#vine marine

[kilfeur]

La remise des prix est annoncé par Amelie et j'ai bien aimé la scène du club d'art déclinant le prix. Car ils estiment qu'ils ont ignoré leurs deux membres et pour ça mais les remercie ainsi que l'audience. Après pour le club de magie avec l'idée de sort pouvant être utilisé à deux. Ça va revenir je pense puis arrive le prix qu'Iruma et les autres attendaient et bien sûr j'ai remarqué le petit sourire de Kalego. Et avec le prix fourbe, les élèves ont pensé que ça leur correspondaient. Du coup Kalego annonce clairement qu'il ne montra pas de rang. Connaissant Kalego, il y a une raison, peut être en rapport avec le fait qu'il est humain ou bien c'est autre chose. Bon après je suis contente d'avoir eu tort concernant le trucage des votes.

The prize ceremony is announced by Ameli and I liked the scene of the art club declining the prize. Because they feel they've ignored their two members and regret that, but thank them and the audience. Then for the magic club with the idea of a spell that can be used by two. It'll come back, I think, then comes the prize that Iruma and the others were waiting for and of course I noticed Kalego's little smile. And with the tricky price, the students thought it was suitable for them. As a result, Kalego clearly announced that he wouldn't be showing any rank. Knowing Kalego, there's a reason for this, maybe it has to do with the fact that he's human, or maybe it's something else. Anyway, I'm glad I was wrong about the vote rigging.

[sleepanonymous]

Sink your teeth Split my skin Just make me bleed Oh, and give Give me all that I want Just give me all

[wine-porn]

I Love Grenache

This is a really pretty wine if you don’t look at it too hard, but with asterisks for those delving deeper. I was hesitant to try because of the “Old-Vine Garnacha” on the incredible linen front label, plus the winery-applied JS91 sticker is something I avoid like the plague. Beautiful deep purple-ruby with a thin line of amber at the far rim, a nose at first sharply old-world but a glowing thick…

[watch-joey-collect]

[hellsitegenetics]

I beseech you to please do the navy seal copypasta:

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.

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Closest match: Hoplodrina ambigua genome assembly, chromosome: 14 Common name: Vine's rustic

[jsooly]

death in the family (3) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, your family leaves to seek uturu with the ocean clans.

(1) / . . . / (6*) / (7) / (8* - ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

norm found you passed out at your usual spot by grace's old computer, with the site 26 log archives pulled up.

jake informed him of his plan. norm was never much of a leader when it came to war, but he knew how to manage people. taking over grace's position as research head and avatar leader required a large amount of intuition. having to know what was going on in a person's head was important in this period of turmoil.

it didn't take much to read you. your eyes were puffy, cheeks streaked with tears, and the frown on your face was undeniable, even as you slept.

norm watched you grow up—watched you attach yourself to jake, as he watched the marine attach himself to you. this decision was equivalent to separating something inextricable. like attempting to pull the moon away from the tide—the water will always stretch towards it.

norm gently shook you awake.

"hey." he whispered. "don't wanna be late for dinner."

you groaned at the thought, your eyebrows downturned with just the thought of what awaited you back home. your heart squeezed thinking of your sisters and brothers waiting expectantly for your return even though your mind replayed jake's words over and over and over again.

you got up, stretching. "thanks." you mumbled as you headed out.

"wait! y/n, it's pretty dark out." he gently warned you, though you weren't in the mood to be reminded of all of pandora's dangers. "do you want to call someone to help you back?"

you shook your head. "i'll be fine. see you in the morning."

"hey." norm caught up to you, putting his hand on your shoulder. "we'll get through this, okay? like old times."

you paused, your eyes fixed on the ground. every comfort offered to you irritated you beyond belief. you found yourself grappling with a compulsive anger. you wanted to scream, what about this is 'like old times?'

you settled for a nod. because the sanest part of you counseled your temper with the fact that norm was just trying to help.

he pat you in farewell, walking you to the door. you accepted a cloak from him, as it was wet and chilly tonight. you tugged the hood over your head as you vanished into the darkness.

as you made your way through the flora, your stomach grew heavy with unease the closer you got to home. it certainly didn't help when you had to scale the gargantuan vines to high camp.

your feet touched down on the omaticaya base, and you have never been happier to feel the cold hard rocks under your feet. you decided to never climb those vines late at night ever again.

"y/n!" lo'ak appeared in front of you, his bioluminescent spots framing his feline eyes in the darkness.

you jumped, your fist flying out instinctively.

lo'ak groaned, clutching his arm in pain. "what the hell?"

"lo'ak!" you gasped, before smacking him again, hard, in annoyance. "don't scare me like that!"

"ow, why again?!" lo'ak grunted, stepping back from you with a pout. "where have you been?"

"i fell asleep at norm's." you explained, briefly glancing over his arm for any real damage. when you found none, you walked past him.

he followed you like a puppy, his eyes darting to your face every now and then to assess your mood.

"uh... mom made teylu for dinner." lo'ak perked up, hoping the familiar dish would earn some excitement from you.

"that's nice." you say plainly, too much on your mind to match his energy.

he sighed, agitated, pulling you to a stop. "i'm sorry if—" his frown deepened, his eyes avoiding yours.

your gaze focused on him, a note of concern swirling in your eyes.

"i'm sorry i didn't listen to you. i didn't mean to make things worse." he admitted. "you know, back at the shack..."

you blinked in realization, smiling to ease his apprehension. "was it a stupid decision? kinda. but you did what you felt was right. you’re good at looking out for me, but i’m even better at looking out for you. i’ve been doing it for fifteen years, you know. you need to trust me more.”

“you’re just so…” fragile. human. “small.”

“that was the one you decided on?” you smiled genuinely, your face muscles aching from ugly crying a few hours prior.

you knew what he was getting at when he trailed off. he had self-appointed himself as your bodyguard for as long as you remember, even though he was the one in need of rescuing most times.

lo’ak’s smile was sheepish. “that was the first time i saw you fight. like, really fight. scary. why doesn’t dad let you in the militia, again?”

“take a wild guess.” you prompt him as you both resume your slow pace back to the marui.

“but you could fly a scorpion!” lo’ak protested. you didn’t have an ikran. being on the ground during the raids on the RDA would be more trouble than help.

“those helicopters are for research purposes so there’s no guns on them or anything.”

before lo’ak could speak up again, tuk came racing up to you. she grabbed your hand, pulling.

“you’re back!” she exclaimed. you smiled and rubbed her head. footsteps padded closer to reveal neteyam and kiri, frowns set on their faces.

the five of you remained in a circle for a length of time, the truth hanging in the back of your heads: not for long.

the beads of the marui knocked together as neytiri emerged. “come.” she ordered. “eat.”

—

dinner was unnaturally quiet. as if everyone was afraid to chew.

you barely met jake’s eyes as he sat across from you and he barely met yours.

after a while of awkward silence, neytiri frustratedly nudged her husband. “say something.” she hissed in a whisper.

her stern expression never wavered, not even with jake’s pleading look. he sighed, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. he needed to address this with care and caution if he didn’t want it to get worse.

“baby,” he started, setting down his teylu. “i want you to know that i was upset, so i didn’t come off the way i wanted to.”

you stared him dead in the eyes, reluctantly hearing him out. you had nowhere to run.

the kids’ eyes nervously darted back and forth between their father and oldest sister, anticipating another explosive argument.

“it wasn’t easy raising you here, but i don’t regret a second of it. i’d do it the exact same way again and again. what i want to avoid is animosity towards you.” he circled the table, sitting next to you. not too close, but not far away either. “you bear so much on your shoulders, and you’ve come so far with the clan. i don’t want to see you start over with a people who are even more hostile.”

you remained silent, unable to sneak a glance at jake’s face. you feared the need to be comforted by him would be too great to stand your ground.

“i am always gonna come back for you.” he scooted closer still, desperate to catch your eyes. he couldn’t bear you being mad at him, not for one second. the way you refused to look at him wounded him greatly. “when we establish ourselves.”

the worst part about it all was you understood. you weren’t blind to reality—it would be harder to connect with other clans with a sky person in tow. the omaticaya were harsh, and you practically grew up with them. it wasn't hard to extrapolate the response from a foreign clan.

you just hoped being a family meant they’d take you with them regardless. that it wouldn’t have mattered that other peoples would reject them because that would be better than rejecting you. what was the acceptance of a clan compared to you? what happened to sullys stick together?

“y/n?” jake called softly, gentle as if not to spark your anger.

sometimes he felt he was going crazy when he recognized glimpses of neytiri in your face. nothing linked you two biologically, yet the same pensive intensity was written across your features. an unforgiving presence that’s ready to tell him off at any given moment.

it's part of the reason he chose lightning bug as your call sign. you could take and take and take all the garbage people dumped on you, but one drop too far and you lashed out. swift and precise, like lightning.

it was rare to see it once you finally learned to spare yourself the headache and handle all the backhanded comments, the outrage at your mere presence, the alienation… the more as you matured, the more garbage you were able to carry.

jake was afraid he would be the one drop to set it all up in flames. yet he almost hoped you would—he knew he deserved it.

“y/n?” he asked, even softer.

“i heard you.” was all you said, grabbing some more food.

neytiri frowned, her eyes darting to jake helplessly. jake’s shoulders slumped but he accepted that was all he was going to get.

the dinner continued relatively peacefully. jake didn’t return to his original spot, getting as close to you as you’d allow him.

—

somehow, tuk wormed her way into your sleeping pod. and then kiri moved hers closer, then lo’ak, and finally neteyam. all the kids piled onto one side, making the marui seem empty.

jake stood over his five kids, hands on his hips as he observed them fondly. neytiri came up behind him, running her hand down his back.

“there is not much you can do now. what’s done is done.”

“i don’t want her to be mad at me.” jake whispered. “i don’t want to leave like this.”

neytiri softened, resting her head against his shoulder. “her anger will leave. her hurt will remain. and it will stay this way until we come back for her.”

jake sighed, running his hand over his face roughly. “i just—i don’t know what to do. i don’t want to be in a situation out there where i have to choose them over her or her over them.”

what do you think you’re doing now? a voice in his head nagged.

his heart sunk further. he was scared, scared of what that madman would do to his family. scared that he wouldn't be around to protect you all when you needed him the most. he hoped that by moving away, quaritch would stay on his tail and lose interest in you.

neytiri raised her eyebrow, giving her husband an empathetic look. “i trust you with many things, jake. if you think it’s best to leave, i will follow. the kids will… come to understand.”

“do you think…” jake trailed off. “do you think we’ll ever be the same?”

neytiri didn’t respond. the answer was clear.

jake inhaled deeply. it was too late to turn back now.

—

toruk makto will disappear. that was jake’s promise.

tarsem was jake’s choice for olo’eyktan. unable to go through with the traditional ritual of killing the previous clan leader, he sliced jake’s chest with a heavy heart.

the leader must die. so the leader can be born.

you weren’t present at the ceremony, instead watching from afar. you watched the farewell with a growing bitterness, but you knew the biggest underlying feeling was the hurt. you didn’t want to see them go.

the clan shared your sentiment. wailing and cries filled the air.

mo’at wove mourning garments for herself and you. the two of you weren’t particularly close but you were respectful of each other’s role in the family. you often hung around her tsahik marui where soldiers come for healing.

she appreciated your extensive knowledge on the flora and fauna of pandora, often quizzing you on what she was using in her salves and ointments.

you waited with her for the sullys, tending to the ikran.

you smoothed your hand down the crest of jake’s ikran, bob. he chirred happily, flexing his wings slightly.

behind him, a woodsprite wafted along the breeze. you frowned in confusion. eywa’s seeds, all the way up here?

you watched it closely while it moved through the space as it pleased. it hovered around you, landing on your shoulder. you stood completely still, it’s delicate tendrils brushing your skin. it ballooned when it took flight once again, gaining height and finding respite atop your head.

mo’at’s sideways glance pulled you out of your wonder.

“probably got lost.” you chucked nervously, feeing scrutinized under mo’at’s steady stare. you knew where neytiri’s fiery eyes came from.

“eywa does not make mistakes, child.” she said slowly, expertly concealing her curiosity.

the sullys approached their ikran, ready to go. the woodsprite fluttered away from you.

tuk whined as she rushed up, clinging to mo’at. the grandmother soothed her.

lo’ak frowned as he approached you, unable to hide the emotion on his face. you opened your arms and he ran into them, hugging your tightly.

“come with us,” he whispered. “i’ll hide you on my ikran.”

you laughed. “we caused enough trouble this week.”

he clutched you tighter. “shut up. i’m being serious.”

“me too.” you mumbled, rubbing his back in comfort.

he pulled back, helplessness weighing down his youthful features. you offered him a sad smile before he stormed off to his ikran, wiping his face roughly.

kiri fell into your arms next. “who will help me handle with those two skxawngs?”

you snickered. “i think you’re an expert now. it’s time you take on your own apprentice.” you winked, nodding to tuk.

kiri rolled her eyes. “tuk will tell on all of us. don’t think that’s much of an alliance.” she laughed softly before her aura grew depressive.

you cocked your head. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s just—“ she sighed. “i’m worried about spider.”

spider. taken by the RDA. your jaw set with determination. you squeezed her hands. “i’ll look out for him, okay?”

her posture raised as a grateful smile replaced her frown, and she squeezed your hand in farewell. tuk jumped on you, refusing to let you go until neytiri pried her off.

"y/n," neytiri hummed, her voice soft and smooth like nectar. her head fell to her shoulder as she blinked back tears, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into her side. she held you tightly, afraid to let go. "i will not say goodbye, because i promise you this is not the end."

"i know," you fought the ball of emotion in your chest, trying your best to remain strong for their sakes. but as soon as neytiri reluctantly released you, her hand cupping your face gently before mounting her ikran, you felt the gaping absence in your soul.

your eyes scanned the area, missing one very important person. you passed all the others preparing their ikran, rounding neteyam's steed and finding him quietly adjusting the saddle.

you crossed your arms as he ignored you. "no goodbye?"

he didn't spare you a glance, his eyebrows knitting as the frown in his face deepened.

"seriously?" you walked up closer to him, a mix of confusion and offense in your tone.

he glimpsed at you and you immediately understood. in most things, neteyam was the big one. the big guy on the field, on lookout, cleaning up after lo'ak. at home was the only place he didn't have to shoulder it all.

he had to say goodbye to his big sister, his first best friend and protector. how would he bear the weight of being jake sully's first son without jake sully's first daughter? the kids would look to him now. he would have to be the mediator, give the advice, fight the fights. neteyam was able to be brave out there because he knew you were standing behind him.

you gave him a dispirited smile as you opened your arms in invitation. once you made the gesture, he wasted no time embracing you. no words were exchanged, but the two of you shared an understanding.

"saddle up!" jake called to the family.

neteyam smiled at you, his eyes clouded. he ruffled your head before jumping on his banshee.

you stepped away from them, watching as their ikrans chirped lively. jake approached you.

"i meant what i said." jake grasped your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

you were not soothed by his gesture at all. you merely nodded out of respect.

"hey," he caught your gaze, his face open and vulnerable.

you watched as neytiri led the children out. their banshees were hesitant to leave the cliff, picking up their own unwillingness to take flight in the forest for the last time.

jake held you tightly, as if letting go would make the distance between you real. he never thought he’d be apart from you—much less that it would be by his own doing.

“i'm your father, y/n. no matter what. that must mean something.” he whispered.

you begged yourself not to give in to your impulse. but regret wasn’t a enough to satiate your anger.

“my father is dead.” you bit out.

jake paused.

swift and precise, like lightning.

he exhaled softly, shakily. his face barely shifted, but something in his eyes flickered—pain, maybe understanding. he swallowed, then simply squeezed you tighter, kissing your forehead.

—

the leader must die, so the new leader can be born.

jake left tarsem in charge of the omaticaya. he was unaware he was set the stage for a different kind of leader to emerge. eywa already began to show her hand this day—you just had to realize it.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky

© jsooly ‘25

[kilfeur]

Alors Beem et les autres qui obtiennent leurs rangs supérieurs c'est amplement mérité. Et le fait que Silvia reste dans les deux club peuvent des créations assez sympas, j'espère qu'on en verra. Sinon j'adore comment les élèves s'énervent contre les profs pour avoir trompé Iruma et les autres, c'était marrant ! Bien que ça amuse Mephisto de voir Iruma ainsi, surtout la page où Iruma s'occupe de gosses j'étais genre "Bienvenue dans mon monde Iruma". Mais bon bref, quand Mephisto parle de royaume, je me demande si il parle physiquement ou bien mentalement. C'est de Mephisto dont on parle après tout. Après le criminel qu'a pu arrêter Amelie, je me demande si on le verra quand on sera un arc centré sur elle.

So Beem and the others getting their higher ranks is well deserved. And the fact that Silvia stays in both clubs can make for some pretty cool creations, I hope we'll see some. Otherwise, I love how the students get angry at the teachers for cheating on Iruma and the others, it was fun! Although it amuses Mephisto to see Iruma like that, especially the page where Iruma takes care of kids, I was like “Welcome to my world Iruma”. But anyway, when Mephisto talks about a kingdom, I wonder if he's talking physically or mentally. This is Mephisto we're talking about, after all. Following the criminal that Amelie was able to stop, I wonder if we'll see him when we're an arc centered on her.

[fluffmothy]

Tentacle Vacation Fun

The inspiration for this piece came from a cheesy nsfw audio I listened to recently that did something to my neurons.

Tw: egg preg and monster fucking

This fantasy starts as I’m chilling in a secluded sandy cove with a portion of flat rocky shore I can stand on. The regular beaches are normally packed with people for the summer, so I wanted a calmer experience for summer vacation. I’m wearing an open-backed one-piece swimsuit with a cropped short sleeve over it to complete the look.

As I’m walking over the rocky shore watching crabs scuttle, one of them crawls over this weird vine of what looks like a mix of kelp and octopus tentacle. I stop to observe it cause I’ve never seen a type of kelp like this, and I love marine life, so I’m excited to learn about something new. Since it looks like it has suction cups, I don’t know if it’s alive or not, so I poke it with a stick. No response. I get bolder and poke it with my finger. No response again. Now convinced that it’s just some weird kelp, I pick it up to observe it. The rest of its mass descends off the shore and into the water, so I give it a tug to try and dislodge it.

Big mistake (depending on who you ask)

It suddenly springs to life, entangling my wrists and ankles. It wraps around my arms, thighs, and torso, ensuring that I can’t escape. The tentacles start exploring my body as I’m now lying on the rock, bewildered and scared. They rip off the cropped shirt and slip into my swimsuit through the back. The tendrils rub up and down my stomach and ribs before quickly swiping over my nipples. I let out a whiny yelp, and this catches the beast’s attention as it starts doing it again and again and again. It’s playing with my nipples as it pokes and prods at other parts of my body, seeing what draws a reaction out of me.

A tentacle slips over my clothed cunt and starts focusing its attention there, rubbing over my folds and drawing out louder moans with the help of the tentacles now tugging at my nipples (Revenge for before) It’s just groping me for what feels like hours, teasing me and making me wetter. Sometime during its torment, the tentacles feel slicker as they begin secreting this weird blue slime and rubbing it into my skin. My body starts heating up and my mind feels a bit fuzzier. In my desperate moaning, a tentacle uses this opening to slip into my mouth and pour more slime down my throat. It all feels so good and overstimulating. Its onslaught is so rough, but it treats me so sweetly and I’m enjoying its touch. This thing is going to ruin me.

After what it deems is enough time, the monster raises my wrists above my head and spreads my legs further apart. It uses another tentacle to grab the crotch of my swimsuit and move it to the side, exposing me. Suddenly, another tentacle, thicker than the ones holding me and with a pointed but dull tip, appears and approaches my cunt. I start struggling, but the monster keeps its hold. The tendrils binding me heat up and pulsate with an almost comforting warmth. It pours more slime down my throat as it enters me, the stretch is surprisingly less painful due to the wetness and a little help from the dizzying slime, but there is still a pinch with the new feeling.

It doesn’t wait for me to adjust but thankfully isn’t too harsh with me, starting with a slow rhythmic pace, not reaching too deep. As time passes, the pain goes away and is replaced by ecstasy. I lost my virginity to this monster… and I’m loving it. The tentacles on my nipples are replaced by ones with suction cups, they latch on with incredible strength. After some time, it picks up the pace, ramming into me as I start groaning and panting from the roughness. In my hazy state, I start sucking on the tentacle in my mouth with fervor, crying from how good it feels and how overwhelmed I am. Looking down, you can see the bumps the tentacles make in my swimsuit, the ones over my nipples, the ones holding my waist, and the bump of the tentacle pushing into my cunt through my stomach.

It removes itself from my mouth and another unseen tentacle approaches my ass and prods at my hole. It’s slimmer than the rest but still enough to create a stretch. It secrets more slime as it prods and slowly slips in. It starts thrusting at a moderate pace compared to the rapid thrusting of the one in my pussy, it’s getting hard to focus on anything at that point. The tentacle in my cunt starts pounding into me and heating up and throbbing. Next thing you know, it spills inside me. There’s so much cum that it gushes out and stretches my stomach a little. There’s a brief pause where I’m able to catch my breath before it starts back up again with its rapid thrusting.

It spends the next few hours like this, fucking me in various ways and at various speeds, sticking multiple tentacles in my holes at a time, and cumming in every hole. Next thing I know, it's sundown and my stomach is distended with its cum, but it’s still going with as much fervor as before. It’s untangled its tentacles from around me except for a few to hold me and caress my sides, after all, I’ve come to enjoy this experience so much, I’m in no rush to get away. I’m sucking on another tentacle with two fucking my cunt as they suddenly speed up and start ramming against my cervix. They’re getting rougher than before, and I start screaming against the one in my mouth. One of them finally pushes past my cervix, and a smaller tentacle unsheathes itself from inside and writhes around in my womb. I squirt and cum with a scream as it beats against my walls and the other continues its thrusts. I’ve only barely retained sense after its onslaught, despite the aphrodisiac effects of its slime, but this might make me lose what little is left of it.

Both tentacles are unbearably hot as the one in my womb finally stops thrusting and cums in me. It’s so warm and thick, it comes as a comfort after such sudden rough treatment. The comfort is short-lived as the other breaches my cervix alongside the first, stretching me wide. This one doesn’t cum, but large rhythmic bumps appear in its tubed length, approaching me. Once the first one approaches my entrance, it stretches my cunt further as it pushes its way inside and into my womb. As it enters my womb, I gain a new pressure and weight in my gut. Did it just place something inside of me? Are these… eggs? (They are) I struggle to pay attention as the sheer pressure makes my head fuzzy. Next thing I know, I’m weighed down by 15 large eggs in my womb, stretching me out to make me look like I’m 5 months along. The tentacles finally release me and back away towards the shore’s edge but stay there as if watching me.

I should run, I should go get help since I was just impregnated by an actual monster, but I can’t bring myself to be alarmed. It felt so good, and my body is still so warm. This monster was so kind and gave me so much pleasure. It might be the weird slime talking, but I can only think of making sure these eggs are hatched and taken care of.

This monster has ruined me.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi, Can you for Nezuko!reader x Whitebeard crew. So just basically in the Demon slayer world Nezuko was hit with a blood demon art and just appeared on Whitebeard ship.

(Extra if you want: Nezuko wanting to be friends with Izou because he has pretty kimonos)

-They didn’t know where you came from or even what you were, when you suddenly dropped out of the sky, literally, from what looked to be a fiery portal made of black fire, landing hard on the desk of the Moby Dick.

-You looked like a teenage girl when you first arrived, looking terribly injured, one of your legs and both of your arms missing, growling darkly at them all like you were some kind of animal.

-When you suddenly grew your missing limbs, instantly healing your wounds, many thought they were in for a fight, until you realized you were in the sunshine, which used to hurt, but it didn’t, and you calmed, looking up at the sun in awe.

-Whitebeard lowered his weapon first and the others quickly did the same, following his example as you calmed down, not aggressive anymore but you shocked everyone by your form changing to that of a child’s, shrinking down before you tipped over and were fast asleep.

-You slept for several days, curled into a little ball in Marco’s room, as he was the one watching you, minding your status, as well as inspecting you, finding that you had fangs and claws like a demon, but no demon they had ever seen before.

-When you woke up, you wandered around like a lost puppy, like you were looking for something, peeking into rooms, looking under tables, following others around, hoping they would lead you to your brother, who didn’t arrive with you.

-When you arrived on the deck, looking up at the massive man known as Whitebeard, not being able to find your brother, you fell to your rear and tears quickly welled in your eyes as you started crying, your mouthpiece falling from your mouth.

-You quickly sent the ship into a panic, wondering why you were crying, but Whitebeard could feel something, like he could sense the reason behind your tears as he easily picked you up, putting you on his knee, trying to comfort you, “It seems Y/N is missing someone- perhaps that portal she came through had someone she left behind and can’t get back to them now.”

-You looked up at him through teary eyes, his words sounded right, like what he was explaining, as you couldn’t find your big brother. Whitebeard announced that you were now adopted by him and his crew and everyone on the ship became your big brothers.

-You were a curious child, always exploring and popping up in the oddest places, and you would follow certain crew members around like a duckling, with your favorites being Izo, because his clothes were familiar to you, Thatch, because he always made you tasty food, which you could now eat, Marco, who was like your protector and you slept with him, and Whitebeard, because he felt safe and comforting.

-Despite not looking overly powerful, you quickly proved yourself when the marines tried to attack, attacking your new family, and they were all stunned when your form changed to your teenage form, showing that you were able to change forms based on how much power you had stored.

-When you shifted into your adult form, however, the vines covering your skin, your fangs and nails growing, you quickly handled business, easily taking care of the marines who dared to attack your family.

-When you arrived back on the ship Izo ran to you, scolding you for being so indecent, as your kimono had fallen open, showing off your chest and legs, while you tilted your head, confused by his anger before you shrank back down to your teenage form.

-Whitebeard just boomed with laughter, finding it amusing that you were so strong, at least physically, as they all knew you were a bit fragile mentally, as you would cry at random times, looking up at the sky or out across the ocean, missing whoever you were missing.

-There were also times when you would remember your mother, when you would see one of your brothers needing comfort, mimicking her, comforting them in your own way, doing your best.

-You were a surprise on the ship, but you weren’t unwelcome, and you felt safe with them, and while you never stopped looking for and missing your brother, you at least had a family who you could call your own in this new world.

[fanaticsnail]

El Tango de Mihawk (Dance Series)

As promised, although arriving much sooner than anticipated and only half beta-read (apologies, but over-eagerness wins again). Warnings: dancing, flirting, danger, peril, kissing, touching, pining, prior relationship hinted, enemies to lovers.

Word Count: 5,223

Masterlist here.

Song Suggestions: Tango de Roxanne, La Cumparsita.

Arm hanging loosely within the crook of the young marine’s elbow, you took in the incredibly intricately decorated large, circular room. It was not difficult to feign wonderment; your eyes widening, a gasp falling from your parted lips and a coy cock of your head as your eyes danced around the room.

It seemed almost too easy for you to swipe an invitation at the bequest of the marine to attend as his date. As soon as your mischievous, scheming eyes fell to the advertisement plastered to the notice board; you knew the opportunity for finery-theft was too great to pass up. Feigning a stumble, you fell within the open arms of the marine who blushed at your praises of heroism. Fingertips dancing over his cheeks, a small flutter of your eyelashes, and spoken words of: “how could I ever repay such a valiant sailor?” had him baited and hooked as your prey for the evening.

He was old enough to know better, but ill-seasoned in the art of feminine flirtation and suggestion. Just how you liked your prey: pretty, dangerous and ill-prepared to handle your advances.

After purchasing your evening dress and lace adorned masquerade mask for you, you knew this night was to hold much more thrill than the average night of petty theft. You were simply itching for the loot the evening would have in store for you.

White and red roses hung loosely like vines cascading down the white pillars, candles thrust within the arrangement and lit with flamed wick to create a romantic atmosphere. The fragrances whispering upwards to your senses was of the tart bubbly champagne, the softness from the florals and the subtle perfume you dropped on your neck, chest and wrists. Oh, how you adored the rich. You adored them even more when you claimed their wealthy treasures as your own, adding to your hoard of finery with objects that shimmered and glowed.

The first item of the night was the ribbons of pearls clasped on the neck of the wife of a seasoned marine captain. You managed to obtain an introduction, feigning innocence in attempting to rise the rank of your date for the evening. Charisma, charm and innocence was the part you played; always the coy flatterer and encourager. Once you felt the clasp of the brass hook behind the woman’s neck within your fingers, it was immediately unhooked and fell within your skilled and feather-light hand with neither care nor acknowledgement from their prior owner.

As the music began, you twirled with a smirk; placing the beaded sea-gems within the crevices of your cleavage to fall slowly between the mounds of your breasts. Once established within their home for the evening, you allowed the marine in the attempt to sway his body with yours. This appeared to be the first time this particular nameless gentleman has ever graced a dance floor, his fluster adamant in his movement.

The orchestral arrangement of pieces thus far was mainly waltzing and an odd foxtrot falling within the air to paint it with their artistry. Your body had been trained by your mother for years to gather the confidence and skill necessary to surpass her abilities to steal and burgle your way up to the higher class; dance falling as a necessity to obtain such a goal.

Rings, bangles, necklaces, tie-clips, a small wad of berry; child’s-play to follow after the first item with similar ease. You even managed to snag a small switch-blade on the belt of one of the marines, much to your delight. The only hinderance halting your less-subtle advances on fine material was a small feeling that your maneuvers were not as discrete as you would like it. You felt eyes. Eyes watching, waiting in the wings and ready to pounce. As you spied a large diamond ring, you halted your advance as the burning eyes scorched your fingertips.

Seeking their origin, you would subtly gaze from the corner of your eyes to search them out; never locating their source. You would huff your chest, readjust your mask and plaster a false smile on your face to gaze in feigned awe up into the eyes of your date in lieu of your prize.

Feigning a small lip bite and praising his dance moves, you finally managed to trace your fingers atop his gold marine pin of honour, effortlessly removing it without the notice of your date; rolling it against your inner palm before stooping to lay your hand against the brush of your hip to fall the small object within the open back of your dress. The opening was high enough to be tasteful, but low enough to gain ease of access with one of your many hidden pockets.

You had three major points you had managed to place upon your person for ease of concealing your many finds: your bag attached to your left hip, the crevices of your breasts down into your cleavage, and a small bag above your hidden daggered holster on your right thigh.

Every good thief has their specialty weapons. Your father used a blow-dart with toxins to paralyse their victims, your mother used a sword: both options you would prefer to steer clear of for agility and the thrill of the chase. Toxins were too easy, swords were too bulky: throwing knives were a perfect fit for you.

After the completion of one dance with the marine, he bowed lowly to you and offered to retrieve refreshments on behalf of you both. You bit your lip, a large sigh falling in thanks with more slow and deliberate eyelash kisses in thanks and encouragement had that similar light blushed pink once again gracing his cheekbones and upper ears. After he turned to walk away, you felt your character slipping in joy of the ease the role took to you; a smirk tickling the corners of your lips.

“Too easy,” you whispered in a light sigh, rolling your shoulders back and rotating your neck to relieve the tension. At the lull of your neck, you felt the familiar sensation of being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck prickling to attention at the unwanted gaze, with the skin elevating behind them in subtle bumps. Slowly dragging your feet around the floor, your toes raking deliberately against the polished marble, you attempted to find the owner to the unwanted attention you seemed to snare.

You raked your sights around the room, first falling to the orchestral ensemble as they once again made to equip their instruments to begin their melody; before your sights fell onto the silver-haired Vice-Admiral, Garp. He was engaged in deep conversation with another higher up amongst the marines. Your mind was screaming: “Danger, Danger. Do not approach,” yet as soon as your eyes dropped to his platinum and gold-plated pocket watch; your mind was immediately persuaded to halt all warnings eclipsed by desire to obtain the item.

Eyes glazed, you began your approach from the rounded dance floor to only feel the inner arch of both of your elbows clasped within the talon-like grip of unfamiliar and unwelcome hands. Your breath hitched, back arched outwards as the familiar and dangerous oaken-fragrance of the person behind you overwhelmed your senses before his voice cut through the silence.

“One wrong move, vixen,” he uttered in a low tone, “and I’ll reveal you to the masses.”

“Dracule Mihawk,” you whispered in a small hiss, your lips curled into a small grimaced snarl, “why are you here?”

“I could ask the same of you, little thief,” you felt his signature taunting smirk rise up within his bored tone, prompting your scowl to deepen further atop your brow. He tugged at your arms, your body responding by laying your back flush against his bare torso, his lips falling to tickle his wine-scented breath against the outer shell of your ear.

“I see you have come chaperoned this time,” he whispered into your ear, your eyes darkening beneath your ornamental mask concealing the upper half of your face, “how very clever of you.”

A small growl fled from your lips as you continued to hold your sights forward, lulling your head to the side to reveal more of your neck to him.

“I’ve learnt from my prior mistakes, warlord,” your scowl turned into a small smirk, unwrapping your right arm from his tight grip by circling it around itself; raising your arm behind your head to trace the outer neck of the broody swordsman behind you, dragging it slowly downwards.

“So it should seem,” his voice taunted you, allowing your small gesture to fall against his skin; your fingertips dancing in a small brush down towards his collar and torso.

He twirled you to face him, your hips swaying against his guidance as the silent hall gathered to couple up for the next musical interlude. Your gaze met with his honey-coloured eyes, his finely manicured facial hair rising against his lips as his smirk broadened to meet your face.

“Here is what’s to happen,” he uttered darkly, his smirk dropping as an air of dominant superiority fell in its stead, “you are going to return all of these items to these fine people,” you huffed out an exasperated breath, “and you are going to leave.”

“And should I refuse?” you challenged him, angling your chin upwards in defiance. His lip curled upwards into a frustrated snarl.

“I will have no choice to reveal you,” he informed you, arching his face down in a stoop towards your own. You hummed at him, tilting your head and swaying it innocently.

“Reveal what, exactly?” your coy smile returning to your lips, batting your eyelashes up at him with a small air of confidence, “I have done nothing wrong, and I have a formal invitation at the hands of my young chaperone.”

The warlord’s hand clasped firmly against your lefthand hip, grasping a handful of your flesh alongside the satchel containing some of your hoard. A small whimper fled from your lips at the unwithheld gesture, eyes immediately fleeing from his hunted and accusatory gaze to search the room for your date; praying he wasn’t watching the interaction.

Mihawk chuckled, leaning down further into you; yourself feeling small under his dominance as your back again arched away from him. The musicians began their open-stringed tuning of their instruments before the lectern was tapped by the conductor with their long, steel rod.

“As uncooperative and stubborn as always, I see,” he smirked down at you as the conductor began to tap the introductory beat against the wooden frame, “then I shall simply have to rid you of the items myself.”

You twirled from his grasp, your back arched as you stooped low with your hips swayed to the sultry arrangement; “you may certainly try, swordsman.”

It had been years since the Mihawk had first laid his eyes on you, and you had blossomed beautifully under the guidance of your parents. You had just reached the cusps of adulthood, your abilities as a thief had only began to be explored in the field where he first saw your flirtatious advance of some decrepit and disgusting marine with his travelling hands making you uncomfortable.

Of course he felt hooked to free you from the cusps of the uncomfortable exchange; and the price he paid for such a valiant feat be the relinquishment of his berry clasped within his leather-bound wallet. Only one small kiss was paid against his cheek in the exchange for it, without his knowledge of being parted from the object in the first place.

Your youthful and innocent eyes were what snared him then, but your sultry and tempting expression is what captured his attention now. Challenge rose within the chasms of the broody warlord’s chest, a small rotation of his shoulders rid him of his inhibitions, as he raked his feet along the ground to engage you in this dangerous dance of flirtatious conquest.

His hand reached for yours, outstretched and demanding rather than requesting your own. You smirked before tracing the palm of his hand with a dance of your fingertips to claim it; his hand firmly wrapping his digits around your own with haste and confidence in response.

This was not the Mihawk you remember. The valiant saviour, the all-too willing to draw his blade, the desire and eagerness to win your heart and hand was long since fled from his demeanour: an overly confident, arrogant and almost bored gentleman now rose within the shell of such a man. A dangerous man. A man who was purchased by the World Government in the stead of leading a life of piracy.

Twirling your body within his own and falling back to press chest to chest, your senses were once again filled with his signature cologne; a scent he had not changed in all the time fallen between you. The oaken undertones, the smoky and oceanic middle and the almost sweet floral hint enchanting you as he held you so tenderly pressed against himself as he engaged you in dance.

His curled, raven locks shorter than they once were, his moustache and beard grown and shaped into a fine art piece atop his face; and he had you cornered as a predator would his meek prey. His guiding hand found the small of your back, cradling your body firmly against his as he swept you throughout the circular hall to the seductive and tantalising music. His hand travelled once again to your left hip, thumbs tracing the outside of the material flush against your thigh.

“My, my,” he commented with his smirk once again gracing his lips, “so many fine additions to your hoard today,” his hand dipped against the leather satchel, expertly unhooking the clasp from your hidden girdle and falling the bag to your knees, “it may even cover the berry you took from me all those years ago.”

Your lips formed into a small pout as he gathered the satchel within his open right palm, twirling you to place the bag on an empty table framing the dance floor before turning you both to the centre of the room again.

“But that was such a long time ago,” your breathy gasp was laced with a slight sarcastic whine as you allowed him to continue leading you through this dance with danger, “surely the amount of berry has been recovered by now.”

“No, no, little thief,” he cooed at you his left hand falling to your right thigh and drawing your knee over his left hip; raking his broad fingers against your exposed flesh to draw closer to the concealed blades, “in fact, the interest gathered alone from your theft has left me in complete ruin.”

“You will not take my arms,” you firmly stated, Mihawk twirling you to the rhythmic swell of the melody.

“I will take as much as I desire for your ill-cooperation, vixen,” he taunted you, fingers tracing lower to fall to your thigh as his breath tickled your neck in a seductive taunt.

Eyes widening, Dracule Mihawk teased the circular daggers from your holster one by one and expertly threw them silently to imbed within the rose-covered pillars within the room.

You breathed out an air of irritation, your snarl once again rising as you warned him; “then you will also take my fury, alongside my revenge.”

“I am simply quivering in anticipation, vixen,” he chuckled darkly, lips trailing over your jugular as he toyed his index finger against the outer ring of your final throwing blade. Your eyes fluttered shut against his adventurous touches, arching your back to press your torso into his own as he breathed in the subtle florals of your perfume.

His mind became foggy from the thrill of the hunt, you falling so easily into the role of prey to his pursuit. The vixen and the hawk: both as dangerous to one another without having one truly triumph in their battle of victor. He was now winning, and he was relishing in such a victory.

Your prized daggers, now effortlessly disarmed from your body, now became a part of the scenery surrounding the dance floor. Your breath haltered in your throat; now not having a failsafe method to protecting yourself, you felt you had no choice but to allow Mihawk to continue prying your treasures from your body.

Annoyance fell to your face, committing the landing points to memory regarding your blades as Mihawk dropped your thigh back to fall your feet to the floor. Both of his hands now raked slowly from your shoulder blades down to fall to your hips; his right hand locating your bag on the righthand side above your holster.

“Clever again, vixen,” he praised you in a small, sarcastic purr, “you thought I wouldn’t frisk your dominant side again in my search.”

“Truthfully, Lord Dracule,” your addressal caught his attention, his yellow eyes snapping back to your own, “I did not prepare myself adequately to receive such attention from your travelling hands.”

His hands faulted in his retrieval of your secondary pouch slightly; just a whisper of hesitancy before he continued on his journey of ridding you from your lifted wares.

Necklaces, rings, bangles; everything the wealth of the evening you could’ve brought home to add to your hoard was now collected from you within the sultry dance Mihawk was guiding you through. The swell of the music in addition to the dangerous aura he engulfed you within had you set on a slight disadvantage. You needed something to even the odds, something to bring the control back to you as you held it for the majority of the evening.

His eyes fell to your cleavage, noticing the glimmer of a pearl beneath your brassier. Floating his eyes beneath his dangerous, dark eyelashes, back towards your own; he made to reach his hand down into your chest to retrieve the fine item. You immediately broke from his embrace as you spun away from his direct withdrawal of the object from your breasts.

Stalking and calculated in his approach, he circled himself behind your back; drawing your left hand to thrust delicately and horizontally within the air. He trailed the ghost of his lips along your forearm, your eyes flittering shut under his flirtatious advance.

“I will not leave here with less than what I arrived with,” you whispered your warning to him, his lips now falling to your outer neck.

“Then by all means,” he flicked your hair to fall over your other shoulder as he continued to circle your body, “retrieve your daggers and be on your way,” trailing his lips down and firmly clasping your right hand within his own and turning your wrist to face the inner, soft flesh to the chandelier above, “if, that is, you can find them.”

He drew his lips down to press a tender kiss against your inner wrist as the character you adorned for the night began to truly slip away; the smirk beneath his moustache rising more of a hateful blush to your cheeks as he continued his flirtatious tirade of insults with his words and actions. You wanted to stab him with something sharp, something that hurt for the embarrassment he was pulling to best you. Having no such blade upon your person would make that feat all the more challenging, but truly delicious should you pull it off with success.

He again drew you to himself and danced you around the floor in slow and calculated strides, his smirk not once falling from his controlled face; relishing in the knowledge that he had bested you truly. His eyes once again were drawn to your cleavage, the ribbon of finely beaded pearls once again within his sights as he decided this time to dive his face within your breasts in lieu of his hands.

Shock would be the first emotion to fall against your face, your innocent character behind the masquerade mask the only thing keeping you firmly held within this dangerous game of cat and mouse; or hawk to a vixen. As his lips fished out the pearled end of the long piece of ribboned ornate string, your hands instinctively fell to the back of his neck to hold him in place.

But what was that your fingertips brushed? Was is a solid bayonet clasp holding a priceless metallic necklace against the chest of the warlord; a warlord currently distracted by his own task within your breasts? Why yes, it appears it was.

Stampeded by the will to not leave this arena of seductive taunting empty handed; you ushered any inhibitions away from your mind as you convinced yourself to once again thief from the warlord in front of you.

Immediately, your fingertips expertly pried the clasp open with ease; you holding the chain in place beneath your palms and feigning freight beneath the swordsman’s ministrations, as his teeth reclaimed the lengthy necklace shamelessly from within your breasts. He unlaced one hand from behind you to collect the necklace from his mouth, his eyes holding his gaze as piercing as the hunter’s arrow against your own.

You danced your eyes between the two of his, glancing down briefly to meet with his lips as he completely withdrew the necklace from his slacked jaw. Sensing a slight shift in your emotions, his eyes narrowed to seek out the source for the shift.

“What are you playing at, little thief?” he asked you with an air of dangerous caution, “you’re staring at me like you’ve won, whereas I am clearly the victor in our little charade.”

Immediately, you dropped your right hand from the back of his neck to fall onto his cheek; caressing his bearded skin within your palm as the other held fast to the clasp around his neck.

“You have won this round, my lord,” you confirmed with him, ushering his face closer to your own, “now allow me to present a reward for your victory.”

You drew him truly downwards, cradling his face within your right hand as your parted lips captured his own. Where once was an innocent kiss parted onto his cheek in your youth, this amorous exchange felt like opening a tabbed chapter of a long-since neglected novel. Mihawk’s breath was stolen from his lungs as you held his lips fastened in a dance of passion against your own; your own heart beginning to swell as he reciprocated the tryst of your lips.

As he leant further into the kiss, his shoulders stooping as his hands wove around your shoulders to dip you in a low arch perpendicular to the floor. You almost felt bad for the way the chain around his neck fell so easily into your hand beneath him. The gold cross, now clasped firmly within your left palm, was to be your prize for the evening. Your hoard of trinkets worthless against the excitement this item brought to you.

The musical decrescendo began to dip, informing the two of you, and the other dancers on the circular floor, that the melody had come to its conclusion. Unbreaking the kiss, Mihawk rose you from your dip and nudged your chin with his own; his tongue darting out to brush with your own briefly before retuning behind his lips as briefly as they opened.

Not truly desiring the moment to end; you rewove your left hand, which now clasped Mihawk’s neck-chain and cross within it, behind his neck to hold him firmly to yourself. Your lips opened to pry more of himself against you, his gasped breath again claimed by your unwithheld ministrations. Eyes closed, you tilted your head and drew your torso completely flush with his as you stood on your toes to bring yourself fully flush with his chest.

The warmth radiating from his open shirt, the heat pouring from his skin was enough to hold your attention captive entirely. Mihawk again arched your back to chase your lips with his, unbreaking and unwavering in intensity before he closed the exchange of romance by withdrawing his lips from their proximity against your own.

“My, my,” he teased with his hawk-eyes half-hooded as he gazed at you, “what a reward that was for my efforts, vixen.”

You sighed against his teasing, your heart almost breaking for what you were about to depart from the ballroom with; but not enough to halt your strategic withdrawal.

“I will take my leave then, warlord,” you curtseyed low, the cross within your palm concealed by the gathering of your dress out to the side as you dipped in respect; a curt bow of his own with his feathered hat falling to your view.

“Until next time, little thief,” he rose from his bow as you did from your curtsey, “enjoy wallowing in your own pity as I relish in my victory. May you win the next round.”

You bit your tongue, opting to not give yourself away from his taunts while fighting the blush his voice drew out of you. Desperately hoping to never see him again to keep his golden cross all to yourself; while hopelessly longing for another chance to best him and greet him with an embrace had your heart racing, judgement clouded and eyes glazed.

“May our next meeting arrive sooner than the time parted between our first meeting and our now,” you offered him a warm smile, “I do miss your charming face and your way with words, Mihawk.”

“Flatterer,” he purred at you, before clicking his boot heels together in a curt tap while turning to rejoin the gathering of warlords and representatives of the world government.

Opting to not seek out your blades, nor locate your chaperone for the evening; you immediately danced yourself away to withdraw to the shadows of the event. Raising your right hand up to fix your mask in place, you located the nearest exit from the venue: a large arched doorway with glass panel windows on a white frame. The roses hung low from the tall arch, ivy and baby’s breath sporadically placed in lieu of the candles.

This was not the large entrance you originally entered through with your young chaperone, but the ally entrance to the finely and meticulously maintained labyrinth of green hedge-ends.

You paused, turning one last time towards the dance floor to seek out the warlord with your sights. Upon your eyes tracing the floor to meet your sights with his form, you were immediately met with the piercing yellow-eyes you were craving; he, too, seeking you out to set his eyes on yours once more before your departure.

Lips parted, a small quivered tremble in apprehension and pity fell to your face as the valuable metal remained secured within your left hand. You raked your eyes over his neck to the place his cross was once hanging, noticing how truly beautiful you found his statuesque physique.

Unfortunately for you, his brows furrowed at your sights dancing on his skin; his chin dipping, his jaw hanging slack as soon as he found vacant space instead of his inestimable necklace. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes widening as he snapped his sights back to your face.

Anger. Pure and unadulterated fury fell to his face, prompting you to shy backwards through the archway while holding his burning gaze.

The first time you bested him with your thievery, he only noticed what was taken from him as he made to purchase a pastry from a nearby bakery on his journey retuning to the inn he’d purchased for the night; finding vacant space where his wallet once was. He was angry and upset then, he was enraged and his fury burned brighter now you remained behind to witness it.

Seeing no other option, you scurried immediately to your feet as you stampeded towards the entrance of the labyrinth; the moon the only illumination for the dark emerald and navy hues of the circular leaves. Tunnelling through corner to corner of the confusing muddle of gravel, dirt and shrubs; you continued to swiftly barrel through the winding road to seek out the true exit to the maze.

Not a sound was uttered, the music far from your ears within the large ball-room not travelling far enough to grant you the pleasure of its company. Your breath picked up in hitch as you panted against the hasty retreat, your body propelling to the centre of the maze; well lit with domed fire pillars with an ornate marble table at the centre.

Five openings surrounded the table: one you just exited from, alongside three options to trap you in your doom and one to throw you into your victorious freedom. Your head bobbed frantically between the options as you debated which path to fall your feet towards. Finally choosing for the path closest to the north; your steps were halted as a knife was thrown to whistle past your eyeline and imbed itself within the cement, torched pillar beside you.

“As you have learnt from your mistakes, vixen,” his voice relayed in an agitated tone under the cover of darkness, “I, too, have learnt from mine.”

“M-Mihawk,” your voice wavered in your throat as another blade cut through the air beside your head to imbed itself lower in the pillar.

“You stole from me once,” he taunted from the shadows, “made me out to be a fool,” another blade whispered it’s sharpened edge against your cheek, not quite making contact but enough as a warning, “I despise looking to be anything less than what I am.”

“And what are you, Lord Dracule Mihawk?” your own agitation drawing itself to your brow.

“I,” he began, stepping into the light of the central area in slow and steady strides, “am the consequence you have brought upon yourself this evening.”

His feathered hat atop his head danced within the whispered wind, his eyes hidden beneath it as you stepped back to fall your lower back against the marble top of the circular table.

“And what such consequence must I prepare myself for?” you asked him with a pointed tone, “turning me over to the World Government would be low, even for you.”

He hummed a small shadow of a chuckle within his throat, tilting his head up to grace your vision with his yellow-eyes; wild with a sadistic joy above his smirking mouth.

“Turn you over?” He approached your body, raising his left hand to caress your cheek while his right sought out the blade clutched within the palm of your left hand, “such a simple solution for a complex vixen. I hardly see that as a fitting consequence for your crime.”

You swallowed a dry breath, your body screaming as you were finally captured within the talons of the mighty warlord of the sea. His fingertips brushed a stray hair behind your ear, the pad of his index finger toying at the ribbon clasping your masquerade mask close to your right eye.

“I am going to work you hard to settle your debt, little thief,” he informed you in a low whisper, his fingers trailing to the bow unifying your mask against your face, tugging on it to fall the laced object from your eyes, “from this day and all to follow, you are mine.”

[gillyeowalters]

My homebrew Space Marine chapter; the Glade Slivers.

They are based, in part, on the history of my current home region. Their home world, Lughnasa, is a Feudal World. The system's sun is incredibly dangerous and life can only exist on parts of the world that are shielded by the canopy of a mega-flora, the Myr-Tree, also known as the Worldkeeper. The inhabitants of Lughnasa see the Worldkeeper as a manifestation of the God-Emperor.

The planet is officially ruled by a governor, but most if the social and spiritual leadership is in the hands of eight farmer dynasties.

The Shatter-Bark plant plays an important role in the planet's rituals. It is a vine that grows on the Worldkeeper's roots and is known for its incredibly painful neurotoxin.

Space Marine Neophytes get seeds of the plant implanted under their skin, where it begins to sprout and grow, spreading through their arms, legs and back. With the implantation of the black carapace, the plant is removed, leaving behind distinctive scar patterns.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between the Pages

Summary: grappling with his violent past, Ettore is unexpectedly challenged by the silence of his unassuming cellmate | Word Count: 3.4k~ | warnings: mentions of noncon as a crime, violence

A/N: I've been wanting to kind of do a character heavy fic for a while since I read the interview about Ettore coming of age aboard the ship, so enjoy my take on it 😘

The darkness nibbled at the edges of him. From his feet and fingers, to his ankles and wrists, up his arms and legs. 

It curled deep in his gut, sliding around like oil inside, slick with a morbid curiosity that had lingered there for years. It crept up, weaving through his arteries and veins like vines, choking what purity there used to be, an innocent ignorance, and tainting it, into a sort of murky, sunless void.

He thought that once, he was capable of feeling anything else. Perhaps once, he was capable of love. Of some kind of affection. Maybe even deserved it.

After all, the ones you loved unconditionally, were supposed to give that same love back.

Right?

The day that darkness reached his heart, sucking the soul out of it like the way tendons and fat stick to meat as it’s torn up into chunks, was the day that Ettore understood this truth. Nobody was entitled to love. Not even him. And those people who were supposed to care, supposed to protect him, had abandoned him. What use was there in hoping for it now? He thought so often to himself. 

His body felt so heavy, felt so fucking heavy. The hatred marinated inside. Festered. What was there to do, but simply let it stay and rot? To allow it to become you.

How foolish of him to think that those who participated in making him, who chose to bring him into existence, would be able to give him the nourishment and support he wanted. That he needed. It was a story so often heard. That caregivers cared not about the people they assisted in bringing into this world. Their own children. At first, he admitted, he brushed it off.

It’s just the way my family is. Every family has different dynamics.

Until he couldn’t remember the last time his father had ever spoken to him. And then he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him. And then finally, his face. How he spoke. How he rolled up his cigarettes. He only remembered the smell of him. Fusty and deep. Like how old pubs smell. And the stench of whisky on his breath and yellowed teeth. 

He remembered being on the end of his fist most often. 

And when he was gone, though it was softer, he remembered then the palm of his mother’s. She didn’t have the strength of his father’s, but all the bite.

Trying to stay out of her way proved difficult most days. More often than not, he’d be out, even in the midst of winter as the wind nipped at his bones and the chill sank into his skin, he didn’t want to see the hysterical, screaming mess of a woman that was once his mother to be the first thing he came across when he got home. God forbid she ever spotted him.

He thought she must have thought he looked too similar to his father or something like that. Perhaps it was the eyes, the temperament or the expression. He hoped, somewhere deep, that it was perhaps the crime. Then there may have been some explanation for the way he was.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t figure it out for the life of him, so it was often easiest, to be out of her eyeline altogether. He wasn’t much better at staying out of trouble outside the confines of his home. Out there, in the big, wide world that he was so underprepared for, it was still difficult to be accepted. People had to want to be his friend, after all.

Eventually, he just didn’t even try. Though there was still a desire for acceptance, one he didn’t get by befriending men of a similar age and temperament to him. 

It felt only right, that he used the only things he felt he had, to his advantage. Looks. Talk. Confidence. Three things he was never short on.

And also the three things that fed easily into how he coped and how he eventually morphed into the person he was today. The looks got him into women’s beds, and in between their thighs too. The talk got them to stop fighting, to stay still and let him have his way. The confidence was the one thing in the end that worked to his disadvantage, thinking that the ones who he’d let get away wouldn’t say anything, and the ones he kept quiet by clamping his hands around her tiny, little necks, would inevitably fade away into non-existence. 

He still remembers the way their blood roared against his palms, how their breaths stuttered in his grip, and that addictive wide-eyed look, and the slow, blinking fade of life from their eyes. He thought there was nothing more powerful than holding someone’s very life-blood in his grip, and that was when he knew the rot had taken hold inside him. 

If he could, he would have wiped every judgemental glare off everyone in the courtroom that day. What use was there in pretending to be remorseful, as if he didn’t savour the memory of choking the hell out of those women with his dick so deep inside them still he could feel the way their bodies tried to reject him. Those are the memories he thinks of in those lonely nights in the Box. Those are the cold dark hands that drag him further and further. Until perhaps there is nowhere further to go.

Which is why she confuses him. His cellmate sleeps above him, a woman who he has strangely paid little attention to and can’t for the life of him figure out why. The narrow confines of their shared cell, with its cold, steel surfaces and harsh fluorescent lights, force a proximity that is usually unbearable for him. Yet, with her, there is an unspoken truce that puzzles him further.

There is a suffocating silence in the cell at night. Ettore’s usual trigger lay dormant for a while, an uneasy peace reigning in the small, padded space he shares with her. Unlike the other women aboard the ship, callous, loud and obnoxious, this woman keeps to herself, hovering just beyond the reach of his understanding.

Each day that goes by, he tries to solve the puzzle that she is. Why doesn’t she flinch at his gaze? Why doesn’t she cower? It’s as if she moves through a different realm, her demeanour calm, almost detached, unaffected by the chaos that typically surrounded him and the others alike, or the violence he is known for. 

She is a question without an answer, unsettling him more with each passing day. He sometimes imagines her figure from his bottom bunk, and how she would look while she sleeps, often with her eyes glued to the pages of a book. And he knows from the gentle thud of her tired hand and the half-opened novel on the mattress, that she has likely exhausted herself to sleep from reading and straining in the dark.

So he starts to look for signs, any clue that might explain her indifference, her silence. But she gives nothing away, her routine meticulous and quiet. When she reads, she never looks up. He supposes there is no reason for her to. Does anyone even know her name? Or do they do what he used to do, and just pretend she never existed in the first place? Perhaps that’s where she feels most comfortable.

It gnaws at him more than any confrontation could. His history with women was fraught with aggression, violence and brutality, but it provides no playbook for this experience. There is no anger in her silence, no fear. She merely exists in a state of complete neutrality, leaving him to wonder why she is even in prison in the first place. This indifference to life itself, it seems, is more disarming than any verbal or physical challenge. 

He hopes for a flicker of annoyance when he makes too much noise coming back to their shared cell some nights. But nothing. He hopes for the one day she glances up from her book, eyes clear and calm, as if nothing is wrong. 

She was like a candle unlit. A sheet of snow upon the ground without a fault or a footstep to taint it. Like a notebook you kept but didn't have the heart to write in for the first time, for the fear of ruining the very first page.

So it is that night, he lays with his hands behind his head, ever kept in a state of wide-eyed curiosity, when he hears the familiar thud of her tired hand dropping her novel. She never seems annoyed when she loses her place in her story, she simply gets up in the morning, and places something flat where she thinks she was, and is more than happy to start all over again. 

Despite the silence, his mind races, thoughts swirling and colliding in the shadows. He’s grown accustomed to the rhythms of their cohabitation, the sound of her breathing, the slight shifts of her body in the bunk above him, the soft rustle of pages turning. These sounds punctuate his nights, a constant reminder of her presence.

And yet, tonight, there’s a different kind of awareness, a curiosity that edges toward something he can’t quite name. It’s not desire, not the kind he’s known before, which was always tangled with aggression and control. This is something else, something quieter, more invasive. He wants to see her as she sleeps, to witness her in a moment of unguarded vulnerability, not to disturb or dominate, but to understand.

This thought, this need to see her face relaxed in sleep, strikes him with a pang of guilt. Even in the dim light of self-awareness, he recognises that this impulse feels like a violation, an intrusion into her silent world. He’s used to taking space, not just physically but emotionally, imposing his will on others as a way to affirm his existence. But with her, the dynamics are different. She offers nothing to conquer, only a silence to be filled, and in that silence, his own reflections become too loud, too clear.

Lying there, Ettore wrestles with the pull of his curiosity and the weight of his past. He knows too well the darkness that lives within him, the ease with which he could turn a moment of curiosity into something far more sinister. The battle within him is a quiet one, but intense. The thought of crossing the boundary, even just to see her in her sleep, stirs a deep-seated fear that he might revert to the man he was, the man he still is, underneath the surface of this uneasy peace.

His limbs move as if detached from his will. He places one hand on the cold metal of the ladder, then another, his movements slow, deliberate. Every rung of the ladder creaks softly under his weight, a grim soundtrack to his betrayal of self-promises. His heart pounds in his ears, not with excitement, but with a dread that feels both foreign and familiar.

As he ascends, each step feels heavier, burdened not by physical weight but by the gravity of his intentions. He pauses halfway, his body tensed, his mind screaming for him to retreat. But the pull is too strong, the need to see her, to understand why she affects him so profoundly, why she can exist so close to him yet remain a world apart.

Reaching the top, Ettore pauses, barely breathing. He is close enough now to hear her gentle breaths, the soft exhale of sleep that seems so at odds with the storm raging in his soul. She is a portrait of peace, her eyelids fluttering slightly with dreams he cannot begin to fathom. He yearns to understand her not because she is an enigma, but because in her quiet resilience, he sees a reflection of what he might have been, what he still could be. It's a longing not only to understand but also to be understood, to be seen not as the sum of his past actions but as the person he struggles to become.

He approaches her bunk with a reverence that surprises him. As he lays down gently beside her, he is acutely aware of the sanctity of the moment, of her trust not to be breached and of his own resolve not to revert to the man he knows he really is deep down. 

But there is a vulnerability that is roused in him when he watches her like this, and he doesn't recognise or like it one bit. It'd be so easy to just wrap his hands around her neck, like he had done before so instinctively, and be rid of her. Maybe then he wouldn't question this side of himself that has bubbled to the surface.

The mere idea of putting his fingers around her throat has adrenaline soaring in his veins.

But Ettore pulls back from the precipice of this dark impulse almost as quickly as it arises. The primal, instinctual urge to eliminate what confuses him, to destroy rather than confront, surges within him, his hands tensing at his sides. Yet, as he watches her, her chest gently rising and falling with each breath, he finds himself caught in a storm of conflicting emotions.

It's horrifying, the ease with which violence still beckons to him. The quiet, once a cloak she wrapped around herself, now envelops him too. The battle is not with her, not even with the world outside, but inside. But this realisation does not bring peace. Far from it.

Feeling as if his heart in his throat, his palm hovers above her body, starting from her legs. He is trembling, leaving an inch of space that feels like a chasm. And yet he can feel the heat of her form, as if radiating from her skin and pulsing into his.

He passes over her hips, his eyes zeroed in on a slither of skin that has become visible beneath her sleeping shirt. It beckons to him like a test of his will. If she were anyone else, one hand would hold her down, while the other would rip her sweatpants off and-

He clenches his fist tight, his eyes mirroring the struggle. Every moment he chooses restraint, he is redefining himself.

And yet as he descends the steps down from her bunk, she hadn't moved an inch and the prospect of her being a deep sleeper makes the intrusive desire to do this again ever more prevalent. It doesn’t reassure him at this point, rather it feeds into the dangerous allure of doing it again, and again, and again.

And each time in the days following, what he does becomes more bold, skirting around the edges of darkness he knows full well lurks beneath. He waits every night for the thud of her book on the bed, for her quiet breathing to let him know that it is safe to venture into what feels like dangerous territory.

Hovered hands become soft brushes against her flesh. Initially, these contacts are mere brushes, fleeting and barely there, against her arms, perhaps unintentionally grazing her leg, or the slope of her shoulder. With each night, his touches grow slightly more deliberate, and when he has straddled that line too closely and she stirs or readjusts, he feels his heart quicken and chest tighten. Sometimes he almost wants her to wake up, just to see what he would instinctively do.

This dangerous game continues, each touch a test of his self-control. His fingers linger a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek one night, the warmth of her breath against his hand, and the next day he struggles to even glance in her direction alongside the torrent of emotions within him. The fear that he is becoming the monster he dreads appears more real than ever. The very act of touching her in her sleep, though innocent, yet an invasion of her privacy and autonomy, is a stark reminder of the control he once wielded without thought.

He understands now that this cannot continue. The path he is on, though it started with a quest for understanding and connection, is veering dangerously close to old patterns that had once felt familiar. And yet with her of which he cannot even envision.

He knows the only way to break this cycle, to truly change, is to confront the situation directly and honestly. No more silent, uninvited intrusions in the dark; he needs to face her in the light, to speak to her and gauge her response, to decide his next steps based on a genuine interaction rather than his own conjectures and impulses.

All the scenarios run rampant in his mind, stealing every quiet moment in his day to day life seemingly without effort. 

He is desperate to hear her voice, just for him, a sound to anchor the whirlwind inside.

If he speaks and she glances up from between her precious pages, with a look of fear, judgement, anger…there just might still be violence screaming in his gut. He imagines, with a chilling clarity, how he might react. To watch those eyes that have never landed upon him, wide-eyed and panicked with fear, her hands that would usually hold those delicate covers as if they were sentient, thrashing and scratching at his skin for escape.

However, if her eyes meet his with calmness, a soft but unyielding clarity, it might signal a different path. Such a look could secure him, pull him back from the brink, offering a glimpse of a different kind of interaction, one rooted in mutual respect rather than fear.

Throughout the day, Ettore wrestles with the decision to approach her at an unusual time, a moment outside their routine interactions, which are typically defined by the unspoken boundaries and silent acknowledgements of shared space. The weight of this choice, loaded with the potential for a shift in their dynamic, presses on him.

Finally, as the day bleeds into evening, he steels himself and walks towards their cell, a path he has traversed countless times yet now feels distinctly different. His footsteps echo slightly in the empty corridor, a hollow sound that seems to beat in rhythm with his anxious heart. He pauses at the doorway, his hand resting against the cold metal frame for a moment. He had never been short on confidence, until right this moment.

She is there, as always, perched on her bed with a book cradled in her lap, her attention fully absorbed by the pages. The familiar sight of her, so engrossed in her literary world, momentarily steadies him. "Hey," he calls out softly, his voice slightly rough around the edges from the turmoil inside him.

At the sound of his voice, she looks up, her expression shifting from concentrated reading to mild surprise. Her eyes meet his, clear and calm, carrying none of the fear or judgement he had feared. "Hey," she responds simply, her voice a quiet echo to his own.

In that brief exchange, just a single word spoken by each, there's a palpable shift. It's not a definitive answer to all his internal questions, but it grants him a moment of reprieve from his fears of eliciting a negative reaction. So he stands there, momentarily rooted to the spot by the simplicity and normalcy of her response. And it is this moment where her eyes are piercing right into him that he is offered his first real glimpse into her as well. Features he had usually seen undisturbed by the quiet of sleep felt familiar and yet uncharted now, such as the flutter of her eyelashes and the decorating of freckles across her cheeks, and the small, curious pupils looking between his eyes as if for an answer.

Realising he's been standing silent for too long, Ettore scrambles mentally for something to say, to break the growing awkwardness that feels almost like a first encounter. His lips part, ready to forge some semblance of normal conversation.

No sooner are his lips parted that he is rendered into silence he once would have expected from her. She dog-eared the page, closed her book off her lap and brushed her hair from her face, and spoke with a soft tone laden with genuine concern. It feels like an invitation, a door opening to endless possibilities where she has seen past the facade of toughness to the raw, uncertain man beneath. She invites him into a space where he can be vulnerable, and yet he is still unsure if he even wants to be there. Can those raging, endless violent impulses ever be quieted by just a couple of words?

“You okay?”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy

@justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3

[girlactionfigure]

1 Nobel Prize in Chemistry - The Development of Multiscale Models for Complex Chemical Systems

2 Nobel Prize in Chemistry - Quasiperiodic Crystals

3 Nobel Prize in Chemistry - Decoding the Structure and The Function of The Ribosome

4 Nobel Prize in Economic Sciences - Repeated Games

5 Nobel Prize in Chemistry – Ubiquitin, Deciding the Fate of Defective Proteins in Living Cells

6 Nobel Prize in Economics - Human Judgment and Decision-Making Under Uncertainty

7 Fields Medal Award in Mathematics

8 Turing Award - Machine Reasoning Under Uncertainty

9 Turing Award - Nondeterministic Decision-Making

10 Turing Award - The Development of Interactive Zero-Knowledge Proofs

11 Turing Award - Developing New Tools for Systems Verification

12 Vine Seeds Discovered from The Byzantine Period

13 The World’s Most Ancient Hebrew Inscription

14 Ancient Golden Treasure Found at Foot of Temple Mount

15 Sniffphone - Mobile Disease Diagnostics

16 Discovering the Gene Responsible for Fingerprints Formation

17 Pillcam - For Diagnosing and Monitoring Diseases in The Digestive System

18 Technological Application of The Molecular Recognition and Assembly Mechanisms Behind Degenerative Disorders

19 Exelon – A Drug for The Treatment of Dementia

20 Azilect - Drug for Parkinson’s Disease

21 Nano Ghosts - A “Magic Bullet” For Fighting Cancer

22 Doxil (Caelyx) For Cancer Treatment

23 The Genetics of Hearing

24 Copaxone - Drug for The Treatment of Multiple Sclerosis

25 Preserving the Dead Sea Scrolls

26 Developing the Biotechnologies of Valuable Products from Red Marine Microalgae

27 A New Method for Recruiting Immune Cells to Fight Cancer

28 Study of Bacterial Mechanisms for Coping with Temperature Change

29 Steering with The Bats 30 Transmitting Voice Conversations Via the Internet

31 Rewalk – An Exoskeleton That Enables Paraplegics to Walk Again

32 Intelligent Computer Systems

33 Muon Detectors in The World's Largest Scientific Experiment

34 Renaissance Robot for Spine and Brain Surgery

35 Mobileye Accident Prevention System

36 Firewall for Computer Network Security

37 Waze – Outsmarting Traffic, Together

38 Diskonkey - USB Flash Drive

39 Venμs Environmental Research Satellite

40 Iron Dome – Rocket and Mortar Air Defense System

41 Gridon - Preventing Power Outages in High Voltage Grids

42 The First Israeli Nanosatellite

43 Intel's New Generation Processors

44 Electroink - The World’s First Electronic Ink for Commercial Printing

45 Development of A Commercial Membrane for Desalination

46 Developing Modern Wine from Vines of The Bible

47 New Varieties of Seedless Grapes

48 Long-Keeping Regular and Cherry Tomatoes

49 Adapting Citrus Cultivation to Desert Conditions

50 Rhopalaea Idoneta - A New Ascidian Species from The Gulf of Eilat

51 Life in The Dead Sea - Various Fungi Discovered in The Brine

52 Drip Technology - The Irrigation Method That Revolutionized Agriculture

53 Repair of Heart Tissues from Algae

54 Proof of The Existence of Imaginary Particles, Which Could Be Used in Quantum Computers

55 Flying in Peace with The Birds

56 Self-Organization of Bacteria Colonies Sheds Light on The Behaviour of Cancer Cells

57 The First Israeli Astronaut, Colonel Ilan Ramon

58 Dr. Chaim Weizmann - Scientist and Statesman, The First President of Israel, One of The Founders of The Modern Field of Biotechnology

59 Aaron Aaronsohn Botanist, Agronomist, Entrepreneur, Zionist Leader, and Head of The Nili Underground Organization

60 Albert Einstein - Founding Father of The Theory of Relativity, Co-Founder of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem

61 Maimonides - Doctor and Philosopher

Source

@TheMossadIL

[sheepwavehdg]

HDG Story Recs: Sheepwaveiverse

so, fuck it, gonna do a writeup of all my own major fics. if they have a genderswapped version, that has its own link. this isn't actually even all of them, some of my oneshots are not on the list. mid length means under 50k words.

Sweet Poppy (F/f), (M/f edit) [Mid length, Completed] - yandere comedy erotica

Amelia is an independent human, who is dating Poppy, one of the aliens that conquered humanity and is known for taking pets. fortunately, Poppy doesn't want a human as a pet, and Amelia is definitely immune to mind control anyway. Its normal for your girlfriend to give you a necklace that doesn't come off, right? And being played with like a docile, empty doll is just a kink thing... As is the training and conditioning... Right? A comedy yandere erotica story with just a tiny bit of psychological horror.

Good Sensory (F/f), (M/f edit)  [Mid length, ongoing] - autism, asexuality, fluff romance, split human/affini pov

A fluffy autism-celebrating kink/romance story about learning to unmask and be loved as the person you actually are, rather than the one you think you're supposed to be. Sally Fable is easily overwhelmed. bad textures, bad sensations, all of it. she also has a lot of experience being made fun of for how passionate she can get. Marsha Lywick is an alien from beyond the stars who wants to break Sally's masking habits and turn her into the cutest little pet imaginable.

Cat and Mouse (F/f) [Long, ongoing, but in an extended epilogue, the plot is complete] - Predprey, dollkink, plurality

Jenny, an extremely clever rebel, fights tooth and tail against her domestication by the Huntress affini Tamai, managing to outsmart the affini several times along the way. an examination of plurality, how hard it is to trust when you've been burned over and over, and the sapphic eroticism of being chased down in the woods. notably features pred/prey and CGL dollkink. Perhaps the sharpest story in the entire setting, do not go in expecting a story without conflict.

Sycanthe Lantana, First Bloom (F/f) [Mid length, Completed] - comedy, romance, affini pov

an extreme youngbloom with a lot of anxiety navigates her savior complex and her role in the affini compact, helped along by her beloved floret. a sweet romcom. This one is fairly lighthearted and sweet.

Sweet Tooth (F/f) [mid length, ongoing] - kidnap intox sweet tooth fixation noncon

Cowritten with PyxxieStyxx! Katherine Stanton has a very rigid, structured life. she likes her plain oatmeal every day, and reading in the park, even though her home assistant AI nags her to stop wearing grey all the time and mix things up. Sirata Saccharum, fifth bloom, thinks Katherine needs an intervening helping vine to inject a little sweetness into her life, and isn't terribly concerned that Katherine disagrees.

Master, Daddy, and Kitten (M/M/f) [mid length, ongoing] - sweet, poly ace kink, autistic catgirl

a collab with ashinbloom. Kitten is a draftee in a cosmic navy she hates. when two handsome alien plant husbands rescue her, she falls for thier charms very fast. a happy sweet triangle results. a soft, fluffy ace kinky pladdy love story about two adorkable plant husbands and thier pet who is a woman in a cat way.

Cutting Away (F/f, 2nd person) [oneshot] - horror-erotica, noncon, implantation

A horror-erotica story about implantation, set in the human domestication guide universe, exploring the actual process of the implant integration with a human brain.

Alder's Prize (M/f), Adelira's Prize(F/f) [Mid length, Completed] - Noncon, forcefem, scent kink

A forcefem story about a marine who thinks "he" is an alpha wolf gets adopted by an affini who intends to have the happiest little puppygirl slut as a trophy. cowritten with 4WheelSword.

Surrogate Bloom (pansexual) [Mid length, ongoing] - pregnancy kink, polyamory, independent life

a xenophilic hedonist independent human in her fifties, Hannah, is proposed with an idea: let her girlfriend Reiko and her alien boyfriend grow plant biotech inside her lower abdomen for kink reasons. shes super into it, but the journey involves unpacking a lot of why maternalism is something she thinks she can only ever pretend at.

A Taste of Class-Ω (F/f, 2nd person) [oneshot] - Class-O play, Affini Pov, romantic but also kinda scary

a reader(affini) x floret story where 'you' tease your pet with a simulated class-O experience.

Ache of Maculatum (M/f), Song of Picaria (F/f) [Long, Completed] - romance, transhumanism, trauma processing

one of the most brilliant physicists of the terran accord plants her feet in the ground and refuses to adapt to the Compact. This story is both a very horny transhumanist romance, and also a character study in internalized transmisogny, narcisism, and still deserving love no matter what.

The Captain's Toy (M/m) (M/f) (F/f) [oneshot] - imperialism, posthumanism, mind control kink

A standalone sequel oneshot to Aom/Sop, set 750 years later.

Hope for the Future (F/f, 2nd person) [oneshot] - Noncon, Affini Pov, horror-erotica

a second person Affini POV oneshot about meeting a terran "you" (the reader) just really can't stop thinking about, maybe to the point of obsession... A story as much about kink as it is about complicated feelings about art, parasociality, and being misinterpreted.

HDG, Past//Present//Future [Nonfiction Essay]

a nonfiction critical analysis of the Human Domestication Guide setting, community, and fandom as it exists and may change moving forward, from the perspective of an author who writes it.

Vex and Valda (M/f) (F/f edit) [Short, Completed....maybe?] - edgy noncon erotica

a short but very mean forcefem noncon story about a trillionare being taught the value of sharing.

Pencil (F/f) [oneshot] - comedy-erotica, hypnosis, object fixation

A very chill human pet and her extremely anxious owner engage in some silly hypnotic roleplaying with personality overlays and object fixation.

Your Alien Boyfriend Who Definitely Sees You As His Full Equal (M/f second person), (F/f second person edit) [oneshot] - erotica, sadomasochism, dubcon

A oneshot, written in second person about "your" alien partner that likes to play along with the notion you aren't already thier toy, adores how much of a doll you become in thier arms, and knows how much you like to be hurt- better than you do.

David, the Independent Terran (M/f, Male mc) [oneshot] - slice of life, just a guy, independent life, he fucks trans girls and is a cool dude

David is a cisgendered, heterosexual independent Terran living in the Affini compact. No, seriously. He actually is all of those things. His buddies, of course, are now all queer transfem human pets, and this is a story about what parts of thier dynamic have changed, and what parts have stayed the same.

A Wedding In Crimson (F/f second person) [oneshot] - wedding, romance, surgery

Implantation is very analogous to marriage to the affini. what if they were literally combined into a single ceremony? A oneshot, written in second person about "your" wedding to an affini surgeon.

Kristina_Rushko's Domestication Blog (F/f) [oneshot] - Noncon, Experimental formatting

An absolute Karen starts a blog to vent about how she's going to give the affini a piece of her mind when they arrive. things diverge from her expectations.

[barn-anon]

You look back at your house as the taxi drives off, clutching your carry on luggage in your hand. You don't want to leave him but... it felt suffocating, disheartening having to spend everyday with a Custodes that pushes you away at every turn.

There were nice moments with him, he's a good roommate you suppose. Though you can't help but feel unsatisfied, cheated even. Why did others get Space Marines that would dote on and love them so freely while you got stuck with him? I-it's not fair! You want that warm, loving, supportive relationship. Want to come home from work and be able to hug your Custodes.

You sigh as you look out the window, watching the scenery pass by. Odysseus disappears every few months for a few days and you decided to take this moment to leave without him knowing. It isn't right... running from him when he has stayed with you all this time. Would he miss you though? He hasn't done much to show that he truly cares that much about you.

It's just a two week vacation... maybe. You don't know. Maybe you will come back, maybe you won't. You feel guilty for leaving, you feel relieved to be away. Wanting him here, freedom that he isn't.

Odysseus returns to his human's house after 5 days in the wilderness. He stops the moment his human's home is in view, narrowing his eyes. It's dirty. The leaves aren't swept and as he gets closer, he can see a layer of dust that's starting to build on the surfaces.

No sighs of a struggle or fight, there's some food in the fridge, clearly left for him. But where is his human? Where is HIS human? He growls, agitated as he searches the house for her. Panic building within him, until he finds a note on her desk.

An apology. From her to him. Apologizing for leaving, that she just needs time away. Away from him? She promises that she will come back eventually. Why doesn't she mention when she will be back? She just needs to be alone and think about what she wants in the future. A future without him?

The chains that bind him to his Master ring out their slick, filthy delight and joy. Good, now he can devote his time to the Emperor. The vines of his bond to her writhe and scream, thorns digging into his soul as it punishes him for his failure to keep her happy and close. How dare he drive her away, doesn't he know how precious a gift this bond is?

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

Thanks @bleedingichorhearts !

[0nceuponathrone]

Jojo character special interest hcs cause me and my wife are Autistic and say it to be so:

Jonathan: Dogs (specifically dog training and breeds)

Joseph: Pinups (the art style)

Jotaro: marine life (obv)

Jolyne: Entomology

Jean Pierre Polnareff: Toilets/Bathrooms by extension

Kakyoin: Horror media (specifically video games)

Avdol: Tarot (a bit basic but still a goodie)

Holy: plants (vines and weeds)

Giorno: plants (flowers)

Fugo: history

Mista: weapons (guns specifically)

Leone: Old film (specifically the film itself but knows a lot about the movies)

Narancia: Music

Trish: Makeup

Bruno: fashion and clothing