#metaphors for violence

[marzerao3]

Falsettober/Whumptober 2024 (Day 5)

@lycheelsea

[maeamian]

Part of the reason that Republicans are so desperately acting like they will never lose again is because they are deeply terrified that this is their last real chance to win. The big orange dipshit came in and gutted the party of everyone who wasn't a loyalist, which left it full of nasty little gremlins who have gaping voids where charisma and human decency is supposed to go.

They still hold a lot of power, but if we stop them this year the next presidential election may not be the Most Important One Of Your Life™, that's not a guarantee or anything, but if they don't win here and now their future looks grim, this dipshit is the only guy they have left and he's extremely diminished and has his brains leaking out of his ears at this point. We can beat him into the ground.

So that's what we're gonna fucking do. We're gonna break these fucking fash. They will crash upon us and we're gonna break their fucking necks. When they come for us they will lose because they're fucking losers and we have each other's backs which is something they fundamentally are incapable of comprehending.

[specialagentartemis]

“young witch trying to solve the mystery of her neighbor’s missing cat in a small village in the Alps” continues to be hilarious don’t get me wrong but it’s kind of making me want to take a crack at treating the concept seriously. In this insular rural community, a cat goes missing. A young woman who takes her community’s professed ideals of helpfulness and harmony in witchcraft seriously volunteers to try to find him. Realizes the more she searches and the more she asks around that everyone in this idyllic village is quietly seething with resentment against their neighbors and against the world, that the insularity of her village is harboring a festering social rot that no one is allowed to address. No one can leave. The hills have fallen silent. Something is eating the cats and no one is allowed to address this. Ötzi is there

[nemesyaaa]

bones and all au // rafe cameron x reader

summary : “ you're so handsome when I'm all over your mouth. ” strangers by ethel cain.

warnings : if you were not comfortable with the movie by luca guadagnino, don't read this !! mature plot. a lot lot lot of blood. sick and gore attitude. cannibalism used as a form of love. strangers/ode to eaters by ethel cain muse. smut. pomegranate used as a metaphor of cannibalism. jealousy. mentions of organs and anatomy. some b&a refs but you can read it without watching the movie. violence. minors DNI. +18.

author's note : crdits to @starfxkrreloaded for this au. you can reach for her ode to eaters au which is very insane ! please, i know this is very twisted but don't send hate or be mean in the comments. if you dont want to read something like that, it's your right and i respect it, just scroll. to the rest, hope you will enjoy. it's my first time writing something like that so i'm kinda nervous. and by the way, the movie is very beautiful, taylor russell was incredible in this. i highly recommend you.

you lived in an old house in the midwest, the southern gothic type with an empty fridge, broken stairs, carcasses of eaten animals in the garden, a tv too old to be turned on, a radio player too damaged to be listened to , a completely dirty kitchen with dishes full of dishes in the sink, and nasty dirts on the floor. there was also that damn lamp that flickered and came on every other time, that icy water that froze your bones, that cold tiles that creaked under your feets. the windows were rarely open but when they were, the shutters slammed against the wind, your underwear hung over the radiator. but you really liked this place, in fact, it was the only place you could call home without wanting to collapse in tears.

you had your headphones on in that empty quiet space, and a probably dead singer in your ears living through your swaying body. you found this pomegranate on the table while searching. it was intact, still shiny and full of good things.

you didn't need a knife when you had a hungry beast inside you to cut the fruit with your teeths. you had dug your molars inside the seeds, directly into the fresh and virgin skin, opened the eviscerate flesh, tearing away everything you can with your mouth, the still delicious juice ready to feed your thirst and starved your hunger.

you smelled the fruity and juicy scent through your nose, splitted open the pomegranate, discovering the clean and clear inner bones, a pretty red color, even more oozing and sublime than your blood, a perfect complexion reminiscent of the sanguinary meat of your anatomy. your tongue and teeth were sunk in, completely buried in the dripping morsel. your face and cheeks were full of it, shining onto your dirty and sticky fingers. the juice burst, squeezed in your hands as you devoured this fruit, the liquid of which flowed, dripping down your neck and chest, slipping toward your tummy like an unstoppable river.

you were bad as a demon, but nothing stopped you. you bit and bit like a mad dog into the flesh of the fruit like a piece of meat, extracting with your molars everything that you could recover and stuck in your throat.

the more you ate, the more the fruit bled. but you heard nothing, no lamentations. nothing could stop you from eating, from the rage beating. it was sickly, obscene and depraved.

you looked like such an innocent thing, but inside you, there was nothing like that. and you couldn't fool anyone with your tears and your regrets, because you didn't have any.

you had dropped the pomegranate on the ground, there was nothing left except a broken corpse. you had consumed everything from the flesh to the bones, from the skin to every part.

your dress was stained. you stank of pomegranate as much as sin. there was nothing good in you, and above all, there were too many people in you.

rafe had come home in the night while you were waiting in the armchair in the living room, with this juice stuck to your body. you hadn't moved. for some reason you were faithful to your partner. maybe because he scared you, or because you understood that without him you couldn't survive.

he had thrown the key in the table and came before you.

he came toward you in the same state you had seen him for the first time, covered in blood and with glowing blue dilated eyes. you knew that he had eaten, that he had devoured someone because he was not like you. rafe was worse. he understood that nature was to kill but beyond that, it was something he was trying to teach you as your mentor. that we should not regret giving in to impulses, that if we did not listen to them, they would end up killing us.

that we were originally monsters, and that we had to deal with it. you didn't know if he was telling the truth, if he was right. but he was taller than you. you found a maturity in him that fascinated you, that forced you to listen to him.

he had taken off his shirt, and you looked up at his face. he smelled of blood, that strong, metallic smell that you could sniff from several meters away but especially his because you knew him by heart.

“jesus, don’t look at me like that. you wanted to stay at home, i didn't force you to. ”

“it was a girl. what was she like? did you like it ? ”

you didn't know if it was jealousy, or curiosity. you just knew you didn't like knowing he was with some girls even if it wasn't going to last.

with a smirk but at the same time terribly cold face, he answered you. "if you're that jealous, use that energy and mouth to taste it. maybe, you will have some answers. ”

you got up from the chair to join him. you didn't want to share him, even though you knew there was only you in his life. you knew it because since you knew him, he had never talked about his family, nor contacted relatives in the payphone. then, he rarely spoke about his private life. he often made fun of you, because it was more your type of thing to open up about personal moments. you never knew if he was really listening to you but he stayed until the end of your speech.

eagerly, you kissed him, that girl’s blood sliding against your lips, your mouth capturing rafe’s in a kiss, as your cheeks crushed against his bloody face. “ mine, mine.” you whispered, pushing your tongue against his. “ clean that blood, babe. i can't be yours if she's still here. ” he had slipped his hands under your skirt, pressing the flesh of your ass. he had a ring on, the cold metal playing against your skin. you could smell it, just like what he had eaten before coming home.

he sat on the probably moldy and torn couch in your living room, you were almost his height now that you were sitting on top of him. you were hungry, as much for him as for sex. he made you feel so many things, or it was this jealousy, this thirst within you that made you so hungry. you weren’t really sure.

you took one of his fingers still covered in blood, the recent taste of raw flesh now in your cavity. he had pushed his thumb deeper in your mouth, making you suck the pulp properly. the liquid bleeding against your tongue, as his flesh quickly brushed your cavity, your drooling lips curved around him. he pushed it in until he felt your throat.

he was playing with fire, he was playing with you, because he knew you could bite him at any moment but he had also conditioned you not to.

“so, how is it? ”

“nothing tastes better than you.” you simply replied. “ right ? nothing can be as good as me. ” he said in a mocking tone.

he had undone the strap of your dress, revealing one of your tits which he had taken in his palm before taking it in his mouth. your nipple was pressed between his teeth, your skin trapped in his hand as he sucked on your piece of flesh, pinching it only ever so gently in his mouth. he still had remnants of blood, slipping between your body and his tongue.

there was something sensual between this slow sucking, fast suction of the tongue around your throbbing nipple, your spiraling stomach against the void, the movement of his adam's apple in his throat while he tasted every beads of your boobs. rafe was good at it.

he pressed your tits, grabbed them tightly and firmly against his palm, nibbling the tip, caressing the pulp, kissing the flesh. and maybe if he had bitten into it, you would have cum instantly.

his hand was on you, covering your body in blood and sweat, tracing your figure with his soiled and bloody fingers like a canva, letting them run over your skin like a paintbrush.

he was hidden by your sucked breasts. and you wanted him full. you had started to grind against him, even with your underwear separating you from him and his piece of jeans, you managed to be completely soaked on him. your hips moved in motion, lifting delicately like a porcelain doll too afraid of getting hurt.

you were no worse than him, and he was no worse than you. you were both terrible people. there was no hierarchy among people like you.

but the first time you saw him, in that shirt full of blood, with that mouth so red and that oozing dripping neck.

it was dark, but you knew very clearly what he had done, and perfectly well who he had eaten. you had observed it and you had not seen a monster. you weren't afraid.

he wasn't mean and monstruous, just indifferent.

"if you want to eat, that man is still over there." he said simply, not trying to hide or deny what you were seeing.

and you liked it. you instantly liked it.

“ you're the one who interests me.”

“you know the drill, we don’t eat each other.”

“i mean, will you let me come with you?”

"listen to me carefully, i don't have the face of a babysitter, nor the skills to do so. get by, you may be a minor but if you're old enough to do what you do when mom and dad have their backs turned, i swear, you can get through this on your own. ”

“i’m an adult.” you cut him off.

“your age was a nice excuse for me to tell you that i’m not interested. i bet you're an adult. ”

you had followed him when he approached his pickup. "i wouldn't bother you. but i need help. i mean, this is new to me. i don't do this often while you seem to be experienced. i want.. .i want to be like you, not to be afraid of that.”

“what makes you think i’m the right person for this?”

“you may not necessarily be the right person, but you’re the one I want.”

“you know, i already have a lot of problems, i don’t need a burden on all of them.”

“please. i won’t be one. you have my word.”

"you really don't give me a choice. come up crybaby, but if you bother me, i won't hesitate to abandon you, no matter where."

you nodded. it was going back, but in the meantime, you had traveled to many states of america, and probably left a pile of corpses on your way. even though it hadn’t been easy, he had taught you how to drive.

one cold summer night, in the darkness of a tent in the middle of nowhere, you hadn't managed to sleep. but when you opened your eyes, rafe wasn't sleeping either.

“you should sleep, you’re the one driving tomorrow. ”

“you want to know who my first victim was? "

"i guess even if i don't care, you're going to tell me. so go ahead. knock me out, tell me something your little lips haven't told me yet. and don’t say victim, you're much an innocent thing than a killer. but don’t worry, i'm about to raise you very well. ”

his hands had gripped your hips to position you above him. “but for now, tell me about your boring story, maybe it will help me sleep.”

you had told him a lot of your past. the first time you had eaten someone, the babysitter your father had hired who had ended up torn apart on the floor and another part in your mouth. oh it really wasn't beautiful. and this time, in the summer camp where a boy had mysteriously disappeared because you had devoured him in the woods. and that friend at school whose finger you swallowed. it was stronger than you. you needed to eat.

and rafe was the only one to understand it.

the most intimate moments in a relationship should be sex, but for the two of you it was different. it was when you ate together, when you both had blood around your mouth, that you could taste his, and he could taste yours. when there was this connection between you.

he was a different eater from you, he was bestial and cold, sinking his teeth straight into the flesh, tearing off the parts of the body one by one. his bites were mean and cruel. the way, his teeths pulled the organs, the ribcage. you watched him, his hungry raging mouth embracing the darkness of his needs, ripping all the raw meat out roughly. oh the blood, it leaked into every corner of his pretty and bloody lips that you wanted to kiss so badly, to feel the liquid and flesh filling and consuming the space of your throat and your tongue as your body swallowed everything he gave you. oh how much, rafe loved to feed you directly in the mouth, letting you suck the flowing red wet all around his jaw, and down his neck to the cool grass. he was beautiful. insanely handsome. but also, so scary.

his skin was covered in a red, metallic coat. his eyes were consumed with pleasure, while devouring the body of your victim.

he was very different from you, who was more delicate in your movements, or rather clumsy. your bites were messy, your touches lighter, even with the blood all over you.

but it was in those moments that the sex was the best afterwards. when his tongue, still red and famished with blood, circulated over the skin of your stomach, leaving a reddish river against your flesh.

and it went even further than that, when he found himself lost between your legs, his warmth muscle completely buried inside you, lapping your soaked folds, licking you like a starving man, his mouth pressed around your sloppy wet cunt. your juices dripping against his open wided mouth and jaw, the throbbing of your clit against his nose, the way your beating pussy smeared the blood across his lips and cheeks every time he entered and devoured your delicious slick.

since you didn't eat each other, it was your only way to feed him, to make him taste you. you didn't know if he loved your taste but in any case his tongue always came back to find you, to fuck that cunt, lodging itself between your soggy walls.

he forced you to keep your thighs apart, one hand resting on your bruised tummy which contracted every time you felt him on your core.

your legs shaking around his shoulders, the way his bloody mouth nibbled on your clit. you moaned in the middle of this abandoned place. you could shout as loud as you wanted, no one would come, no one would hear you.

you loved feeling his large hands on your bruised skin, especially after eating, because they were dirty and sloppy. you let your tongue clean the blood stuck to his fingers, the drops falling into your mouth.

it was strange how love can be perceived for everyone. ever since you were a child, you have been unable to show affection without hurting people. when you loved someone, it was tragic because you had this need to devour and consume them, to make them a part of you, to make them live within you.

but for rafe, it was different.

you were total opposites. and even though you lived together, you wondered if he felt things for you. if he had ever been in love.

because you liked to think that the way he kept you around, the way he let you stay with him at night, the way he always came home, and was open to doing all these things with you, that was his way to show you that you mattered to him. you even wondered if he came back every night because he couldn't let go of you. yet, at the beginning of your relationship, he wouldn't have hesitated.

here, in this rickety house, you didn't pay rent. it belonged to one of your victims. you always did that, you killed people, and robbed them of their belongings. you took their money, clothes and possessions. you were stealing the lives of these people. at first you felt guilty but now you feel nothing. it was life.

“i love you. ” you told him, as you straddled him on your shared bed, your fists curled in the pieces of sheets. “i really love you, rafe.” you were moaning and feverish, every inch of his thick cock buried in your core, hitting your spot.

while you were bouncing on him, your ass slapped against his muscular thighs. he grabbed your breasts moving over his face, as his dick was ruining you, each of his thrusts destroying your canal. you were as tight as the first time he fucked you in the back of the pickup. he gripped your ass, pinching the flesh.

he wrapped his hand around your throat before losing his face in your neck, his mouth kissing that immaculate part of your body. he placed kisses, before lightly sinking his teeths into your skin, nibbling and sucking on this skin offered to him, while you continued to take him just below him. “yea, you love me. ” with a hard stroke further into you. “still fucking tied to me. ”

and he wasn't wrong, you were so glued to him, completely submissive. he was inside you, filling you completely, every part of his length stuck to your walls, parting your pussy lips, your moans muffled above his head as your arms wrapped around his back. you were desperate and whimpering, the wet sounds of your repeated moans echoing around the room.

you could feel the twitch of his stomach against your skin, the perfect harmony of your two bodies in sync, he speared you violently with his fat cock, let you hear his grunts and heavy breathing against your neck, coming straight from his throat.

you were sweaty and noisy, like one of his victims, but most of all, you were his, his hands all over your body like a prize. every touch was possessive, your head tilted back, and his mouth melted onto your jaw. he fucked you roughly, making you bounce on him and cry.

his blue eyes shone in the darkness of the room. they were on you, in a perfect focus.

“do you love me? " you asked him, your body going through trembling spasms, your skin covering his. you were desperate and suffocating. your breaths were rapid and frantic.

he moved your head with his hand on your throat, his gaze flickering above your collarbones. you felt like you were pretty with the importance his pupils gave you.

you wondered if he had ever wanted to eat you alive, because after all, even if you were an eater, you were still easy prey.

and maybe even sometimes you fantasized about what he could do, because you wouldn't have minded seeing him dug his teeth into your flesh like meat, seeing him consume you one by one, your bones getting sucked, your blood spurting against his tooth.

you would have loved to sacrifice your body to feed him, to be that pomegranate to him, to see him smile through your organs, to see his belly swell because you were in a thousand pieces inside.

you would have loved for him to eat you alive, because you knew rafe would have done it out of love.

“ don't leave me or i will eat you. ” you said to him, his hands brushing your hair like a lover. “ every part of you. like you taught me. ”

“ bones and all ? ”

“ bones and all, my love. ”

and he smiled, fucking smiled all over your kisses, his lips covered yours.

“ then, what are you waiting for ? sunk those teeths in me. scared for what, babe ? nothing that you have not tasted before.”

[stingrachelmha]

The fall of the number one hero

[visenyaism]

need to examine how “kill the boy and let the man be born” is not inspiring or wise advice it is actually viscerally horrific and devastating and has a body count in the thousands

[archiveofliterature]

every day i become more convinced letty fetishised ramy bc tell me why i just found out that the royal pavilion is in brighton which is WHERE LETTY'S FROM

btw the royal pavilion looks like THIS

rf kuang really chose her details right bc letty could've been from anywhere in england but no she was like let me pick brighton where a prominent example of orientalism architecture was built

[lambmotifz]

something something dean + penetration metaphor/motif. the amount of times he killed/tried to kill someone by brutally penetrating them….

[zours025]

Dude... What the flip...

Gets more torturey under here vvv

amehell at the mercy of these two. ame abused girlfriend. cute :3

[amartianonmars]

Been thinking about Saw Toxic Yuri again so genderbent

Coffinshipping cause I'm so obsessed with them

(had to repost cause I forgot a filter/ adding my watermark)

[bumblingbabooshka]

Too many people taking the Tuvok chokes [Holo]Neelix to death scene as banal 'haha yay i hate neelix kill him' stuff and NOT enough people musing on and imbibing the homoeroticsm of Tuvok, going out of his mind with dark desire shared with him via Suder in a process already likened to a sexual act between them, writing and then roleplaying a scenario in which he can choke Neelix to death

[thefearfulheart]

Been awhile since I’ve last posted something on Parkour Civilisation and Clownbo (so sorry about that my work was busting my butt lately ahaha) but I have a small au idea for people here if they want it that lets me combined something else I absolutely love as well

Vampire Evbo x Vampire Hunter Clown that’s set in a modern au

So, to start off the premise, Evbo is a recently turned vampire that was completely an accident after Seawatt (who was his then boyfriend at the time but is no longer that :)) decided to finally feed on him after luring him back to his place that he was temporarily staying at and then left him pretty much to die after using him for his blood…unfortunately for Seawatt he didn’t end up realising that he actually turned Evbo and when the blond woke after it-to say the least-he was confused. Evbo tries to find Seawatt again after finding the large amount of blood that seemed to be spilt around him, the aching pit that gnaws at his stomach painful and his sudden avoidance of the sun…well, Evbo ends up finding that Seawatt is completely gone now and he has to figure out what happened on his own.

He ends up researching his symptoms, thinking that he’s just sick possibly to deny what’s happening to him as he grows more and more hungrier each day, and he grows paler each passing day until he’s backed into a corner by someone trying to rob him…something tight in his guts pulling hard onto him as he feels his teeth ache with pain and his eyes darken as the robber gets closer towards him, tension bubbling underneath his skin until they’re just a breath away…and then he pounces on them, his fingers tearing into them as his teeth latch onto their neck and he tastes the sweet, tart taste of blood filling his mouth and he’s gone. A blind hunger overtakes him and he doesn’t awaken from it until he finds himself at his home, alone and washing out the blood from his clothes in the sink. The taste of blood fresh in his mouth as he stares into the bathroom tub in horror-his eyes reflecting off the murky, bloodied surface of it-and he slowly brings a hand to his mouth to breath, trying to find purchase as he throws himself away from the bathtub and slides down the wall opposite it with a pained noise escaping him.

He’s finally figured out he isn’t ‘sick’ now and that it’s something much worse….

Clown enters later on when Evbo has established himself a bit more and kinda has figured out what he can do to satiate his hunger without hurting people, his first kill still fresh in his mind. He tries to use animal blood to satiate his hunger but that thirst for human blood haunts his waking hours even as he drinks animal blood, a pungent bitterness clinging to it that sours his senses and makes him want to hurl, but he resists the urge even if he never feels full from it…eventually he ends up making another friend in the form of Void who’s a werepanther (he’s so cat coded I’m sorry) and it’s going pretty good so far for him, he’s alive and well and he now has a friend that has his back in this! (Ended up meeting void after the other accident fell on top of him while in his panther form when Evbo was hunting and they became quick friends after it.)

He still hasn’t found Seawatt on why this happened…but he feels like he’s getting closer to finding him and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before he has his answers.

That is…until Clown enters the picture.

Something about the masked man-it has to be a man there’s no question about it since he bleeds like a man-has Evbo on edge and Void nervous when they first see him around time. There’s an almost predator like quality in the way the other moves-as if he’s sizing them up-and the way he stares at Evbo as if he’s taking him apart in his mind and rearranging him again and again. It’s something that sets Evbo’s instincts on edge and heightens his desire to bare his fangs at him, to prove he’s the bigger predator here, but he stomps that desire down each time it rises up.

Evbo first meets him when he comes into his work-most likely a barista in all honesty or something like that-and their eyes immediately lock onto each other, something that makes Evbo freeze in place and Clown tilts his head at him in interest. It feels like an eternity until Evbo gets told to go on break and he sighs in relief to leave while Clown watches him walk away from him, the air almost suffocating until the blond leaves.

The dynamic is very much a wolf among sheep x a sheep in a wolf’s den situation with Clown and Evbo since Clown is here to investigate the multitude of murders that have been popping up with the attacks resembling vampire feedings (something that is completely unconnected to Evbo but he unfortunately gets involved in it) and ends up finding the odd occurrences of animals attacks and deaths as well which makes him suspicious. He ended up getting requested to do this job as a favour from an old enemy of his (The Old Man) and was disgruntled that his skills weren’t being used for something more interesting than this but retracts his opinion when he finds out about the odd animal attacks and the strange blond that he met earlier that day :)

I will outright say that Clown is straight up human because I think it’s more terrifying for Evbo to go against someone with no special powers or abilities and is just so incredibly, terrifyingly human in everything he does. The dread of ‘just’ a man being so powerful while being human intriguing and terrifying him but also the fact that Clown’s blood calls to him in such a way, teasing and whispering to him that he should have a taste of him.

It sets something in him alight and he craves for Clown’s blood, thinking about the man and what he would taste like in his waking hours and resting hours. Something that consumes him obsessively that he claws at himself for the thoughts of consumption, the craving of the blood and dangerous man while Clown remains unaware of his desires there. It’s something that scares Evbo to the core and frightens him since he feels like he’s walking on such a thin, fine wire that would snap at any moment…and he’s scared of what he would do when it happens.

Specifically this song with them as well fills my brain at the moment

[lunarhorrors]

Old Dogs, Old Habits.

[hannahbarberra162]

Princess Treatment, Part 1 (Benn Beckman x OC, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn)

on Ao3

This is the "someone old" I had in mind for the X Amount of Followers event! You've unlocked Benn Beckman! There will be smut, but not in this chapter.

Thank you to @gouraminnow for helping me brainstorm and beta'ing my work even when I'm whiny.

Summary:

Everyone loves Benn Beckman. The crew, civilians, other pirates, and especially women, all think Benn's the greatest thing since Silvers Rayleigh. Except Anne. She wants to rearrange his face, free of charge, with every condescending smirk he throws her way. She's capable and deadly, she's proven her worth as a member of the Red-Haired pirates. But the first mate is hell bent on testing her patience and her boundaries.

Notes:

Anne is practicing Irish stick fighting, bataireacht.

“See anything you like?” Captain asked suggestively, tipping his head to Anne. She cut her glance from Benn Beckman twirling his finger around the curl of a provocatively dressed woman to the one-armed man by her side. She and her Captain were sitting with their legs up on a round table at some shitty dive bar on a winter island. It was summer, so the weather was nearly perfect; she could wear her leather boots, worn jeans, and her cut off t-shirt and feel perfectly comfortable.

“Unfortunately, I’m not into women. It’s my curse to bear,” Anne said as she took another swig of her ale, turning away from the scene in front of her. 

“I wasn’t talking about the woman,” Shanks replied, smirking. Anne rolled her eyes, wondering if she should punch her Captain verbally or physically. She didn’t want to spill their drinks, so she decided to use her words.

“Oi, watch what you say. Or I’ll tell a certain Marine Hunter how much time it takes you to achieve that ‘effortless’ messy hairstyle.” Anne didn’t like people prying into her business, especially red headed busybodies who thought they knew better than everyone else. Besides, she didn’t know what Shanks was talking about. She and Beckman had a…contentious relationship at best. She didn’t know what it was, but everything about him set her teeth on edge. Everyone else loved the first mate, thought he was so composed and collected. Every island they went to, every other crew they met with, every goddamn person thought Benn was so amazing, and it drove Anne up the wall.

Sure, she had eyes, Anne knew Beckman was objectively handsome. But his good looks came with an irritating nature, an arrogant attitude, a cocky smile and the overall condescending tone of a complete ass. Benn acted like he knew better than everyone at all times, including their Captain. Which, to be fair, he did know better than the Captain most of the time. But so did everyone, it didn’t make him special. 

No, Anne did not like Benn Beckman, and not just because of his self satisfied attitude. He went out of his way to irritate and annoy her, unlike any of the other Red Haired Pirates. Anne was the only woman on board, but no one else brought it up regularly. The guys seemed to forget she was a woman most of the time, only remembering when they saw her in her sports bra. Sure, there were grumbles that she was the only crewmate besides the Captain who got their own room, but that was about it. Anne had suggested cutting their dicks off to become her roommate, but no one took her up on the offer. Aside from that, Anne was no different than anyone else on the crew. She was strong, tall, capable, and deadly. 

Beckman, however, always went out of his way to bother her. It didn’t help that Anne had a short fuse around him and Beckman was always lighting a match. He called her Princess or Sweetheart or Doll instead of her name. He would take heavy crates out of her hands without asking, hefting them up onto his shoulder with a lopsided grin. He’d say “ladies first,” when the crew was headed inside a tavern, insisting on holding the door open for her. It made Anne see red and want to bash his face in with her club. Multiple times. 

That was another thing that irritated Anne about Benn. He was one of the few people able to get a rise out of her. Anne prided herself on her collected nature, never rising to take the bait, always keeping her wits about her. Sure, if provoked she’d break your face (or clavicle, or arm, or femur) with her club, but Anne preferred to live and let live. The rowdy parties, hostile civilians, things that needed repairs on the ship - Anne didn’t let any of it bother her. Life was too short to be angry about every small detail.

Except when it came to Benn Beckman. 

“Oi. Call me Anne, not Princess,” she demanded one night over dinner. She tried to keep her tone neutral and not show her anger - that would only backfire. He’d called her Princess all day as she worked the rigging, enraging her every time he did it. By the end of the day she’d nearly strangled him with the ropes rather than adjusting the sails.

“Whatever you say, Sweetcheeks,” Benn replied with a lazy smile, leaning back to swig his ale. Anne stabbed her fork into the table as she stood up,  flipping her chair backwards in her haste to get away before she stabbed the first mate instead. Stomping away, she heard the deep rumble of Beckman’s laugh, which only served to infuriate her further. 

Anne wasn’t upset by her gender, quite the opposite. Anne was proud to be a woman, and wouldn’t change it for anything. She wasn’t soft and curvy like the women they saw on most islands, and that was OK. Anne was tall, buff, and sported a permanent bitch face that belied her generally calm demeanor. Anne liked her hair short, her clothes masculine, and her body unshaven. Her haircut matched that of her Captain, since she cut both of their hair. But instead of red, hers was a deep dark brown, a few more gray hairs coming in annually. Freckles littered her face, shoulders, chest and back, their number growing every year spent on the sea. She was well muscled but lithe, her muscles aiding her ability to move quickly during skirmishes. As a child, Anne had been teased for her lack of femininity, called a tomboy and other names aimed to hurt her feelings. Anne quickly learned how to deal with such situations - namely, with violence. Anne discovered that once she’d broken enough noses and arms, people stopped making fun of her. 

She’d found her place on the Red Haired Pirates after accidentally catching their Captain in an animal trap. Anne had been checking her traps for food when she came across a red haired man in one of her trapping pits. 

“Stay, Hobbes,” Anne said, hopping off the back of her tiger and patting its velvety head.

“Oi, help me outta here,” the man said pitifully as he sat in the shade of the pit. Looking him over, Anne thought she recognized him from the wanted posters in town. 

“Aren’t you that Emperor?” Anne said, crossing her arms. 

“Yeah, Red Haired Shanks. Lemme outta here, I’m too hungover for this shit,” he whined. Anne was taken aback - she hadn’t expected one of the four Emperors of the Seas to be so…casual.

“No. Find your own way out.” Anne said, starting to mount her tiger again. Shanks’s mouth hung open in shock. If he was an Emperor, surely he’d be able to extricate himself. 

“That’s not nice, I only have one arm!” He exclaimed, his mouth forming a pout. 

“Never said I was nice,” Anne said while shrugging her shoulders, already on the back of her tiger as it sauntered away. 

And the rest was history. Shanks did eventually get out of the pit, though Anne never found out exactly how. He’d followed the path she’d set out on back to her hut and stumbled upon her practicing her bataireacht . The Captain sparred with Anne for a few minutes, then invited himself into her hut for a drink of her alcohol. A few hours later Anne had agreed to join Shanks’s crew. She had a few years of sailing experience, a lot of years of kicking ass experience, and even more years of drinking experience, all of which were needed to be a Red Haired Pirate. She’d brought her few things back with her, said brief goodbyes and set sail on the Red Force. 

The crew was nice enough, she met the doctor, who gave her a basic physical and wasn’t weird about it. Limejuice was an early favorite, the two quickly bonding over their shared love of staff fighting. Anne was also drawn to Monster and had to restrain herself from scratching him behind the ears at their first meeting. In fact, she found the crew rather pleasant and enjoyable enough. They were all around her age, a well settled crew, which made for a more relaxing journey on the sea. Unfortunately, she met the first mate after she joined, otherwise she would have declined. Their first meeting left a lot to be desired and set the tone for the rest of their interactions.

“What’s yer weapon of choice?” Benn asked as his introduction, eyeing the new recruit up and down, taking a drag of his cigarette. He had come up and leaned on her shoulder with his arm. Anne shoved it off of her like it burned.

“Don’t touch me. Club,” Anne replied tersely, pointing to the club strapped to her back. In truth, it was a shillelagh, but most people didn't know what that was.

“Do ye mean ‘staff?” Benn asked with a smirk. Anne ground her teeth together.

“If I meant ‘staff,’ I would have said ‘staff.’ I said ‘club,” Anne bit out. 

“Hmm. Staff might be better,” he said, blowing smoke in her face. Anne narrowed her eyes.

“Didn’t ask for your opinion. Don’t want it, either.” 

“Clubs break,” Benn said with a smug grin.

“So do bones,” Anne replied, baring her teeth, and turned on her heel to end the discussion. She was done with this conversation and this god awful man. Many people had underestimated her and her shillelagh fighting over the years. Most only did it once. 

“You’ve been ‘will-they-won’t-they’ for years with Beckman,” Shanks teased, crossing his feet at the ankles, taking a deep pull from his ale.

“Do you mean ‘will I kill him today or won’t I’? That’s about all it’s been between us. Sorry, Cap. He doesn’t like me and I don’t like him. And that’s not going to change any time soon.”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure. If you get married, make sure I’m invited to the wedding,” Shanks said, smacking Anne on the back.

“If we get married, you can officiate,” Anne snorted, draining the last of her glass. “Gonna get another brew and take a piss, see ya.” Anne pushed off the table with her feet and stood up, sheathing her stick behind her back and bringing her glass with her. Truthfully, she just didn’t want to continue this conversation with her Captain. He was relentless, especially when he thought he was right. Leaving her glass on the counter of the bar, Anne went out into the alley behind the building for a breath of air and maybe to bum a cigarette. She always wanted one when she started drinking and tonight was no exception.

Leaning against a wall, she spotted a group of three men chatting and smoking and walked up to them with her friendliest smile. Anne had been told it wasn’t that friendly but it was what she had.

“Hey, guys, can I bum a smoke?” she asked cordially. One of the men gave her a passing glance up and down before replying. He had a scar down the side of his face, black stubble on his cheeks matching the short black hair on his head and was missing the last two fingers on his left hand. Anne had slept with worse, she thought.

“Sure thing, Sugar,” he said, extending a hand with an open pack of cigarettes. Anne didn’t bother saying anything about the pet name. She’d never see these fucks again in her life, it wasn’t worth her breath.

“Thanks, bud,” she replied, placing the butt in her mouth. Before she could even ask for a light, the man lit a match and extended it towards her. Anne widened her smile, sometimes she didn’t mind princess treatment.

“So what crew’re you on, baby? Some kinda merchant ship?” the man asked, leaning in further.

“Red Haired Pirates,” Anne answered after taking a deep drag of the cigarette. The men laughed like she told a joke. Anne’s friendly smile disappeared. 

“Something funny?” she asked, fingers already twitching. 

“Nah, Doll, c’mon, don’t play games” the man said with a laugh, stepping closer and leaning on the wall nearest Anne. She just rolled her eyes. Anne was used to this reaction, it didn’t really bother her over much. So what if some dipshit didn’t think she was on the crew?

“No games, but here’s a prize,” a deep voice growled out, flinging a lit cigarette at the man’s eye.

“Goddammit!”

“Goddammit!” Both Anne and the man yelled out simultaneously at the same man. “What the fuck, Beckman?” Anne yelled, whirling around to face the first mate. Beckman was about a meter behind her, shrouded in the shadows of the alley. “You think I couldn’t handle this alone? Some fucking drunk assholes? Fucking piss off!” Anne yelled, already angry. She knew Benn wouldn’t do this for any of the other crew members. It showed that he thought she was weak, that she couldn’t handle herself even though she’d fought side by side with the crew hundreds of times. Her armament and observation haki was as good as anyone else’s on the crew, she didn’t need help. She didn’t need someone to protect her, she didn’t need a babysitter and she sure as shit didn’t need Beckman. Cigarette break ruined, Anne crushed the rest of her cigarette under the sole of her boot and pushed past Beckman.

“Go back to your ladies inside the bar, I’m sure they miss you,” Anne spat behind her as she left. “I sure as shit don’t,” she muttered under her breath, throwing open the door to the bar.

A few days later and the Red Force was slicing through the sea once more to Anne’s delight. The sun was setting, painting the sky in purples and oranges as sweet as sherbert. It was her favorite time of day, the peaceful calm of the evening settling in her bones before the chill of the night came. Anne enjoyed her cup of herbal tea, watching the sunset from the crow’s nest as was her daily habit when the ship was sailing. In a few moments, she’d go spar with some of the crew or train alone, but the sunset was a moment of respite in a chaotic world. She worked as a rigger on the ship under Building Snake, which was a difficult but rewarding job. She’d always liked sailing, even before she’d made her career as a pirate. And watching the sun sink low in the sky was one of the rewards she got to enjoy.

“Oi, Princess, let down your hair,” Anne heard from below. She closed her eyes and inhaled, trying to regain the sense of awe and wonder she had moments ago. Only one voice could have her go from zen to burning anger in six words. Anne chose not to answer, breathing deeply instead.

Beckman POV

Anne didn’t respond to his call, but her silence was enough to know he’d hit his mark. He could practically see Anne’s eye twitching as he teased her from the deck. If he riled her up enough, she’d spar with him, which was a combination of his two favorite things. Benn and Anne sparred frequently, their verbal jabs often turning into physical fighting. Anne would seldom agree to spar with him outright, he usually had to get her irritated before she’d even think about it. But she was Benn’s favorite sparring partner of the crew. Not just because he got to enjoy the jiggling of her small tits under her shirt, or feel the warmth of her sun kissed skin under his own, though that certainly didn’t hurt. 

Anne had a very different fighting style than his own - her style relied on quick, fluid movement and precision whereas his was more direct, focusing on power and force. She was nearly impossible to pin down, trying to keep her under him was like trying to capture water in your hand. One moment he’d have her on the deck, held in place under his arms and the next she’d be sitting on his chest, her fighting stick about to break his nose. She was wild, unpredictable, and powerful, all things Beckman found incredibly attractive. But she needed more training - to reign herself in and channel her emotions - and Benn had given the task to himself. 

He’d been interested in Anne from the first moment he saw her approaching the ship with the Captain. Shanks tended to recruit whoever he “vibed” with, something that Benn had long given up arguing over. Most recruits didn’t make it past a week or two, but Anne had fit in easily, able to hold her own on the ship and on the battlefield. He’d given her grief over her fighting stick but he had no doubts after he saw her in action. She was strong and capable and Benn wanted to train her to be even better. 

Once in battle, she’d been cornered against the bow, three Marines approaching with guns drawn. Anne had looked bored, Beckman later realized. He’d been coming to enter the fray and help her only to realize she didn’t need it. He watched her coat her stick in haki and quickly break the clavicle of the closest Marine, throw him into the two others, shatter the femur of the second and crack the head of the third. All in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t even breathing hard as she stepped heavily on the skull of the Marine on her way to aid her crew mates. Beckman knew he was hooked on her as soon as the blood started to coat the deck.

Sure, Anne was different from the women Beckman usually went after on islands. He was known to favor short, soft, feminine women, women who purred and begged him to take them to bed. Women who spent their money and time on ways to make themselves look better, smell better, and feel better when he finally carried them giggling to his cabin. And he appreciated all of those women, the effort they put into the way they looked did not go unnoticed. So even though Anne did none of those things, he liked her just as much - maybe even more. 

Benn didn’t know why he was compelled to tease her so much - he felt like he was pulling her pigtails on the playground. He loved winding her up until she snapped at him, getting a rise out of her was second nature to him. She didn’t give that energy to anyone else - not even foolishness from the Captain could get her riled. But one glance from Beckman and the smoke was already coming out of her ears, her fingers reaching for her club. And he absolutely loved it. He knew it wasn’t in his best interest if he wanted to seduce her, but he couldn’t resist teasing her as much as she couldn’t resist responding. 

“Oi, you deaf now?” Beckman asked, lighting another cigarette. In his mind, he counted down from five. By the time he got to one, he had to dodge Anne’s kick aimed at his head. Benn smiled. She got him on the rebound, kicking his lit cigarette to the ground. The crew had already started to gather to watch them fight.

Anne POV

Benn was the most infuriating man on the seas, she was sure of it. He was stronger than Anne, but she was faster. No matter how many times she thought she had the advantage, she was never able to keep it. Worst of all, every time he pinned her, he gave her the goddamn smirk. Anne would never tell him but she had improved after sparring with Beckman near daily. She’d gotten sharper, striking with more accuracy and even faster than before. But she’d rather smell Shanks’s stump than ever admit it. 

“Better luck next time, Princess,” Beckman drawled at her, both arms pinned above her head. Anne grunted and used her foot to kick Beckman’s neck, earning her freedom. The crew whooped for her, as they always did. They had a betting pool going on when she’d finally beat his ass, with the times ranging from next month to never.

“No next time, Beckman,” she grunted, rolling on top of him. Sweat was dripping down her neck and chest, she could feel it pooling in her bra. She aimed to elbow his stupid fucking face but was pushed backwards as Benn grappled his way back on top of her, pinning her legs under his own. 

“Always a next time, Sweetheart, you need me. You’re not gonna get better without my help,” he said, blocking her strike to his throat. Anne wanted to rip it out with her teeth, though she’d tried before and ended up with Beckman’s thick fingers in her mouth, holding her jaw open.

“Don’t need you or your fucking help!” Anne bellowed, trapped again beneath the First mate.

“Says the Dame who can’t get away,” Benn replied easily, tightening his hold on her. She was twisted like a pretzel, him holding her arms in place across her chest with one immovable hand, her legs spread between his and trapped under his heavy body. Anne wiggled and tested for weakness, but he had her caged.

“Get a room!” Shanks yelled from his cabin, watching with amusement. Anne turned bright red, from her cheeks down to her chest as she realized the somewhat lewd manner the position could be construed. The gathered crew laughed and dispersed, their daily fight over and Anne no closer to beating Beckman than she was before.

“Let me go, you won,” Anne hissed through her teeth. Benn made no movement to release her.

“Always do,” Benn replied, watching the sweat trickle down her chest. Anne was still blushing furiously and it wasn’t receding as long as Benn stayed on top of her.

“Get. Off.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Beckman said, pinching the apple of Anne’s cheek between his fingers before hauling himself off her. Benn didn’t need to wonder how he was going to die, Anne thought, one day she was going to kill him.

[haylkarts]

”I killed the prince, though he died all too easily…”

[archiveofliterature]

thinking about how ramy says, “this is how the empire connects us,” in regards to opium and he’s so devastatingly right

but also:

ramy and robin find their lost languages in each other (cantonese is bold and sharp like ramy; bangla is sweet and soft like robin)

ramy and robin share cultural new years (chinese in jan/feb, bengali in april)

(while i’m not sure if these nicknames existed in the late 1830s) very common bengali endearments carry the same root word, pākhi, which means bird. bird, birdie.

and you will say – didn’t the empire start all this, too? didn’t the british take ramy and robin’s preferred languages away from them? didn’t they rip them from their homes where they would celebrate their new years? didn’t robin choose this name because the british wouldn’t let him have his chinese name?

the british started it, but they didn’t expect there to be this level of intimate solidarity. they wanted to pull the oppressed apart, pit them against each other, but the similarities are copious bc ramy and robin have much more in common with each other than they will ever with the empire

they take the cruelty, mould it into smth they can share and build together

the empire couldn’t have that. so they did what they knew best: they took them away from each other