faster, free hand carefully finding itself on your lower back. you lean into her touch finding yourself grinding on her fingers. a long and drawn out, “fuuuck.” is all that leaves her lips as she watches you. your steady pace, back and forth. practically drooling as she watches herself slip in and out of you. your slick a sheen coating on her fingers and dripping down her palm.

this is paradise.