WORLD SERPENT,

YOU WANT IT DARKER? WE KILL THE FLAME.

[jormungr]

jormungr animanga-focused multimuse hub blog ft. muses from one piece, bleach, jjk, naruto etc. primary muses are found on their respective sideblogs listed below, please follow the sideblog featuring the muse you're interest in—secondary muses are listed under read more, if you do not follow any sideblogs i will assume you're only interested in the secondary muses. highly private, plot-orientated and low activity. mature themes present, minors dni. in-depth rules and full list under the cut. written by vinn (she/her, 25+, europe)

@ILUS1ON aizen sōsuke (bleach) @VERG1FT askin nakk le vaar (bleach) @1STRITTER lille barro (bleach) @YHW4CH yhwach (bleach) @LEOP4RDO rob lucci (one piece) @A0KIJI kuzan ‘aokiji’ (one piece) @K4T4KURI charlotte katakuri (one piece) @RY0KUGYU aramaki ‘ryokugyu’ (one piece)

RULES blog is mostly friends-orientated and very private. standard rp etiquette applies (don't be rude, don't be a bigot, don't pressure me for timely replies). triggers are tagged as triggername tw. i do my best to tag everything appropriately, please let me know if you would like a specific trigger tagged. i am open to plotting and consider it a requirement for certain muses. i love shipping in most cases but i will never assume a romantic relationship between our muses unless we discuss it ooc—some of my muses do flirt, but please don't take it as me trying to forceship. i rarely post starter calls, sending memes or reaching out to plot is the easiest way to interact with me. *IMP memes will be reblogged on my main/hub blog (jormungr) but you are free to send each prompt to the sideblogs, i reblog them here for practical reasons

affiliated with ... crucifor, ohfools

ON REQUEST

BLEACH ishida uryū (canon), tōsen kaname (canon), jeanne von nordgau (original), shigyō nobutsuna (canon), zaraki kenpachi (canon), kyōraku shunsui (canon), coyote starrk (canon) ONE PIECE monkey d. dragon (canon), apollodoros the ionian (original), rooke d. sev (original), saint hernan derais (original), sol galeo (original), laskey (canon) MISC tobirama senju (naruto), august ruthven (vanitas no carte), ryōmen sukuna (jjk)

SECRET MENU

donquixote rosinante (one piece, canon), monkey d. garp (one piece, canon), shiryu of the rain (one piece, canon)

[jormungr]

laskey absolutely DOES play favorites, his fatherly love is very much connected to his daughters' functionality within cipher pol and seeing as kalifa has always been more talented (not to mention she was a member of cp9 first, like him, and then cp0 which is even more prestigious) she's always been daddy's dearest—whereas alpha, especially following the incident with bonny, earned mostly his dismissive contempt

[jormungr]

i caved in and gave apollodoros a devil fruit

[crucifor]

ㅤㅤㅤkestro is rarely comfortable — and he's certainly never at ease. perhaps in this abode yes, when it's just panchax and the mist that mournfully recognizes him too — and after many years, laskey as well. he could never quite lower his guard around the other though — for his fellow agent was always looking to poke at his mind. he found at as charming as he did annoying — but laskey had seen him dressed down in all ways. some were mental. most were physical. ❝ hm. ❞ is the noise the falcon offers him, finishing the last of his tea and setting it aside. poke and prod poke and prod. he's lucky kestro didn't bite him — but he looks decidedly less menacing at the moment. to be frank, laskey's arrival had interrupted him as he was preparing to bathe and tuck in for the night — so kestro is without his monocle, and his hair seems to be hanging more loose about his features. it was just as well. laskey was much more fun than a bath.

ㅤㅤㅤslowly, he drifts to his feet. kestro steps around the coffee table that rests between them, and advances on the cat as if he were the one prowling. indeed, he tilts his head in a distinctly avian manner, as he stops before laskey's lounging frame.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ hm. ❞ he says again.

ㅤㅤㅤmismatched eyes narrow shrewdly, the falcon's lips pursing into a thin line. his position is elegant, sharp, but still relaxed — as if laskey has not truly perturbed him yet. ❝ aren't you flirting with me right now? ❞ he questions, more rhetorical than anything. kestro's gaze goes far off, and he fixes his attention on the window behind laskey — the sky illuminated by stars. there were so few stars here. tintalim used to have even less, shrouded in mist as it was. his gaze dips down, and finds the other's once more. this time, kestro's lips cock up at the edges.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ if so, i don't like it much, it annoys me. ❞ well at least he was honest. ❝ if you want to take me to bed tonight, laskey, analyzing my reactions is not going to get you there, i'm afraid. ❞ slowly, he leans down. their torsos are close, faces even closer. ❝ you know what to do. ❞ he says lowly, eyes aglow, ❝ you've been doing it for years. ❞ and then he rises, plucking laskey's empty cup from the low table and collecting his own as well. ❝ don't change it up now. ❞ he calls over his shoulder, meandering off to the kitchen to place them in the sink for later, ❝ seas know i've grown particular in my old age. ❞

[jormungr]

‘don't sound so wishful. it makes you appear desperate.’ 

laskey faintly sneers.

they are both used to a kind of sharpness that feels familiar, comforting. talons and claws. laskey is hardly fazed—if anything, he's always enjoyed how kestro never lacked some cutting retort from everything he said, hitting and never missing, as though they could endlessly prod at the vitals without ever truly managing to hurt each other. he does not mind kestro being a little difficult, tonight. and kestro, he is sure, deliberately tests him because he knows he will follow shortly. and laskey does follow.

he stands up with calculate carefulness, and though he winces in pain as soon as he places his weight on his injured leg, this time he discards his cane in a corner. it's one of those days—and those days are getting more frequent as he ages, he'd noticed. but even after twenty years of forced inactivity, laskey does not forget his training. he tests his knee, clinically cold as he evaluates how bearable each stab of pain is, and takes his time going after kestro.

trying not to limp makes it worse. it's foolish, kestro's back is turned, but each step rattles his pride and laskey grits his teeth until he reaches the falcon. slender arms surround his waist as gloved, clever hands roam his abdomen, invitingly close to the waistband of his—tragically tight pants, though he abstains from toying with the button lest the accusation of appearing desperate might be returned to the sender. instead, his lips find the back of kestro's neck. he places a kiss there, then another. ‘the word you're looking for is grumpy, birdie.’  the next kiss is wet, lingering, sucked into kestro's skin. feline fangs rake the reddened spot, and he knows, instinctively as laskey knows most things, that it's only by some stupid principle that the other hasn't already started stripping.

‘and demanding.’

  he's leaning into him now, and no doubt kestro notices that he's putting more weight into it than normally necessary—but if he does, he's been gracious enough not to mention it yet. laskey smiles against his neck. ‘they say change is good for a couple. and you're always so, mm, enthusiastic when your feathers are ruffled.’ 

[jormungr]

i realize laskey is pretty limited to his cipher pol context in terms of dynamics/interactions so here's some plotting hooks for him

marines: though he's usually primarily asked to evaluate the psychological state of cipher pol agents and to what extent it might affect/hinder their functionality, laskey is sometimes tasked to do the same with marines, especially high-ranking officers, like vice-admirals and higher. after marineford, his skills are particularly needed, considering the rise in the number of marines showing symptoms of ptsd. prior to ohara, when he was still active as an assassin, marines can interact with laskey as they would any cipher pol agent, especially in the case of shared missions and cp/navy cooperative field operations

pirates: there's no one more suited to interrogate a prisoner than someone whose haki allows him to feel their emotions—unfortunately if your pirate gets caught, especially if it's someone potentially important or who might be keeping secrets/information from the world government (or celestial dragons), laskey will handle the questioning. alternatively, your pirate muse your capture him and take him on a ride, although he's of immense value to cipher pol and the world government as a whole which means there's going to be someone very mean and very strong going after your silly little ship to retrieve that evil old man

revolutionaries: see above

water seven gang: if kalifa's dad participates in the mission, possibly going after iceburg/trying to gain his trust since he obviously cannot work at the docks, mind your business

cipher pol: it goes without saying, laskey primarily operates within the arms of cipher pol and, although he was removed from field work, he actively serves the organization as a psychiatrist who evaluates agents and recruits alike—potentially determining whether they are fit or not to serve the world government. 22 years ago, until ohara, he was a member of CP9 and he was considered the best assassin of his generation. at the current time, he also works as a therapist for cp agents, although clearly this is something he is tasked to do in order to optimize their functionality/investigate potentially suspicious individuals, not to tend to their mental health.

[f-lilo23]

🐉🐉

[crucifor]

ㅤㅤㅤby now, kestro should be used to the other's intruding — and he is, to a degree. it's been decades, and there is something familiar about laskey invading his space, slipping into his quarters without even a knock or a greeting. years ago, he might have complained. but now? it's as normal as the familiar green color of his sheets, or the dried herbs that panchax has once more begun hanging on the wall. he had not had to request laskey's reports on his wayward charge, they came to him freely. no doubt an excuse to be in each other's presence, but he hardly complained about that either. it was useful information and... well, there was something to be said for their time spent alone together.

ㅤㅤㅤthe falcon sits across from him, sipping lightly at the tea he'd brewed upon the cat's arrival. it sits steaming before them both — a warm chai mixed with milk. it's a familiar taste of home — one only he and panchax are really able to replicate. laskey should consider himself lucky he allow him the privilege to drink it at all.

ㅤㅤㅤkestro can't help it, the way his lips curl behind his mug, the barest hint of a smirk peeking up around the cup. another sip is neatly taken, and he sets the drink down to neatly fold his hands in his lap. mismatched eyes study laskey with ruthless efficiency, as always, his keen gaze catching every bob of his throat — every movement of his eyes, and the inviting way his shirt dips low. ❝ have you considered my smile for him to be genuine? ❞ it's a rhetorical question. kestro himself was not sure of the answer. ❝ pax sees the young man that taught and nurtured him in the past when I smile, not who I am now. but let him. it keeps him pliant. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤthe words are blatant, matter-of-fact. whether he had any legitimate feelings of care for the boy was hard to say. laskey could probably discern the truth, but it was a weakness he preferred to keep the psychiatrist away from. instead kestro leans forward. every inch of him is covered of course, but his blue vest sits invitingly around his waist, cinched tight over the long cut of flowing cream pants. ❝ I believe you would be a lost cause on that front, laskey. although there are many other things I could teach you. ❞ his lips kick up again, dashingly inviting in the low light of his quarters, ❝ like some manners. it's terribly uncouth to flirt with me like a teenager at your age. ❞

[jormungr]

‘i think you need to look up the meaning of the word genuine.’ 

laskey comments, a faintly amused tilt now filling his raspy voice. the steaming mug that sits in his lap is mechanically brought to his lips, the hot sip he takes causing the tantalizing bob of his throat. once, twice. he knows kestro does not miss it. kestro never misses anything. it is deliberate, perhaps—there's a restlessness prickling at his bones, and something in him urges to run, to ambush, to kill, until the solid hit of reality reminds him it hurts too much to even walk, on certain days. there's a loose thread hanging from kestro's words that he could easily pick apart if he wanted, even if the falcon prides himself in being unreadable... the dark, muddy waters of his relationship with panchax, with tintalim, could be rendered a crystal-clear stream for laskey to wade through. but he does not go there. it is a courtesy.

one of the many they've extended each other throughout the years.

there is little shame in the way laskey checks him out. they've aged, yes—but the other is still as elegant and razor-sharp as the first time they sized each other up. he sets the mug on low table next to his seat, his folded elbow propping on the armrest as his chin rests in the palm of his hand. lazily, almost reflexively, laskey strokes his beard as he studies his lover. from his casual movements to the slightest flutter in his eyelashes.

‘how should i flirt with you then?’  he knows the other minds it less than he claims, the psychiatrist's sensual flair—his casual, idle seductiveness. age has made them more honest than they were decades ago. ‘or rather,’ a pause. laskey eyes the falcon's elegant frame appreciatively. he would know it blind, his body; he's mapped it countless times before. but there is always something new in the way kestro shows up in a new pair of pants that clings to his form indecently well or a new tailored shirt that is begging to be unbuttoned, and alongside it, something worth letting his stare linger on. ‘how would you like to be flirted with?’

he knows, of course, but it's a test. idle mind games that he never gets tired of. panchax can't be the only one to suffer his questions when falcon himself is so fascinating. ‘don't give me that look.’ the smile that tugs at laskey's lips is not endearingly soft, although there's the pale, distant reflection of a mysterious fondness pooling in the darkening lust. it cannot be grasped, nor questioned. it's human, perhaps physiological, but humanity has frayed at their edges past the point of recognition. when kestro drifts close enough, laskey looks up at him over the edge of red-colored shades—a blond eyebrow arching, his smile now a challenge. ‘the likes of us never stop working.’

[jormungr]

‘you know what he said?’ 

there's a comically scandalized edge worked in laskey's otherwise even tone as he speaks. he does not bother specifying who it is he's talking about—consistently updating kestro on his sessions with panchax had been a poor excuse to see him, but the first time laskey had gracefully slipped into his quarters with the results folded under his arm, only to stay well past his time, the hawk had not objected. even now, it is clear in the way he carries himself that laskey is not just here as a psychiatrist: he lounges with his legs folded, the first buttons of his shirt undone, sea-green eyes keenly watching kestro. ‘that my smile does not reach my eyes the same way as yours does.’ 

and yet there's a grin somewhere, coloring the way his voice tilts. he should not be pleased that the other is so evidently better than him at something that is so fundamental to his daily performance in his own field of competence, but after all, laskey considers, this is a role he was forced into when his real talent lied elsewhere—and forced he was, because of how distinctly he could feel emotions, not replicate them. he does not tell kestro. though they may have known each other for a long time, laskey knows weaknesses are better kept close to his chest. his head tilts to the side, ashen blond curls spilling as his blue earrings sway loosely.

‘frankly, it's a little offensive. but,’  a flash of fangs in his practiced smile. the one that panchax calls hollow, when it's only just hungry. ‘you call always teach me, agent.’ 

@crucifor.

[crucifor]

ㅤㅤㅤpanchax knows what it is to treat a disgruntled and combative patient — he knows the gentle tones and soft platitudes that must be used. but there is a difference between them. laskey is a good liar — pax knows this. to be a cipher pol doctor, especially one specializing in their mental states, you had to be the best of the best at manipulation. yet despite his soft words, his open body language and imploring features... that kindness does not reach laskey's eyes. he sees no warmth there — feels no comfort. it's only the assessing gaze of a predator, deciding where to best bite. pax had no intention of being made a meal.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ i'm not going to liberate that question with an answer. ❞ he can't help but respond with something of a derisive laugh. how does he feel about surviving? well - that was a loaded question, wasn't it. panchax felt not unlike a cockroach at times, utterly unkillable and for what? what was the reason? he kept living because he couldn't die — the world wouldn't let him, and where would his devil fruit end up if he did? it was a farce of an excuse — but it kept him going until he'd met kuzan. kuzan who had given him the strangest sort of hope in a bleak, bleak world. kuzan who had-

ㅤㅤㅤhe closes his eyes. he inhales, and he opens them again.

ㅤㅤㅤhis shoulders are squared, emotions centered, but he's not stiff. still — pax seems to bend beneath the weight of the world. ❝ i wish i was. ❞ he says petulantly, clearly uncaring if the words got back to kestro, ❝ but no. ❞ he raises his foot, the bells at his ankles jingle and he points at them knowingly. ❝ still shackled tight both physically and mentally; you can write that down in your notes. ❞ the words cut like a knife, but laskey parries them with ease. in fact — he sends his blade skidding entirely out of his hands. pax's face falls, his mist recoils completely into his body, and he can no longer meet laskey's gaze. he's no longer an agent, but a broken hearted young man, still fighting to keep himself upright after everything had gone terribly wrong.

ㅤㅤㅤhe swallows. he clears his throat.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ no preference. who sits at the top of the marines is none of my business. ❞ the lie feels heavy on his tongue. makes his chest ache, but he manages to deliver it with his gaze back on the doctor, features unflinching. the last few weeks with kuzan — including his recovery and subsequent disappearance — play through panchax's head like a movie, as vivid as the day they had happened. his worry creates a gnawing pit in his stomach. he just wants to know kuzan is alive. he just wants to know he's okay. but would that be enough? he knew his own greed. it was no quiet thing.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ you know, ❞ he circles back to his first few thoughts. pax tilts his head. he wears his hair down for this session, and a long wave falls over his chest, obscuring one eye until he flicks it away with an absent hand. ❝ kestro is a better liar than you. ❞ it sounds more like a musing, and less like an affront, ❝ at least his false kindness and compassion reaches his eyes. maybe you could ask him for some pointers. ❞ he sighs after the statement lands, ❝ i'm no fool, laskey. just let me go back to work. there's no need for this farce. ❞

[jormungr]

resistance is not uncommon. it is an exercise. though it's been long since laskey allowed himself the luxury to do what he was bred and trained to, a part of him would never stop thinking like an agent—and agents were taught to resist psychological intrusion of that sort, the sort that could endanger a mission and spill classified information, the sort that would render them useless, hollow shells ready to be disposed of. panchax is an agent of the world government, though he may have forgotten what it feels like, and the moment he perceives an intrusion he shuts it off as expected.

laskey is not surprised, no... if anything, he is pleased. but that alone does not indicate suitability, does it? the mistbinder has worn the mantle of marine for too long, mingled with ideologies too lax. he says he doesn't care. the psychiatrist knows he is lying. humans do that when they lie, don't they? rehearse that unblinking stillness, an almost too polished performance to be true.

relationship with aokiji?

is the note that laskey writes down next. a reminder on where to dig.

‘isn't it? it concerns us all.’ with the pen bookmarking the page he's been writing on, laskey lays the notebook down on his lap—the trajectory of his keen, undivided attention soon colliding with panchax's gaze. he crosses his legs, the dark fabric of his pants rising tightly.  ‘you served under aokiji for a long time. it is not treason to say you wanted him,’ a pause,  ‘to become fleet admiral. i've heard such was the common sentiment among the ranks of the navy. even so, as a cipher pol agent, you must agree it's for the best that things have turned out the way they did.’  he's prodding at something, now, something he knows to be raw, tender, hurting. he can only guess why, of course, but it is then that laskey taps into the focus of his haki to discern how poorly panchax is lying. it flows into him—a warm spark of anger, and then the ice-cold shower of infinite sadness.  ‘akainu is straightforward. manageable. aokiji could not be trusted.’ 

there is no need to elaborate on that, though there are scenes vividly replaying in the back of the psychiatrist's mind that will have to be shared if it serves the purpose that brought them both here today. for many, ohara was a scar—even a job well-done had its downsides, he thinks as his gloved hand shifts to rub an ache in his injured knee. but there was more to it, wasn't there? some kind of secret, behind nico robin's fateful survival. but then... the mention of kestro has laskey pick up his pen again. interesting. an eyebrow arches, an expression of faint amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘should we call him? would his presence comfort you?’  

his silver voice bears a sadistic edge.  ‘your ability to go back to work is currently under question, panchax. that's why you are here. for better or for worse, things are never going to be same as they were before.’ 

[jormungr]

📎 📎 ! (for op, but if u have any ideas for ur other fandom/muses, interested to hear as well !)

i NEED aramaki to interact with people as evil and horrible as him, like put him in a room with the likes of doflamingo or blackbeard because he has a) absolutely no respect for anyone that isn't sakazuki and even celestial dragons are on thin ice and b) no fear and no self-preservation instinct whatsoever, so that would be one of the funniest interaction of the century. like overall i love threads with comedic undertones because aramaki is so effortlessly funny!!!!

for tobirama, i really wanna write in his op verse! i'm not into naruto that much anymore but he's a character i love dearly and i think he fits in well with the wano plotline

wishlist.

[jormungr]

laskey had his right knee practically shattered during the hurried retreat of the cipher pol from ohara, and though most of it was surgically reconstructed afterwards, he never fully recovered his mobility especially when it comes to fighting/performing rokushiki techniques, considering most of them do require using your legs. most of the younger cp recruits have never even seen him fight

[jormungr]

📎📎📎

i know this has complicated implications for robin and luffy's relationship as crewmates but i love complicated and i think i would love to try writing an au in which robin is dragon's daughter lmao—olvia could have told him or not, it can be compelling either way for different reasons, but like that way ohara becomes SO much more personal for dragon

mentioning ohara, i need kuzan to battle the consequences of what he's done/contributed to and get thoroughly dragged for it. he's easy to emphasize with given the weight of that burden is readily evident in his mental and physical state, but i need a character who is not so immediately empathetic to tell him the uncomfortable things he's been telling himself for decades in order not to hear them from anyone else

need someone to witness aramaki's full unadulterated derangedness. a thread in which his humanity slips and he gets to let a bit of that homicidal ecstasy run unchecked.

wishlist.

[rpmemesyo]

For every 📎 I get in my ask box, I'll post a thread that I want to do.

Not necessarily with the person who sends. Just a thread I want to do in general some day.

[crucifor]

ㅤㅤㅤthere are places in panchax's short life that he swore he'd never go back to — places he was utterly determined to avoid. guanhao was at the top of the list, right alongside whatever remained of the burnt out shell of his homeland. not a single good memory greets him here — only the cruel candor of kestro's mismatched eyes and the needles sliding beneath his skin. panchax's training was different. panchax's training had been something else entirely — though he had spent days in that jungle with some of the younger lot. he's buried those memories — the drowning innocent lives to survive and how it hadn't taken an ounce of humanity from him, which made him the greatest victim of all.

ㅤㅤㅤhe hates guanhao. he hates cipher pol, he hates laskey. he hates everything right now. as horrible as this place is — the most horrible thing of all is not knowing where kuzan is. it's wondering if he's even alive. did he change his bandages? was he eating properly, was he-

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ hm. ❞ the mist undulates unpleasantly at his feet, as panchax jolts back to the present and pins laskey with his stony gaze. the hostility does indeed radiate from pax, though the doctor is not special in that regard. he'd been quite hateful since his return — angry enough that even lucci had done a double take.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ i can't go home. ❞ he looks away, towards the clock on the wall and the ticking pendulum. pax's fingertips fold into the green fabric of his pants. here he wears kestro's colors — no white, no black, and no marine coat. ❝ my home is gone. burnt to ashes. but you would know all about that, wouldn't you? ❞ his gaze slides back to the elder. it's sharp like a blade, writhing with something dark. as much as pax tries to deny it — sometimes the cipher pol instinct is there — the innate training to search for weak points and dig beneath flesh. he looks for one now — but finds none. laskey is impervious, as always. pax only hates him more for it.

ㅤㅤㅤinstead of an outright denial, the mistbinder sighs. he shifts in his seat, crossing his own legs and leaning backwards. his stare is still impenetrable, regarding the older with that same undying contempt. ❝ there isn't much to talk about. ❞ he reasons, ❝ everything i know you can read about in the news coo. ❞ his elbow drops to his knee, and in turn — his chin to his palm. the position is more relaxed - but pax fools no one with how tense his shoulders are. ❝ unless you would like to hear my treasonous thoughts about how the entire thing was an idiotic farce all for the sake of what? extinguishing a bloodline? ❞ his gaze flicks away, ❝ the ghosts were angry. the voices were loud. i survived, and others didn't. now i'm here. ❞ and kuzan is out there,.

[jormungr]

self-pity, laskey writes down.

‘i wasn't there. don't worry, we'll get to it.’

though his voice is almost hushed, a dismissive lightness colors his tone. it flays panchax's hurt until it's vivid red, and soothes it with a cool breath as it throbs, raw and exposed for him to pick apart as he wants. they are both doctors. surely panchax is not unfamiliar with the notion of the best medicines being the most bitter. not that laskey cares to heal him—but kestro wants it back, the living token of his lost homeland, trauma responses stacking neatly like perfectly lined books. and perhaps there is something to salvage, something that the marines and panchax's own gentle disposition weren't able to spoil. something that might still be of use to the government. laskey blinks, sapphire earrings swinging softly. that sharp, defensive stance. that viciousness. he is cipher pol-bred, despite everything.

‘i don't care for what you know. i care to know how you feel.’ laskey's voice rasps, the perfect rehearsal of genuine concern drawled from the back of his throat in a way that sounds almost soothing—like an attempt at feeding a feral animal. an elbow props on the leather armrest of his seat, two fingers raising to pensively scratch his beard. ‘how do you feel about surviving, panchax?’ his gaze searches the mistbinder's, chases it. he could tap into his observation haki, feel the emotion that panchax is clearly too reluctant to disclose like a cold stream of inputs flowing along his spine. but that would be... redundant. a confident smile flickers briefly across laskey's features, as he pulls a rebel strand of ashen blond hair behind his ear. he can pry it all out just by cornering panchax into spilling the answers he wants, is the challenge that settles.

‘hm. if we had to arrest everyone who's had treasonous thoughts, impel down would be overflowing. treasonous actions matter more. and you are not guilty of any, are you?’

it would hardly be surprising, with the company the other has been known to keep in the navy. admiral aokiji—laskey considers him briefly, like an annoying crease in an otherwise smooth fabric. his relations with cipher pol had always been marked by a certain resistance, a perfectly dissimulated hostility, and in the recent years up until his untimely defection, they'd always involved panchax. one of the many mysteries worth unearthing. ‘i've heard about the change in leadership. i assume you had a preference, regardless of the outcome. aokiji or akainu?’ better to approach it from afar, though.

[jormungr]

@crucifor.

inside the cipher pol facility, everything is neat and safely catalogued—but outside, the jungle of guanhao is deep and tangled, howling with a hundred voices. some of them are human, young, and they strike afraid. some of them are not. and some other, not entirely. these days, laskey does not venture into the training grounds anymore. the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to keep up with the current generation of would-be agents, even if they are not a particularly promising lot, bites in the back of his mind like the quick nip of a viper. the burning lingers long after he's decided he does not care.

none of the noises from outside disturb the frozen peace of his study. the pendulum that swings, the tip of his pen scraping a the page of a notebook he keeps balanced in his lap, half-scribbled with slantly undecipherable notes, the steady rhythm of their breathing—nothing else permeates the heavy silences that stretch between him and panchax, particularly when an especially tough topic surfaces. there's a degree of hostility in the way the mistbinder looks at him, like someone who has never been made to suffer the role of the patient before. laskey does not care to rush it. he adjusts his red-colored glasses on the bridge of his nose with a flick of his pen, long legs crossing elegantly.

‘when an animal is scared, it goes home—no matter how terrifying home is.’ he quotes, his lilt almost serene, as if he was commenting the weather. the scribbling halts as the doctor's sharply narrowed eyes bore into panchax, chin tilting in fleeting curiosity. ‘welcome home, panchax.’ goading is not an approved therapeutic treatment, but there's an assassin that lives somewhere deep in the marrow of his bones that takes pleasure in the suffering of others. laskey pretends to smother the obvious smile in his voice, the pleased recognition. he leans back against the padded armchair, sea-green locked with the amber shade of panchax's gaze.

‘do you want to talk about marineford?’

though phrased like one, it is not a request. it's an order, but he feeds it gently, easing it down panchax's throat until he stops squirming.

[jormungr]

quick rundown for the new addition to my cipher pol collection, laskey

49-51

202 cm / 6'8

alpha and kalifa's father

zoan devil fruit, neko neko no mi model: puma. one of the first to be given the neko neko no mi devil fruit, originally found on jaya by the cipher pol and fed to their best assassin at the time. not awakened, particularly disconnected from his animal instincts

you might (not) remember him from the ohara flashback, he was one of the cp9 agents present on the island during the buster call

certified dilf

he did manage to escape the burning hell of ohara, however he received a severe injury in his right knee that gave him permanent mobility issues—he moves much more easily in his full zoan form than he does on two legs, occasionally uses a cane (which yes was obviously modified to also be a weapon)

average armament haki but possesses a very peculiar form of observation haki that makes him particularly perceptive of people's emotions, an unwilling empath if you will. rokushiki expert, can use rokuogan

as soon as it became evident that he was never going to fully recover, he got benched from active field work, which he is very resentful about. he still serves cipher pol as a psychiatrist, to which his observation haki proves particularly useful

his estranged wife is a fellow cipher pol agent, they haven't spoken in literal years and it's debatable whether there was actually any semblance of love between them. according to oda, he didn't let his daughters grow up together in order to discourage any sisterly bond between them

color palette. he's got wavy ashen blond hair that reach his shoulder, streaked with silver here and there, sea-green eyes and an absolutely striking sense of fashion for someone so evil

stern, standoffish, very professional, easily perceptive of people's expectations and very swift to adjust to them/respond accordingly, sensible, level-headed, clinical empath with a cynical outlook on most things and definitely lacking the humane approach that someone in his profession should have BUT comes off as somewhat reassuring, calm and charming

[crucifor]

ㅤㅤㅤthere's a certain cruelty to himself in what jackren has committed here — throwing his desire and weight into an encounter with the enigmatic leader of the revolutionary army in hopes he desires him back. there are ten thousand ways that this could go poorly — but none of them cross jackren's mind in this very moment. not with dragon's hands on his body, the heavy heat of his breath caressing his skin. jackren quivers like a pinned animal — but it is not trembling fear that fills him, only unending desire, utterly riddled with hot waves of lust that curl through his abdomen like fire. dragon's scent fills his sensitive nostrils — the weight of his breathing, the heavy patter of rain falling onto the windows outside. the storm is as thunderous as jackren's heart, in tandem with the unending torrent of his need...

ㅤㅤㅤjackren wasn't really known for being obedient. it was not something that came to him easily and railing against authority was much more his style. he didn't like to be told what to do, and he rarely listened to orders lest he agreed with them. it made him something of a wild card — but ultimately his actions had never hurt their cause. here though? here, he wants to listen

ㅤㅤㅤhe can be so good. he will be so good. he trembles again, the muscles of his abdomen flexing with desire as dragon takes his time with him. prey instincts are nearly gone now — especially as the leader's smoky voice drifts through his mind, especially as his calloused hands begin divesting him of clothing, pulling it down his lean body, teasing him with wretched slowness. jackren bites his lower lip, he squirms just slightly, and he whines. he has no fear of dragon's reaction to what he finds there, only embarrassment at the sheer amount of dampness upon his underwear. but he hardly thinks about that now — too busy letting impossibly long lashes flutter over his beautiful eyes, and give another soft whine of: ❝ dragon... ❞

ㅤㅤㅤevery moment feels like he's being studied — drawn out the way an apex predator might play with it's food, but in the most delicious of ways. jackren is wholly obedient, moving his legs so that it's easy to remove his pants. his hands do not stay still for long though. as dragon drifts south, the rabbit props himself up on his elbows — slightly clawed digits now digging into the table. he watches with rapt attention, bare toes now curling, and-

ㅤㅤㅤthe rabbit flushes, but the nickname makes him hot, hungry. he bites his lip, lightning flashing to illuminate the sleek lines of his body further, the way dragon looks between his legs — one of the most powerful men in the world about to-

ㅤㅤㅤand he asks.

ㅤㅤㅤjackren can't name the feeling that coils through him. it's something sweet — a blossoming bud that he carefully nurtures close to his chest. he will watch it grow, perhaps dragon will give him more to water it with — but for now... he nods rather excitedly, licking plump lips in anticipation. ❝ i... ❞ his reflex is to quip something bratty, a goading response. but it doesn't come easily with dragon. he just flushes further, and spreads his legs wide, ❝ have dreamed of this. ❞

[jormungr]

the wind howls more viciously when jackren unfolds so prettily before him. it is almost painful to hold it in, to rein that biting need and the fierce, stormy expression of it—pupils turn sharp once more, the color of his eyes a dangerous shade of gold, as dragon's attention narrows almost in worship, tight as the jaws of a beast around the rabbit's graceful frame. he had not thought much of this encounter. surely, jackren had not either. a private fragment of intimacy in the dead of night, never to be addressed again, never to be reprised. but their eyes meet briefly, and the need that flashes in jackren's half-lidded gazes matches dragon's so perfectly it tears sparks inside him.

‘have you?’

quiet amusement smolders in dragon's dark voice.

but amusement pools more thickly when desires adds to it. it flashes before dragon's eyes, the vivid image of jackren touching himself to the thought of him—wanting him from afar, untouchable and yet ever persistent in his nightly fantasies. to think he'd been blind to such beauty almost tugs at the loose end of his regret, but there is no time to linger on that. the predatory gold of the man's eyes flickers with interest as his finger hooks on the waistband of jackren's underwear, watching with keen desire as the rabbit hurriedly eases it down his legs so that it might be pulled out of the way. sharp fangs pull at his gums as dragon takes in the beautiful sight of the younger's nudity blooming before him, slick arousal glistening on his inner thighs as he spreads them wider. he doesn't what god has a hand in tugging at his restraint.

he kneels as jackren spreads for him, the scent of his arousal wild and dark. the promise hangs between them, waiting to be delivered, waiting until the rabbit begs for it—because dragon takes his sweet time, kissing and nipping at the other's bare thighs until the faint graze of his fangs is enough to feel him squirm and hear him moan. perhaps it is cruel, the way he begins to soothe that burning need with just a devilish flick of his forked tongue over jackren's sensitive clit. the noise he makes... dragon's snakelike eyes widen and his fingers dig into the flesh of the rabbit's thighs. there is molten lust pooling in his gaze as dragon looks up, his tongue dragging with sinful slowness over jackren's wet folds, chin already stained with his pleasure.

‘eyes on me, jackren.’

that name vibrates so deliciously against the rabbit's deepest core, that dragon allows him a moment to adjust before turning his attention to the feast splayed so perfectly before him. wet, open-mouthed kisses torture jackren's clit until the firm grip of dragon's hands on his thighs is the only thing keeping him from squirming away. still, his hungry mouth does not relent—his serpentine tongue darts further down, and dragon gives no warning before plunging into jackren's hot, willing body. he feels him clench as that serpentine tongue fucks him deep and slow, dragon's sharp gaze checking him for feedback.

jackren is so beautiful, lost in pleasure like that. it makes his cock ache with need, and dragon is suddenly very, very aware of what he's gotten himself into. his tongue pulls out, and dragon gives another teasing lick as he smiles. ‘in your dream—did you finish?’