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eroguron0nsense · 10 months ago

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The Mysterious Mysteries of Mr Sir Crocodile (Character Analysis)

(Apologies in advance for discrepancies from my usual tone and for holding off on everyone who voted for this on my last poll. Honest to God I hope y'all enjoy this in some capacity because I've been procrastinating on this meta so long it's derailed ALL my other One Piece writing and I only accomplished it through addy-fuelled mania)

This was such a fucking pain to write. I really wanted to say something about Crocodile and what makes him so fascinating that wasn't like, another fan theory or just a set of headcanons, but that's easier said than done?? We could boil it down to immaculate design, screen presence, attitude, or just the fact that he got brought back as an unlikely ally who shocked everyone by saving the protagonist, but I don't know that those factors in and of themselves make for a villain who's become such an object of fandom obsession.

Whatever it is, it's certainly not backstory or depth, because 24 years and hundreds and hundreds of chapters after his introduction, we still know nothing about Sir Crocowani's past beyond a vague confrontation with the Late Great Edward Newgate (that apparently like, ruined his dreams or something?), and some totally-not-just-a-threat-to-out-him-if-he-betrayed-the-alliance blackmail material the Queen of the Queers is holding over his sandy reptilian ass. I was born and grew into adulthood in the time it took Oda to tell the world fuck all about where he's from or his inner thoughts, or his actual honest motivations and traumas.

All we have about this character are questions. Why did he save Luffy and Ace –very conspicuously after both of their lineages were revealed to the world– against all logic and reason? Does he have ties to the revolutionaries? Is he the long-lost son of Rocks D. Xebec? Did he bounce on Comrade Dragon's Monkey D and squirt out the fucking Warrior of Liberation? I assume Oda's going to tell us more about him, but at this point, he's managed to keep a tighter lid on Sir Crocs, Inc.'s past than the fucking Secret History

You may be wondering, dear reader: what the fuck is my point? What is there, at this final stage of Long Running Pirate Manga, for me–Frankie EroGuroNonsense, OP Tumblr Community Z-lister with like, 7 mildly popular meta posts under my belt–to write about the legendary Sir Krokorok that hasn't already been said or theorized? What eagle-eyed observations did I make while rereading Alabasta and writing toxic Crobin fanfic? Am I going anywhere with this? Sorta. Yeah.

Let's start with listing things we actually know about Crockpot, in roughly chronological (??) order: –attended Gol D.'s execution way back when he was my age, along with anyone else who's anyone from his generation.

–At some point, met and was known well enough by Iva that she could effectively blackmail him

–Made it far enough on the Grand Line, somehow getting to the New World, and managed to pick up an 81,000,000 bounty (low end for a warlord, presumably scouted fairly early in his career)

–Wanted to be Pirate King until he gave up on it, not 100% explicitly confirmed but most likely due to getting his ass beat so badly by Whitebeard that he settled for picking off small fry and racketeering behind a government desk job. This makes him profoundly relatable to the rest of us depressed fucking losers who acquiesce to our own mediocrity.

–At 30, after presumably licking his wounds for a hot minute, sets up shop in Alabasta, comes up with a clever evil plan to quietly build up enough arms to conquer the world with a WMD, and then gets his years-long bioterrorist coup attempt foiled by a 17-year-old.

The rest we know: after a brief moment of glory as the unsung MVP of Impel Down/Marineford, he immediately reverts to Failguy Mode, gives all his money to a literal clown, and consequently gets roped into the neverending uncontrollable PR nightmare that is Cross Guild. It's still super vague and we know little to nothing about his past before the Alabasta Saga (for all we know he had a fling with King Cobra)

...Onto his personality and mannerisms. This shit's a lot more revealing. Superficially, he's everything: immaculate Bond villain levels of charismatic villainy, unbelievably ostentatious, dripped out like a Pimp, constantly smoking cigars, absolutely dripping with smugness and grease and disdain. Owns exotic pets and a giant casino, and spends every waking moment either grinning like a maniac when he's got the upper hand or storming around in a fucking mood when anything goes mildly wrong.

He's also pretty hardened underneath all that, obviously couldn't have lived a day on the grand line or survived Impel Down Torture otherwise. But even in Alabasta, Crockery gives off an air of being distinctly more grounded and willing to get his hands dirty than other flashy, established villains who flaunt their wealth and status. A big part of it is just his really hyper-masculine indomitable tough guy persona, but even early on he's very much micromanaging his operation, fighting people hand to hand in (as opposed to, say, Doffy, who literally puppeteers people while lounging around) and makes a point to keep almost all of his followers at a distance and rely on them as little as possible. He rants a bit about how dreams and whatnot are pointless follies, as One Piece antagonists tend to do, and repeatedly taunts Vivi about how her idealism can't save her, but with the context that he wanted to find Laughtale himself, it feels a lot like projection.

The character trait that's harped on a LOT in canon, and probably the most pertinent one to whatever demons he has, is Croconaw's profound pathological distrust for everyone around him. It's a huge part of what makes him a good early foil to the Nefertari family and the Straw Hats, whose collective strength is derived from organic human connection; Crocalor, by contrast, makes sure that up until the very last moment, he keeps most of his people so distant from him that they genuinely have no idea he's even their boss. His relationship with Robin is interesting, but he turns on her immediately when he realizes she either can't or won't give him the location of Pluton and has his dramatic stabbing/"I forgive you" lines about how he never trusted her or anyone from the start. He says the same shit to Mihawk when he suggests they join forces, even citing their mutual distrust as a kind of paradoxical justification for why they'd actually work well together.

Arguably the only exception is Daz Bones, but even that relationship is still a pretty reserved one; one of the few traits Daz exhibits is a similar avoidance of human connections to his boss and even though they've ironically formed a bond despite it, I can't imagine that they're emotionally close. I find these more explicit declarations of paranoia a lot less indicative of what's actually going on in Croconut's head than subtext, but I feel inclined to mention them just because it more or less tells us that his background/trauma has something to do either with betrayal or alternatively just being jaded and deprived to the point of self-isolation.

Krookodile's character gets a little bit more interesting when we get to see him again in Impel Down being a smug little manipulative rascal right up until he gets blackmailed by his endocrinologist, which is definitely medical malpractice but also funny as hell. I also appreciate that literally the first thing he does after getting out of his cell is change into a big coat and cravat to keep up appearances, but it's not until Marineford proper that things get really complicated. Saving Luffy and Ace is the first selfless thing we see Crobat do–while yelling at Luffy that he needs to protect what matters to him properly, no less– and he just keeps fighting for them after that, teaming up with his most hated rival crew to cover Luffy's retreat and telling the entire WG to go fuck itself multiple times over. He fights everyone on sight with no regard for his own safety, talks mad shit to Doffy, and demonstrates a genuinely compelling amount of honest to god chivalry.

For a short time, we see Crocomotive less as a really entertaining cartoon villain and more as a person with hidden, profound emotions and a confusing moral code that's seemingly incompatible with the vicious little creature we met in Alabasta. We come to understand, in a few very brief lines that give us way more questions than answers, that Cromagnon has deep-seated, emotional convictions he actively suppresses, and that whatever baggage he has is probably tied to wanting to or failing to save something of his own. His resentment of Newgate, who he really really wants to have a go at (despite theoretically no longer caring about the ambitions of his youth) is indicative of a desire to revisit the fight that probably ruined his dream and ego, but it's also tinged with a deep-seated grudging respect for a living legend.

Crock–Afire Explosion's obvious seething hatred of Doffy also gives us a few more insights into what's wrong with him. On a surface level, it makes sense that he dislikes a profoundly obnoxious, even flashier fellow warlord who achieved more or less the same goal he set out to in a shorter time, fucks with his business, and then mocks him/tries to recruit him right after his very public defeat and imprisonment. He postures a lot, especially with his lines insisting he's on a higher level and that Doffy could only ever join him as a subordinate, but he's visibly steamed in their initial encounter and clearly hasn't liked him for quite some time. I bring this up because if we stretch our interpretation a little (for the sake of my argument), Croc Holliday's distaste for someone who's (outwardly) so much like himself and embodies all of his villainous characteristics from back in Alabasta might also suggest that deep down, he doesn't actually like the things they have in common; he sees right through Doffy because he's done the same shit and he hates what he sees.

Having gone over all that, I've come up with some key characteristics of Crocomelon that I'll use going forward:

–Extremely performative: puts an ungodly amount of energy into maintaining a carefully curated persona, and projecting a certain amount of power, masculinity, and prestige. Not necessarily an unnatural or inauthentic one, but a constructed and purposeful one nonetheless

–Deep-seated paranoia, hidden secrets; probably intertwined. Keeps personal details on tight, tight lockdown, probably afraid of being known.

–Constant projection of his own insecurities and failures onto other people, making a point to be uniquely cruel in Alabasta to an idealist who loves her people and a dreamer who wants to be the Pirate King.

Ironically, he demonstrably respects and defends two people–Luffy and Whitebeard–who theoretically embody everything he hates or scorns (ambition, goodness, love, connection, romanticism, greatness in the traditional sense) and he intensely dislikes the villain most like himself, or at least the one who shares a lot of his worst characteristics (ostentatious manipulative scheming rat bastard backed by people stronger than himself) –The Grinch's heart grew three sizes at Marineford because of like, the compelling power of brotherly love and reminders of his youth or something

SPECULATION, CONCLUSIONS??

The difficulty with writing anything definitive about Crocko's Basilisk is that he's such a mystery, which functionally lets the fanbase project literally whatever weird personality traits, potential backstories, or anything else they could possibly come up with onto him. So I want to be clear that I have absolutely no interest in theorizing about the specifics of his past or secret identity or potential baby daddy or anything along those lines; I'm only interested in what we can infer about his personality by extrapolating from canon. And the conclusion I keep coming back to, the one that I'm convinced is true on some level, is that Crocodile is living a lie and he fucking hates himself. Everything he does, from how he acts to what he claims to believe, is a desperate effort to cope with his own insecurity and failure and cover up a past version of himself he's deeply ashamed of.

Now, unfortunately, Oda did not conceive of Crocodile as a trans man but stories belong to the people and we can do what we want let's forget about that and play it straight because he's constantly performing gender as a means of compensating for a deep-seated shame and self-loathing from whatever traumas and secrets he keeps hidden. Even assuming he's a cis man, he deliberately chooses a hypermasculine persona with a Capital V Villain moniker and pimp outfit and speech pattern he's carefully curated to project masculine power–physical, political, and financial–and we know it's performance because we see him break kayfabe and get legitimately fucking angry whenever he's confronted by a person like Luffy, who's crazy and brave enough to try and do what he couldn't and risk everything for love and hope that he cannot bring himself to feel for another person, or reminders of the past he tries so desperately to bury.

The lessons he's wrongfully obtained from his past are as follows: Idealism is a weakness. Dreaming is a weakness. Connections to other people and being known are crippling liabilities (If he is, in fact, trans and closeted, that's all the more reason to be existentially disgusted by what he used to be). All the hope he brought to the Grand Line, all the excitement of trying to carry on where Roger left off, needs to be purged and buried because all he got to show for it was loss and humiliation. But he can't stop wanting more, and ironically, after he gives up on conquering the Grand Line, he ends up chasing the same fucking poneglyphs and weapons because his ambition's still there; it's just compromised and much more jaded.

Everything he does that's seemingly contradictory makes sense when you realize that Crocodile resents his failure and wants to avenge himself. He makes a big show of talking down to Luffy and Vivi's petty ideals and shit-talking Newgate and his family, but he still wants to fight Whitebeard like he did way back when and help Luffy protect what matters to him. He hates Doffy, who's honestly just a more successful schemer than he is because it's a constant reminder of what he settled for when he took that warlord post and fucking gave up. He claims to trust no one, but he keeps Daz by his side and rewards his loyalty because he can't help but trust someone who respects him so deeply and follows him to the ends of the fucking earth long after losing the material incentive to do so. He claims to look down on people who aim for the stars and fight for love and joy and freedom and yet, in his most vulnerable moments–not in the face of violence or imprisonment, but when he's emotionally compelled to defend a child and help save his brother–we see how badly he wants that for himself.

TLDR: Crockman Holic is deeply insecure in his masculinity, desperately needs psychological help, and his character/potential redemption arc in One Piece is just dealing with his midlife crisis.

#one piece #sir crocodile #crocodile one piece #donquixote doflamingo #monkey d. luffy #marineford #marineford arc #cross guild #alabasta #op meta #op spoilers #op crocodile #trans crocodile #edward newgate #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard one piece #impel down

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callmebliss · 10 months ago

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In March, I broke my leg. It was a fluke accident, nobody’s fault unless you care to blame the rain. I went to urgent care and then an orthopedic doctor.

Now I am getting these letters from a third party hired by my insurance trying to find someone to blame, presumable to bill for the cost of my care - and they are threatening to TAKE BACK PAYMENT THEY ALREADY MADE if I don’t respond.

I am being blackmailed by someone my insurance hired into trying to throw someone under the bus to pay for the care that they already get paid to compensate for. This is a straight up fucking protection racket. just in case you thought we aren’t living under dystopian conditions.

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abbacchiosbelt · 1 year ago

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spoiled

Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x F!Reader

Notes: Inspired by @cinnamonest's Kamisato Ayato/Teacher modern AU. Please read her lovely piece beforehand for further context!

This is a commissioned SEQUEL to will you, won't you.

CW: Age gap [ Ayato is 18, reader is 20+ ], not sfw, student/teacher with the student initiating, dubious consent, implied blackmail, PIV, manipulation, crying, overstimulation.

WC: 6.3k

Tag List: @magicalbats

It’s not without effort that you finally give up and lie down, your nerves shot and your body sore. You were worn from the night itself and the last few hours you’d spent trying to escape the room Ayato had locked you in, desperate to do something.

[ You’d stood before the door that Ayato had locked for several long minutes, vainly hoping that this whole night had just been some sort of twisted joke. He never came back, though. Not even when you banged your fists against the door and cried out for help, nor when you made a racket trying to break the door down. Tears had rolled down your face as you collapsed against the floor, unable to believe that this was really happening. Your life as you knew it was over. Even if you could escape, Ayato had made sure that you wouldn’t truly be free - not when he had the threat of a video that would ruin your career and reputation in his hands. ]

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore the images of Ayato running through your mind, your mind refusing to focus on anything else. At this point, you had nothing left to give. All your tears had been shed, and your throat ached from how long you’d cried for help. Instead of fighting it any longer, you simply get up from bed and enter the en suite bathroom, numbly prepared to do your bedtime routine. Finding something normal about the situation was the only thing that brought you a small modicum of comfort, and going through your nightly routine was better than just lying down in turmoil.

Ayato had left everything you could possibly need. You noted, with shaking hands, that he’d even supplied you with the products you kept in your home - all brand new, of course. Some of your things had been replaced with luxury products, complete with a note from Ayato that read: ‘These are better for your health. Try them out, I know you’ll like them. - Ayato’

You crumple up the note in annoyance, picking up the luxury products and dumping them into the trash. Wasting such expensive items hurt, but since they were from Ayato, you refused to use them. To do so would be letting go of your remaining dignity - you’d just have to go without them.

You numbly wash your face and brush your teeth, though going through the motions of your normal routine doesn’t settle your mind as much as you’d hoped it would. You exit the bathroom and lay back down on the bed, resigning yourself to sleep. Perhaps you’d be able to think straighter with a night of rest in your system. You’d take anything that could help you get out of Ayato’s grasp.

Your sheer exhaustion beats out the racing of your mind, and eventually, you fall asleep.

Across the manor, Ayato is wide awake, unable to stop thinking about you. If only you’d settle in quicker - he longs for being able to treat you like his wife, and you to treat him as a husband. Other people would think he was moving too fast, but you’d already belonged to him in his mind for months. He wants to go to sleep with you curled around him. And more than anything, he wants your face to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the morning. Soon enough, that would be a reality. First, though, he’d have to make sure you understood your new position as his girlfriend, and as his eventual wife. It was something Ayato was looking forward to. You were already perfect in so many ways, but he would make sure he molded you into his definition of perfection. The challenge of taming someone as intelligent as you only added to Ayato’s excitement.

All of Ayato’s careful planning would come to fruition, and there was nothing you could do to change things. That thought - that you were finally under Ayato’s thumb where you belonged, safe from the outside world - eventually lulls him to sleep.

You awake with a start, the unfamiliar bed and room alarming to your senses. It takes you a moment to remember where you are, your heart leaping into your throat at the realization.

It wasn’t all some bad dream you’d had after drinking too much at the graduation party. What had happened between you and Ayato was real, and so was the fact that you were still in his home. It was inappropriate - even unimaginable for a teacher like yourself to spend the night at a student’s place. You feel sick at the thought, and you clench your fists into the silk sheets.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Ayato wasn’t going to let you return to teaching. Even if you had found a way out of the house, Ayato had made sure that every route you might attempt to take was blocked. You curse internally - at yourself, for being so stupid, and Ayato for doing this to you.

Why…? You couldn’t be that special, yet Ayato looked at you like you hung the moon and stars themselves. His reverence wasn’t free from condensation, though, something you noted with particular annoyance. He treated you as if you were fragile - like you didn’t know the world's ways. It was infuriating. Ayato was only eighteen himself, but he acted as if he had an ancient soul.

Your thoughts trail off until a beam of sunlight peeks through the curtains. You didn’t want to dwell on your current situation any longer than you already had. You decide to leave bed and poke around the room with a fresh mind, your thoughts no longer clouded by a haze of alcohol and confusion.

Nothing much catches your eye except for the bookshelf, and you peruse the selection that was no doubt curated by Ayato. A few classics, a couple of trashy romance novels, a few books you’d assigned in class (filled with neatly placed post-its - some with your handwriting), and a few dated books on lady’s etiquette. You scoff, but you aren’t surprised. Putting those books there had no doubt made him chuckle, but they were also a genuine suggestion. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of finding one in your hands.

Instead, you pick out one of the classics and retreat to your bed to read. You weren’t sure when Ayato would come knocking, so you’d enjoy all the solitude you could get before then.

From the moment he wakes up, Ayato is thinking about you. The night before had been more than he ever could have asked for. You’d walked so easily into the trap he’d set for you - a gilded cage that he’d planned every minute detail of.

What’s more pressing at the moment, though, is his cock already stiff beneath the soft fabric of his pajamas. Where he had to resort to his fantasies of you in the past, he could now find reprieve just down the hall from you.

Ayato doesn’t hurry to you, though. He wouldn’t have been able to pull off any of this plan if he didn’t have the impeccable self-control that he did. Instead, he begins his normal morning routine, willing his morning wood to go down until he can properly see you.

He’s purposeful with his routine, not rushing any step. It didn’t hurt to make you wait - the anticipation of when he would arrive would be good for you, he thought.

When the time finally comes for him to see you again, he spares no time heading to your room. He’d been patient long enough.

Ayato knocks once before he enters your room, darting in so fast that you wouldn’t have a chance to even think about trying to push past him. He’s mildly surprised to see you’re simply sitting on the bed and reading - he’d expected a little more fight from you, but perhaps… Perhaps you’d come around to his ideas during the time he’d left you alone.

“Good morning,” he calls, approaching the bed. He could faintly smell your usual body wash lingering in the air - one of the few things he hadn’t swapped out for a luxury product, finding himself quite fond of the scent. He’d have to ask you if you liked the new products later. He watches you for a moment, but you don’t put your book down. Oh, it looks like you hadn’t lost your stubborn streak after all. Ayato sits on the bed and watches as you grimace, your eyes peeking over the top of the book to shoot him a small glare.

Cute, but not becoming of someone who would be his future wife.

Ayato tsks, leaning forward and plucking the book from your hands, ignoring your protests. In a brief moment of kindness, he folds the ear of the page you were on so you can find your place later. You cringe at the gesture, though, years of telling students not to destroy your books flooding your mind. If he notices, he ignores it.

“How was your night?” Ayato smiles and glosses over the situation like it was any other day. If he acted like things were normal, he thought, you’d eventually be forced to also.

Silence fills the air. You purse your lips, petulant, and keep your gaze trained on the window. (Locked, of course.) Ayato sighs and scoots closer to you on the bed so that he’s pressed against you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders before you can squirm away, his heart suddenly beating fast. Even a simple touch sent his heart racing when it came to you - he did well to keep his composure, lest you exploit it. Ayato needed to be in control, after all. “Aren’t you going to answer me?”

“How do you think it was?” Your reply is curt. The sooner you replied, the sooner he’d leave. You should have known that giving Ayato an in by acknowledging him was a mistake.

“I see you enjoyed your new beauty products, and that you enjoyed your choice of literature.” Ayato pats the book that he’d taken from you. Of course you liked it… You were perfect for him.

“I threw all that new stuff away.” At the very least, you could take pleasure in denying his gifts.

“That’s a shame,” Ayato replies, betraying no emotion. “When you’re better behaved, I can take you with me to pick some new things out.” He gets a thrill out of the annoyed expression on your face. Clearly, you’d expected him to be upset, but the products were mere pocket change to him. Eventually, you’d accept his gifts and come to understand how much he understood you. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the book, at least.”

The book… Of course. You had been enjoying it, until Ayato’s remark. The way he knew every facet of your personality made your skin crawl. “It’s fine.”

Ayato laughs at your cold response. If you wanted to get under his skin, you’d have to try much harder - he’d memorized your reactions and tells ages ago. It was easy for him to read you. As much as he was enjoying the one-sided banter, there were other pressing matters at hand.

Namely, how hard his cock was just from sitting next to you for a few minutes. It’d be shameful if he didn’t consider it a testament to how much he loved you. Your familiar scent and the warm skin that was pressed against his had sent his body into overdrive, almost as if it was making up for lost time. So much of his time had been taken up by school and responsibilities, but finally getting to touch you last night had awoken something new in him. Of course, he’d been taking care of himself to the thought of you for months, but getting to experience your body was a completely different game. It was addicting.

If he was a lesser man with no self-control, he would have fucked you well into the night. He hadn’t planned on pushing you to fuck him again just yet, but perhaps he could indulge in some other things. There was so much he wanted to try, after all.

Ayato slides the hand that was wrapped around your shoulder to gently press against your neck, letting his long fingers ghost against your pulse point. He hears you inhale suddenly, and the noise goes straight to his cock. (He wanted to devour you. He wanted to lock you up and fuck you senseless. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted… But it’s not what you needed, nor what you deserved. Ayato loved you. Such primal needs could be sated later when you eagerly responded to him - he had imagined so many times that you’d come to crave him as he craved you.)

“Ayato,” you warn, your voice low. “What are you doing?” You push Ayato’s hand away, and he lets you. You’d learn in time not to reject him, but Ayato had to walk a delicate line until then. He sighs, nonchalant, and lets his hand skirt down your arm instead. You grumble but don’t bother pushing him away.

“Do you really have to ask?” Ayato’s hand continues its path down your arm until he reaches the place where your hands are firmly pressed against your thighs. He sighs out your name. “You don’t have to be so worried about things like this. You are my girlfriend, after all.”

“Girlfriend?” You blurt, whipping your head to the side to stare at him. Ayato’s lips lift into that infuriating, smug smile that all his fellow students had giggled and blushed over. All it did to you was make your stomach curl. “That’s—” You’re startled into silence when Ayato slips his hand under the hem of your shirt, his fingers splaying across the bare skin.

The tips of his fingers are cold, and the sensation sends a chill up your spine. Your mouth hangs open dumbly as he explores the soft skin of your stomach. A strangled yelp leaves your throat when he runs his fingers over a ticklish spot.

“D-don’t,” you huff, the drift of his fingers over the ticklish spot again making you stumble on your words. “I don’t think we should do this.” He laughs, amused by your reaction. Anything he could get from you right now was fine - all he wanted was your complete attention, positive or negative.

“If you don’t like me touching you here, why do you react like this?” Ayato had mistaken the noise he’d drawn from you for arousal, his voice dripping with condescension as if the problem here is that you just don’t understand your own body and not that you’re being held against your will.

Before you can stop him, Ayato’s hand drags upward to your chest and he cups your breast in his hand. He plays with the weight of your breast, jiggling it. It reminds you of fooling around when you were younger, the unintentional awkwardness and non-pleasure of it making you grimace. Ayato doesn’t seem to notice, though. He sighs as he fondles you, entranced by the soft flesh of your tit that he’d been kneading.

You could almost drift away for a moment, pretend you were still asleep—

And then Ayato tweaks your nipple, hard, and your mouth falls open, a pained whimper rising to the surface. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, his gaze remaining on your shocked expression as he licked deeper into your mouth. It was all-consuming and violating – not like a kiss at all.

Whatever trance you had fallen under was quickly broken. Ayato is sloppy as he kisses you, his hand sliding down your stomach to fumble with the hem of your pants. It’d be endearing if it was anyone else - and yet some part of you doesn’t have the will to try and stop him. He’d already proven he’d do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

You don’t jerk away when his hand finally slips into your underwear, long middle finger immediately searching out your clit. It’s clear he’s struggling with kissing you and trying to finger you at the same time. You break apart from the kiss and he whines, chasing after your lips.

“Ayato…” You struggle to find your words, not daring to lift your gaze to his. You should stop him, you really should. You don’t, though. You were still so tired from last night. If you only gave in this one time, you’d have more time to think. You breathe out hard through your nose and finally speak. “One thing at a time.”

“Sorry,” he says, sounding sheepish. “I’ll do better.” It’s an admission you hadn’t expected from him, but it was apparent that he was vulnerable in this state when it came down to things. If you were a worse person - if you were like him - you would have taken advantage of it. Turned the situation around on itself. But you weren’t like him, so instead, you remain silent when he dips his middle finger through your folds, letting the wetness that had accumulated gather on his digit.

Ayato hums when he feels proof of your arousal on his finger. He knew that all you ever needed was a reminder of how good things would be for you if you let him do as he saw fit. He would be a proper husband for you in all ways, and his duty of pleasuring you was one he wanted to emphasize despite his inexperience.

Ayato is aware that he shouldn’t rush things, but his eagerness to consume you whole pushes him to dip his finger inside of your cunt. His finger slips in easily, aided by the lubrication your body had produced despite your will.

“See?” Ayato arches the finger inside of you, stroking against your warm walls. “Your body doesn’t lie.” You shudder, half-pleasure half-discomfort as he adds another finger. He arches his fingers up again, searching. You wouldn’t give him the pleasure of helping guide him toward the spot inside of you that always sent your body reeling. You ignore his words, the arrogance coupled with his inexperience guiding your lips into a petulant pout. You just had to endure this a little bit longer.

It only takes a second for Ayato to notice your new expression.

Ayato didn’t want to spoil you, as much as he loved that fiery side of you. Sometimes you needed your flames dampened, and who better than him who did it out of love? He pulls his fingers from inside you and instead starts to focus on your clit, pulling a surprised moan from your throat. His technique is sloppy, but it’s not so bad that you couldn’t come from it.

His silence as he touches you makes you wary - so far, he hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut. It’s barely a thought, though, not when your arousal is about to reach a fever pitch.

And then, without warning, Ayato pulls his fingers away from your clit— You whimper in frustration as your arousal fades back to a low burn. You twist your head up to look at him for an explanation and only find a serene look on his face. It immediately sends hackles up your spine, and you reflexively pull away from him. Ayato lets you this time.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” Ayato says, accusatory. Your eyebrows knit in annoyance. He tilts his head, looking at you like he expected something. “Your attitude,” he starts. “You can’t enjoy what I’m giving you and act like a brat.”

“A brat?” You sputter, insulted more by his choice of words than the sentiment itself. You had adjusted rapidly to Ayato’s malaligned attitude about his feelings for you, but this talk like you were just misbehaving was too much. You were a grown adult, for gods’ sake. “I didn’t ask you for any of this.”

“Didn’t you, though?” Ayato leans in, taking up your space. “All those times when you let me talk to you at lunch. You were so kind. And all those times you spoke to me after the school day even though I wasn’t in your class.” Before you can give him a rebuttal, he continues, almost manic. “I knew you were perfect the second I met you. Last night was just a precautionary measure. We were always going to be together.”

You’re unable to reply at his unashamed admission. While you reel from his words, Ayato stands from the bed. He brings the fingers that were inside of you to his mouth and sighs before he presses them to his mouth, sucking your juices from them. You watch in muted disgust.

“I’m going to let you rest for a bit. I’ll bring you brunch shortly. I think you need some more time to think about what I’m doing for you.” Ayato smiles as he produces the key to your room from his pajama shirt’s pocket. “You’re smart enough to know this, but you’ll be staying in this room until your behavior improves.”

When you don’t respond, Ayato shrugs. “It’s your choice. I’ll see you soon.”

Ayato, true to his word, returns with brunch around an hour later. He leaves you to your devices after, dutifully returning every meal time to bring you food but not lingering. It remains like this for two days, with you stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him and Ayato seemingly unbothered.

You’d used your time to think of something, anything, to put a hold on Ayato’s plans. On the third day, you finally speak to him again.

“Ayato? Can we talk?”

He turns immediately, his facade of nonchalance betrayed by how eager he looked. “Of course.” He hurries to sit across from you on a matching lounge chair to the chaise you’d been sitting on. “I’ve missed talking to you.”

You ignore him, and press on. “I have a proposal. I know you want to take care of me, but I think I should keep teaching, so I came up with a compromise.” You expect him to protest, but he just stares at you with a placid smile on your face. Unnerved, you press on. “What if I taught private lessons online?” You didn’t like saying the next part, but you had to try to placate him. “I would stay at home, of course. And you could vet any potential students. I’ve been working for years, Ayato. It’d feel wrong to just quit.”

“I see.” Ayato says, terse. You can already tell he doesn’t like the idea.

A pregnant pause hangs in the air.

“No.” Ayato stands, and you scramble up after him. You grab his arm, surprised by your own actions but unable to control your panic. “My plans- our plans, are final.”

“Please, there has to be something. We can’t do this, any of this…” You’re almost breathless as you speak.

“Let’s sit down.” Ayato leads you to the bed, but you hardly realize it. You let him maneuver you onto the bed. Your mind races for another excuse to try and bring up, but there’s nothing. Ayato strokes your hand. “Is that it?”

His tacit tone, as if you had just been throwing a tantrum, ignites whatever fuel you have left to argue with him.

“D-damn it,” You start, fumbling with your words. Ayato gives you a patronizing look that makes you want to rip his head off. You take a deep breath and try again. “You haven’t thought of all the repercussions. What will your family say? What will Ayaka say?” If anything could garner a shred of sympathy from Ayato, it had to be Ayaka. Perhaps with enough mention of his younger sibling, his plans would start to crack.

“What will Ayaka think?” Ayato echoes, raising his eyebrow. “She’ll think it’s wonderful that her older brother has found someone so responsible and mature.” He catches your eyes, and his gaze turns serious. “Ayaka is very innocent, you know. You wouldn’t want to hurt her by telling her the truth, would you? Even if you gained her sympathy… Ayaka is loyal to her family first.” Ayato’s tone is one of finality - any argument you had would be useless against him. It was like he lived inside your head, plucking out every seed of hope one by one and crushing them.

You can’t give up, though. “Your family, then. They won’t accept this. They have to realize how wrong this is. They… they have to!” Your voice breaks. Even if they did find it wrong, Ayato wouldn’t take the blame - you would. Ayato watches as the gears in your head turn, the faux sympathetic look back on his face.

“You already know my answer to that, dear. Did you think I was unprepared for our relationship? I’ve been planning every detail of how things would go for months. You know the Kamisato family’s reputation. I’m no exception to it.” Ayato takes your hand and soothes his thumb across the top.

You’re too numb to stop him.

You knew the family’s reputation well. The Kamisato family was meticulous. They were perfectionists to a T. Their legacy was long-standing, in both the private academy and the city you lived in. And most of all, they were known to be ruthless to anyone who crossed their family. Their ruthlessness was hidden under business deals gone bad, companies suddenly failing, another family’s secrets exposed - it was covert and deadly. To be in their line of fire was to have your life effectively over. You couldn’t do it. You were one person.

In a last-ditch effort, you pitch another idea. “Then… Then…” You stumble over your words. Ayato tips his head to the side - condescending smile and lidded eyes, a look that you’d quickly become used to - urging you to go on. Your throat suddenly feels very dry, but you know that if you ask for water, Ayato will steer the subject in a completely different direction. You warily raise your gaze to meet his. “If you’re so sure your family will accept this, then… What if we wait a little longer to move things forward?”

Ayato hums, thoughtful. He’s not really considering your offer, but he might as well pretend to be so he can see where you’re at. “And how long would that be?”

“I was thinking a year or so,” you begin. “You would be established at college by then, and I—”

Ayato’s finger comes to rest on your lips, interrupting you. He shakes his head before he pulls away, chuckling to himself at the expression on your face. “I’ll save you the explanation. I’m sure it’s a nice plan, but it won’t work.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!” You protest. Ayato ignores your outburst and wraps his arms around your waist, suddenly pulling you into his lap. Try as you might, you can’t squirm free from his tight grip. Your stomach tightens, anxiety pulling at it. He’s too close, and it’s too much - you feel trapped.

“Are you done now?” Ayato’s question sends anger running through your veins. How could someone turn from a respectful student to a condescending young man in such a short amount of time? He had never treated you with anything less than respect when you were his teacher, but now, it was like that part of your relationship had never existed. Ayato must sense your displeasure, as he loosens his grip and sighs. “You know that I appreciate your intelligence. Picking you as my wife wasn’t something I did without my due diligence.”

The thought that he’d been planning this for even longer than you’d imagined makes bile rise in your throat. You’re so distracted by the thought that you forgo trying to escape his grip and instead curl limply into him. Ayato is nearly giddy that you’re leaning into him, completely ignoring the stricken look on your face.

Another argument pops into your mind as you ruminate on the time it had taken for Ayato to plan things out. Time divided the two of you - Ayato young, and you a well-established adult. If you perhaps talked up Ayato’s youth and the rich life he had ahead of him, it might put a seed of doubt in his mind that would grow over time. You’d have to talk down about yourself like you were used goods, but if it worked, it would be worth it. It wasn’t an immediate solution, but it was something.

“I’m not done, actually.” Ayato tsks but doesn’t stop you. You swallow and peer up at him from his lap, preparing to disparage yourself simply to argue against him. “Wouldn’t you rather have someone your own age? Someone who will… Who will look good alongside you? Who can grow with you at the same pace?”

Ayato’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, genuine surprise painted on his face. He regains his composure a moment later, his eyes narrowing. “Do you really think I’m that type of man?” He turns your own words back against you - like your self-depreciation had been an affront to him. He doesn’t wait for a response before he continues. “Your beauty is timeless. I would never tire of you.” Ayato sounds soft, for a moment, but then he twists his lips into a cruel smile. “But if I did grow tired, I wouldn’t have trouble finding fun elsewhere. Many husbands do, you know.”

His cruelty was thrown so easily in between his kindness. You merely stare at him, mouth open. Ayato laughs and leans down to press his forehead against yours. The sweet gesture sickens you, but you know pulling away will only make him do something more invasive.

“Don’t worry. Like I said, I’m not that kind of man.”

Ayato had cornered you on the bed during the conversation, and you’re hit with the realization that you’re in no position to get out from under him. He’d broken down every wall you had.

“I’ll give you everything you could ever need or want. I’d be happy to give you another reminder.” Ayato leans down and captures your lips in a messy kiss, pressing forward until your reluctance gave way to kissing him back. He finally pulls up for air when you’re nearly out of breath, his lips slick with saliva. “Your body hasn’t lied to me yet.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you hated it. Deep down, in a place you didn’t want to admit existed, his attention felt good. It disgusted you, but your ability to deny it was betrayed by your body again and again. You could say it was a natural reaction as much as you wanted, but Ayato could see right through you.

You don’t stop him when he begins to undress you, hastily pulling your pants down and simply shoving your shirt up and your bra down until your tits were pushing over the top. He tweaks your nipples until they’re standing taut, playing with them with far more intent than he had earlier. His hands eventually slide down your stomach, and then they stop.

You glance at him. He smiles, the twinkle in his eye making you feel uneasy. “Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t have you getting spoiled? Go on, tell me what you want. I can’t just give it to you.”

You couldn’t. Doing so would be admitting that you were truly out of options. You turn your head, and Ayato tuts. His fingers ghost over your skin until he reaches your clit, so close that you can feel the heat of his skin against it. He doesn’t touch you, though.

“I can wait.” Ayato smiles, and remains still. His touch is so close yet so far, and the sensation of needing to be touched is starting to flood your veins.

How had you fallen so far in just a few days that you were seriously considering begging your captor to touch you? Had you really ever been opposed to his idea? No, of course you had - but your mind was already getting muddled, the brief isolation and emotional turmoil proving all too much.

Touching was simple. It felt good.

You give in. “Fine,” you mumble. “Touch me…”

Ayato tilts his head. You grit your teeth. “Please.”

“Good girl.”

Ayato’s words send a shock of arousal you weren’t expecting at the same moment his fingers begin their minstrations against your clit, and you keen forward, hissing. Everything from the littlest touch had been heightened by your increased emotional state, and this area of your body fared no differently.

Ayato’s fingers work diligently until your clit is swollen and needy, yet he seemingly slowed down every time you came close to orgasm. You let out a frustrated whine at every near peak that fades back into building arousal, the previous momentum completely lost. How many times had it been now…? You weren’t sure.

“You know what to ask.” Ayato’s fingers continue rubbing circles into your puffy clit, the bud aching with need. It’s not enough to get you off, though, and he knows it. The disappointment of the denied orgasm earlier that week pushes itself to the forefront of your mind, though, your body eager to get the pleasure it was denied. It was all too much and not enough at once. Ayato slows down his ministrations and forces your head up with his free hand. His fingers squish your cheeks together. “Well?”

You whine through your squished cheeks, and Ayato’s touch relents enough so that you can talk. “P-please,” you mumble. “I wanna come.” It felt wrong - but you didn’t think you could take the denial of pleasure again, your body nearly begging for it. If you had told him to stop, he undoubtedly would have prevented you from finishing yourself off. Ayato hums at your response, and his fingers begin to rub tight circles around your clit with purpose. You refused to vocalize it, but you could tell he was already getting better at touching you.

It only takes a few more strokes until you’re coming, your lower half jerking off the bed in time with the waves of your orgasm. Ayato doesn’t let up his fingers and soon it becomes near unbearable. You squirm, and drag your hips away. His fingers finally draw away from your puffy clit and he groans out your name, enthralled by the sight of you.

“Can’t wait to get inside of you,” he huffs, hurriedly undoing the belt on his clothes. His cock is out before you even realize it, pretty pink head leaking precome from the tip. Ayato moves over you and presses the head of his cock into your clit, watching eagerly as the little bud twitches from overstimulation.

“Nooo,” you whine, “it’s too much still—”

Ayato’s cock jumps in place, your words going straight to his member. Seeing you so vulnerable made him feel like he could come any moment. Before he can embarrass himself again by coming too soon, he pulls back, letting himself cool off for a moment.

“I think you can take a little more.” Ayato’s words are followed by his fingers on your clit once more, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive flesh. You wiggle at the sensation, his touch slowly becoming more pleasant as it breaks through the dull ache of being touched again so soon.

You shouldn’t have given in to him so easily. Not again - but you can scarcely think of that when Ayato is bringing you to your peak and then back again a second time, and then a third.

You’re teary by now, the pleasure-pain reaching a level you hadn’t experienced in a long while. You expect him to attempt a fourth orgasm, but instead feel him climb over you to line himself up with your entrance.

“I can’t, not again-” You warble, and Ayato leans down to capture your protests with a kiss. He uses the moment to press himself inside of you, finding no resistance as he pushes himself to the hilt. It felt just as heavenly as it did the first time.

Ayato’s pace stutters at first, struggling to coordinate the thrust of his hips and the rhythm of his fingers on your clit. He groans into your mouth while he fucks you, only pulling away to bury his head into your neck. The momentary stop and start of his fingers on your too-sensitive clit make you jerk under him, mind too far gone to do anything else.

Though you try to fight it, a fourth orgasm rips itself from your center. You clench down on Ayato and nearly shriek as it ripples through your body - Ayato follows you a few shaky pumps later, your name falling from his lips over and over as he comes inside of you.

It’s suddenly much too bright and much too hot and you thrash underneath Ayato, desperate to get out from underneath him. For once, he acquiesces to you and lets you roll to your own side of the bed.

You stare at the ceiling, suddenly all too aware of the sweat sticking to your skin. Your personal space is invaded when he drags your head onto his chest and wraps his arms around your shoulders.

You supposed it was his form of a compromise.

A month later, you’re sat at Ayato’s office desk with a thick piece of cardstock in front of you with the Kamisato family crest embossed on the top. The new clothes you were in still feel too expensive and stiff against the leather chair you were sitting in, and the luxury perfume Ayato had insisted you wear was suffocating. The sizeable ring on your finger feels dreadfully heavy as you stare at Ayato before looking down.

All these things to distract you from the impending message.

‘The Kamisato family is proud to announce the engagement of eldest son, Kamisato Ayato &…’

You don’t have to read further to guess that your name follows his.

“What do you think, dear? Do you like this color?”

A month wasn’t a long time, but it was long enough for you to know what Ayato wanted you to say and what you needed to say for your sanity.

“I love it.”

#my writing #not sfw #kamisato ayato x reader #yandere kamisato ayato #yandere kamisato ayato x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact.txt #age gap cw #dub con cw #dark content #yandere cw #gi kamisato ayato #gi ayato

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reijisteacup · 22 days ago

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could u do the boys reaction to finding there s/o playing the trisha paytas song “i love u jesus” on FULL volume and shes in her pre shower makeup as the lorax and shes dancing the big bad wolf with the silly shoes 😓

LMAOOO OMG ANON

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Sakamaki's

Shu Sakamaki:

Walks in, takes one look, blinks slowly, and turns around without saying a word. Later, when you ask if he saw anything, he’ll mutter, “Nope. Don’t wanna know. Don’t care.” But he’s 100% laying down with his headphones on, wondering, “What the hell is a ‘Trisha Paytas’ and why did I feel something stir in my soul during the bridge?”

Reiji Sakamaki:

Kicks down the door. “WHAT is the MEANING of this auditory desecration?!” Sees your Lorax face. Freezes. Blinks. His brain does the Windows XP shutdown noise. “Are you… attempting a ritual? Should I alert the church? Or the zoo?” He will absolutely try to wash your face mid-dance, yelling about hygiene and pride. But deep down, he's horrified and intrigued.

Laito Sakamaki:

“Fufu~ Bitch-chan, what kind of performance art is this?” Honestly? He’s into it. Laughing, clapping, possibly filming. He doesn’t judge — he thrives in chaos. He might even smear orange on his own cheeks and join in. Just don’t be surprised if he turns it into something freaky: “Shall we baptize in the bath now, mmm~?”

Kanato Sakamaki:

Absolute silence. Then: “...WHY are you DRESSED like THAT?” You hit the beat drop. Kanato screams and throws Teddy at you like a holy projectile. Storms out in a tantrum, convinced you’re possessed by a demon Trisha. Later comes back with cleansing salt and demands you “repent for being ugly on purpose.”

Ayato Sakamaki:

“HUH?! OI, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, CHICHINASHI???” He’s wheezing. Genuinely struggling between laughter and terror. Starts filming you to blackmail you later, but then joins the dance. He kicks harder. He flails. You both scream “I LOVE YOU JESUS!!!” in different keys. Congratulations, you just trauma-bonded.

Subaru Sakamaki:

Busts in, expecting something serious. Sees orange-Lorax-you twerking for Jesus. The scream he lets out echoes through the entire mansion. It’s the sound of a man seeing his entire life crumble. “WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Storms off, red as your Crocs. But he’s hiding around the corner, peeking back and whispering: “…They’re so stupid. I love them so much. Goddamn it.”

Mukami's

Ruki Mukami:

You’ve committed 6 sins and 3 fashion violations in his presence. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t witness that… livestock.” He leaves. Comes back with micellar water and cotton pads. You’re mid-move and he just calmly starts wiping your orange Lorax face. “Repent.” But he secretly saved the video Kou sent him and watches it in private. He's confused. And aroused. And scared.

Kou Mukami:

SCREAMS laughing the moment he sees you. “M Neko-chan!! What in the viral TikTok hell is THIS?!” Filming. Zooming in on the shoes. Cry-laughing emojis everywhere. Might even duet you. Starts calling you "Little Lorax" on stream. But he thinks it’s adorable that you’re this unhinged and safe around him. He’s obsessed.

Yuma Mukami:

“WHAT IN THE CORN-LOVING HELL ARE YOU DOIN’?!” Fully thinks you’re summoning forest spirits. Snatches the speaker and throws it out the window. You keep dancing. He screams louder than the music. Eventually gives up and yells, “At least don’t dance barefoot or you’ll bust your knees, dammit!” He will later hand you a towel and say, “Yer damn weird. I like that.”

Azusa Mukami:

Walks in. Sees orange. Hears “I love you, Jesus.” Whispers, “...Is this… a prayer?” Sits down. Watches you intensely. Begins to sway with the rhythm — like a cult follower joining your ritual. “I like… your moves… you’re glowing… like the sun… but orange…” Might ask you to paint his face next.

Tsukinami's

Carla Tsukinami:

“What is this unholy racket?” Steps in. Sees you as the Lorax. You two lock eyes. You twerk. He stands still, entirely motionless for five full minutes. Leaves. Later, you find a bottle of luxury makeup remover and a written note: “I have no words. You are fortunate that you are beloved.”

Shin Tsukinami:

Opens the door ready to tease you. Sees the orange. Sees the shoes. Hears Trisha. “WHAT. THE ACTUAL. HELL.” Falls over laughing. Cannot BREATHE. “Tch… you’re such a freak — I love it!” Immediately joins in and tries to outdance you. Now it’s a competition. Whoever wins gets the title of Lorax King/Queen. You win. But he tells everyone he let you.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fanfiction #ask me anything #x reader #relationship #ask response

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rightnewshindi · 2 months ago

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सनसनीखेज ब्लैकमेल कांड: मोहम्मद साहिल और गुलशन खातून गिरफ्तार, अश्लील वीडियो से दर्जनों लड़कियों का शोषण #News #RightNews #AllFollowers

#Bihar Xxx Video #Hajipur Blackmail Case #Sex Video Racket

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silent-as-the-grave · 5 months ago

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Through the Tent Flap

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale Content Warnings: Sexually explicit, fisting, inappropriate use of Mage Hand spell, voyeurism, chubby Gale Length: 2.226 words

Summary: A nosy vampire sneaks up to Gale's tent one night to find out why he's being so unusually quiet. And boy, does he get an eyeful. Astarion thinks he's sneaky but Gale totally knows he's there.

Astarion knows everyone's usual habits like the back of his hand.

He's learned over the years that few things are as powerful as the accumulation of knowledge, and the elf greedily sucks up as much of it as he can. Who knows when a certain tidbit of information might be enough to turn a particular tide in his favor? It could be as simple as knowing how to twist a conversation to his advantage, manipulating someone into owing him a favor, or even discovering something to act as leverage in a valuable bit of blackmail.

He likes knowing things. And so, when Astarion notices that the wizard's tent is suspiciously dark and quiet late one evening, he can't contain his curiosity.

Gale prefers to retreat to his tent after the group starts breaking off for the night, conjured orbs of light floating like fireflies around his head as he reads or scribbles notes onto parchment. And since he's Gale and Gale doesn't know how to shut up, it's also perfectly common to hear whispers of his voice resonating through the camp, muttering and holding solo debates on whatever topic he's studying.

Astarion used to find such mundane noise annoying—his oversensitive hearing picks up every whisper, every scratch of the quill, every rustle of fabric, and every gentle creak of protesting ligaments.

Then, over time, Gale's racket started to blend into a soothing background noise, until it grew as commonplace to hear as the crackle of the fire.

Now, the silence grates at Astarion's nerves. What is that idiot up to?

He's too nosy to simply ignore the change. Astarion prefers the peace and relative solitude of the night watch, so with no one else up and about during his shift, it's all too easy to slink across the camp for a closer look. The illusion on the tent is a good one; it's not until he's almost close enough to touch the worn blue canvas that he picks up the familiar scents of Gale's magic, a hint of ozone and petrichor, coupled with a shiver of static in the air that sets his hair on end.

Finding the lingering residue of magic concentrated there is not a surprising sensation. But it's everything else that he notices that sucks the unnecessary breath right from his lungs.

Like passing through a sound and light-proof curtain, the invisible edge of Gale's modified privacy spell gives way as the elf pushes closer, filling Astarion's ears with the tumultuous drumbeat of the wizard's heart. It's not the soothing rhythm of a heart at peace. It's more like the accelerated pace that he's used to hearing when Gale is forced to push his physical limits in battle, a brisk, throbbing pulse of hot blood that leaves Astarion's fangs aching and his mouth watering. But there's also a wet sound: a squishing, squelching noise, like–

Gale's voice catches in a gasp before rising in a strung-out moan, and the elf suddenly realizes what he's overhearing.

Well, well, Astarion thinks to himself, quite amused at this turn of events. Someone’s being deliciously naughty.

He's not a fool; it's far from unexpected to discover his stuffy companion taking his own pleasure in hand under their current tadpoled circumstances. He's certain they all do it. But for some reason, catching Gale at it makes the scenario all the more entertaining. Apparently even the surprisingly bashful wizard, who keeps himself well-covered and flushes at the slightest lascivious comment, isn't immune to more lecherous desires.

Astarion crouches just outside the tent and inspects the closed flap for a moment. There's just enough of a gap for him to slide a pinky beneath and nudge the fabric a bit farther open, should he be bold enough to take a peek. It's improper and a total invasion of privacy, but when has he been one to care about such things?

He kind of knows what to expect, but he's still not completely prepared for what his darkvision reveals.

Gale is hunched over his bedroll, his bottom thrust into the air, and without a scrap of clothing covering the vast expanse of his soft, olive-toned skin. For one who's always seemed self-conscious about getting undressed in front of others, which Astarion finds to be a bit silly after fighting and traveling together for several tendays, it looks like Gale had no qualms about shedding his modesty along with his robes here in the privacy of his tent.

And oh, what a sight he makes.

Dense thatches of dark fuzz and a smattering of freckles decorate a body wrapped in the kind of lush padding that's just asking to be grabbed and fondled. There's a sheen of stretch marks along his generous hips and the sides of his wide, chubby belly, some pink, some silver, reminiscent of the lightning Gale sometimes calls to his fingertips. Love handles bulge out from the fold of his waist, and every movement he makes leaves his sweat-streaked flesh jiggling in a way the elf can't look away from.

But it's the way his thick, dimpled thighs are shamelessly splayed that truly catches Astarion's attention. The angle of his peeping gaze isn't the best, but that doesn't stop him from catching a glimpse of dark, swollen bollocks swaying beneath a glistening hole stretched wide by a pair of… glowing magical fingers?

Gods above and below. Gale's using a spell to pleasure himself.

Soft, strangled whimpers fall from the wizard's lips as the digits plunge into his soaked, well-stretched opening, each movement sending more glistening lubricant dribbling down the inside of his legs. With his chest pressed to the floor and face buried in a pillow, Gale restlessly rocks back to meet his phantom lover, completely oblivious to his spellbound audience. Waves of sweat-damp hair stick to his flushed cheeks, while the dark hair around the cleft of Gale's ass and curling around his balls is slick and matted with oil.

The scene is utterly debauched. A better man would probably walk away and give the wizard his privacy rather than sit here and gape at him.

But Astarion is anything but a good man.

Almost involuntarily, the vampire finds himself wondering what Gale feels like inside. Those slick, warm muscles fluttering desperately around his fingers, swallowing him deeper the more he spreads the other man open. That sweet spot inside giving under deliberate pressure and forcing the most obscene sounds from the wizard's lips.

So loose.

So greedy.

So eager to be ruined.

Fuck. There's a danger here, of watching and feeling his thoughts wander in ways they shouldn't. Hells, Astarion can't recall the last time he felt so interested in partaking in anything of the sort, but that's not the point. It's like the tiniest ember of lust has suddenly flared to life in the pit of his belly, fanned by the obscene sight before him, and the resulting heat is threatening to turn into an inferno.

There's a sharp intake of breath, a heady whine, and Astarion's eyes go wide as another thick finger presses into Gale. The wizard's hands clutch desperately at the bedroll while his toes curl in obvious pleasure. The bespelled fingers thrust and swirl in a way that leaves his ample ass wobbling. And then—

"Oh yes," comes the wizard's voice, high-pitched and breathless and almost a wail. "Oh please, just like that!"

Of course the godsdamned wizard would talk in the middle of all this.

Just when Astarion thinks that this whole debacle can't possibly get any worse, Gale shifts and arches his back just enough to expose even more of himself to the vampire's view. The magical intrusion leaves the faint pucker of his hole exquisitely stretched around its near-transparent invasion while his rigid cock dribbles and twitches beneath him.

And it's not all that's twitching. The vampire refuses to glance down, refuses to acknowledge the way his traitorous body is starting to react to the stunning view. He's not aroused by the sight of Gale's luscious body on display like a banquet for the senses. He's not.

A fourth finger pushes in. The wizard makes a noise that has no business existing outside of a brothel.

Astarion is no longer breathing, no longer moving, completely mesmerized by the sight before him. The heat in his belly is shifting to a throbbing between his legs that grows heavier and more insistent with each passing moment. Part of him wants to loosen the laces of his trousers, to release some of the strain, but that feels like a concession.

Of what, he's not entirely sure. But it certainly must be Gale's fault. Sure, Astarion is the one watching without permission, but the wizard has no business looking and sounding so lewd.

How much farther will Gale push himself? Those fingers look enormous, and he's already stretched so far. Surely the human body cannot possibly take much more of this kind of abuse.

But then the spectral hand turns, its thumb tucking against its palm, and slowly starts to work the entirety of its fist into him.

The wisdom of the privacy spell is readily apparent at the moment when the hand reaches its widest point, catching briefly on phantom knuckles before that plump ass simply opens up and hungrily swallows the entire thing—and Gale keens.

It takes everything Astarion has to choke down the whimper that rises from the back of his throat.

There's pressure at the front of Astarion's trousers, and he realizes that he'd mindlessly slid the heel of his palm down to rub at his aching groin. It's growing harder and harder to pretend that he's watching this happen for any reason but his own pleasure. Gale is squirming and rocking back to fuck himself on that glowing blue hand as if his very life depends on it, and the dazed vampire finds himself torn between fondling himself and committing every vulgar sound and movement to memory for later use.

Meanwhile, Gale pants and moans with every twitch of the spell, his stout thighs quivering from the strain while his bountiful hips lurch and push back as if he can't get enough. "Gods, so full," the wizard slurs, the sound a broken mimicry of Gale's usual verbalization. "But… but it's not enough. Need… need more.”

The spectral hand rocks into his lube-slick hole, carefully turning and working its way even deeper into Gale's gaping entrance.

Hells, Astarion can practically see through the spectral fist and right into the man's ravenously clenching body. It's enough to make his own cock jerk eagerly beneath his touch.

"You feel so unbelievably incredible inside of me," Gale babbles, near senseless in his carnal greed. "Going so, so deep. Gods, I can't get enough."

That's right. Take it.

"Tell me how good I'm doing. How… how much you love the way I stretch around you."

Such a good little wizard, so filthy, so tight, so absolutely perfect.

"Please, Astarion, don't— oh, please don't stop!"

What.

Gale makes a fervent, strangled, inhuman sort of sound that's like a dagger of lust burying itself squarely in Astarion's guts. Back bowing, fingers clawing, the wizard frantically bucks back to meet the intrusion like he's trying to see how far he can force it to go. "Please, I… I'm so close. So close. Need to feel—"

He should leave. Astarion is not meant to see this.

But he wants to. So, so badly.

"' Starion," Gale sobs, and that gloriously soft body quakes as the wizard finally falls to pieces, spilling pearlescent seed gloriously over his rumpled in hot, messy spurts, his cock utterly untouched.

The vampire is scrambling away from the tent almost before he realizes what he's doing, his unanticipated carnal hunger vying with an unpleasant jumble of emotions he has no clue what to do with. He makes it as far as the relative safety of the forest before fumbling with the laces of his trousers, drawing himself free and wrapping his fingers around the familiar, rock-hard shaft.

Those cool digits barely have a chance to curl around his cock before Astarion's climax hits with the strength of a greathammer, forcing him to sink teeth into his knuckles to keep the shameful sounds of his pleasure from spilling from his lips. His spend paints the undergrowth and dribbles down his fingers with every jerk of his cock, until his sac is as drained and empty as his thoughts. His head spinning from the unexpectedly powerful orgasm, it takes all of his willpower to keep from sinking down into a woozy, panting mess.

Hells below, Astarion can't remember the last time he ever came so hard—if ever.

Quiet moments pass, and there's no sight of a humiliated wizard flying out of his tent to smite the vampire with a fireball, so he's pretty sure that he's gotten away with spying. The vampire eventually pulls himself together, shaking the worst of the mess from his fingers and tucking himself back into his clothing, as if that would be enough to hide the evidence of his illicit deeds. It doesn't stop the weird feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach, though.

Astarion usually likes knowing things.

But this?

It's just a little unexpected twist in the plot of their inconsequential, decidedly platonic relationship, that's all. Nothing to get all concerned about.

...Right?

AO3

#bloodweave #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #Astarion Ancunín #Astarion Ancunin #Gale Dekarios #chubby gale #gale of waterdeep

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justsigma-bsd · 1 year ago

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Guess the ADA member!

Crimes: Mass murder

Manslaughter

Assault and battery

Abuse

Child abuse

Torture

Gross negligence

Extortion

Fraud

Counterfeiting

Aiding and abetting

Sabotage

Destruction of property

Breaking and entering

Incrimination

Racketeering

Blackmail

Conspiracy

Obstruction of justice

Jailbreak

Coercion

Child endangerment

Harboring a fugitive

Underage drinking

Tresspassing

Kidnapping

Illegal possession and use of firearms

Mafia affiliation

Stalking

—-🦪

"Dazai"

#ada sigma #bsd rp blog #sigma bsd #anon ask

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veillover19 · 6 months ago

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The head Maid at the hotel was fed up with this guest. The daughter of a wealthy western investor she has a comped room and had been living the high life for over a week (while making an awful mess).

Requests for her to clean up (and to stop making such a racket at night) had been met with insults and threats to call her father and now it was time to resort to "other" tactics.

The bitch liked watching TV so the head Maid gave her a special show and once she was good and hypnotized ordered her to dress in a spare Maid uniform...

When the hypnosis finally breaks in a few hours the girl will wake up sore (from working for the first time in her life) and facing a folder of blackmail material.

With luck the Head Maid can force he to join the staff for the rest of her stay and they can teach her how to behave better...

(AI art made with Stable Diffusion)

#ai sexy #aiart #caricature #hijab #hijabfantasy #hijabfashion #hijabi #hijabiselegant #burqa #niqab

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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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Sean “Diddy” Combs’ countless abuse and sexual assault allegations caught up to him on Monday after he was arrested and charged following a grand jury indictment. Though he pleaded not guilty to three federal counts of sex trafficking and racketeering the following day (he’s in detention pending trial after being denied bail twice), the damage is done in the court of public opinion.

After the U.S. Attorney’s Office in the Southern District of New York unsealed Combs’ indictment early Tuesday morning, social media wasted no time cherry-picking the most searing details — most notably the narcotics and 1,000+ bottles of baby oil and lubricant that law enforcement seized during the March raids on Combs’ properties, which were allegedly intended for his abusive sex parties, aka “freak-offs.”

The shocking information and other parts of the indictment became another point of scrutiny for Combs after his 2017 rebrand as Brother Love failed to conceal the darkest parts of his alleged disturbing behavior behind closed doors.

The U.S. attorney’s indictment of Combs appears to bolster what many have alleged about the now-disgraced music mogul for years, with alarming claims of violence and abuse going back as far as 1990.

The beginning of Combs’ end began on Nov. 16, 2023, when his ex-girlfriend and former record company artist Casandra “Cassie” Ventura filed a bombshell civil lawsuit under New York’s Adult Survivors Act, accusing the Bad Boy Records founder of sex trafficking, rape, physical violence, intimidation and more over a period of 10 years. Combs and Ventura settled the suit just one day later. The latter’s public claims started a domino effect in the months following when seven more women and two men — including Combs’ former producer Rodney “Lil Rod” Jones and another former label artist, Dawn Richard of Danity Kane and Diddy — Dirty Money — to come forward with their harrowing accusations about Combs, all of whom claimed to at some point have been assaulted, abused or threatened by him.

But Combs isn’t the only high-profile figure in the music industry whose alleged misdeeds have been exposed recently.

Shortly before Ventura filed her lawsuit last November, former music executive Drew Dixon filed a lawsuit against famed producer L.A. Reid, claiming that he harassed and sexually assaulted her twice in 2001 while she was working for him (Reid’s request to have the case thrown out was denied in August). In June, producer The-Dream was hit with a sexual assault lawsuit; his former protégé Chanaaz Mangroe accused him of rape, sex trafficking and other violent actions (the producer filed to have his suit dismissed in August). That same month, Kanye West’s former assistant, Lauren Pisciotta, sued him for alleged sexual harassment (a legal representative for the rapper claimed the lawsuit was “blackmail and extortion”). And in July, Murder Inc. Records co-founder Irv Gotti was sued for alleged rape and abuse by a woman identified only as Jane Doe (he has denied any wrongdoing).

As history has shown, a culture of abuse has run rampant at the hands of powerful men in the music industry who refuse to take accountability for any of their alleged harm. Combs claimed in December that he “did not do any of the awful things being alleged” against him before brutal surveillance footage that surfaced in May clearly showed the music executive physically assaulting Ventura at a Los Angeles hotel in 2016 (Ventura detailed the same encounter precisely in her lawsuit). He later released a video apology on Instagram (which has since been removed from his page), taking “full responsibility” for his actions in the footage but for nothing else he’s been accused of.

That could change once Combs’ yet-to-be-scheduled federal sex trafficking trial begins, as his mountain of allegations is just the tip of the iceberg of what’s publicly known. Federal prosecutors’ extensive evidence of Combs’ alleged criminal enterprise will likely expose more, especially since they claim the mogul’s unlawful behavior persisted just days before his arrest.

Nonetheless, Combs’ indictment, which also cites unnamed associates and employees, signals a watershed moment many didn’t anticipate would come so soon after Ventura’s lawsuit — remember, it took over a decade for charges to come down on Jeffrey Epstein for his crimes. With prosecutors adamant about trying Combs’ case in a court of law, the American justice system has taken the first significant step toward holding the industry executive liable for his improprieties.

Now the music industry has officially been put on notice.

The public takedown of Combs is a warning to any wealthy, high-powered folks in the music space who indulge in similar criminal acts and the fearful enablers who stand by silently, unmoved and unwilling to intervene in corruption that goes on far too long. The same goes for those, like Russell Simmons, who thought fleeing could erase the horrid accusations coming from survivors who bravely went on record about the pain endured in their workplace or inflicted by their powerful employers. Evading justice only prolongs the damage, as Combs may be figuring out. But the day of reckoning, for the music industry, at least, is here, and the reign of its abusers is coming to an end.

If we as a culture are to do right by any survivors who have spoken up, we cannot stop with Combs. It’ll take more action and more listening to prosecute unscrupulous men to the fullest extent of the law. Moreover, the music industry stakeholders must commit to creating a safer environment by exiling those who continuously defame it with their deceit.

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darkmaga-returns · 6 months ago

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Hollywood’s golden boy, Ashton Kutcher, may not be as squeaky clean as the boy-next-door image carefully crafted by Hollywood’s PR machine.

Investigators probing the bombshell case against Sean “Diddy” Combs have turned their focus toward Kutcher, raising alarming questions about his ties to a sprawling blackmail operation in the entertainment industry.

With the walls closing in, authorities warn Kutcher could pose a flight risk and may even attempt to tamper with witnesses, further deepening the scandal.

As this high-stakes investigation expands, Hollywood insiders are warning that Kutcher, once seen as Hollywood’s quintessential nice guy, is about to face a public reckoning and a life behind bars, just like his close friends Sean Combs and Danny Masterson.

Before we dive in, subscribe to the channel on Rumble if you haven’t already, and join the People’s Voice Locals community to support the channel and be part of our incredible community of truthseekers.

Sean “Diddy” Combs currently finds himself behind bars at the federal Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn, the same facility that housed Jeffrey Epstein, awaiting trial on child sex trafficking, rape and racketeering charges.

Is the man described by insiders as his former lieutenant, Ashton Kutcher, about to join him behind bars?

Witnesses say Diddy and Kutcher were as thick as thieves in the early 2000s, with Diddy allegedly pulling Kutcher deep into his circle and locking him into the business of blackmail and child trafficking operations.

According to insiders, Kutcher, who may have been operating under blackmail, was allegedly tasked with supplying Diddy with access to the very young “pizza and hot dogs” that Diddy’s VIP associates craved more than anything else.

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scotianostra · 6 months ago

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On December *28th 1734 Scotland's famous outlaw, Rob Roy MacGregor, died at home in his bed.

*some sources say 27th.

Sir Walter Scott, portrayed Rob Roy as a dashing and chivalrous outlaw. Of course, the truth was a little less glamorous. Robert acquired the name of ‘Roy’ early in life due to his mop of red curly hair. In the early eighteenth century, Rob Roy MacGregor had established a protection racket, charging farmers an average 5% of their annual rent to ensure that their cattle remained safe. He had complete control over Argyll, Stirling and Perth and could guarantee that any cattle stolen from his customers would be returned to them. Those who did not pay regretted it …as he had them stripped of all they possessed. Rob Roy was not a man to argue with!

He was certainly no Robin Hood character.

Robert MacGregor, was baptized March 7th, 1671, at Buchanan, Stirlingshire. His parents were Donald Glas MacGregor and Margaret Campbell. He was also descended from the Macdonalds of Keppoch through his paternal grandmother. Rob’s father, Donald MacGregor, a younger brother of the chief of the clan MacGregor, received a military commission from the deposed King James II after the Glorious Revolution.

Rob was a freebooter with uncertain loyalty to James VII and was also engaged in cattle stealing and blackmail. When the penal laws against the MacGregors were reintroduced in 1693, Rob took the name of Campbell. Since his lands lay between those of the rival houses of Argyll and Montrose, for a time he was able to play one off against the other to his own advantage. James Graham, 1st duke of Montrose, succeeded in entangling him in debt, and by 1712 Rob was ruined. So Rob embarked on a career of brigandage, chiefly at the expense of Montrose. During the Jacobite rebellion of 1715, he was distrusted by both sides and plundered each impartially. After the rebellion was put down, he was treated leniently because of the intercession of John Campbell, 2nd Duke of Argyll. In his old age Rob became a Roman Catholic. His letters show that he was well educated; the view of him as a mere brutish highwayman seems not to do him justice.

In January 1693, at Corrie Arklet farm near Inversnaid, he married Mary MacGregor of Comar, who was born at Leny Farm, Strathyre. The couple had four sons: James Mor – big Jimmie -MacGregor, Ranald and Robert, violent men in their own right, but that is another story

The most controversial claim concerns Roy’s behaviour during the Jacobite Rebellion of 1715 when he allegedly betrayed his clan by acting as a paid agent to help the Hanoverian army. Previously, he had been regarded as a staunch supporter of the Jacobite cause and led his clan during the first uprising at the Battle of Killiecrankie. His involvement led to government mercenaries burning down his house.

The sept of MacGregor claimed a descent from Gregor, or Gregorius, third son, it is said, of Alpin King of Scots, who flourished about 787. Hence their original patronymic is MacAlpine, and they are usually termed the Clan Alpine. They are accounted one of the most ancient clans in the Highlands and it is certain they were of original Celtic descent.

Rob Roy was eventually caught and imprisoned,. thrown into London's Newgate Prison to await transportation to the colonies as a "bonded servant," in other words, little more than a slave. In 1726, whilst still at Newgate he received a full Royal pardon and returned to Scotland there to live out his last few years.

This he did and lived the rest of his life as a peaceful, law abiding citizen… apart from the odd duel or two.

Legend has it that when Rob was lying on his death bed awaiting his maker an old foe-man of his came calling upon him. Upon hearing this Rob rose from his death-bed and armed himself to the hilt.

"Never let it be said that any enemy of MacGregor ever saw him defenceless and unarmed," were purportedly his words. When the offending person had been shown the door, Rob is reported as supposedly saying: "Now it is all over - let the piper play "Ha til mi tulidh (we return no more)," and before the lilt of the tune had drawn to an end, he slipped away............

I know many people see Rob Roy, as I said above, as some sort of Robin Hood, but others see him as a traitor and a spy, the truth is we will never know the full story, the Walter Scott version is in my opinion romantic tosh, but it sold books for the man and gave Rob Roy and legendary status in Scotland and around the world.

Every telling of Rob Roy's story I read nowadays has a different slant, as the years roll by I try to give a slightly different slant on his life, it is up to the reader to believe their own version and to seek out more about the Legend.

#scotland #scottish #history #outlaw?#notorious #cattle rustler

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mademoisellegush · 2 years ago

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Enver Gortash, né Flymm: a tentative timeline

OR: I try to make sense of whatever the fuck is up with the Dark Urge's oiliest ex-fwb

enver flymm lives with his parents, sally and dravo flymm in the lower city, cobblers for generations, etc. he tinkers a lot, "traps and mechanisms", described as "needy, foolish, wicked, demanding attention, very crafty, smart boy - too smart" "He was always a little monster. Nasty to the core. He would've torn me and Dravo apart with his whining, his demands, the never-ending racket of him!" (note: they note that they made enver feel powerless, and this would have been the inciting incident that made him feel justice= revenge and fear)

the parents owe money to The Guild, the criminal organization that basically ran Baldur's Gate behind the scenes (everyone either owing them money or getting kickback / blackmail from it)

a warlock shows up and offers money for Enver. they sell their son to said warlock.

Enver seems to have changed his name then, either the warlock doing it or him denying the flymm name?

warlock then brings Enver to the House of Hope - I assume Raphael might have been his patron? which would mean raphael wanted enver from the start. Nubaldin, who used to work in the prison of the House of Hope, calls him "a mischievous little blot of a boy, who slipped through his fingers"

at some point during his stay in the prison of the House of Hope, Enver figures out about the Crown of Karsus held in Mephistopheles' vault. he escapes the house of hope

back in faerun's plane, he starts moving against the Guild. There's a report to Nine-Fingers, Guildmaster, of "upstart smuggler Enver Gortash making inroads on the illicit arms trade in the chionthar valley", though states it's more like "annexation", replacing the Knights of the Shield and the Zhentarim. definitely had a grudge to bear against them lol

Notes that seem to be from somwhere in this period of time:

"lavender scented diary of lady wisteria jannath" where hes like. seducing this old pariar for the diamond ring worth more than her mansion.

a letter to franc, a now deceased arms dealer, where hes like being a freak about how "weapons distributions continues like a parent saving their drowning child: swimmingly" and also how he loves "any man willing to birth a little more slithering wet malice into the world"

1482 DR (for sure, from dialogue with Karlach saying it's been ten years), he's selling Karlach (who looked up to and liked him !) to Zariel in order to get the prototype for his Steel Watchers. because i think he can't be satisfied with what he actually has, he wants *everyone* to like him, through being terrified of him and his weapons.

at some point, meets with the Dark Urge and ally together. they steal the crown of karsus with halsik's help. the Absolute hoax is put into motion

they get ketheric and myrkul in on it, after the crown heist, by digging isobel up so she can get necromanced.

Gondians fit here (as the note by Vance Farnol places it)

not too long before the game (at most a year? two?), orin poisons and tadpoles the Dark Urge and goes to Ketheric and Gortash to act as Bhaal's Chosen. Dark Urge becomes a test subject chew toy for Kressa Bonedaughter at Moonrise.

gortash tadpoles his parents "months" before the game, as sally flymm states if you talk to her.

My question: when did Enver Gortash find the Emperor/Balduran and bring him back under the domination of the Elder Brain, as part of taking down the Knights of the Shield? Or when he and the Dark Urge had acquired the Crown? does anyone have a screenshot of the interrogation sequence between those two?

(note: the emperor has a devnote for the emotions the Voice Actor was supposed to express when gortash proposes an alliance thats like. Yeah he's lying but i hate his guts, and you could always betray him first)

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #enver gortash #dark urge #im so normal about this game and its timeline im soooo normal #i wanna look at orin's whole thing too shes my joker girlfriend

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kammomills · 10 months ago

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I wrote 5 pages worth of text so this is one long post. A whole wiki for my oc because why not

Reddie Martin – Reagent 0928

Real name: Brunhilde Renata Martin

Fake ID: Mandy Brown

Mafia alias: Reddie Martin Nicknames:

Hilde (by mother and aunt Karolina)

Rena (by childhood friends)

Renata (by father and grandparents)

Reddie (by the mob)

Italian Family tree:

Angelo & Marcella Martin (grandparents)

Santo “Saint” Martin (great-uncle, deceased)

Leonardo “Leo” Martin (cousin)

Lando Martin (uncle, deceased)

Lucio Martin (father)

Frieda Martin (Leo’s mother, Lando’s wife)

German Family tree:

Ingrid & Hermann Jung (grandparents)

Wilhelmina Martin (Mother)

Karolina Treumann (aunt)

Fritz Hoffmann (step-father)

Background

Reddie was born in Germany in 1935. When the Soviet Union took over, Reddie had been ten years old. The Martin family ended up living in DDR, East Berlin. Lucio Martin had been disfigured by the war and unable to provide for his family. Reddie smuggled illegal goods from West Germany when they turned 15. The same year Wilhelmina divorced Lucio and remarried to Fritz Hoffmann, Reddie’s former primary school teacher and former nazi supporter. Lucio was transported to a facility for chronically ill. Reddie never forgave this and blames their mother for tearing the family apart.

Eventually they were caught by KGB and Reddie crossed the border to west in late 1956. Reddie sailed across the Atlantic and ended in Cuba where they met the Martino crime family members in 1957. Reddie became a wise guy and disguised themself as a man for months. Only capo Toni Pontini and soldier Bruno Caruso knew. They were nicknamed Reddie due to their reddish hair and ‘ready cash’ pun. Reddie did racketeering, sabotage and spying and partook in drug trade and battery. One Cuban officer was shot by them.

After a while, Reddie chose to move to New York and unite with Santo Martin’s gang. They received new papers as Mandy Brown by Toni’s associate. Santo’s gang didn’t believe Reddie’s tale and kicked them out. Reddie did more racketeering and trade while taking low-paid jobs and trying to get hired by the local mafia for two years. The Police arrested them for stealing and having no permit for firearm. Reddie managed to contact Toni who then hired a corrupted lawyer and Reddie got out without bail.

A week later, the Police double-checked Reddie’s papers and the pistol they were gifted by Toni. FBI got involved and Reddie escaped to the streets. Now homeless, broke and wanted, Reddie saw Murkoff’s ad and joined the Project Lathe Two in 1959 September. The plan was to get “rehabilitated” long enough for FBI to give up on the chase and go work for the gang again at the headquarters, Louisiana.

Personality

Reddie acts like they were born in the mob. They are blunt, business oriented and indifferent to violence. Reddie says what’s on their mind whether it’s a tasteless pun or a weird memory no one else understands. They like to joke a lot and tell wild stories some which are exaggerated. Reddie often takes newbies under their wing and guides them through the trials, only to later blackmail them for favours.

In a way, Reddie comes across self-centred: they think adding Franco Barbi as a prime asset was targeted at them. They don’t have proof of this, but it feels like it is. The same goes for other reagents: if one behaves suspiciously, Reddie is quick to think it has something to do with them. Paranoia plays a role in this. Years of illegal activity has taught Reddie to be observant and on their guard with everyone. The other reason is that Reddie views themself as a potential threat to Murkoff. Again, a wild assumption without proof but for Reddie it makes most sense.

Reddie tries to be a team leader, but they are emotional and juvenile type in nature. If someone tells them they can’t do something, they’ll prove them wrong. If someone commands them to be still, they’ll complain and make an excuse to stand. If someone tells them to act like a lady, they’ll curse and raise their fist. Simply, Reddie does when asked, not ordered. They don’t like to be bossed and they negotiate on everything.

Reddie’s weak point is navigation and patience on trials. The maze is their worst enemy. Once they learn how each task works, they tend to rush into the action, alerting ex-pops nearby and setting off sound traps. Reddie bashes through doors instead of unlocking them too. The teammates following behind are the ones paying the price for this.

Relationships

Relatives

Leo Martin – Reddie's younger cousin. Reddie taught him smuggling in the past and told him to come join them in New York once he’s old enough. Leo could be living in New York by now.

Lucio Martin – Reddie loves him dearly and would like to bring him to America if possible.

Santo Martin – Reddie never met the great-uncle but they heard stories and saw photos of him. Grandpa Angelo and grandma Marcella received letters from him that Reddie would read.

Wilhelmina Martin – Reddie has a complicated relationship with her. She is their mother, but Wilhelmina has never fully accepted Reddie the way they are. Deep down, Reddie wants this acceptance despite everything that has happened between them.

Fritz Hoffmann - Reddie despises the stepfather. He mistreated Reddie in school and continued doing so after marrying Wilhelmina. Reddie is ashamed of him since Fritz had been a vocal supporter of Hitler’s government.

The mob

Toni Pontini – Toni took Reddie in and taught them the ways of the mafia. He saw potential in Reddie and was willing to act against rules to make them a member.

Bruno Caruso – Bruno came up with the nickname Reddie the day they met. He taught them how to place car bombs.

Salvatore Barbi – Reddie spoke with Don once on the phone. He mentioned the Martino family could make them a permanent member if Reddie’s up to it.

Sinyala Facility

Mother Gooseberry – Reddie finds her somewhat scary. She reminds them of Wilhelmina whenever she’s aggravated. They try not to interact with her during trials. They know Dr Futterman is a puppet but they often forget this and think Futterman is a separate entity that says funny things and makes Reddie laugh. Dr Easterman recommends more trials with Gooseberry since her presence gets interesting results.

Leland Coyle – Reddie thinks it’s ironic there is a cop calling them guilty because it’s true. Reddie is more bark than bite with him though. It’s fun to shout back at him and make him act like a fool as long as there are bricks and a stun rig available. Once the chase is on, Reddie is quick to vanish from sight. They are planning to build a bomb and bring it to the police station – a little payback for the justice system. Plus, to see that cop crying his eyes out.

Franco Barbi – Reddie and Franco never met before but Reddie was told who he was. Toni and the rest gossiped about him in graphic detail. When Franco’s prime asset debut came, Reddie had been shocked to see Don’s son face-to-face. They think Murkoff’s planning something by adding him. Overall, Reddie views Franco as a fellow mobster and isn’t jolted by his level of violence. They want to form a possible allyship with him, if only Franco would stop aiming Lupara at them and hear Reddie’s offer.

Trivia

Reddie’s haircut is inspired by photos of younger Santo Martin before he moved to US.

Reddie hates their first name Brunhilde, always has. It was their great-grandma's name.

Their favourite colour has always been yellow, and their favourite flower is sunflower.

Reddie is fluent in German and their Italian is decent, yet they intentionally speak like a mafioso.

Reddie had one affair in Cuba. With an older, wealthy and married, woman named Melina.

Reddie has a fedora in their room. They never wear it but it’s there as an inside joke.

Reddie is often misgendered and people can’t decide on their pronouns so they can be she to one person and he to someone else. Reddie doesn’t care.

Reddie has a habit on dropping hints of their criminal past and random names. They never explain if someone asks.

#the outlast trials #outlast trials #outlast trials oc #outlast trials reagent #reagent oc #reddie martin is here #what the hell did i write #so much lore for one oc

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