#contains Ship undertones

[konigbabe]

steal the thunder - I -

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x fem!sorcerer!reader Word count: 5.8k Tags/warnings: no y/n; unhinged reader; manga spoilers (Culling Games + Perfect Preparation arcs); fight description; canon-typical violence; there will be eventual smut in the later parts fyi Summary: There's murder in the air – with the Culling Games underway, a simple task of finding an angel turns to a fight for life when you meet a certain, static and 400 years old sorcerer with cyan hair and wicked intentions.

Artwork by poro (poro06625649) on Twittter [source]; divider by @skylightlantern [source] For a better understanding of the reader's CE and CT, visit this Tumblr post.

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There's murder in the air – an unsettling undertone that pollutes the atmosphere. Gentle breeze carrying the metallic fragrance of blood within its currents.

The dockside keeps quiet. Sky clear, devoid of seagull calls. Walking by colossal steel shipping containers, stacked high, the scent persists. Clings to the air like a persistent specter. Each step accompanied by the gentle lap of waves against the pilings, their rhythmic cadence a stark contrast to the horrors you've seen.A soothing lullaby in the midst of chaos.

The maze-like layout of the quayside comes to an end when your muscles strain, lifting off the ground and landing atop the steel structure.

A giant panda comes into view. Its relaxed posture, perched on hindlimbs, contrasts with its impassive countenance as it gazes your way.

"Panda," you address what some might believe to be an actual animal; innocent, cute and completely harmless. Except for this Cursed Corpse – your subordinate – is none of those things.

He fixes you with your very name; a disturbing familiarity in his eyes, then the words escape his lips.

"The smell of blood's so thick," he voices as you draw near, words cutting through the tension. "There must be about three people dismembered here–"

You hold up two fingers, the other hand nestled in your pocket.

"Two actually," you intervene, voice a measured interruption, "walked past a man with a hole the size of a soccer ball in his chest."

The memory resurfaces – the sight of the man, head drooping, neck bent at an unnatural angle. Eerie web-like burns sprawled across his bare flesh. The smell of singed skin and ozone hangs in the air, a pungent reminder. Yet, it's not just that which jolts your senses. It's the residual static of someone's cursed energy, an unsettling presence that lingers.

"But that's not what troubles me," continuing, you stand next to Panda, arms now crossed as both of you watch the lifeless skies, "something bad's here. I tried following the remnants of the cursed energy of the perpetrator but it was very faint."

"Could be an expert who can turn their cursed energy on and off at will…" Panda thinks out loud.

You let the idea sit for a second. Could it be the case? Could someone in this colony be capable of doing it? Known, registered sorcerers are absent here. The majority are newly awakened, scarcely equipped to comprehend a sophisticated notion like this. And why would they feel the need to hide their cursed energy?

No.

Dismissing your doubts, you shake your head and stride toward the edge of the shipping container.

"Don't think so. Nevertheless, we're here to find that angel girl and negotiate with her." Stepping onto the container's edge, unfazed by the high drop; balancing skillfully, you extend one leg over the edge, about to step into empty space. In a seamless motion, you touch down on the solid concrete ground below.

Panda follows suit, rolling off the shipping container with agility, landing right beside you. Then he stands, an odd combination of human-like stance and panda appearance, more akin to a person in a panda costume than an actual animal.

"Our safest bet is to leave the docks. Fast. Just play pretend, avoid any unnecessary conflicts and make it out of this colony in one piec–"

The sentence's left hanging as a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. Panda falls on all fours, frozen still.

"Ah," a deeper, resonant voice rumbles from your right, the words echoing as the familiar sensation washes over you. A sudden buzz inside your mind, an abrupt surge of awareness regarding another sorcerer's presence. Heart mirroring the rapid flutter of a startled bird's wings.

Their cursed energy, concealed and latent, manages to evoke an almost primal response within you. A sense of fight or flight.

You pivot to face the uninvited presence before you.

A cascade of hair, vivid as a robin's egg and kissed by the hues of a clear summer sky, is gathered into twin buns atop his head while tendrils of untamed locks dance freely in the breeze, resembling a stormy sea. Longer bangs frame the contours of his face, softening his visage.

He stops when his eyes – the same uncanny shade as his hair – bore into yours. Carrying what you'd guess is a Nyoi staff slung over his shoulder, he stands at a slight angle. Excludes casual confidence, a sense of poised readiness.

"Another one," he breaks the silence. You stand your ground in response to his observation.

"Not interested in a fight," you remark, hands risen in a defensive gesture. Yet you don't dare take your eyes off the sorcerer. Ready and composed.

Panda, ostensibly cautious, inches closer to you, fur bristling in sync with his unease towards the newcomer's presence. The air tightens, charged with the unspoken potential for violence.

"Kogane," he calls out to the shikigami, summoning it like a wisp from the aether; the small creature materializes, its hue the shade of a serene lake, light and amicable as it floats near his head, "is the panda a player too?"

The shikigami screeches its answer, its words setting everything in motion.

"Indeed!! A player! Yep!!"

"That's a function," your pondering voice meets a forced silence. The state of perturbed ambiance vanishing as your thoughts are cut off.

A flesh of white. Empty space occupies the spot where the sorcerer was standing less than a second ago.

You sense his presence before your eyes even settle on his countenance; his eyes, framed with short zig-zag lines reminiscent of lightning bolts underneath them, a furious cauldron of murderous excitement as they lock onto yours. They widen with a manic intensity. An undertone of madness lurking deep within their depths.

A predator's gaze fixated on its prey.

In a heart-stopping moment, time stands still. The world around you fades into a blur as a primal instinct takes over. Your body reacts; a precision born of pure reflex – muscles coiled like springs, you counter his attack with a swift and calculated movement.

His volatile energy crackles in the air. Your hands snap up. Fingers attempting to curl around his bandaged forearm. Channeling your cursed energy to your clavicles, the place where his palm lays flat against you –

But your reactions prove inadequate. You're too slow. A shocking speed and heavy push; a surge of force is sent through your body, catching you off-guard. The ground beneath you becomes a temporary adversary. Your balance disrupted as you're sent flying backward.

Back colliding with the hard, metal steel of a shipping container – you watch in horror as the sorcerer mercilessly attacks Panda. Using his staff as a weapon. With unnatural speed and agility, Panda struggles against him; his valiant resistance a testament to his determination, his form a blur of motion as he evades the sorcerer's attacks and manages a few good blows of his own.

Your body feels light. A tingling sensation surging through your veins. Electric current's rushing beneath your skin, setting your pulse racing and your focus to a razor's edge. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouth. Mingles with the adrenaline in your body. Every nerve firing in response to the raw energy pulsing through your body.

It hits you then–

"Heh, electricity," you mumble, the word slipping from your lips as you raise your palms, clenching your fists. Feeling the tingling in the tips of your fingers. The slight buzzing in your ears.

–his cursed energy has a special trait. One certainly hard to defend against.

Barely seconds have passed since your body was forced to rest against the ground. It still feels too long with Panda barely matching the man's speed and force.

Gritting your teeth, the urgency of the situation anchors you, overriding any pain or disorientation as you fight to regain your footing. A sense of pride fills you when you watch Panda use his technique, striking the sorcerer with enough force that'll easily knock him out cold. One of Panda's winning moves.

Except it doesn't.

"Nice one," the man's voice rings out. A taut smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Your teeth clench, disbelief intertwining with unease as you watch. With a predominated precision, the sorcerer maneuvers his staff, entwining it with Panda's arm in a smooth motion that catches you off guard.

Exerting a forceful pull, he forces a grimace from Panda. Right arm caught in the vice-like grip, a sickening crack underscores the moment. Followed by the nauseating sensation of Panda's arm being torn from his body. Violently. And mercilessly.

Panda stumbles. Pain and agony escaping in a cry. The sorcerer doesn't waste a second. Hurls the arm back at Panda, using the momentum to charge forward. Palm aiming flat against his chest, he sends Panda flying backward – the same way he did to you. Causing your junior to experience a similar sensation to yours.

The cyan-haired man straightens, seemingly relaxing, already content with winning the fight.

"But I'm not impressed," he taunts, words an ominous echo of the violence just unleashed, "It's too ordinary."

Feeling the concrete beneath your feet, you take deliberate steps forward. With an inkling of Panda's potential strategy, you expel the pooled blood from your mouth, spitting it onto the ground.

"...Sukuna, you know where he is?" The man's words flow, attention diverted, ignorant of your presence.

A fortunate circumstance.

"No clue," Panda responds. His reply burdened with weariness and defeat; yet his gaze remained fixed on you, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as you position yourself, tension radiating from his weary form.

The sorcerer scoffs; a contemptuous tilt of his head, a gesture laden with superiority. "Sounds like you know something, then," he snarls, his grip on the staff constricting as his fist clenches, "Spit it out. I'll be merciful."

With the sorcerer's back turned you raise your arm. Your gaze remains fixed upon the convergence point of the two delicate lines, their path crossing at the very heart of the expanse that's the upper part of his broad back.

"I won't be," you declare; voice carrying a firm tone. A deft flick of your wrist – the current of cursed energy takes the desired shape before it's hurled toward your target. Slashing the air in front of you, aimed right at him.

His gaze veers to the side. And in a fraction of a heartbeat, he moves; executing a skillful sidestep. Body positioned to face you from the side, both hands now gripping his staff, aiming it at you; a glint of fervor ignites his eyes as they widen, locked onto the shipping container stationed behind Panda. The unforgiving force of your attack rends the shipping container apart, leaving two gaping slashes that could bisect a man.

You don't give him time to react properly.

The moment blood begins to stain his white robe crimson red from the nick on his shoulder, you lunge forward. Like a bull being waved a red flag. Feet imbued with your cursed energy, reinforced to ensure protection.

As you close the distance at a breakneck pace, you sense the distinct composition of his cursed energy. With your fingers curled around the staff, your eyes meet his, a faint grin playing at the corners of your mouth as you tug on his weapon with your full body weight. Lifting your legs off the ground, you use the staff as a fulcrum. His body feels resilient, akin to forged steel, against the soles of your shoes.

With the potency of your cursed technique coursing through your strike, the man is propelled backward, his body hurtling through the air. The Nyoi staff clings to the concrete. Left untouched upon the impact.

Flying through a shipping container, he quickly finds his footing. Stance shifting in response to your aerial maneuver. Legs splayed to establish a firm foundation, you focus your intent on targeting his jaw. Fists charged with cursed energy, you hit once; knowing how troublesome the push-and-pull effect of your technique feels once your flesh makes contact–

"Not bad," he manages to spit out, the corner of his lip stained red. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip as you sprint toward him.

The surroundings blur into a muddled backdrop, irrelevant in your unwavering concentration. The sorcerer becomes the sole axis, a focal point in a world that seems to slow to a crawl, even though only a fraction of a second has passed.

The tip of your foot touches his; a mere whisper of contact between two opposing forces.

"Not bad at all."

–he counterattacks. Hand darts forward. Grabs your wrist. With an economy of motion, he employs your own momentum against you. His grip becomes a pivot, briefly throwing you off-balance, diverting your forward surge into an unexpected spiral.

Fluidity. That's how you'd characterize his movements. A seamless transition from being a passive target to an active agent.

His chest brushes against your back as his right hand remains locked around your right wrist. Single-handedly swinging your body like a marionette, you exploit the vulnerability of your position. Using his grip as leverage to move backward, simultaneously grabbing hold of his bandaged left forearm and pulling. Crashing your body into his, redirecting the movement into a collision.

With a potent surge of intention, you force the prepared rejection and attraction effect within your clenched fist, propelling it like a bolt toward the rear of your skull. Teeth gritted, you throw your head back.

Crack.

He stifles a groan, a step taken back but footing resolute. A red trail paints his nose as you swivel to confront him. Pausing briefly to charge your energy again, you grant him a moment to speak. His expression freezes as he locks eyes with you

"You," he speaks up, his voice textured with the tang of iron as his tongue grazes his lips, "Have we met before?"

With your hand still tingling, the ripples of sensation spread up your arm, an electric current tracing a pattern beneath your skin. Your head sways subtly, dispelling the notion of a previous encounter. "Unlikely. You'd be history."

A chuckle dances from his lips, a response to your retort. "What's your name then?"

You share it deliberately, each syllable a measured beat in your dance around one another. He nods, his head tilting with self-assured grace. It's then that he takes his stance – feet planted firmly, palms outstretched, a grin playing on his lips.

"The name's Hajime Kashimo."

The words hang, a telltale echo–

Hajime Kashimo.

–recognition snaps into place when you repeat his name in your mind.

The Hajime Kashimo, the sorcerer whose score reaches a hundred points; a mark that sets him apart from any other Culling game player (except for the intricate Hiromi Higuruma). Hakari's elusive target.

And here, right before you, stands the man himself.

"Hey," you call out, a new determination blossoming, your stance embracing the challenge; retreat is no longer a consideration, "if I beat you, can I get your points?"

The corners of Kashimo's lips twitch, smile fading like a wisp of smoke carried away by the wind. Expression blank, with only his brows furrowed as he responds, "Sure, but you tell me everything y'know about Sukuna," his voice lowered to a dangerous undertone, a velvet threat veiled in words, "that is–if you're still alive."

He charges then. Doesn't spare a single consideration. The air crackles with tension as his presence engulfs you. His hands make contact – not with fists or strikes – but with the calculated pressure of his open palms. You feel the weight of his touch on your skin. Pressure on your left, then on your right ribcage.

"Don't disappoint me now," breath tickles your ear, voice a tantalizing, dangerous melody. His fingers anchor firmly onto your right shoulder, an assertive grip that both commands and unsettles, while his other hand exerts a calculated force on your left shoulder guard, propelling you into a spin.

Your training surges forth, a symphony of muscle memory and instinct harmonizing within you. With the resilience born of countless battles, you swiftly adapt your stance, shifting your weight to face him.

An annoyed huff leaves your now-bruised lips. You channel your own cursed energy, a torrent of power surging through your veins.

Detain an attack when it comes,–

Knees bending, body swaying to evade the incoming fist; your left hand grips his left wrist, fingers tightening with determination, followed by your right driving into its intended mark.

–and send it away when it retreats.

Your palm meets the solid plane of his chest with a resonant thud; pushes and then pulls him back to you before sending him away again; successfully pushing back against Kashimo's pressure. It's a momentary reprieve. One that sends the sorcerer tumbling back, makes him roll on the ground, lending on one knee.

"Here I thought we were just getting started," you quip with a hint of playfulness amidst the dance of combat. Moving swiftly towards the target. As Kashimo's force ebbs, you seize the opportunity, your muscles coiling like springs.

"You're getting me–" he barely makes it back to his feet before you're at him again. With enough cursed energy imbued into your foot, utilizing the momentum of your motion, leg rising up in a calculated kick – only for Kashimo to shift; a fraction of movement that proves decisive. His arm weaves beneath the arc of your thigh, a sinuous and serpentine maneuver that seeks to entwine and subdue. As his grasp tightens, his fingers snake around your throat, lifting you from the ground, suspending you momentarily.

"–quite excited," he concludes, his voice tinged with an eerie excitement.

Once the hand is freed from contact,–

A heartbeat's pause feels like an eternity. With your legs rendered weightless and no stable ground beneath you. Despite the vulnerable position, your mind remains steadfast, honing in on Kashimo's Achilles heel. His hands are preoccupied, his grasp unwavering but his neck and face exposed.

–carry out a strike with it.

Seizing the opportunity, you make the most of the opening. Your palms press against the sharp contours of his cheeks, each hand finding its place on one side of his face. In one swift and deliberate motion, you channel the wellspring of cursed energy that resides within you into your technique. The currents of your energy converge between your palms, weaving a tapestry of arcane force that manifests as a palpable vacuum, centered precisely where his head rests.

It's an intentional manipulation. One – if done right, that is – could even lead to a cataclysmic implosion. A violent severing of life from the body. But you don't want to kill him; not yet at least. You need the points. And so, you temper your approach, exerting only the necessary amount of energy to induce a sensation of compression.

As the feeling envelops him, Kashimo's expression shifts, a flicker of realization that dances within his eyes. He instinctively withdraws. Bandaged forearms push at your body, sending you hurtling backward; a testament to his strength and strategic finesse.

"You cheeky little thing," a bead of blood traces a path from the corner of his eye. At the same time, another droplet emerges from his nose.

This time it's him who doesn't let you regain enough control as he charges at you. His approach swift and unrelenting. The tables are constantly turning – now being his time to dictate the tempo.

Another dance of offense and defense plays out as the two of you clash once again. Each move a deliberate response to the other's actions.

Chase the movement of the opponent–

As the flurry of his strikes slices through the air, you find yourself navigating the ebb and flow with a synchronicity that borders on the sublime. With a hawk-like focus, you track the trajectory of his hand, your senses attuned to his every motion.

While his hits continue to swing through both empty space and meeting your body, a fleeting opportunity presents itself. With the precision of a seasoned sorcerer, you follow the path of his hand with your own, fingers closing around his forearm as it narrowly misses your cheekbone, the other digging into the open slash wound on his shoulder.

–to continue the attack.

It earns you a hiss. A "Tsk," coming from his damaged lips.

One fluid motion; one that belies your strength. You capitalize on the momentum of his own swing, utilizing your grip to exert control. Your foot surges forward with unbridled force, the sole of your shoe connecting with the vulnerable juncture of his knee.

Kashimo's reflexes kick in as he instinctively leaps back the moment your foot makes contact with his leg. His visage bears the marks of battle, a canvas adorned with streaks of red, the vestiges of blood from the prior exchange. A mirror to his appearance, your own face likely reflects a similar narrative. Marked by the intensity of the confrontation. By his pure, physical prowess. One that, even if you use all your cursed energy, you're certain you couldn't match.

The shadows of weariness begin to cast their subtle touch on you. A weight that tempers your movements and shadows the clarity of your thoughts. Each calculated step, each strategic strike, seems to bear an additional burden now.

Still, resolute, your unwavering determination fixated on Kashimo, persevering in the face of creeping exhaustion.

Then you take off.

With a surge of action, you propel yourself into motion. Pivoting on your heel, you sprint toward the towering container crane a mere few meters behind. Kashimo's quick thinking registers in the corner of your vision—a flash of white on your right, drawing nearer.

"Running so soon?"

His taunting words reach you.

"Just limbering up," you reply. Muscles tensing, you feel his energy almost brushing against your own. So, with a leap, you vault into the air. Fingers curling around your ankle.

Time seems to slow as Kashimo's grip tightens around your ankle, his fingers like a vice attempting to anchor you to the ground. The world spins around you, the crane's towering structure becoming a blur as your body is abruptly yanked back, denied the freedom of flight.

Instinct kicks in, your mind racing to find a solution. With a swift twist of your body, you channel the energy within, your cursed power surging to your fingertips. A burst of force courses through your arm, the concentrated energy propelling your free leg forward in a powerful kick. Your heel connects with Kashimo's face, the impact forcing his grip to release.

In the split second of regained freedom, your body soars toward the container crane.

Muscles strained, you manage to grab hold of a protruding metal edge, fingers gripping with an iron determination. The harsh clang of metal meeting metal reverberates through the air as your body comes to a halt, swinging slightly from the momentum before you propel yourself higher onto the structure.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. The distance between you and Kashimo now a tangible reminder of your evasion. His frustrated gaze meets yours, the tension between you electric and palpable.

"Nice try," you retort, voice laced with a mixture of weariness and defiance. There's an undeniable satisfaction in defying his grasp, in proving your prowess even amid exhaustion. Without wasting a moment longer, you hoist yourself up more, using the crane's structure to propel your body upward. Your form melds with the steel as you ascend, a maneuver to gain the vantage point.

Gotta limit his movement to the minimum.

Kashimo's expression shifts, a glint of admiration piercing through his irritation. "Impressive," he concedes, the words carrying an unexpected note of respect, "but you can't run from me."

He follows your lead. The two of you ascending the crane in a synchronized rhythm

"I told you, Kashimo–," you declare, your voice echoing between the steel beams as you reach the crane's zenith, standing face to face on the narrowest edge.

Now standing face to face on the crane's uppermost beam, the narrow back reach providing only small support. Your breath heaves, each inhalation a reminder of the intense exertion. Across from you, Kashimo's gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression deceptively relaxed.

"–that I'm only stretching."

His eyes, however, tell a different story – a depth of focus that cuts through your form. Anchoring onto you with an unwavering intensity.

A mournful melody weaves through the metal lattice, the wind's haunting whistle creating an eerie harmony with the tension in the air. The gusts playfully tousle both your hair in the process. You steady yourself into a stance, your body a testament to both resilience and purpose.

"Plus I want those points," you remark, a hint of determination coloring your words.

It's then that you charge — cursed energy flowing through your body like currents of compressed emptiness. A void. Unyielding. Relentless. And pneumatic.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it slicing through the air. A blade of nothing. A thin line etches across his chest, traversing from ribcage to his already wounded shoulder — a mark of your earlier endeavor. Nowhere to dodge now that he's standing between two metal beams.

Or so you thought.

Kashimo charges. The white of his robe tainted with scarlet. The cut isn't deep.

He must've reinforced his cursed energy.

"Tsk," you utter. A flicker of irritation crosses your features. Agitated. With waning stamina, the dwindling reservoir of cursed energy depleted by your previous usage; this could've been your last-ditch effort.

The final move.

And it failed.

It makes him smile. A sinister twist of lips that morphs into a grin. Moving fast, his expression resembles one of a predator closing in on its prey. The ruby stain on his robe seems to accentuate his aura of danger, a stark contrast to the pristine white it once was.

As your body contorts and arches backward, you skillfully evade the incoming fist aimed at your face. Your unwavering gaze remains locked onto his intense stare. With your palm pressed flat against the ground of the crane, you swiftly raise your leg, delivering a targeted strike to the meat of his thigh.

But before your maneuver can fully unfold, his hand seizes your ankle, pulling you towards him and locking your leg in place as he maneuvers over your body. Kashimo's grin widens, a predatory glint in his eyes that triggers a ripple of unease down your spine.

As his fist whizzes past your face, you seize the opportune moment to mount a counterattack. His fingers, still harshly locked around your right ankle, you push and pull against his grasp. Leg successfully moving to close over his thigh, the other hooking around his hip.

Legs now firmly encircling his waist, you use every ounce of your strength to push. Destabilize the sorcerer. Break his foundation. Disrupt his equilibrium.

The outcome? Both of you soaring through the air and down the crane. Kashimo's form aligns perfectly with the approaching solidity of the dockside concrete.

A rapid free fall, gravity's pull unrelenting.

If you're not getting the points, he's not getting his answers either.

His eyes momentarily flit to the ground below. Unspoken recognition of the shared peril that binds you both. The realization dawns in his eyes, widening them momentarily, before his gaze settles onto your face once more – unimpressed. Jaded.

"Oops," you jest under your breath, fingers finding purchase on the fabric of his torn clothes. An unhinged smile on your lips, eyebrows lifting in a mix of audacity and exhilaration. The wind sweeps through, rustling your hair with a cool caress that contrasts starkly with the warm stickiness of blood on your skin.

"It's accumulated enough."

That's the only forewarning you get. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts; an electrifying tension that dances along your skin. You sense the already familiar tingling as the static charges from the man beneath you. Kashimo's cursed energy now gaining intensity.

His open hand thrusts towards your face, a surge of energy gathering at his fingertips. Only to get countered by your own palm. Flat against each other. Forcing a focal point of energy converges and resistance to form. As the push effect comes into play just in time with waves of electricity.

The crackling intensity escalates, its tendrils reaching out with an insatiable hunger. Only to be pushed back by your own manipulation acting as a steadfast wall. It's a symphony of sensations — the tingling of your skin, the hum of power in the air, the gradual crescendo of pressure between your palms. The vortex throbs and pulses, a living embodiment of the forces you both wield.

The thing is – The conductivity of the vacuum…depending on how you look at it, it behaves in two different ways:

Firstly, when you examine the motion of charged particles with a constant velocity within a vacuum, you encounter an interesting phenomenon. Unlike in other mediums, there is no opposing force acting against these particles. Consequently, maintaining a steady current across any surface within a vacuum demands no additional effort.

However, a contrasting phenomenon manifests when we consider the existence of free charges within conductors. When an electric field, denoted as E, is imposed upon a conductor, it triggers a flow of electric current. This internal charge movement gives rise to a current density described by the equation: J = σE, where σ symbolizes the conductivity of the material. Notably, within a vacuum, σ assumes a value of 0; hence, electric fields lack the capacity to spontaneously induce current flow.

In this context, the vacuum departs from the role of a conductor. Even materials known as insulators, which typically restrict the flow of current, possess conductivity values that are low but not completely absent.

As a result, the resistance exhibited by a vacuum effectively amounts to infinity—particularly when you define resistance through the lens of how charge carriers in a substance respond. Viewed from this perspective, you could liken the vacuum to an insulator, given the absence of charge carriers that are essential for the propagation of electric current.

So in the end, your innate ability functions like an antistatic force.

It should be enough to counter his attack. Neutralizing his endeavor and ricocheting it back to him. Only if his other hand, clenched into a fist, suddenly hasn't entered your line of sight, aiming for your jaw.

The controlled push-only effect falters. Then crumbles. The void's pull reclaims all that Kashimo had imparted, drawing it back with an insatiable greed.

"Damn you." It now comes down to the last aspect of your technique.

Implosion.

The energies within your vacuum field converge, collapsing inwards with a blinding intensity. A jarring impact against the back of your head – or it might be the ending of your fall. Everything's just confusing. Everything blurs into a disorienting haze of continuous events.

The unforgiving touch of concrete grates against your scraped back. Each breath, now shallow and ragged, causes pain.

Above, the sky stretches wide and boundless. Until the sight is blocked by a mop of cerulean blue hair. Two buns somehow still in place. Same-colored eyes staring at your form. Arms folded and a countenance marred by bloodstains and scrapes. Each leg positioned on either side of your hips before one presses against the flat of your clavicles.

"You're quite durable," Kashimo retorts, pushing his weight down on you, "that should've killed you right there."

"Heh," you manage a wry chuckle, your voice strained but defiant, "guess I'm full of surprises."

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of almost-amusement dancing in his eyes. The world around you seems to blur at the edges, the strain of the plummet combined with the failed attempt of your innate technique taking a heavy toll on your senses.

"It's been a while since I've encountered someone who can keep me on my toes this long. Now tell me," your name rolls off his tongue in a taunting lilt, "where's Sukuna?"

The distant sounds of the dockside begin to fade, replaced by an eerie emptiness. Despite your unwavering determination, a tide of dizziness threatens to engulf you, and you struggle to maintain your focus on Kashimo's face.

"On vaca–"

The weight on your chest vanishes abruptly. Kashimo's foot makes fleeting contact with your cheek before returning to its original place.

"Don't play with me. Spit it out."

"Oi," a voice calls to your right. A voice you know; Hakari's, "It's not very chivalrous to strike a lady like that."

From here, everything dissolves into darkness.

The world sways, a disorienting dance of shadows and sensations. Light pressure settles on your stomach with sounds echoing faintly in the distance. A gentle, steady rhythm envelops you as if you're being cradled in a cocoon of safety. Your limbs feel weightless, as though the ground beneath you has transformed into a soft cloud that carries your burdens away.

Your mind struggles to tether itself to the present, grappling with the fragments of consciousness that slip through your grasp. Colors blur, merging into a hazy kaleidoscope of fleeting images. The arms that encircle you exude warmth thought. One that lulls you back to sleep.

Yet you manage to summon the strength to part your heavy eyelids. Through the haze, you see a blur of black and white on top of you. Head resting upon something firm and solid – a breastplate, you realize. The rhythmic cadence that envelops you is accompanied by the subtle rise and fall of breath, a heartbeat that resonates beneath your cheek.

"Panda," you murmur, voice a tentative whisper as you attempt to comprehend whether or not you're dreaming, considering the creature on you is now a size of an actual teddy bear.

The toy-sized Panda remains seated on you but looks your way, emitting a surprised yelp at the sound of your voice, before swiftly turning his gaze forward again, "Hakari, she's awake!"

Your vision – still blurred – manages to trace a figure walking at the edge of your peripheral sight – left arm missing, shirt gone (he's shirtless, you discern), and crowned with purple hair. Hakari. But if Hakari's walking in front of you. Then…

Lifting your eyes, you suddenly lock onto a fleeting sight of vibrant cyan hair. The once-pristine white attire now soaked and marred with splotches of vivid red, creating an unsettling contrast. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns upon you.

It's Kashimo who bears the weight of your limp form.

"She's gonna pass out soon again," his voice carries vibrations that travel from his chest to your cheek with his gaze fixed upon you.

And he's right as your body, weary and battered, succumbs once more to the embrace of slumber.

[merbear25]

First kiss with Sanji

Requested by @sanjilover70

SFW, gn!reader, fluff

A/N: Thank you for the request lovely! I hope you like it 🥰

As the white clouds continued to roll in, only patches of the blue sky and the sun's rays periodically appeared. Pulling into this town's port, you'd offered to assist Sanji with restocking the Sunny. The two of you'd had your fair share of conversations, which were filled with friendly exchanges, and occasionally, laced with flirtatious undertones.

Failing to contain his excitement of spending more one-on-one time with you, he gladly offered you a hand in getting down from the ship's deck. Walking side-by-side, you swapped pleasentries, some of which having the two of you recalling humorous situations you'd found yourselves in.

Being around him made you wonder how you'd managed to go without his company for as long as you had. He'd consistantly been encouraging, supportive, and without a doubt, loving in each way you needed someone to be. Despite these overwhelmingly positive interactions, you were still apprehensive about how serious he felt about you.

The sun was just beginning to bless this town with more light shinning upon you, as he delivered a flattering line, which made you giggle. While standing at the food stall, he looked over at you as if he was seeing you for the first time—finally being able to appreciate you.

Glancing over at him, you looked away—your bashfulness warming your cheeks. Batting your eyes at him, you returned his fondness; your eyes drifted to each other's lips.

He slowly leaned in, signalling the desire he'd had to kiss you that'd been weighing on his heart for what felt like an eternity.

When your grinned at his advances, he stepped towards you with more confidence and wrapped his arms around your waist to allow your budding romance to fully engulf him.

He cupped the side of your face, and you were met with the passion he held behind his lips—feverish want lingering on the them when you pulled away.

He was still holding you closely; his palm was still gently caressing your face. Smiling warmly at you, he stroked your cheek, making your heart flutter.

[bunnibitez]

Messy Hands - Part One

Pairing: Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader AFAB

Word count: +4.3k

Summary: Miguel is having a rough time keeping himself in check. He’s getting angrier and just wants his dues. Besides, mob protection is so hard to come by these days. Unfortunately though, you might be under his “protection” now.

CW: 18+ so MDNI, NSFW. Mentions of blood, gore, violence, guns, criminal undertones, death, choking, murder, language, slow burn, eventual smut, no use of y/n

AN: So this is my first fic EVER. Idk what I’m doing so forgive me. I speak some Spanish but not that well so sorry in advance.

There’s a scent that hangs in the air of the warehouse. The hefty and pungent stench of iron and salt wafting through, sticking to the walls. Blood splatters as it’s coughed up onto the floor. Strangled chokes and gasps of desperation bounce off concrete as a bound man fights against the ichor that fills his now punctured lung. Heaves and wheezes fill the space, nearly drowning out the sweet melody that plays. Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major. Precise movements over the strings of a recorded cello, attempting to mask the groans and whines of a weakened subordinate. The Boss had always mentioned that classical music soothed him, allowed him to work better. Something about it just calmed the fire raging in his chest. The prisoner hangs his head low as blood pools in his mouth, mixing with saliva and dripping out in fat blobs onto his chest. He’s grateful for the moment to even hang his head, or at least he should be.

Hours have passed since he was dragged here, sack over his head and hands tied behind his back. That was so long ago, he thinks. Now the bag has since been removed and he’s been fastened to a chair in the center of the cold cement warehouse full of shipping containers, the contents of which he is oblivious of. His consciousness is fading in and out as he tries to focus on the sound of his rattling chest and the crescendo of the tune. But his ears prick as the crack of knuckles catches his attention.

He didn’t dare lift his gaze, already knowing damn well of the monster looming before him. A laugh rumbled from it’s chest as heavy footsteps approached. He could’ve sworn he felt the earth shake as it approached, but the man did his best not to show the absolute terror he truly felt. Suddenly from behind, a hand trails through his short black hair, yanking his head back in order to look upon the beast in front of him. Dark brown eyes squint at the harsh lights and he groans. His face may have been handsome once but now it was unrecognizable, broken, bloodied, and bruised; split in places not even thought possible. Peter’s hand jerked his head from side to side, ensuring he was still alive. The scruffy fellow cracked a smile and laughed as he stood behind the poor sucker. Parker was merely there to assist with refocusing his gaze. With his eyes now tracing upwards, he could see the figure ahead of him. He simply whimpered softly.

Miguel was a sadist for sure. A toothy, fanged grin spread across his sharp features as he began to wipe the blood from his brass knuckles onto his wife-beater. He carefully slipped them into his pants pocket. It had gotten everywhere at this point, Miguel believing that there was more blood and bile on the floor than in the barely breathing body beneath him. Thankfully he had enough foresight to at least remove his suit jacket, tie, and button up before beginning the torture. He stood there now, splatters of gore painting the once pure white undershirt and part of his perfectly bronzed skin. A thin layer of sweat coated his forehead and massive arms. His crimson eyes glowed, dilated as he focused in on his pathetic prey. He found it funny really, amusing. He let out a deranged laugh as he ran a hand through his messy brown locks before he spoke.

“Ya know.. I can’t lie,” He said lowly as he stepped closer, “..Realmente estoy disfrutando esto.” He growled.

There was a madness in his smile. A hidden darkness in has eyes that showed just how badly he wanted this, how he needed it. It wasn’t often that he found a mole in his ranks, attempting to demolish the empire he had built with his own two hands. It wasn’t often that he was ‘forced’ to be merciless and violent. It was a shame, he thought. Trust was something so hard to come by in his line of work. When that fragile trust is broken, an example must be made. So, when a young buck gets bold enough to start selling Spider family secrets and stealing more than his cut, Miguel is simply doing what he has to in order to secure his power and place in Nueva York. He’s worked too hard and spilled too much blood to just let it all slip away.

Finally, he looked down at the heaving mess he had made, labored breaths getting fainter as they made eye contact. Miguel snaps his fingers and swiftly, Ben shuts off the music that filled the room. A deafening silence falls on the warehouse. Miguel’s monstrous form crouched, coming to level with what was once the face of a rat. His broad and calloused hand raised to squeeze the bloodied cheeks, roughly manhandling his head, turning it over and kneading it carelessly. He sighed deeply, hot breath fanning over his victim’s features before he looked up at Peter, lifting his brows for just a split second. It was a silent command, ‘Get the gun’.

Peter released the rat’s hair and stepped back to retrieve ‘LYLA’, a stainless steel Colt XSE with a custom black grip panel etched with the red silhouette of a spider. She was beautiful. Sleek and elegant but capable of obliterating a man’s skull in a matter of milliseconds. As Miguel waited, his eyes drifted back down. His grin had fully faded as the fun of the it all was beginning to die down. The rage that had been simmering in the back of his mind had begun to boil. He liked to believe that he was a reasonable man most of the time, calm and sometimes even forgiving. But now he had no patience. Right now he felt a sort of virus infecting him, shutting down all logic and leaving him with just unadulterated hatred. Venom spilled over into his words as he spoke in a low tone, growling out as he spoke slowly.

“I can’t fucking wait to see your brains painting the walls.” He hissed out. His tone was cold and flat. His face was deadpan now, ready to carry out his final act of justice. In a fleeting moment of bravery, the rat hummed lowly. Squinting his eyes, hollowing his cheeks, and jutting his head forward just so, the rat spit at Miguel. A plump glob of blood and drool landed on Miguel’s cheek as the rat gave a half toothed smirk.

“Fuck you.” It came out broken and slurred, but the rat was proud of himself.

Miguel’s eyes darkened as his thumb slowly swiped across his cheek, effectively removing the carmine mixture. His gaze was fixed on this thumb before it calmly returned to leer at the smug prisoner.

“..Y pensar, yo iba a mostrarte misericordia.” Miguel uttered quietly as he rose up from his position on the ground. He loomed over the man, whose smirk had dissipated by now. Large sepia hands shot out, tightly coiling around the rat’s neck. Miguel was slow, methodical about it. Digging his nails into flesh as he applied pressure to the trachea, crushing and throttling at once. Wheezing ensued and panic filled the man’s eyes as his throat was forced close. His eyes widened, nearly bulging out of his skull as raspy whispers and choked gasps were the only sounds he could make. Tears rolled down his cheeks as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Within moments, the rat’s body went limp in Miguel’s hands. Peter was just striding back into the room when Miguel threw the corpse to the ground, still bound to the little metal chair. The useless cadaver clattered loudly on the floor.

“You seriously couldn’t wait a minute?” Peter said with a snicker as he came up to his side, handing over LYLA.

“Shut the fuck up, Parker.” He spat out coldly, tucking the gun away as he turned his back on the body.

“Call the cleaning crew. I want this place scrubbed down.” Miguel growled out as he snatched his clothes from Ben’s hands. The scruffy lackey simply shrugged and shook his head, pulling out his phone to obey as he smirked to himself.

And with that, the trio headed towards the door, piling into a black Escalade. Miguel grumbled to himself as he laid his clothes down on the empty seat next him. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a silver zippo. After lighting a cigarette between his teeth he took a long drag and hummed, savoring its flavor. He let out a deep sigh, smoke billowing past his parted lips as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, appreciating the momentary silence. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, a low dulling hum in the back of his mind that seemed to get fainter as the car began to drive away from the warehouse. By the time they reached the highway, Miguel’s little hum was gone and his rage sat dormant, waiting in the back of his mind for now.

He felt his body ache now, finally taking in the toll of senselessly beating with his bare hands and a few other tools for hours. He let out a low groan, spreading out in the backseat. He was so so tired but knew there was still work that needed to be done. There always was.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The morning sun came streaming in through your curtains, stirring you awake from your bed with a groan. Plush warm sheets coaxed you into spending five more minutes among them. Your eyes had just barely shut when your phone alarm rang. An exasperated sigh left your body as you heaved yourself from the mattress, tossing the blankets off. You stretched with a whine before standing up and you swear you thought you heard your back creak. Hastily getting dressed and slipping your apron on over your clothes. Checking the time, you slipped on your shoes and headed out the door of your cozy little apartment. Brooklyn was nice, pretty with plenty to see and do with its fair share of safe and friendly neighborhoods. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t live in one of those neighborhoods. You lived on the seedier side of town with less friendly faces and cheaper rent -the side where quarrels between your neighbors could be heard through the paper thin walls and a strange smell often wafted up from the kitchen pipes. It wasn’t much, hell it was barely considered habitable but it was home. Your own little place in the world where you felt somewhat safe, far away from your old life. A fresh start was just the thing you needed. The only current upside of your living arrangement was that it was only a 5 block walk from your job.

‘Bellaginos’ was a small, family owned Italian restaurant that sat on the corner of 48th street. The dining room was divided into 2 parts; the main dining room with booths and chairs has a casual feel to it, and the private dining room with a few more candles and nicer decoré. The private dining room was just separated by 2 French doors, inside was one large mahogany table and enough chairs to seat 12 people. It was typically just used for private events and large parties, at most though in recent years it hosted a birthday dinner. The menu was nothing revolutionary and the atmosphere didn’t exactly read high class, but it was nice enough. The dingy and peeling yellow wallpaper had it’s own sense of charm to it. Your boss claimed that back in the day, “It was one of the classiest joints in town.” Obviously true by the stained and sticky carpet and how well it complimented the out of place faux Roman vases in the corners of the room.

You kept to yourself mostly, not wanting to bother the owner or the cook too much with trouble. Being polite and kind was how you ended each day with a full belly anyway, curtesy of the chef. You’d only been here for about 2 months, working as a waitress. Most days you could sit unbothered in your favorite little booth.

The day was flying by quickly and you were halfway done with your shift, sitting at one of the little red vinyl booths in the corner of the almost empty restaurant. It was tucked away in a way where you could see most of the main dining room without having to move. Your hands were busying themselves with a paper and pen, doodling away, when the little bell above the door jittered to life. Two men walked in. The smaller, leaner man with a scraggly 5 o’clock shadow held the door open, its whiny hinges complaining at the movement. He moved aside and when he did, that’s when you saw him. Dark brown slicked back curls just barely ducked below the door frame in order to step inside the shabby little eatery.

Big.

That’s the first thing you noticed. He stepped into the cramped room and his presence within made it feel like it shrank by two sizes immediately. His friend stepped in behind him, letting the door close with a slam. The second thing you noticed, were his eyes. Piercing and criminally beautiful scarlet irises that tracked around the room lazily. A bored expression played on his sharp features, as though he’s been here many times before. He runs a calloused hand through brushed back locks, a few strands disobeying him and laying messily, before breathing out an annoyed sigh. He seemed tired. No, exhausted more like it. The bags under his eyes aging him a bit, but if anything it only added to his charm. You’re about to get up from your little hiding spot to greet the pair when the owner, Mr. Caparelli, bursts out from the kitchen. For the first time since you’ve seen him, the plump and hairy little Italian man looks damn near jolly.

“Caio Miguelito!” He says through a thick Italian intonation, his joy sounding a little forced compared his usual grumbles and gripes. Mr. Caparelli was what some might call a ‘proud man’. He didn’t take criticisms well. He firmly believed that the moment you set foot within his restaurant, you owed him respect. Yet for reasons that evaded you, the giant needed not waste time with false niceties and earning his kindness. Your employer approached the tan mountain of a man with wide arms, his white mustache stretching out as he forged a smile. The behemoth pulls one hand out of his pocket and wraps an arm around the stout little man, patting his back heartily. The rings on his fingers glint as they catch the afternoon sun.

“Caio, viejo.” His voice rumbles out and you feel a heat creep across your cheeks. It’s deep and low and rattles in his chest, commanding attention. He masks his dull expression instantly with a warm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s fake, well practiced.

“How’ve you been, Miguel? Feels like the last time I saw you was uh.. six months ago. Normally you don’t come in to collect...” Your boss chuckles as he pulls back, looking up into the monster’s eyes. You don’t quite notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention. “Everythin’ alright?”

Miguel, as you’ve now learned is his name, nods his head slowly, humming in response. He doesn’t look Caparelli in his eyes, already done with the conversation before it began. Now, he’s merely looking down on him with half lidded eyes, sizing up his prey.

“Sí amigo. We’ve just got business to discuss. Price changes an’ all that.” Miguel slides his hand back into his pants pocket.

Caparelli’s smile falters for only a moment before he nods his head.

“R-Right,” he clears his throat, “Of course. Lemme uh.. lemme make you somethin’ to eat and then we can talk. Ragazza!” His head whips towards the little booth that you’ve been sitting in. Somehow you’ve managed to go unnoticed by both Miguel and his associate. The shaggy man smirks and rubs his hands together.

“Finally! I am absolutely starving.” He states as he licks his lips, causing Miguel to roll his eyes.

“You’re always starving, Peter.” Miguel mutters, more so to himself than to anyone else. Peter has always had a proclivity for annoying Miguel, so much so that sometimes he can’t quite recall why exactly he was his right hand man. Miguel firmly believed that the only reason Peter did anything was because it would lead to a hot meal. Such simple motivations almost made Miguel envious. Almost.

“Cara! Seat my friends in the private room.” He calls to your direction.

It takes you a moment, but slowly your form rises up from the booth and you begin to approach the men, stuffing the pen and crude drawing into your apron pocket. Miguel’s eyes widen just barely as he looks at you, taking in the sight. Meekly, you grab two menus, keeping your head down as you tried to find your words.

“Follow me please..” You say in a voice barely above a whisper. Miguel is silent, taking a moment to watch you turn around and walk towards the private dining room before he follows. You set the menus down at the head and the first chair on the left. The two take a seat, with Miguel at the head, as you fetch your notepad and pen from your apron. There’s a thick tension about the room as Miguel rests his chin on his fist, now wearing the same disinterested expression. His eyes are cold, raking up and down your body in a silent motion.

“Can I start you off with something to drink, sir..?” Your voice is soft, sweeter than he realized it was when you first spoke at him. He’s too distracted by your tone and the way you call him sir. It’s been too long since that kind of innocence was presented to him, tempting and teasing him. You must know what you’re doing, he thinks. He focuses intently on those plush lips of yours. So pretty and soft, blessed with a hardly noticeable sheen from your lip balm. He wonders how it must taste and how pliable your lower lip would be between his teeth. It takes him a moment before he’s broken from the trance and looks up into your eyes. He must’ve been staring for too long since you’re now looking at him with furrowed brows in confusion, head slightly cocked to the side like some wide eyed puppy.

“Sir..? Did you hear me..?”

He clears his throat, closing his eyes for a moment in order to ground himself. Biting the inside of his cheek, he hardly grumbles out a response. When he opens his eyes again, he’s looking down, suddenly finding the dingy white tablecloth to be very fascinating.

“Yeah yeah, te oí..” His hands tense around the edges of his menu, needing to sink his nails into the brown pleather of its cover for relief. “Just get me an ol’ fashioned.”

You nod your head, scribbling the order down and turn your attention over to Peter who was already beaming up at you.

“Just a water for me, thanks. Tonight May and I are having a tea party so I gotta hold off on the sugar.” He chirps as he chuckles, elbowing the growling beast beside him. “Oh and can we get some bread too? And some butter! And-“

“Enough.” Miguel cuts him off. He shoots a side glare at Peter, waving you off with his hand. You tremble a little at the way his voice boomed. You nodded your head quickly and turned on your heel, rushing through the French doors. Miguel doesn’t watch, feeling an odd humming in the back of his brain and knowing that if he saw the way your hips swayed and bounced as you scurried away from him in fear would only make it worse. He kept his eyes down, slowly letting them close, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he let out a low breath.

“You alright, big guy?” Peter asked, clapping a palm to Miguel’s shoulder. “You look so tired lately.”

“M’fine.” He snapped. He lifted his head and looked into the warm brown eyes of his companion. Peter retracted his hand, shooting both up in defense and going silent. In truth, Miguel wasn’t just tired. He was fucking drained of every last bit of energy he had. Business had been booming lately and with the rise of idiots in Nueva York trying to take what was rightfully his, Miguel hadn’t been able to rest. Scum like Kingpin had been hiring his own men, bribing them into selling out the family. Loyalty was becoming a scarce resource, causing more and more rival gangs to crawl out from the woodworks to oppose him. One of the biggest things the Spiders dealt in was “protection.” The Spiders would offer their protection to whomever could afford it, but the higher the demand got, the greater the cost grew. This of course was the only reason Miguel was sitting here today. A couple of Spiders had attempted to inform your boss of the rising cost of protection, but the pig headed brute refused to listen. Miguel had decided that he’d pay him a visit as a last chance before escalating things. Miguel was cold and calculated and knew the only way to make people listen was through fear.

In the beginning of it all though, he tried to be merciful. He tried to be patient and understanding, but his kindness was mistaken for weakness. His mercy was abused and left him with nothing but a fraction of the man he once was. Now the bloodlust was near maddening. Managing his rage had become a dangerous dance. The stress of running an empire often left him craving release in one form or another. First it was women, then liquor, and now his latest vice was violence. Unbridled carnage that truly let his mask of sanity slip. He was trying harder and harder now a days to keep his wrath in check but with so many people working to test his patience, he was bound to snap. The poor fellow in the chair last week had merely been the victim of shit luck. Miguel had intended to show him some mercy and make his death quick and painless. Unfortunately for him, his tongue worked faster than his head and he thought that pushing Miguel’s buttons would buy him some time. Miguel had been pent up with rage for weeks and just needed to release it on something. Part of him feared he’d always have to live with this anger, never really able to escape it, just find gaps between the killings. That is until he saw you.

For the first time in a long time, when he heard fear in someone’s voice, he didn’t want there to be any. You looked so small and soft. So delicate, like a fragile little flower. The humming in the back of his brain tuned out the constant wash of anger. For once, he wasn’t focused on work or power. In the seconds he took to gaze upon your angelic face, he felt peace, an emotion he thought he was no longer capable of.

When you finally returned with their drinks, Miguel watched your eyes flit to the floor as you approached him. He could’ve sworn he felt his heart palpitate in his chest, not fully understanding himself why he wanted you to look at him. You set down the drinks along with a basket of bread and butter and placed your hands behind your back.

“Mr. Caparelli will be here shortly to speak with you. Is there anything else I can get you..?” You questioned softly. Slowly you lifted your head, anxiously shifting your weight. Cautious as ever, you stole a glance at Miguel’s eyes. They gleamed like rubies and for a moment you felt a shutter in your chest. A whimper would’ve escaped you, had you not been more wary.

Miguel simply shook his head and looked down at his drink.

“No, thank you. That’ll be all.” Miguel says as he picks up the glass, bringing it to his lips. His tone seemed softer, just barely so. You hum in response, allowing the corners of your mouth to just barely turn upward and once again turned towards the doors. You only halted once Miguel called your name, feeling a chill crawl down your spine.

“Y-Yes sir..?” You glance over your shoulder back at him.

“Close the door on your way out.” He said coldly, losing any sense of warmth he may have just had. With that you weakly nod and close the doors behind you. The doors to the private dining room remained closed until your stout manager exited the kitchen with a serving tray of food and nervous sweat beading down his forehead. Mr. Caparelli entered the room and slammed the door shut behind him, simply hoping to survive and atone for the sins that had lead to this meeting with a killer. Caparelli set down the plates of food before the two men, taking a seat on the far end of the table, directly across from Miguel. His trembling only fed Miguel’s ego, causing a malicious grin to spread across his face. He chuckled lowly, his scarlet eyes half lidded and glaring directly into Caparelli’s soul.

“Aye viejo, there’s no need to be so scared…”

“I won’t bite.”

Part 2

@whisperwispxx

[licncourt]

Is there a specific way to read the vampire chronicles or some books you should skip (I’ve just heard that some aren’t that good but like I’m up for anything)? And what books are focused on Louis and Lestat?

Okay I hope you weren't looking for a short answer to this because there isn't one 😭 Rather than just give my uncontextualized opinion, I'm going to try to explain what makes some (most) of VC so unbelievably terrible in so many people's eyes. There are going to be spoilers for pretty much all the books, but most of it is either incredibly stupid or information that you might want relating to content warnings. I'll list what applies to each book as I go.

I'm assuming you're here from my VC primer post, but if not, I'll link it right here! It gives a bit more detail on my short answer to your main question which is: if you value your sanity, only read the first three. Also a note to read the post I linked at the bottom of it about Anne Rice for context. It will help with understanding the tone this post takes re: the author.

To quickly answer your second question, I am sad to report that Interview with the Vampire is the only book focused on Loustat because after that Anne Rice decided that she hated Louis. Their relationship is on and off in the (very, VERY distant) background until they finally get together permanently towards the end of the series, but it's never the focal point again. She just kept us all on the hook by having one absolutely brain chemistry altering ship moment in a majority of the books (my compilation of those moments here).

Okay, on to specifics:

Interview with the Vampire: a literary classic with incredible character building. I'm assuming we can all agree that IWTV is fantastic and anyone who is reading this because of the show is probably already sold on it. If that's where you're coming from, you might be a bit disappointed by how unsympathetic Lestat can be, but that'll be remedied(ish) later. Lestat is the main character in the series going forward. Enjoy this Louis content because this is pretty much the end of it.

CW: keep in mind that the beginning of the book takes place on a plantation with all that entails; there are some occasional pedophilic and incestuous undertones, but nothing out of place with Gothic horror (it gets so much worse); domestic violence

The Vampire Lestat: this is widely considered to be excellent popular fiction rather than something as elevated as IWTV, but it's a 5-star read according to most fans. Lestat is such a vibrant, exciting character and so much more than the charismatic villain he was in IWTV (the AMC show incorporates a lot of his characterization from this book, as IWTV was originally a stand-alone novel without any real idea of what Lestat would become).

Aside from a (delightful) cameo at the end of the book, Louis is now in Anne Rice Jail and will not be allowed to do anything for the next nine books except be tortured once like a bug for no reason.

CW: a non-consensual turning that is directly analogous to sexual assault; descriptions of child abuse; Lestat, unfortunately, tongue kisses his mom

Queen of the Damned: this is the last book that most fans like. I personally consider it a step down from the first two, but I strongly prefer intimate, character driven stories and QotD is very plotty. It's a fun book, but some cracks start to show in AR's writing that will become a big problem later. Still, it's enjoyable and the ending is very satisfying for the story arc and for the characters. It also contains a fan favorite chapter that follows Daniel, the interviewer, and his insane romance with the vampire Armand.

If you want to be a happy person, turn back now.

CW: non-con blood drinking/vampiric SA; casual racism and pro-imperialism

***CATEGORY 5 EVENT: ANNE RICE FIRES HER EDITOR PERMANENTLY***

The Tale of the Body Thief: this is considered by most fans (obligatory not ALL) to be the worst book in the series simply for how the subject matter is handled. This is the beginning of AR transforming Lestat into something very existentially disturbing without even meaning to. The sympathetic, charming, evil-but-not-really theater kid Lestat is gone without a trace in a way that could be a very insightful look at the aftermath of trauma but is instead deeply insensitive and really upsetting.

Lestat from here on out becomes a hypermasculine caricature that can do no wrong according to the narrative and this has some pretty awful results. There are a few funny moments (like Lestat describing the sensation of peeing for two full pages) and a very cute arc where he adopts a dog, but he also commits two explicit rapes and emotionally abuses/threatens Louis on several occasions with the authorial justification that "men can't help themselves", abuse victims have it coming for setting boundaries, and people who have suffered abuse become abusers. This will be a recurring theme going forward.

Not related to Lestat, but also an Indian man is killed and has his body stolen and inhabited by a white British man in what would be a great metaphor for colonialism if the author thought that was a bad thing.

I am on the last chapter of a 140,000 word fic that I wrote just because I hate TotBT so much and wanted to create a world where it doesn't have to exist. It's one of the most popular VC fics on ao3, and that's not a testament to my writing ability, but rather to how much people hate this book.

CW: graphic SA; domestic violence; insensitivity to the point of racism; the author thinking these things are okay

Memnoch the Devil: not much to say about this. It's AR's ripoff of Dante's Inferno. Lestat meets the devil, goes to hell, drinks the blood of Jesus Christ, loses an eye, vacuum sucks period blood out of a woman's uterus and pad, and then falls into a five year semi-coma on a church floor. Somehow it's still boring. Best I can say is that the Lestat characterization is a bit less heinous than it is in the previous book.

CW: not much here unless you have an issue with period blood guzzling

The Vampire Armand: truly a notorious book in the series, beloved by some, hated by many. There's some good backstory for the character Armand (he first appears in IWTV, likely in season two of the show) and some fun historical fiction, however. Armand begins his story as a twelve year old human child who is rescued from sex slavery by an ancient vampire, Marius (he was namedropped in AMC ep 2).

Over the course of the book, he's physically, mentally, sexually abused by Marius, his teacher and father figure who is, like David, presented as a wise and moral authorit figure. In addition, Armand carries on a sexual relationship with an adult man as a minor. The sex is graphic (it's erotica) and it's really the peak of the pedophilia in VC. Keep in mind that this is coming from an author who publicly defended a child predator and thought that 14 year old kids could consent and should be allowed to have sex with adults.

Of all the later books, this one is the most widely enjoyed because Marius/Armand is a fairly popular ship.

CW: CSA/grooming; statutory rape; explicit adult/minor content; child abuse; cult abuse

Merrick: evil, evil book. AR's giant fuck you to Louis and anyone who likes his character. Lestat is in his devil coma for most of this book, so it's narrated by his newest fledgling and rape victim, David (who I and most others despise. This is the white guy who has an Indian body now). By this point, AR had openly admitted that she didn't like Louis, and she kind of spends this book tormenting and mocking him for no reason.

The titular Merrick (a mixed-race witch drowned in awful racial connotations) mind controls Louis with magic, then forces him to turn her (again, AR has confirmed that this is vampire rape) and be in a relationship. After this, she conjures a "ghost" that may or may not be Louis and Lestat’s dead daughter who tells Louis she always hated him and blamed him for her death. Completely overcome by grief, without Lestat (coma), and having been raped, Louis attempts suicide.

This event and all his mental health issues up to this point are framed by David as being stupid and weak, the sign of a lesser person who should just go and die because they deserve it. It is worth mentioning yet again that David is framed as being in the right and AR had expressed these opinions herself in the past (ie that mental illness is just weakness and you should be able to get over it).

Another fun thing is that Merrick was groomed by David as a child and he spends most of the book wanting her back and also admitting to other acts of pedophilia. So that's fun and great for a character who's supposed to be a voice of reason and moral center.

0/10, despise this book.

CW: sexual assault; grooming; attempted suicide

Blood & Gold: this is Marius' backstory. It is a completely pointless book because we've already heard it twice by this point in the series (and if you read the companion book Pandora, you'll hear it again). The whole thing reads like a Wikipedia page about ancient Rome. Read it if you want I guess.

CW: Marius

Blackwood Farm: this book had...potential? None of that was ever achieved, but I'll at least say that the concept could be worse. Lestat acquires his FIFTH brunette sadboi love interest of the series in this book, so that's kind of funny. Overall though, any positive qualities are overshadowed by weird prose, a really transphobic caricature, and the fact that the main character has shower sex with the ghost of his dead twin brother

CW: transphobia; sibling incest

Blood Canticle: Miss Rice decided to. Get creative with this book. It is a fandom joke. It is the worst prose in existence. It is a literary manic episode. It is truly indescribable. I'm just going to leave this excerpt from ch 1 here and let you imagine an entire book of this

Yes, chapter one is Anne Rice using Lestat as a proxy to berate her readers for not liking Memnoch the Devil. It's also important to me that you know Lestat calls himself "omnisensual" in this book, tries to become a saint, and tells a woman to put some clothes on because men can't control themselves. The word "chuckle" is also written out in the prose in italics like this is ff.net in 2010. The best thing that came of this book is the famous AR Amazon reviews rant (now a beloved VC fandom copypasta). Please read it. It's transcendent.

CW: psychologically devastating prose

Prince Lestat: this is AR's comeback book, published 12 years after Blood Canticle. It's an improvement, but it's still terrible and very, VERY dumb. Lestat has completed his transformation into a macho man male power fantasy for AR and we end with the establishment of a vampire monarchy with Lestat in charge because he slurped and then puked up the brains of the vampire who had the Special Vampire Essence.

Mostly this was an excuse for AR to kill off a bunch of her weird NPCs that she didn't know what to do with. The good news is we get a very cute, official Loustat love confession and for the first time since the first book in the entire series, we get a chapter that's Louis' POV!! It's like 7 pages long but it's the best we're ever going to get.

Other fun thing that happens: Lestat is hooked up to a hormone IV that allows him to fuck (book vampires can't) and the resident scientist vampire steals his cum and creates a petri dish clone of Lestat that is raised in secret for 18 years before being given to Lestat as his son. No, I'm not joking.

CW: uh, brain eating? Insanely unethical human experimentation?

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis: batshit crazy book. Truly bonkers. There are aliens, Atlantis is real, Lestat has a sentient brain parasite that controls all vampires and talks to him in his mind like the PS5, vampire brain surgery occurs, a choir of child vampires is there, an alien named Derek breastfeeds a disembodied hand until it grows into his clone named Derek Two, and so much more.

The one positive is that after decades of harassment, AR finally lets Louis be a main character again. By this point he has been completely stripped of his personality (I call it the Louis Lobotomy) and exists solely as Lestat's sexy lamp, but whatever. He's there and they're cute together. How they managed to become a healthy, functional couple overnight after two hundred years of drama is never explained.

Lestat makes out with his rapist and talks about how he was asking for it in a particularly nauseating scene, but otherwise it's pretty tame trigger-wise

CW: rape apologia/victim blaming

Blood Communion: we are finally being put out of our misery. The end of the series. This is such a boring book and Lestat’s characterization is completely nonsensical by now. Several main characters are presumed dead for a while and by this point you don't even care. Not even the other characters in the book seem to care. Its only use is to get that sweet sweet Loustat happy ending.

CW: temporary character death

-

Alright, that was a lot of shit-talking a book series I literally run a fandom blog and write hundreds of thousands of words of fic for, but the truth is, fans are here for the characters as they were originally created. The first three books are wonderful, the first two completely masterful and case studies in how character building should be done. There's a reason they've been read and analyzed and fawned over for forty years. What happened to the series is heartbreaking, but it doesn't negate the impact of how it started.

AR may have started spelling her own characters' names wrong and writing a baffling combination of disgusting hot takes and total absurdity, but she created something special in the beginning and I'll always love it and be grateful for what it once was.

I hope that was helpful!

[justanotherdinboshipper]

Analysis: Dinbo Parallels between “The Heiress” and “Guns For Hire” also featuring "The Sanctuary"

This analysis marks my initial contribution to the Dinbo fandom, as I simply couldn’t contain my brainrots any longer. Below, I’ve outlined the intriguing parallels I’ve observed between these two episodes, both directed by Bryce Dallas Howard.

(I hope you like reading cause this is a long one but I hope my fellow Dinbo shippers would enjoy this brainrot)

Frog Lady and the Couple from Plazir

In a captivating discussion by @noorhal on this youtube video focusing on Dinbo, parallels between Bo-Katan and the Frog Lady were explored. Both characters share a similarity: they are the last of their family lineages. Bo-Katan herself highlights this fact during her introduction to Din.

In Trask, significant meetings unfold for both the Frog Lady and Bo-Katan. Just as the Frog Lady encounters her husband, laying the foundation for her family’s continuation, Bo-Katan crosses paths with Din. It’s not just the Frog Lady who found her significant other on that fateful day at Trask.

Howard employs another couple in “Guns For Hire” to echo the dynamic between Din and Bo: The Duchess and Captain Bombardier. This married pair rules over a domed city akin to Mandalore, with the Duchess representing royalty while her husband does not share her status. Exactly like Din and Bo; she’s Mandalorian Royalty while he is a Foundling.

And what’s interesting is that, both of these couples-the Frog Lady and Her Husband and the Duchess and her Husband, both looked after Grogu as both Din and Bo went on a mission together. Coincidence? I think not.

The Quarren and Mon Calamari

Another compelling parallel between “The Heiress” and “Guns For Hire” lies in the presence of Quarren and Mon Calamari characters in both episodes. Interestingly, these characters also reflect the evolving dynamic between Din and Bo.

In “The Heiress,” these two species are depicted as siblings. When Bo comes to Din’s rescue aboard the ship and Din pleads for Grogu’s safety, Bo’s reassurance—“Don’t worry, brother, we’ve got this”—underscores their Mandalorian kinship. Their relationship is rooted in camaraderie and mutual respect, devoid of romantic undertones.

However, in “Guns For Hire,” the Quarren and Mon Calamari are portrayed differently; they are not siblings but lovers facing an impending separation. This shift suggests that their relationship has evolved since their initial appearance in “The Heiress.” From the Mandalorian brotherhood dynamic, their bond has transformed into a romantic connection, albeit one that will be constrained by external circumstances.

The Darksaber

The closing moments of the “Guns for Hire” episode resonate with a subtle yet significant exchange between Din and Bo-Katan involving the Darksaber. As Din offers her the legendary weapon, there’s a palpable tension in the air, underscored by the deliberate slowness of their movements. Bo’s slow acceptance of the Darksaber from Din’s outstretched hands, coupled with his nod of acknowledgment, speaks volumes about the unspoken understanding and chemistry between them.

It’s noteworthy how Din, despite his reluctance to possess the Darksaber, diligently safeguards it, like the shifter ball cherished by Grogu, hoping one day to return both of them to their respective owners. He understands the significance of the saber to Bo-Katan. When Paz attempted to claim the Darksaber, Din fiercely defended it.

In “The Heiress,” Din initially shows little interest in Bo-Katan’s quest to reclaim the Darksaber from Moff Gideon. Despite her plea for his assistance, Din remains focused on his own priorities. However, in the closing moments of “Guns for Hire,” Din returns the Darksaber to Bo, fulfilling her long-standing desire and Din playing a huge part in achieving it.

Banter and Eyes

In “The Heiress,” Bo-Katan’s gaze holds a certain intensity when she looks at Din, hinting at intrigue or perhaps even attraction. Despite Din’s affiliation with a sect that she despises, Bo persists in urging him to join their mission to reclaim Mandalore. Her unwavering desire for his involvement suggests a level of fondness or admiration, even before witnessing his combat prowess firsthand.

The banter between Din and Bo-Katan in “The Heiress” crackles with tension, particularly when Bo changes the terms of their agreement. Her mocking delivery of “This is the way” leaves Din momentarily speechless.

In “Guns for Hire,” Bo’s demeanor towards Din retains a hint of the attraction evident in “The Heiress,” albeit with a softer, more tender undertone. Their banter remains, but it’s devoid of the sly mockery present in their earlier encounter.

Regrettably, the episode doesn’t afford us a glimpse into Din’s point of view, leaving us to wonder about his feelings towards Bo. However, the subtle shifts in their dynamic—from playful banter to a more sincere exchanges—suggest a growing connection that transcends mere partnership.

Flashbacks to Being Saved as a Kid

In “The Heiress,” a visual parallel unfolds as Bo rescues Din, their hands interlocking in a gesture reminiscent of a pivotal moment from Din’s childhood. This evocative imagery reinforces the idea of Bo as a savior figure in Din’s life, echoing the past trauma he endured and the subsequent salvation he found in Mandalorian culture.

Similarly, in “Guns for Hire,” another callback to Din’s childhood trauma is subtly woven into the narrative. Bo’s method of dispatching the battle droid mirrors the manner in which a similar droid was neutralized during Din’s rescue as a child.

The scene where Bo assists Din, helping him to his feet, further reinforces their connection. As their hands interlock once more, the camera lingers on the gesture.

The Sanctuary

Now let’s weave the themes of these two episodes to another episode directed by Howard in Season 1-Episode 4, “The Sanctuary”

In that episode, we encounter Omera, a potential love interest for Din. Interestingly, parallels emerge between this episode and “The Heiress.” In both instances, Din is presented with an invitation to stay or join a community, but his responses reveal nuanced differences in his character development.

With Omera, Din’s refusal to stay is resolute, rooted in his belief that he doesn’t belong. However, the episode hints at his underlying desire for connection and love, albeit conflicted by his adherence to the Mandalorian Creed and the dangers of his chosen profession or way of living.

In contrast, Bo’s offer in “The Heiress” carries a different weight. While Din doesn’t immediately accept, his response isn’t a flat rejection either. He acknowledges his current obligations with the Child but leaves the door open for the possibility of joining Bo in her cause in the future. Bo’s willingness to wait for him underscores her respect for his choices and her understanding of his priorities.

This theme of commitment and prioritization continues in subsequent episodes in Season 3. In “The Mines of Mandalore,” Din reiterates his need to fulfill his obligations before going with Bo. “I cannot go with you until I fulfill my obligation.” I don’t think that’s just a reply to Bo’s offer to take him back to his ship in Kalevala. It’s hinting at something more.

By the time “Guns for Hire” rolls around, Din’s presence alongside Bo on their mission to find her fleet speaks volumes. Without explicit confirmation, it’s evident that he has accepted her offer, joining her in her plans to reclaim Mandalore.

The Evolution of Din Djarin’s Priorities and Commitments

Throughout “The Sanctuary,” “The Heiress,” and “Guns for Hire,” Bryce Dallas Howard skillfully illustrates a theme: the evolution of Din Djarin’s priorities and commitments. In Season 1’s “The Sanctuary,” Din’s paramount concern is ensuring the safety of the Child while remaining true to his creed and his job as a bounty hunter. Despite hints of his yearning for love and family, these desires remain secondary to his duties.

As the narrative progresses into “The Heiress” in Season 2, Din’s focus shifts towards reuniting the Child with its own kind, while maintaining his dedication to his creed and his newfound duty as the Child’s guardian. Though the bond between them deepens, Din remains hesitant to fully embrace the idea of the Child becoming his family.

However, “Guns for Hire” marks a significant turning point. Despite the absence of a clear transition scene between The Pirate and this episode, Din’s unwavering support for Bo-Katan’s mission to find her fleet speaks volumes about his evolving priorities. While he was not explicitly tasked with this mission, his decision to accompany Bo demonstrates that her cause has become his own, and his commitment to her is unwavering.

Whether Bo asked for his assistance or he offered it willingly, the underlying truth remains unchanged: Din’s loyalty lies with Bo, and her priorities have become his own. This subtle yet profound shift in allegiance underscores the depth of their bond and Din’s willingness to prioritize their shared goals above all else.

In “Guns for Hire,” subtle yet significant cues suggest a potential shift in Din Djarin’s openness to romance. Through his ongoing training of Grogu and his growing acceptance of the concept of family, Din demonstrates a newfound willingness to embrace deeper connections. The thematic elements of love are reinforced by the planet’s name, “Pleasure,” and the presence of two couples intertwined with the narrative. Additionally, the reminder from the droid that “life is short” displays the fleeting nature of time and the importance of seizing opportunities for connection and companionship. These subtle hints, woven seamlessly into the episode’s fabric, suggest that Din may now be more receptive to exploring romantic possibilities in his life. Beyond mere fan speculation, this narrative development reflects the skillful storytelling of Bryce Dallas Howard and the talented writers behind these three episodes, they are geniuses.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Another remastered oldie. No cute banner this time because I'm lazy. [ SYNOPSIS ] Your slutty boyfriend convinces you to fuck in a nasty bar bathroom. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.9k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, sadomasochism, exhibitionism, public sex, rough oral sex, degradation (Zeke calls you a slut, says you're dumb), cum eating, drugs (marijuana), alcohol, Zeke's pullout game is mid tbh, and there's Neopets nostalgia.

Any establishment that opted to have red lighting as an aesthetic choice never failed to put you on guard. There was nothing quite like a wannabe speakeasy to set the mood. You had sad men hiding in corners. Sad men waiting for cute girls to talk to them. Sad men who hoped their presence in a trendy, gaudy bar with old guns hung on the walls made them interesting.

You and Zeke passed by it one cold morning and you mentioned how tacky you thought those kinds of places were. You said you wanted to go ironically. And of course called your bluff and decided your next date night would occur there. You reluctantly agreed. Denying him was a near impossible task.

You were the first at the bar, a disappointment because you wanted to have some form of comfort greet you. But no, Zeke was late as always.

He was probably at home, sitting on his ugly couch, smoking his ugly weed. His perfect body laid out next to an ugly ashtray overflowing with ugly cigarette butts, watching old Jerry Springer episodes on Youtube.

There was no other place you’d rather be. You wanted to be sprawled out on top of him, your head on his chest as he dithered about class disparity in the United States.

We can laugh at Beau and Cletus all we want, but look at us. I pay for high-speed internet so I can watch this shit unfettered and make fun of their shoes. You just complained about two-day shipping not being fast enough. And you ordered, what, loose leaf chamomile tea? We’re just as embarrassing as them, maybe even more so. The difference is that we have disposable income.

On second thought maybe you were better off languishing in a faux speakeasy. The ground may have been sticky underneath your shoes, but at least you didn’t have Zeke blabbering in your ear.

“Miss me?” Zeke purred in your ear before.

“Nope, I’ve been too busy.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Yeah. I got caught up feeding my Neopet… Or if that’s not an acceptable answer, I can say I was sleeping with your dad. You choose.”

“Neopet. I like knowing you care about things.”

“Did you know they never die?”

You order a round of Cuba Libres.

“I don’t like rum,” Zeke whined.

You shoved the drink in his hand and stole a handful of cut limes from the little container behind the bar.

“Really?” he asked bluntly.

“They never put enough. Trust me. Anyway, that little green Mynci you made in 2001 is sitting there. Literally starving! Zeke.” You grabbed his wrist. “That is verbatim what it says on the website. Starving.” You plopped two slices of lime in his drink.

He stared at you, his grey eyes full of concern. He was high off his ass. “She was yellow.”

“What was her name?”

“I can’t remember, but I know it had like six numbers and probably three underscores.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every fucking day.”

Laughter overtook both of you. You grabbed a table closest to the exit and he slid his backpack under it. You figured he didn’t want to linger long as well. The chairs were freezing. You shifted in your seat. The cold didn’t help your sore ass. Zeke took notice of this.

“I told you I was paddling you too hard.” He took a tiny sip of his drink.

“I still stand by that you weren’t hard enough.”

“You were crying, pet.”

“They were tears of happiness. You know, like when people win a Golden Globe or whatever.”

“No one gets that excited over a Golden Globe.”

You slumped down into your chair. You had no witty retort. This happened more often than not when he was around. In just about every other social situation you were the paragon of humor, a true queen of comedy.

“Aww, did I hit a nerve?” He kicked your shin from under the table. The pain perked you up. You proceeded to stomp on his foot eliciting an audible wince from him.

“How long are you trying to stay here?” you asked, hoping he’d say something like zero seconds or if I stay here any longer I’ll turn into sand.

“Long enough to have sex in what I am assuming is a gross bathroom.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re high, right? You can’t—This place is gross.”

“I had this planned from the beginning.” He leaned back in his chair. “It shouldn’t be too gross. This hellhole hasn’t been open that long.”

“My feet stick to the—”

“That’s character.” He leaned forward over the table, yanking you by the collar of your shirt so you were inches away from his face. “It makes for an interesting experience.”

You let out a nervous laugh, desperately fighting off the beginnings of arousal. The gross old men leered.

“Ugh. Fine. But I wanna be high too,” you complained.

He glanced at the growing pod of old men. “Let’s hit the bathroom.”

He got up, leaving his unfinished drink behind. It prompted you to do the same. They weren’t that impressive. You walked down the hall turning corners until you saw a sign for a bathroom. Zeke kicked in the door and shoved his head inside.

“I’m pretty sure no one is in here. And look, there are even stalls.”

He made his way over to one and tried to lock its door.

“Well that’s broken.”

He repeated this process on the remaining two stalls. None of them had working locks.

You looked around. “This is—”

“An even better opportunity than I could have imagined.”

You were speechless. You knew he was a borderline insatiable tramp, but this was a lot. You were conflicted. On one hand, getting railed by him always sounded like a good time. But on the other, getting potentially caught by one of those decaying dinosaurs sounded like torture. And you hadn’t committed any crimes bearing that level of punishment.

“But those guys are so weird looking,” you whined like a child.

“Who cares?”

“I care. It’d be one thing if they were like your hot friends…”

“You can’t say that and not specify which ones. It’s illegal. You and I both know that.”

“Fuck… Pieck, duh. Or Colt.”

“Oh god. Really?... Colt?” he sounded vaguely disgusted.

“Fuck you! Yeah, really Colt. It’d be a learning experience for him.”

“I wouldn’t let him join in.”

You smirked. “You say that now, but in the moment the tides may change.” You punctuated the sentence with a wink.

“Alright, you might have a point with the Colt thing. But I’m disappointed Reiner didn’t come up.”

“You know you can just say who you would want to catch us? Like my answers aren’t the end-all-be-all.”

You went to join him in the decrepit stall. You hugged his toned body and buried your face into the crook of his neck. His hands went straight to your ass, typical.

“Reiner, because I know it’d fuck with him,” he yammered on. “Or what’s that one guy’s name? The one that hangs out with my brother?”

“So many people hang out with your brother. You really want a 19-year-old catching us?”

“Hush. I’m thinking. Blonde. Blue eyes.” He paused. “Also Colt’s 19, dumb ass.”

“Colt doesn’t count!! Are you thinking of Historia?”

“What?! No.”

Zeke broke the hug and rubbed his temples. “It’s a boy. He is a boy.”

“Well, more like a man.”

“You’re not helping. Blonde. Blue eyes. He’s a,” Zeke paused for emphasis, “man.”

“I think that’s Armi—”

He barreled through your sentence. “Armin! Yes, him. It’d fuck him up too. He’s like an angel; we’d be stripping him of all innocence.”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure a cute, 19-year-old college boy is getting at least some form of action. We all know who the right option is.”

“Alright, fuck it. Fine. Colt. Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Pervert,” he mumbled.

“Like you have room to talk.”

You grazed his cock with your hand. He smirked and pulled a joint from his pack of cigarettes. He held it between his lips and sparked it.

“I see you’re not concerned about getting caught.” He took a hit and then passed it to you.

You took a heavy drag off the joint. “I’m already going to get loudly fucked in a bathroom. I might as be high.”

You passed the joint back to him and he took a lengthy hit. He let the smoke drift from his mouth slowly. You plucked the joint from his fingers.

“I recommend taking another. A long one.”

“Why?” you said, smoke drifting from your mouth.

“Because you’re getting on your knees the second you exhale.”

You held the rest of the smoke in for as long as you could to spite him. But Zeke quickly tired of your bullshit and took the joint from you. He grabbed a chunk of your hair from the back of your scalp and pulled.

“Knees,” he muttered.

You scoffed. “Rude.”

However you did as you were told and he loosened his grip. He took a hit from the joint and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. The ground wasn’t sticky, but that did little to quell your disgust. You were always ashamed at the depths of depravity you allowed yourself to descend into for your boyfriend.

You looked up at him and asked, “Are you really gonna be able to keep the door shut?”

“No. Undo my belt.”

You gritted your teeth and started to fiddle with his belt. His rough hand rested on your head, softly caressing it. You knew such tenderness wouldn’t last long.

“I know you can work faster than that.”

You sighed dramatically. You quickly pulled his belt off and unbuttoned his jeans. You pulled them down and noted that his black briefs were sullied with precum. You yanked his underwear down and was greeted by his thick cock, a beautiful sight to behold. Drool pooled in your mouth, a small drop of it trickled from the corner of your mouth. Zeke lifted your chin and wiped it away with his calloused thumb.

“You’re foul. What will I ever do with you?”

You gazed up at him. “I don’t know… Let me milk every drop of cum from your cock?”

He smirked. “You’re so fucking stupid. Are you done talking?”

“I guess. I can’t think of anything else to—”

He grabbed the back of your head and forced his cock into your mouth. You lurched forward, using the bathroom stall door to keep some semblance of balance. His thrusts were methodical. Never too deep as he didn’t want you to gag on him, it was too early for that.

“You’re filthy, you know that? An utter degenerate.”

He continued to plunge his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth. You carefully breathed through your nose and tried to not cough on his length.

“You deserve to get caught. Everyone deserves to know what a disgusting slut you are.”

You attempted a nod, but Zeke put his rugged palm on your forehead and shoved you off of his cock.

“Say it.”

“I deserve to get caught.”

His grey stared down at you hazy with lust. “And?” He took one last hit off the joint.

“And everyone deserves to know how gross I am.”

He frowned and blew the smoke directly in your face. “Not quite, but close enough.” He shoved his cock back down your throat.

The bathroom stall proved to be a poor source of balance so you rested your hands on his tense thighs. His muscles contracted with pleasure. You relaxed your throat, finally getting the entirety of his cock in your mouth. You held it there for a few seconds before you felt the beginning of a gag. You pushed his hips away from you. He pulled out and continued to jerk off as you coughed and caught your breath.

“I’m getting really close,” he teased.

You smacked his hand away. You spit in yours and jerked him off while running your tongue along his slit.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He held your head in place and rammed his cock in your mouth. You grabbed onto his taut ass for leverage. His thrusts were becoming sloppy. He came hard, filling your throat with cum.

“I’m getting fucked, right?” you asked, wiping your lips.

“No, I thought I’d just stand here in this bathroom with my dick out.”

You rolled your eyes and got undressed. He led you out of the stall and shoved you against the sink. He groped your breasts, rough fingers pinching your nipples.

“Ouch!” you yelped.

Zeke laughed and pinched harder. He slipped three of his dexterous fingers into your slick pussy. They slid in and out with ease. He pushed you harder against the sink, the basin digging into your spine. You winced. He took notice and put his hands under your ass and lifted you up.

“Lock your legs around me,” he commanded.

He slammed his cock balls deep inside you. There was no tenderness in his thrusts. He wanted you to moan his name louder than you’d moan anyone else’s. But you resisted. The last thing you wanted to do was to bring any attention to yourself.

“Come on, pet,” he practically begged. “Say my name.”

You shook your head. You pictured those leering old men sipping their martinis, cocks stiff as they heard you moan. Zeke rubbed your clit with his thumb and started kissing your neck. His soft flaxen beard tickled your skin.

“Say my name or else I’ll go find some cheap whore that will.” 

His breath was hot on your neck. He pressed his thumb down hard on your clit.

“Fuck! Zeke!” Your legs tightened around his waist.

He placed his hand under your chin and forced you to make eye contact. His eyes were feral, darkened with desire.

“Weak. You can do better than that.”

You hugged him closer, fingernails digging into his chiseled back.

“Zeke!”

You felt your body growing warmer. Every cell in your body writhed with pleasure. You clung to his body as your orgasm intensified.

“I don’t remember giving you permission,” he whispered in your ear.

You attempted to hold back but it was too late. You moaned his name louder than even he anticipated. He held his hand over your mouth, his cock still inside you, thrusting away.

“I don’t remember saying you should start screaming either.” His tone was anxious. “I never thought I’d say this, but please shut the fuck up.”

You glared at him, but remained silent and allowed him to continue fucking you with his engorged cock.

“Good girl.”

The words barely left his lips before he let out a hearty moan. He pulled out of you.

“Hurry, get on your knees.”

You dropped down to them and opened your mouth. For the first time in years he missed, getting his cum all over your chin and down your neck. You were not impressed.

“You look so cute.”

He pinched your cheek and ordered you to stand up. He held your face in his hands. Just as he went to lick your neck the bathroom door swung open. It was one of the old men. Zeke didn’t stop licking you.

“Oh my word! I am so sorry. You, uh… You two… have fun.”

The guy ran out as quickly as he came in.

“I wonder if I could pay that guy to walk in on us whenever I want.”

You went to search for your underwear and found them inside a toilet. You flushed them away.

 “No. We talked about this already.”

“Colt would be traumatized if he walked in on this.”

Zeke finally put his dick away. You both stood at the sink washing your hands.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?! Whatever, let’s leave before we get kicked out for being absolutely disgusting. Not that I ever plan on coming back here.”

You walked out of the bathroom and faced the geezers. You kept your head down. Zeke on the other hand seemed to relish in the shame and even tried to high five the man who caught you.

Zeke grabbed his backpack from under the table you two had been previously sitting at. You headed to the spiral staircase that led to the exit. It was one of those rickety metal ones that would be considered decorative in a world that made sense. Zeke offered you his elbow and you held on while you cautiously made your way down the stairs. You pushed through the heavy doors and were greeted by a rush of cold air.

You shivered. “Fuck! I was inside before the sun went down.”

You were woefully unprepared for the weather.

“Good thing I’m a genius then, huh?” He pulled out a sweatshirt from his backpack. “Arms up.”

You raised your arms and he tugged the sweatshirt down onto your body.

“Thank you. I didn’t think it would be so chilly.”

Zeke pointed up at the perfectly clear night sky. “Yeah, we’re in for a cold one. Look.”

You both let out a collective whoa. It was a gorgeous sight; it almost made up for the ugliness that had previously occurred moments ago.

Zeke lightly slapped your ass. “Let’s get moving. We need to shower.”

“Come on, you don’t wanna stare at something dumb ass beautiful?”

If you had craned your neck back any further to see the stars you would have toppled over.“I already have a beautiful dumb ass I can stare at whenever I want. Now come on. I was balls deep in a paternity dispute before I got here. You’re going to love it, the baby daddy threw his gold tooth at his ex-wife. Jerry is pissed.”

[twisted-tales-of-all]

The Enemy of My Enemy

Summary: When your home port suddenly claims a ban on pirates docking there, you and your rival are forced to join forces. Characters: Kim Hongjoong + Gender Ambiguous Reader; ft. ATEEZ members Genre: Fantasy Short Series (part 1) with a bit of Angst (and possible fluff in later parts) Tropes: pirate!AU, enemies to friends (to lovers in a later part), working together against a mutual enemy Word Count: 2.9K Contains: pirate-related violence (explosions, knives, injury, blood, etc), betrayal, cursing, mention of death and loss of limbs, homoromantic undertones for certain characters (nothing explicit or confirmed), use of 'sir' as honorific without gendered undertones

A/N: support banner by @cafekitsune ; pirate divider by @firefly-graphics 🤍

You aren't new to discrimination, not by any means. However, that didn't stop you from getting blindsided as you tied your ship to its usual post at the port.

"This ship and its crew are unwelcome in this port." A stern, deep voice booms from behind you, loud enough to gather the attention of everyone nearby - all but yours, at least.

As you finish tying the knot and stand up, you feel the figure looming directly behind you. You hadn't the slightest thought that they were speaking of your wondrous Moon Raider, not after the past three years of ensuring that your crew respected the port and its customs.

Turning, you ask the man, "What ship is unwelcome, exactly?"

Although you wanted to hide your irritation, your crew noticed. The man also must've noticed since he clears his throat harshly before responding with a tone rivaling that of an automated robot.

"Any and all pirate ships have been banned from docking on our port. Leave immediately or face the consequences."

Your irritation morphs into booming laughter, "We always pay any fines you assign us. What's with the extra formality this time around?"

As you mimic his stature, you notice another officer walking past your boat's position. You watch him announce the same rehearsed statement to the captain there as he hops out to anchor his ship to its post. However, rather than offering him a chance to leave, he grabs his arm, locking him into constraints instantly. At this point, you realize the gravity of the situation, but it's all too late. As you're focused on the Sun Howler, the officer in front of you approaches and places restraints on you. You call out to your crew, reminding them to stay calm and follow all the rules.

Dragging your rival, the other officer follows behind as you walk with your officer silently. Trying to remain calm, you attempt to calculate why this may happen. Although you may not follow all the rules perfectly, everything worked out up until now. And, although you may not enjoy competing with him, you know Captain Hongjoong plays fair just like you. For the harbor police to arrest you both, there's really only one option: new port ownership. Although this was your first time back to the dock in months, you hadn't expected such a drastic change.

Reaching the prison, the officers shove you both into a cell together. Through the bars, they remove your cuffs.

"You sure we won't kill each other in here?" You joke, screaming at their backs as they leave, entirely unfazed by your comment.

"I think they'd prefer it," Hongjoong scoffs as he taps on the sheath on his hip, "Otherwise, they'd at least remove our obvious weapons."

Cursing, you sit down with your back against the cold brick wall. Fidgeting with the frayed fabric on the thigh of your pants, you wonder if the situation could get any worse.

"What'd you do, Raider?" He prompts, using your boat as your name, somewhat of a custom between you.

"Nothing here. Not in a long time. We've been gone for three months time. What of you, Howler?"

You look up to see him leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed and one foot laid over the other. He shakes his head, and - although his hat covers his face - you can imagine how hard the cogs turn in his head to analyze the situation.

"It wasn't like this when I left either. We've only been gone about seven weeks. How'd something happen so quickly?"

After a long period of silence, you hear footsteps approaching. Even simply seeing their shoes, everything clicks for you. You can tell Hongjoong understands as well, as you can sense him tense up.

"Hongjoong.Y/N. What an amazing situation for us to reunite."

The callous tone pricks at your skin, leaving goosebumps in its stead, but you refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Your cellmate, however, is far too quick to anger to stop himself. He leans against the bars as he curses at the person who once sailed the seas opposite you both.

"The fuck is going on, Wooyoung?! Why in hell's name are you standing there high and mighty while we're stuck in a damned cage in this cellar?!"

Hands up by his head, Wooyoung stifles a laugh, "Quite aggressive now, aren't we? I know we were rivals on the sea years ago, but it looks like I won out."

"Sell out. Traitor. Fucking turncoat."

This time, he allows his laugh to echo through the prison. Cockily, he steps closer to Hongjoong, leaning in just barely out of reach.

"Does it matter what I did if I won? You look pathetic, Captain."

With this comment, you interject, "This is why you never had a loyal crew, you know. Your ego got in the way and Topaz Shields lost out because of it. Such a gorgeous ship, too. So sad. How's the leg?"

Knowing he wanted to hit below the belt, you remind him of his greatest tragedy by asking about his leg. Due to his ego, he drove his ship directly into the sirens' call and barely escaped with his life. He lost his loyal-to-a-fault first mate that day two years ago, all because he couldn't stand the thought of the other two crews finding a sacred treasure before him.

"Don't you dare mention Shields, Raider. The leg was the least of my troubles, and you know that much."

"Right, right. Pardon my impertinence. How could I forget that you lost your boyfriend as well?"

Trying to hold his composure, he reminds you that San was only ever his first mate, nothing more. Despite what everyone knows to be true thanks to their actions and Wooyoung's immediate reaction to the man's untimely death, he has denied his feelings since the incident - something to hide behind to lessen his feelings of guilt for causing his death.

"Well, whatever the case, I've come here to alert you that we'll be charging you for crimes against the city through your illegal market dealings and disregard for the laws of the area."

Hearing a former pirate captain charge someone for essentially being a pirate feels laughable, but you simply ask for the price point of said charges.

"Oh, no price for this one, Y/N. You both have been sentenced to time in jail equal to that of your career length. For you, that's three years; Hongjoong, you have 4."

Quick to react once again, Hongjoong unsheaths his dagger and swings it through the bars. It cuts Wooyoung on the lower part of his cheek, but the sound is far more intimidating than the actual damage.

Bringing his hand up to his face, Wooyoung smirks as he sees his red-stained fingertips. You keep a hand on your weapon, worried he might lash out against you both, but he simply turns to walk out.

"Enjoy your years. Once you return, there will be no Sun Howler. No Moon Raider. No pirates." He doubles down with his irritating remarks by waving his hand nonchalantly as he turns the corner.

As soon as the click of his footsteps fades to silence, Hongjoong drops into a squat. He curses Wooyoung and grumbles about the ridiculous sentencing. Seeing him freak out like this makes you giggle. He's usually light and free, the shining sun amongst a hoard of disheveled and mangled captains. You share that commonality with him - you've never quite been one for abandoning health and presentation, even if that's what many people picture when imagining pirates. The crews from this port rarely saw those kinds of pirates, not when the three captains who called this place home were you, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung. So, seeing one of these captains falling apart on the floor while cursing and swinging at someone makes you wonder how quickly you could also fall apart.

Shaking your head to rid yourself of those thoughts, you break the silence, "What's the plan, Howler?"

He looks at you dumbfounded, "Plan?"

"The escape plan? Ain't no way I'm letting that one-legged chicken act all high and mighty like that. We aren't gonna sit here and accept years of punishment for things he once did with us."

Suddenly recognizing escape as an option, Hongjoong stands up straight. You see a fire burning in his eyes and tricks within his crooked smile. He twirls the dagger around carelessly as he paces in the small box of a cell. With his newfound joy, he examines the bars, the lock, and every crevice that might be used to thwart Wooyoung's scheme and escape from the prison.

"I think this calls for a good old-fashioned bust out. Unless you think you can pick the lock from in here."

You approach the bars, trying to find the perfect angle to see what you need on the lock. However, you can't find the necessary parts to allow you to pick it from awkward angles. Turning to your cellmate, you shake your head.

"Bust out it is. Not as quiet, but it gets the job done all the same." He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a small trinket about the size and shape of a pocketwatch, which confuses you. He must be able to read the confusion on your face, because he explains, "My first mate loves to tinker, and he's made some marvelous contraptions. Stand back at the bars and watch."

Listening to his advice, you stand flush against the metal bars, the cold bleeding through your clothing to leave your skin feeling fresh. He stands next to you, flips the gadget open and closed quickly, and tosses it to the opposite side of the cell. When it connects with the wall, you hear a clicking noise and instinctively close your eyes. In that short moment, you feel Hongjoong move from beside you to in front of you. With the cold on your back and the warmth from his body closely in front of you, you barely process the explosion. When you open your eyes, you see the captain boxing himself around you, framed by the outside light streaming in. You assume it's around midday from how strongly it enters the room, and you try to look anywhere that isn't directly at Hongjoong's face.

He clears his throat as he steps back, "Sorry. I didn't want debris flying into your chest or anything."

Noticing him fiddling with his shoulder, you quickly thank him before asking if he's injured. Although he blows it off, he refuses to turn around, so you know debris likely lodged itself into his upper back. You decide not to fight it until you reach the docks, so you simply make your way over the rubble and out into the sunlight, letting him follow behind to hide his injuries.

Despite the explosion, nobody seems interested when you walk past. The only looks passed your way feel like those typical for known pirates walking around. As you reach the docks again, your crew quickly catches sight of you and rushes off the ship. You're glad that they make it to you long before his crew can see you.

"Mingi, can you tend to him? We blew our way out of jail, and he got hit with debris. He's acting like he's fine, but drag him aboard anyway."

Hongjoong tries to argue, but Mingi ends up behind him and sees the injury. With your first mate yelling at him for hiding it, he can't help but walk onto the Moon Raider for medical help. As he passes you, you sneak a glance at his back and see the top left corner of his otherwise tan shirt torn and stained dark red already. Trying to figure out the trajectory of the rubble, you place your hand on your right shoulder and vow to find Hongjoong a new shirt as thanks for blocking it from hitting you.

After reassuring your crew that everything will be okay and joking that you may be fined for the massive hole in the prison wall, you make your way past your prized ship. Approaching Sun Howler, you receive a much colder reception. Bowing before the ship, you address the first mate.

"Quartermaster of Sun Howler, I wish to inform you that your captain is currently aboard the Moon Raider receiving medical care from my crew. He protected me during an explosion of his creation, so I took it as my role to aid him with our supplies. He will be fine, and we will send him to you once his wound is properly dressed."

As you raise your head, you notice an exceptionally pretty man standing about ten feet in front of you. He nods as you acknowledge him before thanking you for taking care of his captain. You weren't expecting someone who could shine in his own respect to be Hongjoong's right hand, but hearing him speak makes you understand exactly why he would be in such a position. A voice that rivals one of a siren, the grace in his speech patterns, and his subtly decorated uniform all suggest a royal background. You begin to wonder whether he was a runaway or kidnapped and assimilated.

"Stop gawking at Seonghwa, Raider. Don't go stealing someone else's first mate." Hongjoong struts up to you, shirtless other than the bandages circling his chest, back, and shoulder blade.

Although Seonghwa laughs at the comment and explains the situation, Hongjoong doesn't back down in his jests, pointing out Seonghwa's obvious beauty.

"Sometimes, even I swear you're a siren. Even royals don't typically look and sound as good as you. You sparkle, Hwa." He reaches the boy as he talks, placing a hand on his shoulder to emphasize his final sentence.

"Captain, stop with the flattery. A first mate is never as wonderful as the captain, and yet you forbid us from saying those types of comments towards you."

Feeling out of place in the interaction, you quietly excuse yourself and begin walking back to your ship, but Hongjoong calls after you, "Y/N, let's find a new port together."

You try not to react, but the comment makes you trip over the air by your feet. You hope that they don't notice while you continue walking, making your way to your ship to break the news to your crew that you need to find a new home base and likely won't be able to return. Some crew members are quick to show their anger towards Wooyoung, but you reassure everyone with one simple claim.

"If we've done everything we can and they still don't want us here, we shouldn't want to stay either."

You explain how there likely isn't any time for goodbyes since the police likely won't waste time chasing you down again, so you work towards setting sail immediately. Luckily, your crew instinctively filled up on supplies while you were stuck in the cell, so there isn't much left to do.

"Cap'n, there's someone requesting to talk to you. Should we allow him aboard?" A member screams across the ship.

"Who is it?"

"Captain Hongjoong of Sun Howler, sir."

"Let him board."

As your new companion faces you, you address him properly and lead him into your chambers. Motioning to the nearest chair at your desk, you drop the formalities in the privacy of the room. Dragging out another chair to sit in front of him, you ask about the plan. As he recounts the pirates and their known home ports, you deduce that the safest plan would be to sail north, up the coast to the city rivaling this one.

"Won't they shun us away?"

"Didn't you and I once shun each other away and brace this port together regardless? Or what of Wooyoung taking over this city to shun us away from here?"

Nodding in acknowledgment, Hongjoong confirms, "So, we head north? Stop at each port we come across?"

"We might end up too close if we do that. Does your crew have the supplies to sail safely for a week before finding a port? I don't want to taunt Shields too soon; I want to be ready to fight back."

Uncertain of Wooyoung's response to your escape, the captain agrees to meet again in a week's time. After the seventh sunrise, they will look for the closest port. In case of landing at different ports, you agree on a plan to find one another via smoke signals and a trail of coded notes. To stay one step ahead of potential enemies, you assign each other new aliases to use in the notes, basing the initials on the boats' names and their respective quartermasters: Sea Heist Sails and Mightly Reel Mast.

After agreeing on the specifics, you shake Hongjoong's hand and wish him luck on his journey. Leaving you with a quick show of comradery in smiling and claiming that he'll see you in a week, he heads back to the Sun Howler to untie her and set sail. Following his lead, you untie Moon Raider and instruct Mingi to head north, staying near the coastline if possible.

As you drift out of the port, you hear a commotion behind you. Eyes drawn towards the ruckus, you see Wooyoung red-faced and angrily yelling at his guards. As he flails his arms in the direction of your ship, he makes direct eye contact with you. With a smug smile on your face, you remove your hat in a mocking salute, signaling to the man that you've won this round without breaking a sweat.

Tags: @yourfatherlucifer @pyeonghongrie

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

[A ship with Wesker that contains Hades and Persephone themes and undertones would be bomb ngl.]

[starkerhowlter]

More Than A Skirt

Ship: starker Rating: Explicit Contains: smut, feminization, heavy degradation, lingerie destruction, pet name use, blowjobs, clothes ripping, praise, calling male parts female terms, Dom/sub undertones, Begging Initial prompt: @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo fill: Feminization Words: 2226 Summary: It's just a skirt, right?

Read Below or on AO3

Thank you so much to @starkerkitty for editing this for me! I mega appreciate you for taking the time to help me out!!!

There's a skirt. 

A turquoise tartan miniskirt is on Peter Parker's side of his and Tony's shared bed.

In their bedroom. 

But it's not his. And he knows it sure as hell isn't Tony's... Without another look at the shocking piece of fabric, he drops his backpack on the floor and rushes back out of the room, the heavy black wood door shutting behind him. He knows Tony told him to prepare for an eventful night, but fuck this wasn't what he had expected.

"Tony?" Peter calls out, walking down the staircase into the too-white living room. "Tony? Where are you?" 

"Mr. Stark is in the lab, shall I let him know you're looking for him, Mr. Parker?" JARVIS replies, his disembodied voice echoing around the room. 

"Uh, no. No that won't be necessary. Thank you, JARVIS." Peter heads down into the lab, finding Tony with a million and one blueprints spread over every surface.

"Where the fuck is it?" He hears the man shout, throwing a book off the shelf. Peter catches it just before it hits his face, setting it on the hood of the sports car.

"Hi?"

The older man bangs his head on the metal shelf, cursing under his breath. "Hi, honey. Sorry for the mess, I lost the manual for the vintage Harley over there and I can't remember what kind of bolt it takes."

"It's over there in the top left drawer of your desk. You put it there when you didn't want to lose it last time." 

"And it's not there, did someone move it? Did I rearrange my desk?"

"I honestly don't know," Tony sighs, turning back into the cupboard, "Um, Tony..." Peter tries, attempting to reroute the conversation, "I found something in our room... I was wondering if you knew where it came from?" 

"The outfit on our bed? I got it for you," the man replies, head still deep inside the cupboard. 

"But Tony, it's--" 

"I know, I thought you might like something different. You mentioned liking things like that in our conversation the other day. Did you not mean skirts?"

"No, no I did. I just didn't expect you to have found one so quickly. What if I don't look good in it?" 

That comment is what finally causes Tony to turn to him. The man crosses to stand in front of him, "You'll look amazing baby, I just know it. You don't have to try it if you don't want to." 

"No! No, I do! I just.. er..." His voice cracks, betraying his nervousness. 

"Go try it on. If you hate it, you never have to wear it again. If you want, there is also a lacy bodysuit that goes with it hanging in the closet."

"A-a bodysuit?" 

"Yes, a body suit." Tony presses a gentle kiss to his forehead and the feeling of his beard calms Peter slightly. "Will you give it a try?"

Peter nods, swallowing. "I will, for you. Do you want to see it?"

"Of course, baby! If you are willing I would love it see you in it. I’m sure you'll look gorgeous! If it helps, I can lock down the house and keep everyone out and it'll just be you and me."

"O-okay. I'll go and uh, go and put it on for you." He steps into the elevator, falling against the white wall. His heart pounds in his chest, anxiety creeping into every last cell in his body. 

He can do this.

Back in their bedroom, Peter slowly removes his clothing from the day. He tosses the articles in the hamper, staring at the body suit hanging on the closet door. The turquoise lace stares back, daring him to try it on. He sighs, removing it from the hanger and stepping into it. He pulls the long lace turquoise sleeves up his arms, adjusting the drop centre so that the laces are tightened accordingly. He sighs, picking up the skirt and sliding it up over his legs. The colours match perfectly, and admittedly, it looks good. He runs his hands over his torso, ruffling his hair. 

"Alright, hopefully I don't let him down."

-----

"Did it fi-- holy fuck…" Tony turns around, eyes roving across Peter’s form, "Look at you." Peter blushes in the doorway to the lab, stacking one foot on top of the other shyly. 

"Is it okay?"

"Okay.... look at you, sweetheart..." Tony approaches him, placing his hands on Peter's hips, "You look so fucking good."

"Th-thank you."

"Now, about the other half of your request, are you still wanting to be called every single pretty name I can come up with?" Peter nods, face and chest flushing a gorgeous pink. "Alright, then... how about we go up to the bedroom, baby girl?"

"M-Mhm" He takes Tony's hand, stepping back into the elevator once again. 

"You don't need to be nervous princess, I'll be gentle with you." Tony runs his fingers over the younger's cheek, kissing him as he cups the boy's cock through the skirt. "Play with your little clit and get you all nice and wet for me? How does that sound?" Tony raises his eyebrow, connecting their lips again.

"P-please!" Peter gasps, his body already reacting to the concept of the older man's promises. 

The elevator dings, and immediately, the duo is rushing down the hall to their bedroom, "Let's do this." Tony purrs. "Onto the bed, pretty thing."

"Gladly." Peter lays back on the black silky sheets, watching patiently as Tony rolls up the sleeves to his band tee, and unbuttons his jeans. "Would you like me to strip?"

"No, I can get at everything I need to quite easily, Princess." He smiles as he runs his fingers up Peter's thighs toward his crotch. "This one should have snaps..." he runs his hand over the smooth panel covering Peter's cock and ass, "Or... I thought it did. Hm."

"Are you sure you don't want me to--" Before he can continue speaking, the sound of ripping fabric meets his ears, "Tony!!! This was new!"

"I'll buy you a new one, kitten. I'm too fucking into you to care at this moment." Tony runs his fingers over Peter's cock, revelling in the gasps slipping from Peter's mouth. "Look at you. Look how much you love me touching your pretty little clit. Can you tell me how much you love it, Peter?"

"I love it so much, Tony, please touch me more," he whimpers, head falling back into the mattress.

"Well, since you can't even say what you love me touching, I think I want to play with your pretty little tits," Tony growls, crawling onto the bed and running his fingers over the younger's nipples through the top. 

The feeling of the lace on his nipples should be overwhelming, but the rough texture burns in the best way, his back arches up against his will, which causes Tony to press more. 

"Fuck, princess, look at you..." he whispers, kissing Peter filthily, licking into his mouth and absorbing all of the desperate moans Peter's letting slip. He's so far gone already, and Tony's barely done a thing. 

"A-ah... Tony, please..." Peter begs, "T-Touch me, please..." 

"Not until you tell me what it's called. Until then why don't you show me how good those pretty lips look stretched around my cock?" Peter moans obscenely, and nods, sliding off the bed. "That's a good girl, so fucking compliant aren't you?" His knees hit the floor as Peter's hand rests on Tony's lower abdomen, and before he can reach into the older man's boxers, Tony lightly taps his hand. 

"Wha--?! You told me to--" 

"Ask." Tony smirks, hand coming to rest in Peter's hair.

"Please?" Peter replies, "Can I... Can I have your cock, Tony?"

"Of course, you can, baby. All you had to do was ask!" He smiles, allowing Peter's hand to sink inside of his boxers and pull it out. "Now, I want you to suck all nice and neat for me, Princess. Can you do that?"

"M-mhmmmmm..." Peter sinks down, slowly, taking the tip of Tony's cock in his mouth. 

"Oh, fuck..."Tony whispers, resisting the urge to fuck into Peter's mouth, "C'mon take it. Just like that, baby girl, take it. Take all of my cock in your pretty mouth. Look'so good like that." The younger does, dragging his tongue along the bottom of his shaft, sinking to the base. He lingers there, enjoying the sounds his husband makes above him. Following the vein along the bottom, he rises back to the tip, "Fuck, Peter, you've gotta stop baby." 

Peter whimpers, sending vibrations down Tony's cock, causing him to shudder and cant his hips. The younger reciprocates, desperately sucking harder. He pulls off with a pop, "What's wrong?"

"I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that, Princess. If you want me to fuck you I need you to stop. Back onto the bed." Tony holds his hand out, helping Peter to stand and regain his footing.

"Can I finger you, baby girl?" Tony asks, confidently. 

"Please!"

"What am I fingering, Peter, can you tell me what it's called?"

"M-my..." He blushes deeply, covering his face with his hands. 

"No, no... none of that..." Tony states, grinding down against Peter as he moves his hands away, "Tell me, Peter, what do you want me to finger?" Before he can answer, Tony has slicked up a finger and pushed it into Peter's waiting hole. 

"Fuck! M-my... fucking hell Tony please!" He gasps, voice cracking with the curses.

"What do you want me to fuck?" Tony asks pushing the finger against his prostate and running the fingers of his other hand over Peter's cock.

"Fuck! My pussy!" He shouts, soft moaning sobs wracking his figure, "Fuck please, Tony, fuck me!"

"As you wish, baby girl." He purrs, pushing in a second finger and shortly after, a third. "Look at you, already soaking wet for me... Such a desperate little slutty baby aren't you?"

"Y-yes! Please, Tony! Please please please!" Peter presses his hips back, trying to take more of Tony's fingers. "Give me your cock please!" The older scientist can't help but smile as he pulls his fingers out and slicks up his cock. 

"Is that what you want? Want me to ruin this pretty pussy for any other man who dares to touch you, Peter?" Peter nods, mutely, hands tangled in the back of Tony's shirt. 

He leans down, connecting their lips as a distraction. As soon as he pushes in, both of them moan. "More, please, Tony!" Peter whimpers, desperately. Tony pushes in more, bit by bit until he's fully sheathed. "You can move!"

And Tony does, he begins rhythmically thrusting into Peter, ripping little gasps and moans from his throat with each move, "So pretty, baby. Such a pretty princess, all dressed up for me and begging so nicely. I'm so glad you're all mine, sweetheart."

"Yours!" He whines, meeting the older's thrusts halfway. "Please touch my cock, Tony!" 

He raises an eyebrow, not pausing his thrusts, "I don't think that's what that's called, Peter."

"I don't care please just touch me!" Peter whimpers pathetically and reaches down to wrap his own hand around himself. Before he can, though, Tony takes him roughly in hand. 

"Is this what you wanted? Me to touch your sweet little clit? Want me to make you cum, Princess? Make you cum all nice and pretty for me? I bet I can make you beg for it too. Wanna test my theory?"

Peter nods, running his hands down Tony's back. The older bites gently on Peter's neck, a hand on his hip, and the other on Peter's cock. He rolls the boy's dick in his hand,  licking and sucking the growing marks on his neck.

"So fucking beautiful, Peter. You look so fucking good like this." 

It’s true, he looks quite debauched. His curly hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, and the sleeves of his playsuit have fallen off. To Tony, the boy has never looked more beautiful than he does now. 

The trance he's under breaks when Peter begins begging, "I'm close Tony! Please make me cum! Please! I'll be good for you, please make me cum." Tears begin falling from Peter's eyes at that moment, broken moans and whimpers slipping from his lips. 

"Of course, sweetheart, you're begging so nicely for me. You can cum whenever you're ready baby girl." Tony continues thrusting, being sure to hit Peter's prostate dead-on. "I'm close, too." As soon as Tony's calloused thumb runs over Peter's slit, the boy is cumming across both of their tops and the skirt. He tightens around Tony, who quickly follows behind him. "Fuck baby, you're so tight... so good for me, so fucking good..." He presses gentle kisses to Peter's forehead, pulling out slowly. He takes his shirt off, using it to wipe off the mess from them both. 

Peter's breaths even out, going pliantly when Tony sits him up to remove the outfit and slip him into more comfortable clothes. "You did so good for me, Peter. Was that everything you'd hoped for?"

"It was fun, thank you, Tony," he whispers, curling up on the older's chest, "I think we need to buy more skirts in the future."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, carding his fingers through Peter's hair, "Sounds like a plan."

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, Reblogs, and Likes are MUCH appreciated!

[pest-icide]

"I wish I could just get there already..."

Blog info!! — 옻

Hiii!! Welcome to my blog XD I’m a bit new to this so pls be patient w/ me <3

So! Let’s talk about how things are gonna work here.

Feel free to send in asks relating to rp, questions in character, ooc (specify!) etc!!

In character, Pest uses the pronouns he/they. I mainly use she/her but I’m apagender so really whatever is fine.

Shipping content is welcome, and I’m a multi shipper!! Go crazy!! (Unless it’s proship. No proship please:( )

CONNECTIONS - 🪲

These accounts are canon to my blog. Other versions may interact, but just know these are the ones that contain true information.

@fleshcousin-m-x-25 📄

@counselors-frank-n-spud ⛺️

@gnarpy-gnarpian 🛸

@party-noob 🎉

@pityclown 💦

On the topic of “proship”…

Boundaries — #

No nsfw please!! Asks with maybe suggestive undertones are fine, but otherwise no thank you. Tw for maybe sensitive themes at times, but I’ll attempt to keep it fine for most!!

Ooc stuffz!! :3

Hihiii!! You can call me Pesty or Dok!! I’m aroace but I’ve been roleplaying for 9 years so hopefully we’ll have good interactions. I may post pest art sometimes!! ^^

[soutsuji]

To me soutsuji is genuinely one of the dynamics of all time. But like, who knows what they have going on. It's not a ship but it's not NOT a ship either. It's not romantic but not really platonic either and I'm choosing to ignore whatever sexual undertones there are by shoving it under the "I know my boy and he wouldn't say that" carpet but I also don't deny it happened because it definitely did. There's just definitely Something going on between them. I feel a lot of people are mistaken about the feelings being one-sided on Tsujimura's part. Just look at Ayatsuji. That man is absolutely HOPELESS. He cares about Tsujimura so much but he'd rather die than ever admit it and probably also gets nauseous whenever he thinks about her too long. Loser, frankly. Tsujimura's just so deep in denial that she has no idea what's going on. They're somehow also gay for each other. I can't explain it. I think their ideal future is just being stuck with each other forever but never progressing past a partnership, whatever that word means to them. Because that's what they are. Partners. In work, but also sort of in life, even though they don't see each other THAT often. Their hands touched once and Tsujimura blinked in confusion while Ayatsuji blacked out for a second, then freaked out internally and insulted her for no reason and then stalked off into a dark corner. Tsujimura went on paid leave for a couple weeks once and Ayatsuji spent the whole time on the verge of going insane. When Kyougoku's apparition proposed the idea that maybe he missed her, Ayatsuji's hands twitched with the urge to strangle him, and then he stormed off to his doll basement to sit in his armchair with his head in his hands. There's a small cardboard box sitting at the back of the basement containing an unopened bag of teal doll hair. Ayatsuji dares not touch it and regrets impulsively ordering it in the first place. He hopes no one ever finds it. On the other hand, Tsujimura genuinely thinks he dislikes her but tolerates her anyway, and she tolerates him as well, and refuses to think about all the quiet moments of peace they had where they just sat in silence and did their own things in each other's company. She trusts him in a way she's never trusted anyone before. She will never admit that to herself. She gets weirdly uneasy around him and doesn't know why. As time passes, it gets harder and harder for her to justify still being Ayatsuji's surveillant because clearly he won't reveal any more information about her mother. Just. Gahhhh. Do you even get it

[dlartistanon]

so i follow you on twitter, and i was thinking about the tweet you made a while back about how stupid the bloodline jokes are and it reminded of some stuff i saw when cantabile was first released on cn with her elite 1 promotion voice line... it was fan translated as like "So this is how it feels to hold life inside me" or something and straight cisbro arknights fans were making "lol doctor got her pregnant" jokes. it was honestly infuriating because that voice line is just supposed to be her finally realizing she holds her own life in her own hands, and she doesnt have to be afraid of being thrown away anymore. i adore her character and found family undertones and just seeing all of it reduced to the same stupid "bloodline" shit made me so incredibly angry

anyway sorry i know this was probably random and you dont need to answer this or anything but i just appreciate the fact that youre so open about how much that joke sucks because i see it way too much.

p.s. i really love your art and youre the biggest reason i got into the saria and muelsyse ship, cause i wasnt able to do dorothy's vision and havent been paying attention to cn news for a while

I don't have Cantabile, but I can believe it :/ Sorry to hear that; if it's not about how she's meta, it's about breeding. Disgusting.

Cishet dudebros, gachabros, waifubros (they're all synonymous with each other really; we need another moniker other than 'bro' to describe them because 'bro' implies friendliness and these generally aren't the type of people you want to interact with anyway) are all the same.

Haha, NTR Knight. Haha, SilverAsh pimping out his sisters. Haha, Mlynar pimping out his nieces. Haha let's repopulate the Draco/Aslan/Elf/etc. race. All the same braindead lowest-hanging fruit "joke" that somehow just won't die. Yes, because reducing a female character to nothing but a hole is funny. And even if they say "it's not that serious, chill", one look at their timeline and it's full of egregiously sexualized pinups of anime girls, if not outright male-gazey porn.

I do my best to insulate myself from dregs of society but every so often they escape containment and I see things I don't want to see against my will (often by people who don't know how to ignore/block and feel the incessant need to dunk to feel morally superior).

Thanks for telling me. I'm glad that I'm the kind of person that people feel safe being around, and a reprieve from those types of comments.

And thank you again, I love SaMuel very very much and I encourage you to read Dorothy's Vision and the translated Rhine Lab comic (Records of Originium: Rhine Lab) when you can. That's what started the brainrot and I've never been the same since.

[rebelr3bel]

the joker and queer coding

and why i consider him to be a queer symbol

* may contain spoilers in regards to the topic listed *

while joker is typically looked at as just a villainous, psychopathic murderer (with the exception of lego batman), when broken down there is much more to be found within his character. there are many reasons as to why i believe joker is queer coded. i mean, he is a representation of chaos and rage; queer rage. he goes against what is considered “normal” in society such as refusing to conform to social norms. an example of this is disregarding how society thinks men “should” act through the way he dresses, the makeup he applies (in most storylines) and how he act’s, showing a more flamboyant demeanor. of course there’s his obvious obsession with batman which i will break down more later on. it’s also important to note that in several of jokers backstories, he is usually seen as an oppressed member of society dealing with things like poverty or mental illness- both of which are unfortunately similar to what LGBTQ+ members often tend to face. joker doesn’t hide his illnesses, or who he really is, instead he’s proud of it. seeing the joker deal with being rejected from society but still remaining his silly little self is something i find to be common and relatable amongst queer people and is why i believe many are drawn to his character… because perhaps they see themselves in him a little bit.

→ the dark knight

the dark knight has one of my favourite portrayals of joker for so many reasons. one of which is the way he adapts to certain situations. not only because he changes the story behind his mouth scars to how he sees fit but also how he tends to change his appearance and actions according to the situation he’s in and who his audience is. i find this similar to how queer people may have to change identities depending on the situation in order to protect themselves and is something i can personally relate to as a queer person myself.

i would also like to note this quote from the film during the interrogation scene with batman and joker…“kill you? i don’t want to kill you! what would i do without you? go back to ripping off mob dealers? no, no, no you… you complete me.” this quote is a clear reference to the romance movie jerry maguire which i think says enough in regards to the jokers feelings towards batman in this film. that same quote is also mentioned in my next topic…

→ the lego batman movie

the entire plot to the lego batman movie is, in short, about how batman needs to open himself up to others and allow more people into his life. this is shown primarily between batman and jokers relationship which is also very queer coded in this film. so much so actually that critics flagged the film as pro-gay propaganda and were angry at the “borderline homoerotic” relationship between the two characters. the lego batman movie is FILLED with romantic undertones. as i mentioned before, the lego batman movie features a romance movie called jerry maguire and this plays an important role in the film. for starters, its the movie batman watches and laughs to and it is referenced in the film. for example, a featured quote from jerry maguire is as follows “Shut up, you had me at hello.” this quote is reiterated by joker near the end of the film when batman makes a whole speech about why the joker should help him save gotham to which he responds “you had me at shut up.”

near the beginning of the movie during joker and batman’s first fight, joker talks about being batman’s greatest enemy which is a reoccurring theme throughout. batman denies such explaining that he is “currently fighting a few different people” (meaning seeing or dating) and proceeds to say “batman doesn’t do ships, as in relationships. there is no us. batman and joker are not a thing. i don’t need you. i don’t need anyone. you mean nothing to me”, hurting the jokers feelings (as clearly shown in his face in the first photo below).

the words “i hate you” are used many times throughout and have romantic connotations to them, i hate you actually means i love you. during the middle of the movie, joker confronts batman again with “do you realize you’ve never said the words… i hate you joker” before confessing himself that he hates batman and when batman shrugs him off, he reveals he is no longer going to be part of a one sided relationship and is moving on. once again these words are used in a romantic sort-of matter in one of the final scenes that is meant to be the solution to all conflict where batman finally admits he hates joker back.

→ batman: the killing joke + batman: white knight

jokers backstory has always been quite a mystery having so many theories as to what it could be but alan moore’s the killing joke is considered to be one of the most clear-cut joker origin stories out there and is my personal favourite. it contains a different outlook on his character before he became the joker, viewing him as a regular guy subjected to poverty, leading him to get wrapped up with the wrong people and suffering through pain after the new loss of his pregnant wife. this comic heavily references the oppression i spoke of earlier which is why i had to include it because even though it is just one of jokers backstories, its an important one to consider when you’re really looking into his character.

remember the batman obsession i spoke about earlier ? the batman white knight comic is a prime example on just how extreme it is. not even 10 pages in, joker talks about how him and batman are “gotham’s favourite power couple” and references make-up sex. his whole life was based around batman to an obsessive extent before becoming jack napier and working alongside him much to batmans dismay. of course we can’t forget these panels either…

from the comics, to the games, to the movies, evidence of joker being a queer coded character is everywhere to be found. if i sat here writing about every single queer thing he has ever done or been involved in, id probably age a few years. in my opinion, he is a truly fascinating character and as odd as it might seem to an outside perspective, i seek comfort in him.

hopefully ive peeked some of your interests relating to the joker and queercoding, feel free to leave me your thoughts or shoot me a message. id love to hear your opinions. perhaps if people actually enjoy this ill make a second part with more topics.

* chase j has an awesome youtube video about the joker being queer as well and thats one of the things that inspired me to write this *

[tenderfriedchimkn]

CONTAINS SPOILERS!

I've read fanfiction since I have been a teenager, and one plot I've seen being a bit..overused? Is that the correct word? Is the rape or non consensual aspect. I understand it's a good, better yet, a great thing to be seen and heard by the voices of the masses who have experienced such cruelty. But rather I find it to be a bit off putting when it's solely used by the author to drive the plot forward or add a depth of complexity to the character. Recently I've been reading Varadeva fanfiction on ao3, almost half the fanfictions contain elements of Varadha being a victim of such a situation.

Men can be victims of such instances as well, and even traditionally strong men can be victims too. Salaar contains inherently sexual undertones for the ones who want to believe that and I understand but I don't necessarily stand by it. But, considering the 87-ish fanfics on ao3 of Varadeva or Salaar (as of now), the authors could use a better plot point to use on their works.

Adding a depth of complexity to an already troubled character is definitely difficult and I can certainly understand why someone would use that for a character, rape is a very real situation and the victims should be seen and heard, but fanfic writers use this so much to the point where multiple readers could find the story to be solely about it, rather than overcoming it.

Overcoming it is definitely difficult, and I think this situation can be used well if written well. And, although ao3 is a more mature version of Wattpad, there is no doubt that some works can rival even the 12 year olds on Wattpad. They use the rape aspect to be a plot driver and execute it poorly.

So this is where my thoughts on Varadeva fanfiction comes in, although I understand most of these are fanon, there are some fanfics that are sort of leaning towards a canon aspect, and some of you may argue that Varadeva is fanon itself. You're right, it is, but it is a ship, not an overused plot driver. Most of the rape aspects in these fanfics show Varadha's vulnerability, and that's fine.

But, my issue comes to the fact that Varadha is written in such a way that his vulnerability is due to his supposedly unhealthy relationship with consent or his experience with rape and all that. Varadha is mentally strong, and I know it's a running joke that he is unstable, but nobody can deny he is a strong person.

He is vulnerable due to many reasons, the way people treat him, his younger brother, uncertain safety, his best friend and such. Yet we can see that he is able to withstand it better than anyone else on the outside, despite seeing how he cried after getting drunk, we know that he is still mentally strong.

You guys can argue with me all you want, but this man is very mentally strong. Imagine your mother dying, having to take care of your younger brother when you yourself are a child, your best friend leaving you, your father disgracing you, your older half-siblings despising you, your people humiliating you and on top of that, you gain the throne with the blood of your foes and friends but your best friend becomes your arch rival.

He is stronger than me, and he deserves to be written better, rather than him being a victim of another one of real situations turned into meaningless plot drivers by teen authors.

Here's Varadha smiling if you finished reading all that. ↓

[yuyinesque]

ten commandments. these are the rules of my account that you must follow; they also contain remnants of “byf” undertones. if this list seems too hard for you to perform, then you will either exit willingly or forcefully.

⇥ Ⅰ. do not spam like or blow up my ask inbox. for most, this is self-explanatory. this will result in me becoming shadowbanned or suspected for being a bot, so try not to like more than five posts at once, alright? otherwise you will be blocked. also, my requests are temporarily open, i’m feeling generous.

⇥ Ⅱ. do not plagiarize my work. this is also self-explanatory; i don’t need to go into detail. the outcome of plagiarizing my work will not be fun. however, you may ask me permission to translate it as long as you credit me. i don’t mind such.

⇥ Ⅲ. do not reprimand my work. i write sfw and nsfw concepts. my nsfw projects could vary from kinks such as exhibitionism, voyeurism, anal play, consensual non-consent (cnc), mommy/daddy kinks, etc. plus, i’m also prone to writing about mental, eating, or physical disorders, self-harm, sexual assault, emotional angst, gore, yandere themes, homicide, suicide, etc. if any of these topics make you uncomfortable, then this account is likely not for you. however, although i feel as if i shouldn’t need to clarify this, but don’t go out of your way to attempt to ruin my feelings because you’re pissy over something i’ve warned you about. not to mention that i tend to get a little poetic when it comes to my writing, though i will go out of my way to ensure that it remains comprehensible. regardless, if you don’t appreciate the way i write, you may leave. simple as it sounds if i’m being quite honest.

⇥ Ⅳ. do not reprimand y/n. as a black individual, i primarily write for the black community. however, even if you aren’t black, you can still make requests, though please know that your race cannot be addressed. this does not apply if you’re mixed, however, for you’re still african american. i wish to not accidentally disrespect anyone’s culture, but i don’t mind if you were to give me a quick description of yourself (this is optional). yes, there will be times where y/n’s race is unspecified, though for a majority of the plot, y/n will be black or black-coded. i also write for male y/n, gender-neutral y/n, top y/n, switch y/n, sub y/n, female y/n, transgender y/n, plus-sized y/n, thin y/n, y/n with a skin condition, y/n with a mental/physical disorder, etc. i prefer to keep it diverse, ya feel me? while i don’t mind who reads my work, since i can’t necessarily kick the planet off my account, i do mind when y/n is being bashed over realistic issues that people go through incessantly. for the sake of respect, remain respectful, otherwise i will block you.

⇥ Ⅴ. stray away from overly taboo requests. scat, piss, pedophilic, incest/stepcest, rape/non-con, feet, race play, vomit, age regression/play, highschool teacher x student ships, huge age gaps, or anything as ridiculous as the ones listed will not accepted or tolerated. as expected, you will be blocked and hopefully sent to solitary confinement ‘cause uhm…

⇥ Ⅵ. stray away from unrealistic oc requests. i create oc’s and have five that are soon-to-be posted with the names zolene, illūnis, xemo, indigo, and byeol. you’re completely allowed to request for them as well. however, make your desires realistic, especially when it comes to their sexuality. for example, considering that zolene is sapphic, cis or trans!male reader is unavailable for her romantically or sexually. another example is indigo who is attracted to men or masculine, amab!readers, therefore fem-presenting, female, or afab!readers cannot be written for him romantically or sexually. and don’t give me that “they’re just oc’s, they’re not real” shit either. you either request accordingly or leave me the fuck alone.

⇥ Ⅶ. do not ask personal questions. i like to keep private, plus it’s a given that you shouldn’t ask people federal questions that you don’t know about. i don't need to elaborate on this.

⇥ Ⅷ. ask rules. i’m quite open to much, but if you want the most accurate results, give me the most detailed ask. if you give me something simple, then you shall receive something simple. it won’t be pettily half-assed, no, but if you were expecting a one shot from a vague request then this drabble that i have in store for you will not bring you the appropriate solace. this is optional: specify your wants. there’s no need to feel discomfort; i won’t judge you, unless you break a rule. if you’re still unsure about what you want to ask without seeming invasive, then you’re welcomed to ask questions via messages or anonymous asks.

⇥ Ⅸ. do not ask for anything outside the chosen fandoms. if it doesn’t pertain to spider-man; across/into the spider-verse, jujutsu kaisen, haikyuu, one piece, genshin impact, or my original characters, don’t ask. the miscellaneous section is strictly for self-pleasure, so do not invade that.

⇥ Ⅹ. INTERACT WITH ME. jk, it’s not an obligation, but it would be satisfying to have an active blog, yes? it would not only grant me motivation, laughs, and blushes, but also twice as much activity and work than before. i don’t mind making moots as well. while i'm indifferent towards the idea, you’re very welcomed to shoot a message and become my mutual <3. i don’t bite unless i’m excited!

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft.

[sapphire-weapon]

Idk if Capcom were deliberately trying to make RE4R have at least some romantic undertone when it came to Leon/Ashley bc to me it's pretty obvious, there's a bunch of romantic imagery. Like a lot of the side characters reference it; Luis with his Prince Charming comment at that moment and calling Ash a princess (Dulcinea), Ada seeing that Leon actually cares for Ashley (calls her his "friend" at one point in a weird tone of voice), Ramon referring to them as knight in shining armor and princess and keeps taunting him when he loses her, the queen and king puzzle, the way Krauser taunts him and uses Leon's concern for her against him knowing the way to get to him is to mention Ashley, the merchant commenting if he's having a rough day after Ashley stabs him and runs away, Saddler using Ashley specifically to kill Leon knowing it would be torture for them both (he can read people's minds, right? So he knows), Ashley being so strong willed for resisting Saddler for trying to make her commit something she would never even think of and saving his life again when she jams the gun (yeah she prob didn't know that would happen but her unwillingness to shoot regardless of the mind control making her hand shake so much), Leon himself changing when getting to know Ashley and caring for her personally not for the mission he was forced into. He literally was ready to die for her even if it meant that she most likely wouldn't make it out w/o him. The way he carried her at the end!!! Like that's not just his professionalism and determination, there's devotion there and she shares the same sentiment. The way they ride off into the sunrise after "rain" starts pouring and they both smile at each other??? How is that not romantic imagery? If you saw that scene w/o context you would think they were the surviving couple of an action movie. There's more I'm missing bc I've been playing other games but there's a lot of evidence and context clues.

I mean, I absolutely believe that it was intentional on Capcom's part and the Leon and Ashley romance is actually, in fact, what the developers were going for. It would be absolutely batshit for this gigantic mountain of evidence to be an unintended coincidence. But I don't think that they went into it going, "Okay, this time around, we're going to have Leon and Ashley be The Canon Ship in RE."

What Capcom actually did was take Resident Evil 4 and turn it into a fairy tale. It was a really creative take on the game and was likely meant as appreciation for the fact that OG RE4 was such a major part of so many people's childhoods. (Ashley's line at the shooting gallery of "It reminds me of being a kid" plays into this, too, as a little tongue-in-cheek thing.)

So, as a self-contained story, yes, RE4make is a romance between Leon and Ashley. And that's where I think a huge portion of the fandom is getting tripped up on not being able to see it for what it is. They look at Leon and Ashley and go "okay, but this can't actually be the intention because we know xyz happens later in the series." That doesn't matter. That's not the point of what they did.

The point of it was to pay tribute to the way that so many people -- after coming into the series with RE4 OG in their adolescence -- thought of Leon as being a big, dreamy, hero-type character. So, they did that by actually turning him into one this time around who saves the day and gets the girl.

It doesn't mean that Capcom is committing to the actual ship, though. Just because this romantic storyline happened in RE4make doesn't mean that the next installment in the Remake series is going to confirm that Ashley is Leon's girlfriend or someshit. It is still entirely possible that we will never see Ashley Graham ever again.

As part of a greater whole, RE4make is just another stop along the horrible, winding road that is Leon Kennedy's shitty, shitty life. But, at least this time, he actually got to be the big damn hero for once.