#warnings in description

[violentvaleska]

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆

ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʏᴀɴ!ʟᴇᴠɪ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀs ʜɪs ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ sᴜʙᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴇsɪʀᴀʙʟᴇ ғᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ-ɪɴᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ-ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄs, sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ, ᴍɪsᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀʙᴜsɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, sᴍᴜᴛ, ��ᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴅᴜʙᴄᴏɴ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ

Levi doesn't really know what has drawn him to you. Perhaps your eagerness to please or your fearful and awe driven gaze directed him. Maybe it was your cute smile or the elegant way you held yourself. It certainly wasn't the fact that you were born in the safety of Mitras and your weak excuse of combat wasn't it either. While you appear to be smart and talented with the ODM gear, you certainly wouldn't do fighting titans. It's that simple. Your purpose as a soldier would probably be death, giving your life for humanity. Levi hates that fact; he despises the idea of you dying. You were subordinated to him after you joined the Survey Corps a year ago and if it wasn't for him, you would have been eaten and ripped apart on more occasions than he would like to admit. 

He expected you to be just that, a rich brat. Probably narcissistic and an egomaniac, having only your own desires in best interest. Most likely arrogant and always bragging about your accomplishments, like Oluo. To his surprise you were nothing like that. Your star struck eyes would always look up to him, a mixture of hope and awe in them. You would follow his every comment, much like Petra, but unlike her you were still in need of extra training.

The Captain always held you close. He would make you stay longer in training, so you could get better and stronger. After he would tell you to shower and meet him in his office to help him with paperwork, something that definitely wasn't in your range of duty. He abused his power over you, using your eagerness to help for his own advantage. Levi thrived, still does, in your attention and obedient behavior. He quite often thinks about you, wondering why a brat of Mitras would join the military. You had no reason to; a rich family, fulfilled life. And while he doesn't enjoy the thought of you with another man, you would have probably married someone of your class and bore him children. These thoughts made him realize that it might be the reason why you left. You did not want to be treated like a baby machine, did not want to marry a stranger twice your age. The Scouts made you free, or so you thought. Truth is you'd never be free, not as long as your Captain was around. It made him wonder what your life was like in Mitras. You were a late bloomer; joined when you turned eighteen, he knew that much. You probably waited to legally decide your fate on your own, without having to worry about your parents intervening. He remembers that day he looked over all of the reports of his new Cadets. You caught his interest.

"Fucking Mitras brat." He spat.

And then Eren came around. Levi was aware of his importance and upcoming changes that would occur with the moment he stepped foot into the Corps. Levi sat in Erwin's office drinking tea while he rolled his eyes at Hange’s rambling, their loud voice caused him a headache. 

"We need you to pick a new squad, Levi. Your Cadets will be handed over to Miche, so you have time to prepare your soldiers for the special operation. " Erwin explained and gave them a meaningful glance. He felt sour at the thought, but eventually decided to dare his luck a little.

"Sure. Am I allowed to hand-pick my new squad?" The blonde, tall man rolled his eyes, giving him a cold facade. 

"Yes. I trust you on your decisions. Do you have anyone specific in mind?" In his head, Levi screamed your name in desperation. 

"Eld is a fine soldier. Petra Ral and Oluo Bozado would be suited too." He halted, glaring at him as he waited for Erwin to agree. He did so gladly. 

"There is someone else." Levi noted and cleared his throat. The Commander gave him a sad look, feeling regret twirling in his gut. 

"You want to drag her into this?" Erwin wondered, hoping to motivate his friend to change his mind. 

"You said you would trust my decisions." Erwin stopped arguing and Levi knew he had Smith wrapped around his finger. He would give him almost anything if it meant that the Captain was happy. Confused Hange scratched their head. "Who are you talking about?" They asked directed at Erwin, they didn't expect an answer from Levi anyways. 

"A Cadet from Levi's current squad." It didn't take more to form Hange’s lips into an 'O' shape as awkward silence hit them. Rumors had already spread in the upper ranks of the squad about Levi being madly in love with his subordinate. The Captain would never dare to call it love though. No, he just gets off on the idea of having control over the Mitras brat. 

"Why did you choose me?" You asked him when the two of you cleaned the hall of your new headquarters, an abandoned castle. It's dirty and if there was something Levi hated more than stains on his clothes it certainly was an unclean environment. 

"Are you questioning my decisions brat?" He felt good, turning the words in your mouth so you would feel sorry.

"I would never dare to, Captain!" You raised your voice in fear, looking at him with hurt. 

"It's just-" You started shuddering at his cold stare, knowing you had to choose your next words wisely.

"There are so many others who are better than me." He nodded his head and agreed with you, your polite smile falling. He felt almost bad, but the thin line of feeling bad and boiling lust was conflicted within him. 

"But I have my reasons. You have other useful qualities." He encouraged her. 

"Like what?" Levi sighted and gritted his teeth, fletching them at her. 

"Oi, shut up now. The floors don't clean themselves." Shrinking under him you held your breath and whispered a small 'sorry Sir' continuing your cleaning duties. 

You didn't have dinner tonight, not enough time to eat. You relaxed in the showers and thought about your mistakes for too long. You shouldn't have lost your temper, shouldn't have raised your voice, after all Captain Levi is your superior, you don't know what has gotten into you. Petra tried to offer you comfort. "He's just stressed." She assured you, as she held your crying body in her arms. "I'm sure he only wants to talk things out with you! You mean a lot to him, I can tell." Her words were smoothing and the two of you made their way into the showers, relaxing under the warm stream of water. 

In his mind the two of you got closer over the past three weeks you were at the castle. With every passing day he got more and more desperate, bombing you with training. Learning about the true purpose of the 57th expedition, he had to make sure that you were safe. The hard work made you feel exhausted and after you had to repeat the same exercise for what felt like the hundredth time you simply snapped.

"I can't do this anymore!" You screamed, while you lost your calm demeanor. Throwing a tantrum around Levi, criticizing him at the same time, wasn't the best idea, you'll admit. The Captain angrily shut you up and squeezed your arm under his tight grip. He felt pissed, angry way beyond your pathetic imagination.

"If you don't get better you will die. I can’t always be there to save your sorry ass Cadet." He was aggressive and shook your body. 

"Then don't! I'm a soldier, it would be an honor to die for your cause." It was the first time he had violently touched you; the back of his hand smacking against your skin. His squad held their breaths in shock and didn't know how to react to his outburst. It wasn't unusual for Levi to get physical with people that misbehaved, but with you it was something else. Never did he lay his hands on you, except in training of course. You were quiet, other than the quiet whimpers that left your lips. It urged him to do worse. 

"Are you dense? You stupid brat don't even know what it means to die in honor. You should have stayed in Mitras with that attitude. I'm in no need of suicidal soldiers." You started crying at this point, shaking under his hands. He felt adrenaline shot into his abdomen, a nice tingle made his member slightly twitch at the sight of you. 

"Then why did you choose me?" He was close to hitting you again, his hand bawling into a fist; knuckles shining white. 

"Meet me in an hour in my office. Clean yourself up, you smell." With that he let you go and walked past his squat, eyebrows furrowing as Petra ran to your side, offering comfort. You didn't deserve that; he thought and shook his head in anger. The two of you were too soft. 

After that you dressed in your fresh formal-uniform and brushed your wet hair behind your ears, trying to appear as neat and dolled up as always, a habit that stuck with you ever since you were a little girl. Your parents made sure that your appearance would match your status as a wealthy Mitras girl. You hated it there, felt trapped and lonely. Some things that were taught to you stayed with you though, like taking good care of your body, always keeping your stuff clean or being polite. Of course, you learned to obey others, especially men, too. They prepared you to be a good wife. It scared you, made you feel sick; the thought of marrying a stranger gave you anxiety. It's why you decided to leave and enlisted in the Training Corps, making your parents disappointed. You felt guilty, as much as you do now. You displeased your Captain, the one you looked up to, the one that makes you eager to submit. You would do anything and perhaps, tonight you will. 

Those thoughts cross your mind as you stand in front of his office and private quarters. The upper ranks really have nice privileges. Your heart pounds against your chest, as you softly knock on the wood. Footsteps emerge as you fitch with the hem of your dress shirt. The door creaks open, revealing your Captain to you. He takes a step to the side, offering you access to his office with a spread arm. You don't look at him when you enter, head hanging low, and eyes fixed on the ground. Your punishment might be a severe one, probably physical discipline. He did punish you twice, made you run around the headquarters for three hours or leave out all the meals once. But this time is going to be much worse, and you know it's the way he looks at you that makes you question his sanity. You should feel ashamed of that. 

"You know Cadet, I could tell that you were on edge as of lately." He starts and takes a seat, making you stand opposite of his desk. 

"And I get it, we all are." He places his slender hands on the wooden surface, the same hands that caused you pain an hour ago. 

"But raising your voice against your Captain? Arguing with him, with me-“ he scoffs leaning forward.

"Now that's disrespectful on a new level. What happened? Did I finally break my favorite toy?" Levi mocks, a sinister expression on his usual stoic face. The last sentence got to you, eyes widening, a little displeased groan escapes you, eyebrows furrowing at the insult. Though, instead of sharing your discomfort with him, you simply answer: "Sorry Captain. It won't happen again." At that he rolls his eyes, shaking his head disappointed. 

"That did not answer my question. Did I break you yet, Cadet?" You wonder if the thought of emotionally dragging you down would please him. It would make sense, he always did show sadistic tendencies around you, bombing you with dehumanizing duties. You agreed to do them with a smile, hoping it would please him and it did. Now you wonder if it just egged him on to be much harsher with you. 

"I was close." You confess and fold your hands in your front, blankly returning his gaze. 

"Good. I hope you know why I'm pushing you harder than the others." His tongue slightly brushes over his dry lips, as he locks his steel-colored eyes on your form. You take a moment to think and hesitantly speak up after a few seconds. 

"I believe it's because I'm not as good as the others." A small smile spreads over his lips as he stands up again. You never saw him smile; it slightly starts to weird you out.

"Correct. You would die out there, I can't have that." Levi walks up to you in a slow pace, his relaxed state dominating the room. You swallow, taking a step back as he closes in. 

"Captain? May I ask why you can't have me dying?" A sight leaves him, as he places a hard on your shoulder, stopping you from moving. 

"Aren't you a nosey girl?" Your Captain states and places his other hand on your other shoulder as well. A bit of panic rises in your gut at the touch. The Captain was never one to show affection and this strange touch simply can't mean anything good. 

"Why did you order me here?" The question lingers in the air like a heavy prayer, making Levi's hands grip your delicate shoulders tighter. 

"Tch. Want me to show you?" He's seconds away from doing something stupid and both of you know it. 

"Yes, please." You murmur and break the contact of your stare, allowing him full authority. With excitement his hands glide from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer. He leans to the level of your ear, warm breath and the sudden closeness making you stiffen.

"What I'm going to show you is either a reward-" you feel his hands softly roam your curves, making you start shaking at the feeling it provides you. Not sure if it is desperation or despair, you let quiet whines out, encouraging him to grip your bum. 

"-or a punishment." You yelp as the same hand that caressed you moments ago gave your behind a harsh slap. Biting down onto your lip, you try to push him away from you to no use. He doesn't even buckle under your weak attempts.

"It's going to be up to you, silly Cadet." He whispers and slowly starts to move his head down your neck, placing tingling kisses at your vulnerable areas. Denying that his hands and lips feel pleasurable on your body would be a lie. It feels good, adrenaline rises in your gut as you think about how wrong this is. Superior ranks to yours shouldn't use you the way he does, after all you could report him for his inappropriate behaviors. Though it probably won't be to any good use, because Commander Erwin closed his eyes to the strange relationship of yours months ago. You know that most of the upper ranks suspect something between the two of you and yet nobody came to your help so far, because they don't want to anger Captain Levi. 

At some point you are a mess; cheeks flushed, heart beating rapidly, and your flesh is painted in bite marks. His hands hold you up and keep you from falling into his erratic body.

"Captain-" you wince and grip him weakly against your heated form, allowing even more contact between the two of you. 

"Hm?" He hums and lets his hand wander between your legs, making your posture stiffen. 

"This is wrong Captain, please-" you finish your sentence with a moan as his fingers dance circles around your clit, a wonderful sensation erecting in your abdomen.

"Shut up, it is not." He insists and slowly takes a few steps forward, making you stumble back at the unexpected movement. The both of you crash against his table and with a swift motion it's empty, papers and pens landing on the floor. He quickly makes use of your shocked self and pushes you down onto it, hour back connecting with the hardwood. A sound of pain rings through the room and it takes you a while to register what's happening. Levi presses your body down with his, his heavy breathing catches your attention and the next thing you notice is something hard against your thigh. At first you thought it was his hip bone, but after he starts rubbing it against you realization hits you. Feeling yourself blushing furiously, heat spreads through your stomach like a wildfire. You try to push him away, brushing his hand from you, which only causes him to grind harder against you. 

"No," you whine as he bites your earlobe. "Levi stop!" Your voice sounds muffled, a few tears run down your hot cheeks. He stills for a moment before resuming. Your hips arch upwards, pushing into his hardened length. He groans, mouth wide open while his eyes are squeezed shut. Moving his head from your shoulder to rest his face right below your ear, he whispers:

"You are to call me Captain, Cadet." His breath is warm against your neck, the rough sound of his deep voice sends shivers down your spine, and you let out a whimper that sounds like a plea. He smirks slightly, enclosing his hand around your throat. 

"And I'm calling you mine." He decides and opens your dress shirt, exposing your bodice and skin underneath. In a matter of a minute, you wrinkle completely naked underneath him; plank panic written on your face. He on the other hand is completely dressed, only making the effort to loosen the first two buttons of his shirt. His cravat is placed in your mouth to make you shut up and he observes you with dark eyes, while he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows. 

"You look so beautiful." He whispers and brushes over your cheek, wetting his thumb with your salty tears. His pupils are blown as he slowly fitches with his pants, pulling out his member to the cool air. 

"Please-" you cry out, not sure if you want him to continue or to stop. He looks good that way; black hair falling into his pale face and his posture hovering over your vulnerable form. 

"No, I deserve you this way." He breathes out and leans down.

"You are my subordinate, my soldier. Mine." He groans and starts to slowly rub circles between your already wet folds. 

"Ever since you joined the Scouts you have been nothing but submissive-" He trails off and enters you with his finger, making you whimper. 

Levi thrusts even harder and throws his head back until a deep growl rings through your ears and you feel him twitch. For a moment he thought about coming inside of you, impregnating you so you wouldn't have to attend the expeditions anymore. Eventually he decides against it, the risks of getting into serious trouble are too high. He watches as hot strings of his semen trip onto your lower bell, his face twisting in disgust. He grabs for a napkin in his pant pockets and cleans himself and your skin, making sure that not one single drop is left. He ever so slightly looks at you, trying to read your reaction. Are you scared? Pleased? He can't tell. 

"But I guess people can change, hugh?" He pulls out and leads his finger to his lips, greedily tasting you. Closing your eyes in shame, you bit down on the cloth between your lips, feeling the dip of something hot press against your entrance. You can't hold back your cry when he slides it inside you, stretching you open to take all you are willing to give. His pace increases slightly after he waited for a minute so you could adjust. His hands run through your hair, tugging at any loose strands. Your heart races and your hands ball into fists as you try your best to ignore the burning pain you are in. Levi doesn't stop once. With an angry grunt he slams himself inside and you moan loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist, digging your nails into his broad shoulders. The cloth in your mouths loosens and you take the opportunity, spitting it out.

"Captain. Please-" You cry as you feel your nails digging into his flesh, breaking his pure skin easily. The harsh movements of his hips slowly start to feel enjoyable, the slapping sound of skin ringing in your ears.

"I knew I liked you better when you were quiet." He breathes as he thrusts in and out of you, faster than before. When you thought about your first time it certainly didn’t cross your mind that it would be like this; rough and full hatred. Not understanding why, you would feel pleasure with the way he treats you, you close your eyes and let the sensation wash over you. Your body shakes with each stroke of his cock and your hands start to tremble. A sudden orgasm washes over you and you scream his name, letting it flow free through your clenched teeth. He growls low in his throat when he watches how your hips jerk up towards him. 

You breathe flatly, your back hurting from the hard surface underneath you. Your classy eyes watch the dancing flames of the chandelier above you with interest. You feel exhausted and lightheaded, the feeling of being empty again is weird. The sensation of your climax still lingering in your abdomen. 

"Sit up Cadet." Your Captain demands and helps you into an upright position. 

"Dress. Then help me with those reports." He gestures at the floor, while fixing his shirt, trying to appear not too casual. 

"Yes Captain." You obey his comment, collecting your uniform and undergarments that has been spread around his table. You notice his eyes on your naked body, making you feel uncomfortable. 

"Cadet." He catches your attention as your eyes meet. 

"You don't tell anyone about this. And don't even get the idea of spreading your legs for anyone but me." Levi demands in a grumpy manner. You glance at him, shocked and offended. Never would you dare to do this with any other person. 

"Oi! Do you understand that brat?" ‘

"Yes Captain Levi."

[shoshiwrites]

Prompt requested by @kmk1701d, "a kiss while in close proximity." Thank you so much, Katt! A big bouquet to @junojelli for all things backyard garden, and to @basilone for talking me through at least seven different ?!?! moments ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3! Warning here for emetophobia [brief, non-graphic].

september song

A package finds her in Norwich, under the September sun. It’s covered in stamps and ink, pressed haphazard over Evie’s careful hand. Jo carries it out to the back garden, a glass in one hand and the stuffed envelope in the crook of her arm, holding a notebook and novel and pencil besides. It’s optimistic, the amount of things she’s carrying, like she won’t just want to sit and laze under the trees, feel the sun on her face, sip her weak tea.

It’s become a place she goes when she needs something like rest, the oasis that’s hardly one if she thinks about it — the Anderson shelter and the squash blossoms and the cabbages. But there’s the sun on the red brick of the house, the little potting shed, the trees bearing russet apples and the ivy and the last lingering clematis, the scent of it like almonds.

In the summer, the June and July evenings, she’d sit out here with whichever correspondent was staying in the room next to hers, or play cards with the land girls down from Manchester and Hull. Kay had brought drinks out from the kitchen, little cocktails in haphazard glassware sweet-talked out of the housekeeper’s care, Kay’s spectator pumps clacking on the flagstone path.

She slides a fingernail under the lip of the envelope, wincing as the paper snags. Nothing inside seems to be damaged, though. There’s a letter, a packet of photos embossed with the name of a Philadelphia studio, a few more tied with a white ribbon. The ones Angelo took, Evie’s letter explains. Evie’s fiancé — husband, Jo mentally corrects now — is a hobbyist photographer, as much as finances and the war allow. There’s a smaller envelope too, with a few flower petals dried and pressed between. White roses, from Evie’s bouquet.

Guilt washes over her — Evie doesn’t know about William, about the whole awful mess. Nobody at home does. Kay knows, she’d had the front seat to the aftermath, the whiskey thrown up in the bathroom and the thumbnails Jo had bit down to the quick. Kay had brought her ginger ale and brushed back her hair and told her the war needed Jo Brandt, not Mrs. William Merrick. Jo had smiled and told her that was hogwash, but nice hogwash, and then promptly thrown up again.

She hadn’t been able to sour a letter home with it, what seemed like such petty personal news.

The photos, of course, are beautiful. The studio shots of Evie and Angelo, Evie in the suit Jo knows is dove-gray gabardine, light enough for summer, and Angelo with the tie pin Evie gave him the last Christmas Jo shared with them stateside. The family posed in front of the altar, and outside the church. Angelo’s shots are of the reception after, and Evie outside on the sidewalk. The sunlight catching her earrings, the beading on her Juliet cap, filtered through her birdcage veil. There are the hydrangeas in vases, and the table set with a small cake and hors d’oeuvres, the homemade wine, the cousins sat on Evie’s lap. Angela and John asked about you of course, Auntie Jo.

Evie steals the camera for a few, Angelo with his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up, looking every inch the man in love. Like he hasn’t always looked at her like that, every day of their lives. Jo feels still, all of the sudden, just now hearing the birdsong over the walls, too caught up in the photos and the love that pours from each word of Evie’s letter. I don’t know if it will still be in fashion, she writes, but you’re welcome to the cap and the earrings. They would look so nice with your hair, Jo. You’d be welcome to the suit too, but I know you have something white planned for the family. William’s family, she means.

She swallows.

They hadn’t gotten to the planning, actually. Nothing beyond what was expected — the church, the white dress, the flowers, the reception back at the house with a dinner. There wasn’t a dress hanging in the closet, only the ring that now lived in the back of a drawer in her desk inside the house. The only official stamp was the engagement announcement in a Philadelphia newspaper. The one that ran months ago. She wonders why no one had pressed them to marry before they had both left for England.

She gathers the photos back into the cardboard sleeve, back into the package. Lifts the envelope of rose petals to smell the faintest scent, and then replaces those too. Leans her head back, thinks of fishing her sunglasses from her trouser pocket. She’s got a haphazard outfit on, the loose trousers and sandals and a button-down with the sleeves pushed up, her watch, her hair hastily pulled back. An outfit for a rare day with no appointments, only the scurrying of a reporter trying to finish something to send off. She’d made her edits in the morning, and gone over some of Kay’s contact sheets after her second cup of coffee. Maybe she hadn’t earned the rest, but it’s too nice of a day to not at least sit out around the lunch hour. She’ll be back in London under rainclouds soon enough.

She’s too uneasy to keep her eyes closed for long, thinking of wedding gowns and absent rings, wondering how she became the type of girl who needed a diamond.

Her mother had a silver band that she wore every day that Jo had known her. Jo guesses there were some things even her father wouldn’t have pawned for drinking money.

After she’d gotten up off the bathroom floor, Kay had told her of a cousin who was married for the fourth time last spring. This time to a count, Kay had said. Something in her eyes told Jo she didn’t think it would last. A few of the correspondents they know in London are divorced, or functionally so. Several unmarried, to various degrees.

She wonders how you become the type of person who marries four times. Did it mean you’d given up on a certain kind of love? Maybe they know something we don’t, Jo thinks.

She doesn’t have too much time to ponder the question. At once she hears the noise of the door behind her, the one from the kitchen out to the garden, and footsteps, and poor Muriel the housekeeper’s voice leading someone back out to Jo in her chair.

“- should be right out here-”

“There she is.” It’s half-crowing, affectionate. “Thank you, Muriel.”

How does he even know- She turns, replaces her tea carefully on a stepping stone. “Major Egan.”

Affectionately annoyed, at the title. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me John?”

She’s not surprised he found her through the front of the house, not surprised Muriel’s smiling affectionately at his back as she closes the door, as he walks over to her.

“Force of habit,” she says. A useful one, one to ought to keep if she knows what’s good for her. For any of them. Like they’re not a hundred miles past that by now. “What brings you up here?” She scans around for another chair, wonders if he’s already refused a cup of tea.

“Oh, I need a reason?”

She stills, suddenly feels her cheeks pink with sun.

“Buck’ll let you write about him,” he says, almost like a non-sequiteur. “Finally agreed.” She’s amused, faintly, by what that agreement might have looked like. He can read it on her face, nods a little along with her. “Just tipped his chin up like this,” he says, on the verge of smiling. “You know.”

“Wonderful,” she says, and there’s not a hint of shadow in it.

He looks at her lap, and her letter, and her book, and her pencil. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

That almost makes her laugh. Like he’s ever cared about interruption.

“No, I won’t get to a proper reply sitting in this chair,” she says. “Can’t write too well on my legs.”

“Any good news?”

Oh. She can’t lie about it, can she? The photo sleeve still in her hands. “Two dear friends were just married, actually.”

“Fantastic,” he says, the shine out of his voice, but no less sincere. He sounds almost quiet.

Before she knows it, she’s profferring the photo of everyone out on the front steps of the church, Evie squinting beautifully into the sun, Angelo looking at her, his arm around her waist.

“They look happy,” he says.

“Mmm.” She could keep talking, she knows. Maybe she’s afraid of what she’ll say.

He hands the photo back to her, his thumb careful against the edge. “This is a nice place you’ve got here.”

There’s a physical relief she feels, turning to something like the vines and the trees to talk about. Other than the photos. Other than the fact that’s he’s quieter than usual, has been for weeks. When he’s sober, at least. “I just enjoy it,” she says. “Not much help in the garden besides wheeling dirt around.” She can barely keep a window box alive. Her roommates only leave her in the company of plants with their very precise instructions.

“Can the major get a tour?”

She looks up at him, quirks something of a smile, squints over his shoulder in the sun. Like she didn’t just tell him she’s useless in a garden apart from sitting in it. “If I can’t offer you a chair, I probably should.”

He holds out a hand, lets her press heavily down on it as she stands. More than she thought she’d have to. Her things go in the chair where she’s just been sitting, the curve of sun-faded, striped fabric. It’d make a nice picture, Jo thinks. Kay would move a couple of things, maybe take a stray flower and place it to the side for a shot. Her hand feels warm.

She waves a hand over the shelter in self-explanation, watches him nod in seriousness. There’s the little stone path that leads to the back wall, more ivy, the late-season potatoes and heads of cabbage. There’s a rickety little folding chair against the side of the potting shed, and she assesses that maybe she’s the one who belongs in that, and him in the other. He’d have more trouble getting off the ground than she did, though.

There’s a nice slant of shade, too, between the shed and the wall.

“Anything good in there?” He’s nodding towards the shed.

She’s trying not to narrow her eyes. Trying not to think of a hundred things. She’s only ever poked her head in.

Before she can say something — dirt, gardening tools, who the hell knows — he’s taken her hand and ducked under the doorway.

She’s careful not to trip over the step, close to him now inside the tiny shed. There’s a counter bare of seedlings, now that it’s sunny mid-September, a few implements to the side, the back shelf lined with dusty pots and some old glassware, the rich smell of soil.

“Not much to see,” she says, which is a lie too, if you know how to look.

His voice is almost imperceptibly hoarse, and serious. “‘M not really interested in the tour, Josephine. Not anymore, at least.”

Her voice is faint, as his hands find her hips. “Might’ve guessed.” She can’t think about it, the letter or the photos or his voice, the edge of despair, of anger, her own empty hands.

There’s a moment as those own hands find him, the wool of his uniform, as they look at each other in the dim, filtered light. The dirty window. The silent asking, the way she stills, and lets him press his mouth to hers.

She winds back her foot, tries to kick the door shut. The action falls short, just barely, and he huffs a soft laugh against her cheek. Kicks the door back, for real, with his boot. He’s warm, from the sun. She imagines she is, too.

“Did Major Cleven really say we could do a feature-” she starts, and the face he makes is something she’d bottle if she could.

“Start by calling it something else, Josephine,” he says. “You’ll scare him off-”

Now that’s a joke, and she’d smile if she weren’t busy kissing him again, tracing her thumb along his cheek, his jaw, his ear.

Little surface scar-dings against his neck, raised tissue tinged red, and she can’t think about what flak does, how a person can’t be so easily repaired.

He’s pulling her closer, uniform pressed against the thin rayon of her blouse, keeping, she notices belatedly, her hair from a spider’s web behind them.

She tastes the faintest hint of ale in his mouth, against his lip and his mustache, and something else — something sudden and deep and sweet. He’s smiling, and she can see a tiny dark scrap between his teeth. He looks almost sheepish, like a kid caught with chocolate on his face before dinner. “I saw some blackberries on my way over here,” he says. “By the roadside.”

“Bring me any?” She’s smiling.

“Thought you might like to go uh, gather some,” he says, like it’s something he’s trying on for size. Gather. Like this is a novel set in deep summer, and not a war. “Had to see if they were any good.”

Maybe she’s being ridiculous — it’s all for the war, anyway. The squash and the cabbages and the apples and the potting shed revived after a decade and change gathering dust in the back of an old house.

She and her roommates will help Muriel put up the apples soon. Hattie and Nancy, the land girls, had mentioned making pies. Blackberry and apple — it sounds like something her mother would have made.

“Kiss me again,” she says. His mouth is tarter now, the tip of his tongue pressed against her teeth. She half-swallows a yelp as he lifts her to the counter, lets his hands settle back on her hips, trailing his mouth across her jaw. “New calculations, Major?”

“Tactical reassessment.”

A laugh bubbles in her chest, surprisingly heavy. “What’s your objective?”

“Top secret.”

Her fingertips play at the epaulet of one shoulder. “Not too hard to guess.”

“I don’t hear you guessing.”

She pulls him, gently, back to her mouth.

“You needed this,” he says, firm and a question at once. Something in her ribcage sings. “Couldn’t risk you not getting it.”

“Getting what?”

“A good kiss.” She drags her thumbnail gently across the back of his neck, the short hairs there, watches his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly. “Someone else might have, couldn’t risk that, either.”

She leans back a little, still tight in his hold. “Wouldn’t let them,” she says. Breathes, like it’s a secret, like she didn’t just say it out into the quiet.

She wants to stain her fingers picking blackberries with him, his mouth, hers. Hear about the moments he stole as a kid. Share her own. Maybe they can have that here, on a September afternoon.

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[daily-airimomoi-vitamins]

[uagh, my head]

[...]

[my...head?]

[....mine...my....I...me]

[...]

[Your head hurts, it's pounding. You very slightly open your eyes and]

[oh]

[there's blood.]

[you're lying in a pool of blood. Some of it is on your head...drip drip dripping down your face.]

[some of it isn't yours]

[you're just barely able to lift yourself off the ground. It smells terrible. Like an awful concoction of flesh and sanitary alcohol. The ground...it's colder than before. This is not the same floor as the one you fell on.]

[you...recognize this place. It's in worse condition but...yes...yes you remember]

[I... remember]

[that girl. In the back. This is where you found her before-]

[oh god. The blood and her memory. You hated the implications.]

[that corner, where she sat. She seemed so lonely...The thought of her tired eyes and small composure...]

[...that corner, a machine. It's blade doused in blood. It hasn't been cleaned]

[....a meat grinder?]

[your eyes widened at the thought. You quickly covered your mouth and shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the disgusting thought...]

[..Finally, you arise. Your legs are shaky, your head and hair damp with blood and cold sweat. What the hell are you doing here? How did you get here..?]

[you recollect what happened....Did she hit you over the head, or did you pass out? Perhaps, your head hit the floor too hard. Whatever it was, it didn't matter now. Now, your priority was to get ou-]

You're awake.

[..the pharmacist. She looked so oddly bleak. So...empty]

Took you long enough..he..haha...

[ah, that smile. But it just wasn't the same. Her eyes were narrowed, her arms in her coat pocket. She continued to chuckle]

Haha...heha....you really...really couldn't let this go, huh?

"..."

"..What did you to her."

hmph...I thought I told you before. She's dead...you know, I hate repeating myself. It's so fucking annoying. I fucking hate it.

Yeah, sure, I've kinda enjoyed all this. But do you know how much of an annoying little brat you are..? For fucks sake, and to think...I wanted to help you.

"H-help..?"

"are you being serious right now?! Help?! Since when has what you're doing been help!?"

...hm. I don't think I want to answer that.

[She moved off the wall, and starting to circle around you. You felt trapped]

"No-No that's not how it works. You've ruined my li-"

What life?

[She turned her head to you, inching closer]

What sort of life have you lived? What life are you remembering, hm? You don't have a life, not anymore. You're life isn't yours. Both of us. We do not live, we don't have lives.

mm...haha...

[She turned to the machine, putting her finger inside and swiping the blood off of the blades. She put her thumb in her mouth, wiping her mouth]

This life, wasn't alive either.

[You felt physically sick. You were fighting the urge to throw up, right there and then. You're fists clenched]

[You had so many questions....]

[Your eyes drifted towards the machine, a shiver down your spine following along. You swiftly looked behind you towards the corner of the room, thinking of that girl]

[macksting]

[ID: Warning decal. Says, "Warning!" in white on red for high visibility, then in black impact font, "This machine does not know the difference between metal and flesh, but cares a lot, so please stay out of its way. It would be very sad if it accidentally hurt you." /end ID]

[scalierpepper]

finally finished!! i've never made something like this before and it took a very long time but it was great getting a chance to test my art skills. (i this say full well knowing i just wanted to draw my favorite guys a million times). hope you enjoy :)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

"What do you mean their name isn't Beef?"

(for @moondal514)

[thekhaninglass]

The truth - as we have painstakingly established across the previous chapters - is this. There is no idea so grand that it may not be murdered one day in the slumber of its own complacence.

There is no tool which may not be repurposed, no meaning which will not turn to nonsense - given time.

Time is the cruellest and the kindest deity, for it mocks those who seek to triumph from it; for it suffers no power, humours no tyrant; it topples every great justice, dismembers reason, rots progress, forgets the stories we laid down at its feet.

@thesiltverses - Chapter 41

[pratchettquotes]

Many people who had come to know Rincewind had come to treat him as a sort of two-legged miner's canary and tended to assume that if Rincewind was still upright and not actually running then some hope remained.

Terry Pratchett, Sourcery

[zerosuitsammi3]

If I can take a moment to share my experience as a trans woman on the internet

My experience is by no means unique, it's just one experience in the plethora of trans feminine experiences and not unique to only tumblr. Though, I'll mostly talk about what I've experienced here. In the light of recent events, the reaction of "the ceo," and the comments he contributed regarding dog pile harassment; I simply wish to share my experiences that I have had to juxtapose the dynamic of his statements against a lived experience.

This account started as a way to document my social transition and eventually my journey with HRT. Tumblr had always had a large lgbtqia+ community. The queer people here inspired me and gave me hope. What I didn't know, but soon learned, is that there were people here who hated me for being trans. Being early in my transition I was a prime target. TERF groups would plan raids on my account. What this entailed was: rebloging my selfies into circles that would say the most vile things about me, threaten to kill, tell me I was ugly, tell me that everyone I knew thought I was a joke, I was a monster, my family hated me, that I should kill myself, they'd download and edit my photos into caricatures or depictions of violence. They would fill my ask box with hundreds of asks detailing how they'd kill me, call me slurs, describe the ways that I should kill myself, and pretty much everything else I mentioned above with the reblogs. Their words were carefully curated to try and break me, break my spirit, break my will to live. I tried reporting it. But it was impossible to keep up with, and like many others I saw no real response. Eventually I learned that I had to block all of them. 100's of blogs, eventually 1000's of blogs. My block list these days is incredibly extensive. I had to wade through their blogs, traverse sickening hate speech and imagery to eliminate entire circles of people harassing me. I became jaded to the hate speech, hardened to it. But mind you, I shouldn't have had to expose myself to all of this just to be at peace here amongst my community. I received no help, I was left to my own devices to protect myself. The people who hurt me never saw consequences. It was painful, it was unfair, and no one else should have to put the hours upon hours of effort and exposure to hate in to protect themselves like I did. But again my experience is not unique.

I have had to repeat this process of preemptive blocking periodically once a new circle discovers me. Blocking them all before they can start the process of hate all over again. A process of hate that seems to be hitting my community with rapidly increasing fervor as of late.

I've seen others experience far worse than me. The TERF circles will hunt down their personal information and doxx them. Expose their home address, telephone numbers, names of their family members. I can't begin to imagine the terror my queer siblings must feel when someone tells then that they want to murder them all while showing them that they know where you live. This is not a new thing, not a rare tactic, it happens. And we've all seen the news stories of trans people being murdered by people who planned it and were vocal about it.

I know this is depressing. And it doesn't reflect all of my experiences. I've had wonderful experiences here, met amazing people, made close friends, found inspiration, found hope. I found a community.

And it's my community, and I never want to let it go.

I do have fear that making this statement will get me banned. But, I wanted to say it. I wanted it to exist in the world so that everyone who doesn't know our experiences has a chance to understand and with luck empathize.

I'll part on these words and hope for the best both for myself and for every member of the community.

[lockes-woods]

Kinktober '24 Day 14

Request: Zoro x Reader Jealousy Sex, Praise Kink, Choking. Reader seems to be getting too close to Sanji for his liking, as the reader helps prep meals as the crew got larger. The final straw is when she lets out an unintentional moan at Sanji’s food.

Request by: Author's Choice

WARNING: Choking, PIV, Jealousy Sex, Praise Kink

A/N: Sorry for the late update, I'm going to still try to post day 15 today.

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

“Where are you going.” Zoro groaned, voice still husky from sleep. Actually, he may not even be fully awake yet. It was always hard to tell with the lights off and Zoro’s ability to fall asleep easily. His hand reached out and cuffed your wrist.

“I’m going to help with breakfast prep with Sanji,” You answered softly, you were very conscious of your voice volume as Nami and Robin were most likely fast asleep on the other side of the wall. Originally the women’s quarters were just one big room, but after the first time of Nami walking in on you and your boyfriend having sex a wall was quickly constructed. Your room made up 1/3 of the space while Nami and Robin still shared a room that took up 2/3. While your room was on the smaller side, you were just happy they didn’t fully kick you out of the women’s quarters all together.

“Why does Mr. Prince need help with? He’s the cook.” Zoro dismissed, his grip on your wrist remaining firm, but not enough to bruise.  

“Baby, Sanji agreed to be the cook when there were only six of us, now there are eleven. It doesn’t matter how skilled he is that kind of volume is overwhelming.”

“Does he even let you cook?” he grunted.

“No, but I don’t really want to cook in front of a professional. I just help with prep and cleaning up.” You answer placing your warm palm over the hand Zoro was gripping your wrist with, “I’ll see you at breakfast. Okay? Why don’t you get some more sleep, we went to bed pretty late.”

“Exactly, it’s only been five hours since we went to bed,” Zoro argued, making no move to release your wrist.

“Oh? And whose fault is that Mr. Just-The-Tip.” You asked, quirking a brow.

“That’s funny because I remember a certain someone begging to cum a second time.” Zoro shot back; a smirk clear in his voice.

“Regardless I promised Sanji I’d help. Do you want to make me a liar?” You asked.

“Absolutely, if making you a liar means we get lay together for a few more hours” Zoro answered plainly. You roll your eyes despite knowing that he couldn’t see you,

“Baby,” you all but begged, “Please.” You asked softly.

Zoro sighed in response; he pulled your hand to his face kissing your palm softly before releasing his hold. You smiled down at him and pecked his lips before getting up.

“This better be an amazing breakfast,” Zoro gruffed, before rolling over to face the wall and go back to sleep. You slid out of bed, and quickly changed out of your pj’s (Zoro’s Shirt) into your normal clothing. You hummed to yourself as you lightly closed the door and headed over to the kitchen.

That’s how you spent the better parts of the last two weeks. Unbeknownst to you it had been wearing at Zoro’s patience. He grew a little more irked day by day until his feelings came to a head. It wasn’t just you helping him prep for the day’s meals ahead, but the soft smiles you’d share with the cook, the time you took out of your day to help him clean after each meal that used to be spent with him, and worst of all were the sweet noises you made while taste testing for the cook. You were always very vocal, not just in airing opinions, but also literally humming absent-mindedly, laughing with your gut, and of course during sex. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Sanji offered you the first taste of a new dessert. Zoro had just happened to be walking by when he heard a familiar sound; one only he wanted to ever be on the receiving end of. He barged in the kitchen at the sound of your second moan.

“Hey, love you have to try this new cake recipe Sanji i-” You couldn’t even finish your thought before Zoro grabbed you by the waist and threw you onto his shoulder. You squirmed and tried to protest until he began to descend to the lower decks. Recognizing you would never win this fight, you relaxed into his shoulder waiting for his next move. He barged into your room throwing you on the bed so hard you bounced.

“Zoro, what the fu-” You were once again cut off as his lips found yours in a fierce kiss, that he easily dominated. He was all over you, holding you down by your throat while also jamming his leg between yours grinding against your clit. You gasped in response giving him prime access to your mouth that he immediately took full advantage of. You couldn’t help but moan as he deepened the kiss and pushed his leg further between your legs. He smirked into the kiss as he felt you rolling your hips against his leg chasing the stimulation. You whined as you felt his firm grip on your throat. He wasn’t gripping strong enough to harm you. His hand worked as a collar of sorts. He just gripped you tight enough to keep you present in the moment.

You panted heavily as Zoro finally pulled back.

“Wha-Why?” you questioned, looking up at your boyfriend.

“You’re always such a good girl, helping at the drop of a hat, but sometimes you’re too nice,” Zoro said, resting his forehead against yours.

“How can you be too nice?” you questioned, pants finally dying out.

“You’re so keen on helping that shitty cook, that it’s taken up all your free time,” he replied. While he said it in his normal deep tone, his words themself were a bit whiney.

“Baby are you- are you jealous of Sanji?” you asked, mildly amused.  

“No,” he bites out, “I just think I should be the only reason you’re moaning like that.”

“But baby, you’re the only one who makes me moan that deeply. Do you know how many times Robin and Nami have complained about the way you have me a moaning mess during sex?” You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “You’re always so good when I need a firm hand, or other disciplinary actions to keep me in line”

Zoro grunted in response, looking away with a deep blush staining his cheeks.

“I’m not very good at hiding my emotions, trust me if I wanted to be with Sanji you would know.” You started with a smile, “Also...” you started before trailing off.

“What,” he asked, ever so slightly tightening his grip.

“I don’t think Sanji would be able to satisfy me like you do.” You confessed, “I’ve never cum harder than when I am with you.”

“Really?” he asked, smirking back and present on his face.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “are you feeling better now love?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m sorry I came so hard down on you earlier.”

“That’s okay,” you replied smiling up at him, “I’m always a fan of you cumming down hard on me,”

Zoro shook his head, a smirk stretched across his face. It was moments like these when it made him laugh when people assumed he was the most dominant and in-charge partner. Those who knew you both well enough could see that even in a submissive role you were in control. Zoro was very aware of the fact that he was only able to be the dominant partner because you allowed him to do so.

“Now,” you started, rolling your hips against his thigh, “Are you gonna finish what you started, or am I gonna have to go take care of myse-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Zoro began to strip you down as fast as possible while sucking and nipping down your body. You could only moan in response as he marked you up. He flipped you onto your stomach once you were fully nude. You could hear him panting behind you, as he worked his pants off before he nudged your knees further apart to make room for him. You couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed his swollen tip up and down your slit.

“Fuck, Zoro please,” you whined as he took his time easing into you. All his feelings of being left out, replaced, and him being possessive melted away as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he grunted as he pulled back and pounded back into you. You couldn’t do much but enjoy the ride as he gripped your hips keeping you steady as he thrusted into you like his own private toy. You lost yourself in the feeling of his cock bullying its way in and out of you, that even you are caught off guard by your orgasm slamming through you. You gasped as you squeezed against Zoro’s cock so hard that you trigger his orgasm. His hold on your throat tightens, only adding to your orgasm. He’s tactical with his last few thrusts, making sure that he’s fully flush with him before pulling out and slamming back in, cumming deep inside of you.  

“Fuck,” you moaned as Zoro stayed sheathed inside of you. A deep whine escaped you as he slowly eased out, before flipping you so you were now on your back.

“Shit,” Zoro groaned, but not for the sight of his cum trickling out of you, or your fucked out expression; his eyes were locked on your throat.

“Fuck, baby why didn’t you tell me to let go?” he asked, stroking your throat.

“Because it felt good,” you whined as he continued to run his fingers over your bruised throat. He shook his head, an amused smile on his lips.

“Did it hurt at all?” he asked.

“Only a little, but it felt really nice when I was cumming.” You answered, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You shared a smile, before pulling him in for a loving kiss.

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

A/N: Thanks as always for taking the time to read ^-^. I think this is my least favorite of all the one-shots I've written this month. If it weren't for the challenge I'd for sure delete it. But what can you do. Stay tuned for some Dom! Mihawk x Sub! Reader later today.

[katakaluptastrophy]

The Nine Houses must be absolutely terrifying to fight.

And not just because their invasions start with a drop ship full of pimply 14 year olds inexplicably armed with zweihanders whose entire remit is to cause a mass casualty event for necromantic purposes...

We're mostly introduced to the schools of necromancy at the beginning of GTN, before we have broader context beyond "ooh, new magic system." But if you think about it in light of what we later learn about the Cohort:

Second House: they can literally drain your life force to power up their cavaliers. "It’s said they all die screaming"

Third House: that pile of corpses in no man's land? They're being used as a power up. Also, someone's just rearranged your face; your arse is on backwards.

Fourth House: that pile of corpses in no man's land? They're bombs now. And if you corner a Fourth House necro, they're a bomb too!

Fifth House: at best, they're the weird technicians for the Houses' horrifying blood and monolith based FTL system. At worst, it doesn't matter if you kill yourself to avoid capture or if you hold out under interrogation until you expire, they can still interrogate your ghost.

Sixth House: drop a cigarette or shed a hair on a clandestine operation? These guys now know your age, shoe size, and approximate location. They know what you had for breakfast. They know what you held in the last 12 hours.

Seventh House: that pile of corpses in no man's land? They're armed and marching on you now.

Eigth House: why is he glowing? WHY IS HE GLOWING?!

Ninth House: the guy next to you's bones just became an IED.

[valictini]

Anyway congrats to sansmaeda, see you all on sunday for the most wedding ever

Bonus: collective mental breakdown below

You just never know what to expect with this funny little guy!

[winecovered]

　⟢　Pastel Goth　𓃉

A presentation flag for pastel goths! This may relate to jirai kei, or other pink / black based fashions! Might also connect to feminine fashion, taboo themes within clothes, or similar!

　— For @coinfight 2024 . Revenge attack on @pinkish-angel! Not a gender, 8 points!

[Plain text start. Pastel goth. A presentation flag for pastel goths! This may relate to jirai kei, or other pink / black based fashions! Might also connect to feminine fashion, taboo themes within clothes, or similar! For coinfight 2024. Revenge attack on pinkish-angel! Not a gender, eight points! .Plain text end]

Complex flag without symbol, simple flags without lines:

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Sometimes I read the brief Bad Batch episode descriptions on Disney+ and have to admire how they manage to be so far from reality while still technically stating the truth.

Examples:

The Outpost: "A new friend is made on a harsh and unforgiving outpost planet."

Reality: You're gonna wish you didn't have a heart because it's going to shatter into pieces. Oh, and "harsh and unforgiving" doesn't just describe the planet, it also describes both a certain lieutenant and how you're going to feel about said lieutenant within 30 seconds of his introduction.

Plan 99: "The heroes are tested."

Reality: Oh, your heart has somehow started to heal with the hope Crosshair's going to be saved soon and the whole family is going to be reunited? Here, let us just take your heart out and crush it to powder and then set it on fire. You're not gonna need it anymore.