#a stupid fucking line about how all that matters is their ‘stories’ and calls them ‘her boys’ or some shit 🙄🙄🙄

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hopefully this doesn't come off as snarky, but I find it genuinely hilarious that every "big-name" Leona fan that I've seen seems to like him against their will lol. I've always had Leona as my favorite, so it's fun to see the journey other people go through to liking/appreciating him!

Look 💦 I can’t speak for other L*ona likers (regardless of size, honestly; I'm a firm believer that one's level of internet fame isn't a factor in the devotion for a character) but for me—to quote Scar—“my words are a matter of pride.” And by confessing to (ick 🤢) LIKING LION… it’s throwing all that pride out of a window. It seriously does feel like these feelings exist against my will.

I have a summary of my story to explain my relationship with the lion lore 💀 I call it a summary, but it’s still kind of long— It's below the cut for those who are interested!

To begin with, the promotional materials didn’t sell me on him. Everything about how he initially presents—from his arrogance to his “tough/bad boy” design (seriously, that biker-cowboy combo of his dorm uniform is SO ugly and shows way too much skin for my liking…)—was so unappealing to me. He seemed exactly like the kind of character and tropes I tend to dislike. The only “good” thing I saw in him was his face (which, ironically, is what Vil says about him) and maybe his UM chant particularly the line where he demands you kneel before him. Then comes along book 2, which is easily the weakest of the main story and does a HUGE disservice to him, making L*ona seem a lot stupider than he actually is. At that point, I had basically written his entire character off. I claimed to all my Twst friends that there was nothing that would ever make me like him.

Around 2022, I decided to get involved in a round of EBG (Epic Bias Game) which is basically like a test of your will?? You’re supposed to compete with your friends to see who can go for the longest without talking about or acknowledging their oshi (which includes not being able to react to fan works of them). As part of EBG, each participant was randomly assigned a “new oshi” to replace the usual one AND GUESS WHAT, I GOT HANDED L*ONA BY THE WHEEL OF FATE 💀

One of my friends (who knew I hardcore hated him at the time) assured me that this would get me to change my mind. They even went out of their way to write a little story explaining how my OC was forced to spend more time with L*ona, which led me into writing interactions between them to build more of the lore. I managed to outlast the friend in EBG, but didn’t win the entire game. I came out of it not really feeling super different about L*ona, but I think forcing myself to write about him extensively helped me gain a little more perspective on his character. I still didn’t like him, but I at least appreciated his presence in the cast a little more.

AND THEN TWST HAD TO COME AND BASH ME OVER THE HEAD WITH L*ONA CONTENT… All the little vignettes and voice lines where other characters would talk about what a good leader he is (*glares at Epel, Jack, Ruggie, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.*), when he sarcastically claims to be a “delicate prince” or a “lost child”, those moments where he sasses others, times when he’s able to use his charisma and/or intelligence to pull ahead, rare instances when he whips out his royal manners, him respecting women… But I think the turning point for me had to have been book 6 OTL GOOD LORD, BOOK 6 FUCKED ME UP 😭 Him using his UM in a creative way to turn falling glass shards into harmless sand? And strategically turning himself in?? Willingly ceding control of the dorm to Ruggie??? Telling everyone about Styx’s lore???? AND THE BEEF HE HAD WITH JAMIL BUT STILL GIVING HIM WISDOM AND ADVICE… Sometimes I still tear up thinking about how L*ona says “You’re not like me,” to Jamil 😔 implying that part of the reason why L*ona guides others is because he has hope in their futures but not his own… (I’m still salty that EN messed up this line by changing it to “I’m not like you,” which makes him come off as way more arrogant 💦) Anyway, I blame book 6 for being the tipping point in my downward spiral 🌀 IT GOT WORSE IN BOOK 7 WHEN HE STARTED SHOWING HE'S MOTIVATED TO ACTUALLY GRADUATE AND TAKES ON AN INTERNSHIP THAT COULD BENEFIT HIS COUNTRY... Special shoutout to the Club Wear card for being especially hot-- I did my best to hold out against the steady drip of content that called attention to his… positive traits… (Not that I’m saying he doesn’t have any; I mean this in that whenever his strengths as a character are brought up, they really get to me as someone who loves intelligent, mature/responsible types and “big brother” figures OTL) BUT IT'S SO HARD WHEN TWST KEEPS PULLING STUFF LIKE THAT???

Then in 2024 came the stupid Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas event 💀 which finally introduced us to L*ona in full formal attire (MY WEAKNESS) and gave him the opportunity to be in the role of the "hero" and leader... and those Nightmare Suit vignettes 😭 Leona thinking about what it actually means to be "king"... Ugh, it was another strong showing of his character. I'm pretty sure it was this event that started the snowball of my friends (lovingly) bullying me about him and calling me a tsundere about it. Weirdly enough, a BUNCH of things started happening irl to push L*ona at me too. For example, my pet (who usually actively avoids or attacks Twst stuff) was actually eager to pose for a picture with a L*ona standee. In a group fan merch order, I had asked for the bonus Grim sticker but the artist (who had no idea about my complicated thoughts on L*ona) said they were out of the Grim sticker but they had L*ona stickers they could include instead. Most recently, I had just finished this last-minute artwork of Miss Raven eating pocky by herself to celebrate Pocky Day (11/11). Typically the fan art you'd see on this day would involve two characters playing the "Pocky Game" (in which the players try to eat a stick of pocky from either end; usually it's framed as romantic since meeting in the middle results in a kiss). However, I had chosen to do a solo Miss Raven art because I thought this suited her "I want to be taken seriously!" personality better. Well, guess what? I GOT A PACKAGE DELIVERY NOTIFICATION FOR THE TWST MERCH ORDER... WITH L*ONA IN IT 💀 Almost like he heard there was food meant for sharing and he came to claim it for himself... Like I literally did NOT choose for these things to happen to me, THEY HAPPENED ON THEIR OWN. I DON'T BELIEVE IN PREORDAINED EVENTS BUT THE UNIVERSE SURE IS WORKING IN STRANGE WAYS.

So now that the tables have turned, it’s really embarrassing. Everything is coming back to bite me in the butt… It truly feels like L*ona plotted this all along and was on the prowl, patiently waiting for me to get worn down before he pounces and delivers the final blow to my ego OTL Like, it's gotten to the point where many of my long-time friends in the Twst community are now joking that "It's over" for J word... ONE OF THEM EVEN TOLD ME IT FEELS LIKE I'M GETTING DIVORCED AND L*ONA IS THEIR NEW STEPDAD, HOW AM I SUPPSOED TO FEEL ABOUT HTHAT ??????????? ? ? ????? ? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ???? ?

But by the far the worst, the WORST part about everything here is that if L*ona were fully sentient, he would be so smug about recent developments 😡 It makes me SO mad thinking about how he'd look down on me with that hot smug rage-inducing smirk of his and make fun of me for eating my words so badly.

“What was that you said about hating my guts, herbivore? … Hah, it's written all over your face--you're terrible at hiding your true feelings. You can just give in, you know. Tell me how much you worship me. How much you want me. You'll give in eventually one way or another--so why not make this easier for the both of us and save us the time of playing the wait game? I don't bite, promise." (<- a liar)

(Disclaimer: NOT MY MERCH; this is a L*ona Liker friend’s picture that they’re letting me use as a reaction image 😅)

THIS IS FR MY OVERBLOT ORIGIN STORY…

[fahbee]

In the least surprising news ever, Amanda Abbington is a terf. And she thinks we need to protect kids from drag queens. Turns out the woman who got mad at fans for making porny gay fan art featuring a character played by her then-partner because one day her son might find it in a google search, when her then-partner had already made at least one film featuring full frontal nudity of his cock, is not an ally after all…

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

a Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan AU

Introspection fucking sucks, according to Commander Fox.

The thing about him is, he’s been made out to be a bastard and ever since their batch found their calling or whatever he’s embraced that role.

Every batch needed someone who didn’t secretly want to be cuddled, who pushed others away so he could keep track of the big picture.

Cody had competed for the role for a while. As did Wolffe.

For Cody, his heart, big and fragile once you got to know him, got in the way in the end. He sees the whole picture, craves it so he won’t go crazy from the losses. But he believes in people and their goodness.

Fox doesn’t.

Wolffe made the mistake of getting the galaxy’s best General. General Koon shits rainbows and glitter, from what Fox has been forced to listen to.

Fox has… the Chancellor.

He takes a swig of water and wishes it were something stronger. But Quin is on the other side of Fox’s desk, reading glasses ever so slowly slipping down his nose while he’s crunching and tracking the numbers to prove the Chancellor is, indeed, siphoning credits off the Republic to giftwrap them for the Seppies.

He takes another swig.

Wouldn’t surprise him if Palpatine turned out to be the villain of the whole story.

Brought Fox to drink with the kind attitude, the cruelty so expertly hidden from first glance, cushioned in false promises and support.

Hadn’t been pretty. But it had been easy. You go to the right places, people are only too willing to shell out for some drinks. Entertainment and morbid curiosity what brings a clone to their knees.

Some found the lisp he has because of the scar that ransacks through his lips and tongue endearing but most hadn’t bothered with wanting him talking.

Some wanted to inspect the changes in the Corrie armor up close and cozy.

If shit hadn’t already multiplied, Organa came flouncing into the Guard offices every two weeks with a new design like they were his little dress-up dolls.

The last design, the one that stayed, had a dummy connector installed in the backplate.

Fox hadn’t mentioned it. Had stewed over how the Guard, already isolated from the rest of the GAR, wasn’t even considered for the neural network that would make them more efficient, more deadly if activated. Treated like scum on a pedestal, overlooked and taken for granted.

Fox takes every advantage he can squeeze from that.

Every batch needs a willing loner who’s got the big picture in his head at all times and doesn’t care for the minutiae.

Fox had been comfortable in that role, really. He saw Thorn and Stone and Thire and the rest of them making friends and lovers and heartbreak, and that was the last fucking thing Fox wanted.

And then came Vos. Appearing from the shadows like a designer nightmare.

For such a short time they’ve sure gone through a lot together.

To the point Vos became Quinlan became Quin became Vos again became someone Fox clung to while fighting fucking addiction and the realization that he is stupid enough to become addicted.

No matter what Quin had said, Fox was supposed to be the pinnacle of cloning and artificially creating the perfect soldier. Addiction is a weakness and fault.

Fox almost did something extremely stupid over that one.

Turns out it’s all part of the sentient experience.

Fucking sucks.

Quin had laughed at that, ugly and bruised laughter, continuing to comb his fingers over Fox’s head. “Tell me about it.”

An eloquent way to say Quin was going through withdrawal himself.

They got outside help after that.

“Hey, Depa,” Quin murmurs absently after answering his comm, pushes his glasses up.

“Quinlan, is your line still secure?”

“‘Course. Especially after Fox got his grubby little hands all over it.”

Fox shows him the middle finger of one of his grubby little hands.

“Good,” General Billaba clips out. Quin straightens up, and maybe Fox’s attention isn’t misplaced here. “Good. Commander Cody was activated by the Sith Lord and he’s bringing Obi-Wan to Coruscant.”

Activated.

Quin is silent. Blinks up at the ceiling. “Can you run that by me again?”

“Quinlan, we have reason to be believe the Chancellor is the Sith Lord.”

Hah. Fox got that one right on his bingo card, at least.

Cody got activated.

As they’ve learned, the neural network - battlefield mediation, in fancy Kamino speak - is activated by a designated Force using GAR personnel. Surprisingly, the status is even an optional display on the screens of every trooper’s vambrace. Or not so surprisingly.

Cody got activated by the Chancellor. Who is the Sith Lord the Order has been hunting.

Fox will deal with that later or never, whatever comes first.

He’s comming the Guard all across the planet, checking the weapons on his person, while General Billaba explains the situation. He appreciates her succinct manner, he’s gotta say.

“I’m on the way to detain Anakin. Mace is following the ship Commander Cody captured but we need someone to intercept them on Coruscant before he reaches Palpatine.” She halts for a brief moment. “Obi-Wan seems to believe the Commander has betrayed him when he knows about the neural link inside the clones. We are fearing the Darkness is deliberately attacking and clouding his senses.”

“I’m on my way,” Quin nods, adds with a calculating glance at Fox, “I’m not sure I have back-up.”

“Funny thing about the Alderaan design of the guard armor,” Fox comments, checking the plasma charge on his DC, and vows to give Senator fucking Organa a sliced fruit platter, “the Guard doesn’t have the connector to the neural link.”

He comms their resident medic next and orders every gundark-level tranquilizer delivered to him.

Cody got activated and is following the orders of a Sith Lord.

Stars help them.

[boldlygoingtohell]

In a weird way, as a Jew, I can kinda take Normal Antisemitism™️.

I mean, I understand where right-wing racists are coming from when it comes to their antisemitism. At the end of the day, theirs just comes from fear, replacement theory, etc… It’s easily identifiable. 2+2=4. Yea its shitty, but I see how they got from A to B and it’s a straight line.

But left-wing antisemitism?? Like, how does that happen? I thought the left was about supporting minority groups, encouraging them to speak and be heard. But all I’m seeing from leftists these days (I myself being super fucking liberal, left, etc…) is just waves and waves of antisemitism. And yes it has to do with Israel, but these people are incapable of criticizing the Israeli government without going “all Jews are responsible!” in the process. It's infuriating.

Are all the the world’s Jews, millions of which live OUTSIDE of Israel, now responsible for Israel’s actions? I'M a stupid American! I’ve never even BEEN to Israel, much less know the intricate details of a geo-political conflict whose complexities go willfully unlearned by armchair activists in favor of yelling in all caps for 140 characters.

But what really gets me, and I mean REALLY get me about the whole situation, is the hypocrisy.

Remember how awful it was when we saw waves of Islamophobic hate crimes after 9/11, American Muslims with no ties to al-Qaeda being targeted for the faith those terrorists claimed to represent?

Or do you remember standing against the wave of anti-Asian hate crimes that was spurned on by COVID falsehoods? The “China virus” as Trump so eloquently put it? You remember being pissed about that, not blaming Asian Americans but standing with them against hate?

And hell, I’ve heard there has been a rash of Islamophobic attacks again because of the Israeli-Gaza conflict. That’s fucking awful, and I will stand against that bull shit because it does not belong here, end of story.

But now there are also antisemitic attacks, hate crimes, being perpetrated around the world. And who are the perpetrators now? The left that stood against everything else. There's no widespread ally-ship for Jews like me. There's no sweeping social media campaign, no catchy hashtag, no ice bucket challenge.

Why am I allowed to be condemned for what a country on the other side of the world is doing, when I have nothing to do with it? Why can I have the finger pointed at me when I don’t want the fighting in the first place? Why must Jews be allowed to be the target of this ire when it's already been decided that other ethnicities/religions don't deserve it either?

Now, I am PROUD to be Jewish; it is my culture, in my heritage, in my literal blood. It is in my genetics, my bones, my spoken language, it is in the holidays I celebrate, the philosophies I live by.

But it is also in the generational trauma of my mother insisting I have a passport as a young child, not because we were traveling, but in case we had to flee. It is in her inherent distrust of the government; a card-carrying Democrat all her life, she would always remind me, "if you don't think the government can't turn on you, you're kidding yourself." It is her constant reminders that as a Jew, our assimilation is conditional, our acceptance is political. I felt these, but never as strongly as she did. Not until now.

I am third generation American, and yet I feel like an outsider in the only country I have ever known. People who I thought understood, who were my friends, who marched with me against the injustices of the world, are now calling after Jews to answer for Israel's actions.

I say I don't want the violence to persist and I'm told that I'm, "one of the good ones". I'm told hurt Israelis don't deserve sympathy because, "all Jews are rich anyway, right? Who cares." I tell them my fears about the rising antisemitism and wearing my star of david necklace out. I'm told, "it doesn't matter, you're white anyway."

For the first time in my life, the racists aren't just some crazy KKK members. They're not just Nazis marching around with beer bellies and ill fitting helmets. It's not just some screeching street preacher who claims I'm going to hell after he caught the glint off my star of david necklace. If needs be, I can kick and punch my way out of those. They're just idiots. Isolated, concentrated incidents. It'd be a good story to tell at a bar the next day though a gap-toothed smile and a sling on my shoulder.

But now, both sides are coming after me and my people. Now, it's not just idiots who have all of their views backwards; it's people I thought I could trust to have my back, to go down swinging with me against those Nazis. Right. Left. It's everywhere. There's no escape.

It's coming from all sides. It's coming from social media platforms, from dinners with friends, from posters on street lamps.

I live in one of the safest, most Jewish neighborhoods in America, and for the first time in my life I am truly scared.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Lewd Request:

Hey I was wondering if you could do a lewd Striker x male reader, something along the lines of the festival and the main character made a bet with striker he'd beat him but they lose so Striker has his way with him. Love your stories.

A bets a bet

You weren't particularly fond of the new field hand.

Sure, the man was good at his work.

He could shoot, and hunt and ride with the best of them, but something was... off.

Nobody was that good and that proud.

Of course, you couldn't say much, he may boast like a snakeoil salesman but like you'd said, he was as capable as any worker you'd ever had, if not more so.

And while you tried to ignore the man, much to your annoyance, he seemed to take a special liking to you.

The man often 'helping' you with chores, or coming along if you had to head into town.

His favourite was teasing you.

It started with a few comments here and there, teasing if you screwed something up, or had some issue or other.

Then it became general teasing and prodding, the man loving to get a rise out of you.

Though you could often get him back, the man usually either impressed or annoyed with your come bqcks, leaving you alone for a while.

Although, after a night of drinking with some of your siblings and farmhands.

Hed be teasing you, yet again, making some snarky comment on how often you got your dick wet, and after a few too many drinks and a serious lapse in judgement, you made an off handed comment on how if he wasn't such a prick, you probably would have been all over him.

And you immediately regretted it, cause that man perked up like a Hellhorse spotting a prime-rib.

After that, Striker only became more persistent.

It was never quite forceful enough for you to get creeper out. But he was certainly persistent. The sheer number of times he'd bitten his lower lip, giving you those playful "fuck me" eyes, was more then enough to haunt your dreams.

And while he could be a total pain in the ass, he was also really useful, so you put up with it, simply rolling your eyes when he made a less then subtle comment to you.

And you totally weren't into him.

Sure he was swave and confident and Very capable, and could probably ride you like he did bombproof-

Nope! You didn't think like that. No matter haw many times.

Or think about his skills with rope.

Mind drifting off to that one time he'd managed to tie you up, man sitting on your back as he practically purred in your ear.

Nope! None of that!

But, past all the flirting, you had a formidable rivalry.

Of course you always played it off.

You didn't care if he won some stupid race or could shoot something, or won some wrestling match. What do you care, not like a single win meant anything.

Unless you won.

In which case you felt like King of the Ring, and was sure to rub it in his face.

Until you lost a match of shooting, that bastard hitting one more can then you.

It was quite the roller-coaster.

At least for humble farm life.

Having been bested one time too many, you snapped, demanding a rematch.

At that he grew a wicked grin across his tanned facad, telling you he'd agree, buuut, if he won, he wanted something.

Hesitant, you'd ask what he wanted, the man moving forwards, arm on either side of you, pinning you to a fence, telling you smugly.

"A Kiss."

You, Red faced, woukd agree, telling him it wouldn't matter cause you'd win.

And you Aaaaallllmmmoooossssttt did.

Almost being the key and only word.

Hitting the last can, but failing to knock it off.

So, Striker, all smirks, strutted up, expecting a kiss.

And so, you gave him one.

Kissing his cheek.

Striker, cocked a brow, you telling him smugly.

"You wanted a kiss. Never said where you wanted it."

You spoke casually, taking your small victory in stride.

Though unfortunately, you set a precedence with that little incident, as after this, any time you competed, Striker managed to slip a bet in there.

Though none were as bold as the first one.

Usually little things. Making you call him sir or having you follow him around for a day.

And while it they were fairly innocent, if annoying, things, there was always a heavy sexual undertone.

He never stopped chasing you, he just chose a more... passive, method.

But, after a particularly hot night, you snuck out, ending up out in a field half naked, relaxing against a fence, enjoying what little breeze there was.

Of course, Striker would appear, he too half naked, man shirtless with only his hat and Ascot, the two of you just standing there for a while, in a peaceful silence as the breeze blew across the field.

After a while he'd finally pipe up, asking if you were gonna compete in the harvest moon games.

You'd hum, telling him you probably would, before asking why.

Striker, in an odd moment of seriousness stood there, peering at you with those ringed yellow eyes, the same ones that had haunted far too many of your dreams.

The man, turning to you, would ask if you wanna make a bet on it.

You, swallowing, would nod, telling him. 'Sure.'

So, getting off his fence, he walked over and in a surprising display of boldness would pin you to the fence, voice low, shimmer of his tail ringing out.

He wanted you.

He was sick of the games, the little bets, your 'rivalry', he was going all in, he wanted you.

So, if he won, he wanted you.

Standing there, chest to chest, the man peering intently into your eye.

You, red faced, blood rushing to the one place you didn't need it, would stand there.

And well, call it a weak will or your will being chipped away after so many months, or perhaps a large part of you wanted this all along, you agreed, telling him yes, may the best man win.

To which Striker smirked, chest to naked chest, leaning in and breathing hot in your ear.

"Don't worry... I will~"

And so, the next few days zipped by in the blink of the eye.

You didn't see Striker much, and when you did he usually just smirked, eyeing you in a fashion that always left you red faced, pants suddenly tightening.

And so, the day finally arrived. You and the family loading into the truck and rolling into town, Striker riding Bombproof besides you, the man giving you an occasion glance, you pretending you hadn't been staring.

The town was lively, and all the townsfolk were a flurry of activity, preparing to either join or enjoy the games.

You prepared as well, limbering, stretching, just getting ready.

Striker however, just stood there, leaning against a fencing, man chewing on a wheat stalk. The man occasionally glancing back at you.

You didn't say anything to him, not willing to let him mess with your mind any more.

Eventually, you got to the games.

You excelled.

As did Striked.

Both of you far surpassing the regular saps that participated.

You were faster, but Striker was more nimble.

Not evenly matched, but you certainly pushed yourself.

You both put in your best show, and it was a close fight, you working harder then you'd ever worked before, really pushing yourself to your limit.

And after pulling, jumping, running and wrestling. You fought, and bit, there being more than a few fatalities from each of you.

It was a tie!

Nah, Striker won.

Some asshole had just miscounted your score.

Striker won.

And hearing that, you just stood there.

It took a minute to sink in, and while you realised just what happened, Striker seemed to relish the news, bathing in the crowds applause.

A flurry of emotion hit you, your head seemingly spinning. But the most concerning part of it all was you weren't... you weren't upset.

You were a little annoyed, angry even at losing, but that felt more like being upset at losing the games.

Not the bet.

Striker, surprising you, didn't come up and boast. Instead he joined the crowd of adoring fans, the lot of them all heading off to celebrate.

So, knowing the fate before you, you joined, snatching a comedically large jug with 4 large Xs on the side, drinking at your pleasure.

Eventually you'd end up in the town bar, sipping your drink, you and Striker staring at each other from across the bar.

You refused to make the first move, yet as the minutes ticked by, you became restless, constantly looking back at the man.

The cowboy simply standing there, peering at you with that seductive little smile, sipping his own drink, seemingly content in his position.

You eventually grew tired of the waiting, and shotgunning your drink, you stormed over to the snake.

Of course, he wore that Victorious smirk of his, standing there as you approached.

You scowled, storming up to him, stopping just before him.

The man smiled, popping an olive into his mouth, giving you a royal shit eating grin.

You snorted, simply standing there.

You told him bluntly to get on with it then!

Striker just smirked, looking you over, the fucking snake was relishing this.

After a few minutes, he asked what ever could you mean? And so, snapping at him that he was an Ass, you grabbed the man, dragging the him upstairs.

Striker just went along with it, smirking as he finshed his drink, discarding the bottle as he stumbled upstairs.

Reaching some bedroom, you didn't care who's it was, you dragged the man towards the bed.

But before you could throw him onto it, he suddenly whipped out of your grasp, the man slipping his neckerchief and seamlessly binding your hands with them, tying them behind your back before throwing you onto the bed.

The man, slipping his jacket off, working on his shirt as his tail slammed the door shut, his eyes the only thing visible, that and his golden tooth as he smirked a victors smirk.

You lay there, red faced, drunk and extremely aroused as the man climbed atop you, the clink of his belt being undone and the shimmer of his tail filling the air as he lean, the snake getting close, alcohol ladened breath on your neck as he growlwd out.

"Don't worry darlin', I'll make sure you enjoy this as much as I will~"

The man purring before he bit your neck, forcing a lewd moan from your lips.

•••

You awoke the next morning a mess.

You were sore.

You had more bite marks and hand shaped bruises on your ass then you cared to count.

Your hair was a total mess, clothes in tatters after being practically torn off you by the snake, and you were still recovering physically and mentally from everything that happened the night before.

You hissed as Bombproof bumped upwards, you clinging to Striker, the man being your only ride back to the homestead as your family had left the night before.

You didn't say anything, neither did Striker, though, the snake didn't need too.

The man simply wore a smirk, that smirk saying it all.

"I won."

And the annoying part, that was he was right.

Though even as you got home, hissing as you slid off the horse, gritting your teeth as you shambled back to the house. All the way there, able to feel the snake's gaze on your back.

And while you knew he'd be insufferable after this, likwly even more forward then ever the thing that really got to you, was knowing that there was no way this was gonna be the last time.

And even as you stumbled, collapsing atop your bed, body and rear sore, you wondered what came next with that smug sexy asshat of a snake man.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Happy Hunting! (1)

I should have known better. They told us. TRAINED US. Over and over, drilled into our heads! Don't assume! Don't PROJECT Human body language onto alien species! Think that just because they look similar, are ACTING similar, their brains are in any way WORKING similar!

Not every species pack bonds! Some of them are PREDATORS. Be CAREFUL!

I was an idiot. A fucking IDIOT!

I gasped for air. Ran. Ran and ran and RAN. Desperately trying to put distance between me and the hunters behind me. I could hear screams. Crashing. The sound of weapon fire. The air here wasn't RIGHT. Too high in oxygen? Too low? Some other trace element, slowly poisoning my lungs?

I didn't know. Scared! Oh god, I'm so scared!

I thought he was my friend!

Thought THEY were my friends! Stupid. So God damned stupid! You really will pack bond with ANYTHING, won't you?! They bare their teeth and you fucking thought it was a SMILE! No wonder I barely graduated. They never should have-!

A root catches my foot.

Crashing to the mulch of the forest floor. Scramble to get up. My ankle on fire. Hurts. Oh god it hurts! Ignore it. Go! Keep going! Gotta get OUT! Find a ship. Any ship! Radio for help!

All the trees look the same. Am I even going in a straight line? Deeper or across? Away from civilization? I don't know how to survive here! Can I even drink the water? No. Run! Just RUN! Nothing else!

I can't hear them.

Him.

I thought he was my friend.

My grades were shit. Worst of the Best, but ultimately good enough. Got to see the stars. The galaxy. Meet real life aliens. Was a glorified gofer for the Earthling Diplomat's Entourage. Galactic Council offered staff. Wasn't really an offer. We took um. Some of them were the "better" guards then the super military badasses we had brought.

Military badasses were pretty offended.

But I was a gofer. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Just here for the aliens, right? Yay getting to meet some, right? I couldn't even PRONOUNCE their species name. I was mortified. Tried my damnedest. They thought it was hilarious. My pronunciation was god awful. Was calling them the cutesy babified version of "office chair".

Met Wolfe. He seemed FRIENDLY. Kind. Considerate. He told jokes. Asked about my day. I started sharing. Hobbies and interests. Stories about home. Explained weird human behaviors. We were close. I... I thought we were close! Was it a lie? Was everything A LIE!?

When my rotation in space was coming to an end, I was SAD! Fucking HEARTBROKEN! That I might never see my friends again. Since communication between our two planets wasn't even stabilized yet. Might never be. I wanted to savor our time together. Treasure it!

But then things started to go wrong.

Random malfunctions, that delayed and delayed us. Lost communications that nearly caused interplanetary incidents. Took days and weeks to fix at a time. People went MISSING. We looked. Every time we LOOKED!

They're dead, aren't they? Oh god. Dozens of crew members DEAD.

Then the engine "broke". Conveniently just close enough for us to make an emergency landing on this planet! And oh, would you look at THAT! A sacred cultural festival!? They won't help us unless we join in.

It's a MARRIAGE HUNT.

Heavy emphasis on the HUNT part!

They weren't surprised. Not a single one. Every last one just turned too different people and... and...! Wolfe planned this. THEY planned this! We're gonna die. I trusted him and now I'm gonna DIE! Can't breathe! Branches whipping at my arms and hair and face, as I RUN. Down slopes. Across shallow rivers. Even as my limbs BURN. I... I HAVE TOO-!

A powerful wall of muscle slams into me.

I scream. Thrash, even as I fall. My arms are easily tucked and pinned against my side, as the body covering mine rolls with me down a slight incline. The smell of wet plant matter and upturned soil thick in the strange air. Dizzy. I feel sick. Oh god please no!

Heat and pressure pin me down. Arms like thick steel bands. Still, I struggle, like a cornered animal. I have too. They always tell you to FIGHT. Only chance and survival. The deep rumble of crooned reassurances in an alien dialect fill my ear. I can feel how DEEPLY he breathes me in, before each sentence. Like hes been holding back and finally no longer has too, is giddy with it. How his hands already spread possessively, eager to explore.

And he's strong. Oh god, he's so strong! Please please please! Let go. LET GO!

"Shhhhhh shh shh, is 'okay' now. I have you. You ran so hard! Did so well! My precious little human~ so brave. So strong. You did it! Now, no one can EVER seperate us! You don't have to worry anymore. No more tears~" Hunter, Warrior, oh god it was never a GRIN-! His teeth are so sharp. Pressed so close to my skin!

"I'll take care of EVERYTHING~"

I'm scared.

[saintescuderia]

cross my heart (pt. 1)

in terms of positive thinking, shibuya gave us more sukuna content so here's this -

AKA - the story of how you were sent on a mission to kill none other than ryomen sukuna. things get a little more complicated when you end up saving his life. more than once.

unedited (i was too excited)

1 / bored idiots

And in the next line of stupid decisions the higher ups have made, they now decided they wanted to kill Ryomen Sukuna.

Which was fine. If they wanted to be stupid, that was between them and their stupidity. However, you liked to think that you were not stupid. Kill Sukuna? The Sukuna? Yeah, good luck. No amount of training would ever be worth matching that. You had once heard him set fire to an entire village by snapping his fingers because he was bored.

Bored.

Just like you currently were in this meeting that had been called for a discussion as to how they would carry out their next stupid decision to kill the very man they were supposedly calling King. Fucking idiots.

"It's gone too far! He has doubled his tax. And I've just had three women fall pregnant with child!" One man slapped his palm on the table. "Let's see the King of Curses try running a business!"

The image of Ryomen Sukuna counting stock and calculating cash flow made you want to laugh. Yes, you definitely could picture him hunched over a notebook going over the business accounts.

Then again, considering Kimo's line of work, you wondered about when forcing women into prostitution was considered a business?

"You're sneering again." You heard a whisper beside you and saw the familiar small face of your sister giggling at your side. "Your resting bitch face is raging."

"It's not resting. It's reacting to that fucking idiot." You said, nodding a short bald man who was waving a servant over for more drink. His name was Kami but you referred to mentally address him as such and now considered him Kimo.

As she poured his glass, Kimo unashamedly slapped her behind. She gasped but could do nothing. You felt your fingers curl around the blade at your side. If only Kimo's father was still alive then this idiot would not be considered a Head who makes actively makes you gag.

"You call everyone an idiot." You looked at you sister who spoke and was smiling up at you.

"Because, Eva, everyone acts idiotic." You said. She laughed quietly and shook her head. "By the way, you shouldn't be here." Eva's response was a frown before you shushed her out of the room.

Your kill tally was the only reason you were allowed in these meetings, standing quietly behind sensei as he acted as a Head for his sick uncle. You honestly wouldn't have taken as many jobs if it meant you now had to stand through these meetings. Then again, more jobs meant a better life for your little sister.

Eva's father had run off before she'd been born and when she had been born, your mother had died in childbirth. You then spent your entire life raising Eva - and trying to dissuade her guilt for feeling that she had murdered your mother.

Especially since, between the two of you, you were the real murderer.

"Why not the girl?"

At the mention of you, you finally stepped forward from your usual spot of brooding by the wall. At such a formal meeting with all the family Heads sat discussing such important matters, tradition was important. One dressed accordingly. One acted accordingly. One spoke accordingly.

So when you were called as the assassin to kill Ryomen Sukuna, you expressed your concerns in the appropriate manner.

"Excuse the fuck outta me?" You crossed your arms, feeling more offended by their sheer stupidity by the second. "And did you just refer to me as girl?"

There was a sigh. An older man with a tired smile looked at you. He said your name with a hint of plea in it. You looked at the man you considered your sensei. You called him Oribu for his love of olives and he only person in this room you wouldn't describe as idiotic. Looking at him you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

Then Kimo, the idiot, spoke again.

"When I said girl, I was referring to the younger one." He said, a mouthful of food. "She is much prettier and could perhaps pass as a concubine."

In less than a split second, a few things happened.

The flower on Kimo's dress shirt was sliced cleanly in half. A blade was embedded in the table. Your hand was thrown out. And your Oribu was in stance, blade drawn.

It took a second for the room to process what had happened, that Oribu had deflected your blade - that you had actually drawn a sword at a Head. Kimo looked down at the flower petals that were falling slowly to the table, gravity slowly making its effects known. You slowly stood up from your throwing stance, the sheath at your side very clearly empty and the blade embedded in the table emblazoned with your own signature crest.

Kami finally found it in himself to speak. "Ya! You dare draw a blade at me!" The rage was almost comical. You snorted.

"Yes." You said as if that was the most obvious thing ever. However, your eyes darted over to Oribu-sensei who looked slightly displeased. Sure, he never liked these things - and knew of the lengths you'd go to protect your sister - but he was always about violence being the last option. Which you found quite ironic considering, well, everything.

There was a sound of a chair being pushed back against the ground. You turned to where another man - was his name Raijin? something about thunderstorms - stared down at you. "You will speak accordingly!"

"He literally asked me a question." You said, gesturing at Kimo. There were some displeased sounds from around all the table heads and you sighed. "I'm sorry, if you guys have a problem then how about you go kill the bad guys then. Do you think I care?"

"Heartless bitch." Someone commented.

"Well, at least I'm not worried about getting blood under my fingernails." You sassed back. To make things even funnier, Kami had been in the process of looking at his nails and immediately looked caught out. You snorted a very unladylike snort. "Yeah, thought so."

"Oribu has told me of Eva's training." Raijin spoke. "She is exactly the sort of woman Ryomen Sukuna likes his concubines to be."

You really wanted to know how he knew that. You opened your mouth but thankfully, Oribu bet you to it. "Her skills are promising but... unripe." He said. "Uncle is yet to send her on a mission anyway. It's unlikely she would succeed with her first mission being such a powerful creature."

"Her sister did." Raijin said, curling his lip. You couldn't help the look on your face - was he not aware that his supposed insult was actually a compliment?

Gag.

"Why not she kill Sukuna then?" Kimo chimed in.

Ah.

You understood Raijin's comment. He wanted this for you. Killing Ryomen Sukuna was a promised death wish - and he wanted nothing more for your head since you humiliated him by turning down a proposal. So fucking petty.

Kimo turned in his seat to look you up and down. "You can pass as a cleaner or something."

"And you can pass as a failed abortion."

There was some uproar at your sass - why they were still surprised was beyond you - until Raijin stood up and held his hands in the air. You stared at him with your own disgusted look. This crusty, dusty ass motherf--

"So, all in favour for Y/N to kill Ryomen Sukuna?"

And, of course, they put their hands up in agreement.

Idiots.

[girl4music]

“Who cracks the most jokes in the relationship?”

Xena. You wouldn’t think so given her broody and stoic personality and her dark past constantly haunting her but Gabrielle just brings it out in her. Her silly side is her happy side and it’s honestly adorable to watch her be like this. What’s great about it is it happens really early. It’s almost like having a companion that loves her and that she loves back makes Xena a completely different person from the person she is when alone. Probably because she has more to do than think about how much pain and damage she’s caused to so many. The guilt and shame can’t eat away at her when there’s always someone with her to see the best in her and to keep her away from the suicidal mentality. And Gabrielle didn’t know it for a long time, but that’s exactly what she did for Xena the moment they met. Pulled her away from self-hatred and suicidal ideation and not a lot of people talk about how important Gabrielle is to Xena in this way. When Xena calls her her “source” and “light” - she means her happiness.

So Xena is only the Xena we know and love because Gabrielle is there with her as her cornerstone to living. So seeing her crack jokes at Gabrielle is honestly one of the most significant things about their dynamic and why the comedy episodes are deep and substantial episodes even if they don’t seem like it on the surface because they’re not really about anything. But that’s the point. They’re not about anything… except them. They become the plot. They become the narrative. Their relationship immediately becomes the point. And shows with WLW representation in today don’t do that not just because the WLW characters are rarely the leading characters. But also because they don’t realize that wrapping the characterization around the narrative is the wrong way of representing the relationship between the WLW characters. You always wrap the narrative around the WLW characterization. You make the characterization the focus of the story that is being told instead of the other way around. Xena absolutely excels in this to the point where what you pick up on when you watch the show is timeless because they always leave it open to interpretation.

It is so very important that you see Xena crack jokes, smile, laugh, have fun and just be ridiculous and I swear to fucking god if it wasn’t for Lucy playing her, improvising her lines and just being a total dork… and Renee just bouncing off Lucy’s energy so naturally…

Xena would not be XENA. She’d be lost and lonely. It’d be a different dynamic. It would be a different show. And it wouldn’t have captured my heart anywhere near as much as it has since I was only 5 years old. No, seeing Xena be silly, stupid and soft is EVERYTHING. This characterization is crucial to the storytelling of it. It’s fundamental to what ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ is. Which is a shows-long story about redemptive love and the power that love can have on a tortured soul. A soul that cannot heal itself and be at rest without its significant other salving and endeavouring to calm it. And please take note that I’m not just talking about Xena in saying this. I’m talking about Gabrielle too and how the roles shift depending on the developments. Depending on where the individual characters are at and that constant rotation of that as if they’re in an eternal dance and how much more romantic that is compared to your average TV show WLW relationship.

Something so seemingly small as a cracked joke at each other even now and again has a very big impact on who these characters are and what they become. When you look at every little detail in the characters as I do and how it all connects to the bigger picture of what the show is attempting to represent to the watcher - it is profound what you can learn and continue to be taught from it no matter how many times you watch it. It’s an incredible timeless show.

I really didn’t intend to write all this in answering this question but I’m an automatic-writer so… yeah. 👌

[odiesdayoff]

Boss's Orders

pair: Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

summary: Jackson Rippner was hired to keep you alive, no matter the cost.

warnings/tags: suicide attempt; insensitive conversations about mental health/suicide; implied age gap; smut; choking; showering together; Jackson and reader dislike each other; Jackson loves Lisa

also on AO3 <3

If you're struggling and happen to see this note: you're not alone and it will get better <3

The hotline that I found in the U.S. is 988.

It was undeniably cliche, you were well aware of that. Standing on a ledge on a Saturday night in the so-called prime of your life. It wasn’t your fault that the classic techniques worked so well. All you needed was an easy out and as you peered down at the concrete only a few stories below, it was the right choice.

The wind was unforgiving, nearly pushing you off before you had fully decided. The people down below looked like ants. You almost felt sorry for them for having to witness your body hitting the pavement. It had to be done.

So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the creaking of the door to the stairwell and footsteps made by well-polished shoes. The man made his presence known by clearing his throat. You turned to face him, though the tips of your sneakers remained off of the ledge. “If you’re waiting for some speech about how your life is worth it, don’t bother. Get off the fucking ledge.”

His lack of sensitivity or empathy whatsoever caught you off guard. He curled his index finger for you to come closer as if you were a child���or a dog. “And if I don’t?”

He sighed. Was this too much of an inconvenience for him? “I don’t get paid, which will piss me off. Now, get down.” He pointed to the ground in front of him. Did he really think he could just command you like that?

Ignoring him, you looked at the sidewalk again. Once you stepped off, there was nothing he could do. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and took a step forward. You expected to fall, but the feeling never came. The man grabbed hold of your arm and roughly yanked you back on the rooftop. He allowed you to gently fall to the ground before letting you go.

He looked down at you, rolling up his sleeves. “You really can’t listen, can you? What happened? You didn’t get the concert tickets you wanted? Your crush doesn't like you back?” He feigned pity. The condescending questions felt rhetorical until he kicked your side and raised his brows, waiting for an answer.

“I’m depressed.” You coughed out. It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was the primary reason. The lack of control in your life just fed into your depression in a vicious cycle.

He laughed. “Depressed? Oh, please. What do you have to be depressed about?”

You knit your brows, looking up at him and deciding to ignore the question. “Why do they even care? And who are you?” The wind against your skin was almost taunting you. If things went right, you’d be in whatever afterlife existed. Yet, you were stuck here. With this guy.

He sighed. “Name’s Jackson. You’re the only heir to the throne and your family wants to protect their legacy. I thought I’d be hunting down terrorists, but I’m just babysitting a stupid girl who doesn’t know how good she’s got it.” He didn’t know you, or anything for that matter. The last thing you wanted was to live the life that your parents planned out for you. “And don’t think anything is off the table in regards to keeping you in line.”

The two of you walked through the roof door and down the stairs to your apartment. None of your protests were even acknowledged as he went straight into your kitchen and took out the knives, from steak to butter. Next were forks, scissors, box cutters, even your can opener. “That’s a bit much. Do you really think I’d kill myself with a potato peeler?” You watched as anything that could be labeled as sharp got swept into a box.

He continued to raid the cabinets. “People get creative.” You weren’t that determined to end your life, not yet, at least. The utensils clanked inside of the trashcan, it was surprising the bag was intact.

You knew that stopping him wasn’t an option, as if you had a fraction of his strength. It was time to go back to your usual coping mechanism: distracting yourself with meaningless games. Fortnite, to be more specific. The game launched and you slumped on your couch with the controller resting in your hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” He abandoned his excavation to glance at the screen. You eliminated a player, choosing to ignore the judgemental question. “That’s not even how a sniper works.”

“Like you’d know.” It was a game where eating fish gave you shield powers and anthropomorphic bananas used guns, who cared if the mechanics weren’t accurate to whatever terrorist weaponry that he was used to? You eliminated another player.

“You couldn’t even begin to imagine the things I’ve done.” Too busy listening to his constant comments, your focus wasn’t directed towards the game. Another player shot you down, losing at 38th place. They began to emote.

You sighed and set the controller down. “I’m taking a shower.” The one thing he couldn’t follow you into was the bathroom, at least, you hoped. He didn’t seem to care that much about your feelings, but seeing you naked might just cross a line.

“Fine.” He crossed his arms and watched as you made your way down the hallway and into the bathroom. You looked in the mirror, seeing your broken reflection. This was the closest you had ever truly gotten to committing the act to end your life and here you were, still here, still breathing. A shower could help. 

You turned on the water and the white noise of it hitting the tub was oddly calming. It drowned out all of the noise in your head. That’s when it hit you. The window was right there. If you left the shower running, Jackson would be none the wiser about your escape. Maybe you wouldn’t go and try to die again, at this point, anything was better than being stuck with him. Who knows what he was capable of?

The window popped open easily and you fiddled with the screen. How is it possible that it barely kept bugs out, but was so difficult for you to remove? It was baffling. 

The screen relented and you gently placed it on the ground. You only wished you had your phone with you or something other than the clothes on your back. The toilet paper holder wasn’t exactly the best method to hoist yourself through the window, though. Your shoe slipped on the roll and you had to hold onto the windowsill for dear life.

Steadying your breathing, you tried again and landed on the fire escape right below the window. You caught your breath and turned toward the stairs, only to make eye contact with Jackson with his arms crossed. “Think I’m an idiot? Turn around.” He took your shoulders and ushered you back through the bathroom window. 

He closed the window and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. One clasped around your wrist and the other on his. “Clearly, I can’t trust you enough to take a shower on your own, so I guess this will have to suffice until I escape-proof this place.”

You scowled at him, almost like a little kid who got put in time-out. “I still need to shower.”

“I’ll stand on the other side of the curtain. For modesty, I’m not a total creep.” It seemed that he had this all planned out, unfortunately for you. You reached into the shower, still running (wasted so much water and didn’t even get an escape out of it), to check the temperature. It was hot enough.

You unzipped your jeans, then looked at Jackson again. “Can you at least turn around?” He turned as much as he could, keeping his connected wrist behind his back. Your shirt and bra now hung on the handcuffed wrist, unable to get it fully off without taking the cuff off. “Um, my shirt is stuck.”

He turned around and you shot your arm up to cover your breasts. Without a word, he pulled a pocket knife out and cut through the fabric. Those were expensive, but he wouldn’t care. Now fully undressed, you took a step in the shower and slightly pulled Jackson closer to the curtain. He had pulled the sleeve of his jacket up, but the edges were still catching the stream of the faucet.

The hot water felt cathartic against your skin. You reached for your shampoo with your free hand and began to lather it into your hair. It had been a long while since you had showered, even if the idea to take one was technically a lie. Any time you tried to use the other hand, you were met with a tug of resistance from Jackson.

You tried to go on, washing the shampoo out of your hair and reaching for the conditioner bottle. You unusually used your left hand, but that one was still chained to the hitman and you nearly slipped and fell. “This isn’t working!”

“Water feels fine to me.” He was smug. Of course, he knew what you were talking about but had to make it difficult for you. You pulled the curtain back to look at him, holding it in front of your body.

“Either you unhook me or you get in here so I can actually do what I need to do.” You dramatically shut the curtain. Both options sounded bad in reality. You let the water hit you while you tried to calm yourself down.

About a minute later, Jackson pulled the curtain back and stepped in beside you. He was fully naked. A part of you wondered if he would get in with the full suit, but he seemed to be full of surprises. “Finish your damn shower.”

It was a little bit easier to reach for things and actually wash your hair, but the anxiety that he was staring directly at you was enough to make you extremely uneasy. You reached around him to grab the bar of soap and a washcloth, trying your best not to make any contact with any part of him other than his wrist.

Through it all, he just stood there. He wasn’t even in the actual shower, just getting slightly damp from being so close to it. You had never encountered such a strange man in your life.

“I’m done.” The shower almost immediately turned off. You opened the curtain and wrapped a towel around yourself. He still stood there, water dripping from the tips of his hair. “I’ll get you a towel, I guess.” You stepped out of the shower and knelt to get a towel from the lower cabinet.”

You should’ve stood up before you turned around. You were at eye-level with his dick. It looked pretty big, but it was completely soft. How could he have been naked in a shower with a woman and feel nothing? He must’ve been gay. Or asexual. Not like you could actually ask him that.

He took the towel out of your hands and wrapped it around his waist. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

“What’s your type?” You tugged your wrist and he reluctantly followed you into your bedroom to find clothes to change into.

Once again, as if he hadn’t just watched you shower, he faced away from you. “If I wanted to feel like I’m fucking a Make-A-Wish kid whose only wish was to get dicked down, then you’d be right up my alley. I go for real women.”

Asshole.

Over the course of the next two weeks, that became your life. You couldn’t do anything without him breathing down your neck, no matter how many times you tried to show him that you could behave without the restraints. The only times that you were allowed to be alone were when you were using the bathroom (he’d attach the cuff to the cabinet door handle) and when you were in bed (cuffed to the headboard).

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, feeling the bed shake. For a second, you thought that there was some kind of earthquake. That is, until you heard soft moaning and heavy breathing.

As quietly as possible, you turned to see if the sounds matched what you were imagining. Jackson was sitting on the other side of the bed, feet on the ground, tugging at his cock with one hand and holding a photo in the other. He had no shirt on, allowing you to see the various scars and healed gunshot wounds that littered his skin. “What are you doing?”

“Take a wild guess.” His voice was a bit strained, not even breaking his concentration. He held the photo tighter.

Your eyes narrowed, and then you reached out and snatched the photo from his hand. It was a woman. She had curled auburn hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. “Who’s this? Your girlfriend?”

He grimaced. “No.”

“She’s clearly someone important if you keep a photo of her in your wallet and you jerk off to it.” Jackson tried to take the photo from you, but you pulled away. This wasn’t something you were going to back off of.

“She’s why I got stuck babysitting you instead of doing actual meaningful jobs.” He tucked his dick into his sweatpants, though there was still a noticeable tent, and faced you. “Last year, I had to convince her to change the hotel room of a politician my client wanted dead. I had to do it during a red-eye flight from Dallas to Miami. Obviously, I failed.” Taking advantage of your shock, he took the photo back.

“What if you…pretended that I was her?” You finally sat up and leaned against the headboard. He looked you up and down, his mind a bit clouded from the sheer amount of arousal still coursing through his veins. 

He gripped the photo harder, sighing. “Don’t expect me to be gentle.” 

At this point, you had to take what you could get. You shifted out of your sleep shorts and panties. Jackson wasted no time in straddling your legs and lining himself with your entrance.

It’s not that you were not aroused , but you wouldn’t say that you were. Only not entirely ready to take him just yet. You felt the stretch of his cock inside of you, straining your muscles before you could mentally prepare yourself. 

His lack of empathy showed further, taking no time to slam himself inside of you and almost jackhammer himself into completion. You whined and reached out to push against his chest. He gripped your wrist. “Shut the fuck up. You’re ruining this for me.”

His eyes were squeezed shut, face scrunching up with his own imagination taking over the situation. “Lisa…” You felt his hand press on your neck, but you knew not to protest. “You can’t escape me, Lis. You knew I’d come back for you. The only way you’re getting rid of me is with a bullet in my forehead.”

The more he spoke, the harder he fucked into you. “Wanted to take you back to your hotel, book the nicest suite, and stuff every hole of yours with my cum all night long.”

His thrusts became sloppier and you could have sworn that your face was turning purple with the amount of pressure on your windpipe. “Lisa.” He repeated her name as he came and pushed his cum deeper into you.

Once he released your neck, the first breath was almost as good as if you had actually come. He scowled down at you when he opened his eyes again. “Oh, right. You’re still here.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for… encouraging my friend to self harm?? idk read the whole thing

so a few years back i had this friend (i’ll call Kai) and that was basically my only friend. i was codependent and it was an unhealthy relationship. they made everything into a competition. at this point i was figuring out my gender. deep down i knew that i was trans but i didn’t want to admit that to myself. it felt like such a heavy label that meant so much more than it says. it was very hard for me to admit to myself that i was a trans guy. they were also figuring out their gender and decided to make it into a competition of “who’s more trans” or whatever the fuck. whenever i would say “i think i feel more masculine recently i might use a different label” they would immediately say they were using a label that made them more masc. like if i said i was say 50% male they would be like “well I’M 75% male” and at first i was like cool! maybe i’m making them more comfortable to admit to themself that they're a guy! but it kept happening. every time. and when i finally admitted it to myself that i was a trans guy, they tried to get me to be non binary. it wasnt as bad as it sounds, just one or two little remarks but they didnt keep trying.

one time i was in a bad place. i was hitting myself and giving myself bruises. it was like 1am and i started texting kai about my stupid ass "philosophy" which was basically "i hate everything, nothing matters, we're all gonna die anyway" and then they sent me a video of them cutting their arm with scissors and said "if nothing matters than it doesnt matter if i do this? you dont care?" and i freaked the fuck out. i felt so bad. i did not react correctly i should have gotten them help i should have done my best to stop it but i didnt i dont remember exactly what i responded with but it was along the lines of "nothing matters but you shouldnt do that you should make the most of your life" or smth stupid like that. so that night i ended up cutting myself AND THEY TURNED THAT INTO A FUCKING COMPETITION TOO. like "i cut myself real deep three times here" when i mentioned i cut myself. and so i continued to cut myself because i thought it made them feel less alone. i didn’t realize they were trying to make it seem like they had it oh so much worse and cut themself more than i did and whatever. i don’t know how to explain this but i feel like i don’t blame myself as much as i should. i always act as if i didn’t do anything wrong but idk. aita? also there’s more to this story but it got long so i might do a part 2 (is that allowed?)

What are these acronyms?

[beauty-and-passion]

CCCC Vol.1 - Cacophony: back into one (5/5)

Wow, we’ve reached the end of the Cacophony act!

Let’s recap the story until now:

Mind and Heart try to cooperate, then start drifting apart because of their natural differences

The Juno incident fucks everything up

Heart surrenders to apathy, he leaves Mind in full control of the vessel

Mind berates Heart whenever he can, trying to get a reaction out of him. He fails so much, in the end, he thinks Heart is nothing more than a virus that should be removed.

And since now things can become truly dangerous, Soul finally intervenes.

<- Previous post - First post

_______________________________

The Soul Eclectic: the real ultimatum

* Soul’s nature

Heart is associated with “acoustic” to emphasize his connection with songs and Mind with “electric” to emphasis his nature as “cynical machine”. Soul, on the other hand, is associated with “eclectic”, to point out how broad and variegated his nature is.

He admits this firsthand, by saying “you can call me whatever”.

* Soul’s leading role

While Mind and Heart fight and bicker about who the leader is, Soul simply appears and:

scolds them both like kids (“Call me your host or call me insane/If that will help you stay in line”)

reminds them that no matter who the leader is, they still answer to him

reminds them that neither of them can control the Soul

calls them parasites living inside of him and scolds them again for nothing useful aside from their constant bickering

Mind or Heart might fight for leadership, but Soul is clearly a superior power - some sort of authoritarian/adult figure who controls the other two.

And yes, he’s not nice to them at all, but he said it since Dream: he’s tired of their bickering.

* Soul’s awareness

Soul is more aware than Heart and Mind about how right and wrong they are. Why each of them tries to insist that they’re 100% right and the other is 100% wrong, Soul can see that it’s more of a 50/50. He has a more detached, external view to their discussion - and a more objective one.

Also, he can see that they’re exhausting themselves: in order to win their stupid war at all costs, all they do is deteriorating their vessel.

And since Soul doesn’t want to destroy the vessel and resort to suicide, all he can do is give a real, final ultimatum. They have one last chance to cooperate. If they fail again, Soul will bring both of them down with him. And unlike Mind or Heart, who are equally powerful and thus cannot bring the other down, Soul proved he’s more powerful than them. So if Soul wants to destroy them both, he can definitely do it.

_______________________________

The Bidding: the reunification

There are four things in particular that got stuck with me here:

1) For the first and only time, Heart talks shit about Mind. He calls him “the piece of shit”, admits he stole his throne (aka his leader role) and even points out Mind never was the ruler - probably referring to a moment before the time loop (maybe the same Mind hinted in Be Born).

And Souls not only confirms that, but he points out it doesn’t really matter who the leader is, because neither Heart nor Mind can fully control him.

So the leader position is basically useless. Heart and Mind are equal. Sometimes, one can be more prominent than the other, but that’s it, they still won’t overcome Soul.

And if it sounds very realistic, it’s because it is.

2) All Soul needs is to confirm they will die today if they do not harmonize and bam, Heart and Mind find a way to harmonize. Talking about being persuasive and the true leader.

3) The harmonization happened over this line:

“Your silence (violence) deafens more than any sound”

Heart and Mind managed to find common ground only while stating their mutual distaste for each other. And yet, this is a step forward, because while stating “yes, I don’t like you”, they also point out the core reason why they do not like each other. The foundation of that mutual distaste.

For Heart, it’s Mind’s silence: that same silence from Night, after Heart asked Mind “What do you want?”. The silence that made his anxieties rise, that convinced him of Mind’s dangerous goals. The same silence that pushed Heart to act and led to the Juno incident.

For Mind, it’s Heart’s violence: the same violence we talked about in The Mind Electric, the violence that struck Mind the most because he was supposed to work with this guy and yet not only Heart tried to kill him, but even dug a hole for him.

And by pointing them out at the same time, they managed to switch perspective and see the problem from the other side’s point of view. Heart saw his own violence, Mind saw the effect of his own silence. It’s extremely clever and Chonny made it even more clever with the switching colors.

4) As soon as they harmonize, Soul immediately drops the suicidal thoughts and rejoices. It was a weak attempt, it wasn’t very harmonious either, but it happened and that’s what matters the most. No matter how flawed it was, they still managed to do it.

As I said in my first post, it’s very typical of people with suicidal tendencies to drop the idea of suicide and immediately latch to a possible hope, no matter how small it is. And since Soul is closer and more similar to Chonny than the other sides, it makes sense he shows this kind of behavior. Heck, he even begs the other two sides to try again to harmonize. He, who was sick and tired of their constant bickering, who was ready to resort to suicide, as soon as he found some hope, immediately got his strength and his will to try again.

And no, it’s not weird, because it’s the same thing that happened in Dream: right from his very first song, Soul showed how tired he is, but also how hopeful he is. And if there is even one small possibility of success, he wants to give it a try. He did it with the time loop, he’s doing it again now.

_______________________________

Light: blurring the lines

*Soul’s payoff: as soon as Soul decides they should blur the lines, Mind and Heart’s rhythms change: Heart’s becomes more robotic, Mind’s becomes softer. I don’t know you, but to me that looks like another confirmation that Soul is the most powerful of the three sides.

And his hard work is finally paying off: by switching perspectives, Heart and Mind can better understand each other, to the point they manage to unify and Chonny as a whole can finally sing.

*Whole!Chonny is incredibly human: he’s the perfect representation of an ex-suicidal on the road to recovery. He still sees his flaws and imperfections, he’s still a “sad sulking mess”. But the negative, dark, pessimistic feelings are taking a step back, because of the overwhelming optimism born from the previous spark of hope in The Bidding. Going over something as dreadful as the idea to die makes the will to live grow stronger - consequently, the love for life increases too, as well as all positive, optimistic feelings. Even if things are still far from perfect, the mere idea of being alive is enough to push Chonny forward and convince himself things can go well.

_______________________________

We’re Gonna Win: a positive perspective

*Connection to Sanders Sides: after so many songs in which they were always at each other’s throat, Heart and Mind finally comes to the realization all they need is each other.

This heavily reminds me of the song Family of Me, from Thomas’ playlist. The interpretation I gave at the time is the same of this song: even if you’re physically alone, you’re never truly alone, because there will always be these parts of you at your side. Friends and family can disappear, love can fade, but your own self will never betray, nor leave you alone.

*Building confidence: If you think it’s a lonely though, consider this from the point of view of an ex-suicidal as Chonny: knowing that, no matter what, you’re never truly alone reassures you a lot. You’re not left to deal with these dark thoughts by yourself, there is always someone who loves, cares and supports you. It calms you, it reassures you - and it makes you more confident. You won’t fear being alone anymore, because you have yourself.

*After a heartbreak: this realization helps a lot especially after an heartbreak. Heartbreaks tend to make people feel weak, wrong, incomplete. But once you realize you’re not alone because you have yourself and yourself is all you need, then the ex isn’t so essential anymore. You can survive without them. Chonny survived without them. And if he’s alive now, it’s thanks to his own strength, not a loved one. Hence, he can face everything now.

*A burning passion for art: as soon as Chonny realizes he can do anything, he immediately reconfirms his love for songwriting and states he wants to make his own songs, until the day he dies. What a perfect representation of what the love for art is.

_______________________________

Two Wuv: the religious theme

We can’t have psychological stories without a sprinkle of religion.

This album makes it very clear that Chonny was/is a dark, depressed, disheartened person. A person who thought and talked about his dark thoughts, suicide and how bad he was feeling.

And yet, when he did it, the people around him failed to understand, help or accept him: they told him to cheer up, to stop talking about this, to “play the happy song”.

Is it so hard to believe that some religious figure told him the same? That instead of offering him the solace he needed, condemned him for being who he is and for his thoughts? That instead of helping, they made it worse?

So, Chonny taking a stand is very, very brave. He doesn’t just admit his flaws to himself, but he does it to the people around them, his family and religion itself. He goes against those huge old institutions to reaffirm who he is, flawed and all.

And, honestly, this is closer to Jesus’ original message, than the religious teachings he probably got. It’s more Christian to love someone for who they are, as long as they’re good people at heart, than judging people according to labels and arbitrary rules.

_______________________________

Variations on a Cloud: synchronized harmonies

Chonny is a lot more confident now. The Bidding started an “optimistic wave” that led him to a bigger understanding of himself and a higher self-esteem. He’s even strong enough to face the people in his life and show himself for who he is - the imperfect, flawed, human person he is.

But still, no matter how flawed he can be, he’s not alone. He has his sides with him, a “tridental sovereignty” helping and supporting him.

So, he shows this by letting them sing and showing us how they all work together now. Sure, they may have slightly different lines, but there is harmony. They are moving together in the same direction.

And so, since they’re all on the same page, they make the same ask: to “keep it coming back”. But back to what?

In the original song, this line was about memories. And here I think the meaning is the same: they are asking Chonny to remember. To revisit what happened, in order to find a closure. Now they’re together, they’re harmonized: they are strong enough to do it.

So Chonny does it and goes back to the start.

_______________________________

The Whole World & You (Outro from Cacophony): a meta retrospective

We have several voices here, all explaining what happened during this arc and drawing their conclusions:

*Chonny (alongside Heart) reconfirms his goal was the same as the Q&A: he wanted to sing about love and duality, the “blues and greens”, his dark thoughts. He wanted to better understand himself. And, if you remember, this exploration of himself always went hand in hand with a sense of inadequacy, because he was just making covers, “singing songs someone already sung”, not writing new ones. Everything he said was “trite”.

But now, he’s finally at peace with this. He made covers and he loves to do them.

*Mind reveals it was all a test. He never forgot the original goal to become one, never. He simply played a part: Heart was Dr. Jekyll, so he just played Mr. Hide. And since Hide is the villain, Mind played the role of a villain.

Honestly? I believe him. Because, for the entire Cacophony, Mind kept trying to get a reaction out of Heart. He repeated he wasn’t a villain, trying to make him understand he’s not the bad guy. He kept blaming and scolding Heart, trying to get something out of him. And when the insults didn’t help, he moved to actual threats, hoping those would do the trick.

But also: Mind really really wanted that leadership position. And the way he kept pointing out how Heart “dug a hole for him” showed some real hurt. So maybe yes, it was all a plan. But this plan definitely had some personal components.

*Soul can finally relax. He endured Heart and Mind, he managed to make them harmonize. He’s on the other side of the time loop now, the worst is in the past. Things will be easier from now on.

In fact, this is the end of the “lore-packed” act. Now Chonny will “go back”, as his sides asked. He will talk about the past, himself and his work.

But before doing that, he offers his thanks to his Muse, the inspiration behind his work: Tally Hall, the original authors of these songs. After all, without them and their songs, this album wouldn’t exist either.

So just like a book starts with the credits, Chonny starts reminiscing his story with the credits as well.

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

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[magpie-come-east]

Morgott for the character ask meme!

favorite thing about them

What drew me to him in the first place is how much I related to his character. When I was a religious teen I hated myself so much. I hated my appearance. I hated being a woman. I was in a constant loop of thinking of myself as this terrible waste of space that couldn't get anything right. Just damned to fuck up my entire life and then die and go to hell. Morgott isn't quite so pathetic as I was at 16-17 lol, but I saw a lot of my struggles in him. He believes he is born cursed, that no matter what he does he will be rejected by the Erdtree- an aspect of his religion and God- when he dies. He is misguided at best and vile at worst, but I completely understand why he is the way his is.

Also,

He's gorgeous

least favorite thing about them

The giant scabby looking red bump on his head is kinda gross : (

He doesn't return Mohg's calls enough : (

I wish he had more voice lines : (

I mean, maybe this is a cop-out, but there's pretty much nothing I dislike about Morgott. I love his lore, his fights, his stunning good looks (sans red bump). He's a remarkably fascinating character that has tragic and heroic aspects to him while also being a flawed and a worthy antagonist.

favorite line

"Have it writ upon thy meager grave: Felled by King Morgott, Last of all Kings." (A stone-cold reveal? Sexy voice acting? He hates the player so much it makes him look stupid hot?)

Shout out to "Whose hand graspeth thy leash, I wonder?" It's a cut line but it's Ummph

brOTP

Morgott and Mohg. The literal brothers of all time.

The importance and closeness of twin relationships is prevalent throughout the game. You cannot tell me Morgott and Mohg weren't once so, so close. They are amazing foils, too! Both of them exemplifying the extremes they were driven to by their upbringing. Neither have experienced good and healthy love, thus they search for it in unfortunate places. Both of them grew believing they were monsters, and both behave differently in consequence- with Morgott clinging to servitude and humility and suppression and with Mohg embracing everything being a monster entails. I love it.

I think they still care for one another a lot. Their ideologies just strain their bond.

OTP

Morgott x Tarnished or Morgott x Oleg

Please read Oleg's ash description if you haven't. That man was murdering for Morgott for the love of the game.

nOTP

Morgott x Mohg (romantic)

They're just better as brothers.

random headcanon

I have... many headcanons.

Morgott hates Rykard because he envies Carian siblings for being welcomed into Marika's lineage while he was rejected as her 'firstborn' (shhhh Messmer shhhh). Rykard also figured out he was Omen before the war and offered Morgott amnesty and allyship. Morgott was so offended he resented Rykard forever for it.

Morgott hired Oleg to help him secure his throne in the early days of his power. After all, he was an unheard-of Demigod that showed up out of nowhere to make himself King. He probably faced a lot of pushback. Oleg was there to kill the dissenters! (And kiss Morgott)

Morgott used the mimic veil to appear human to Leyndell. His cover story for his sudden appearance was that he was exiled with Godfrey to the Badlands as a young child. When Godwyn died Queen Marika called him back to the Lands Between, having earned his Grace. Thus, he took the moniker Grace-Given. (Ironically, this would make King Morgott semi-Tarnished in his own story).

Morgott was friends with Godrick before he took to grafting. Godrick was weak in body despite being a member of the Golden Lineage, and Morgott felt some kinship with Godrick's struggles with self-image and his lackluster presence as a scion of Marika.

unpopular opinion

I find it a little disappointing that in most fics where he is a central, vital character he ends up as the mere consort to the Tarnished Elden Lord. I know SOTE told us irrevocably that Godhood is not good at all for mortal vessels. But I kinda wish Morgott was allowed to be Elden Lord or a God more often. I find it cathartic when a person so spurned by the church and God of their faith is made into something holy and powerful.

Also, I think Morgott was the eldest child of the Golden Lineage, and that Godwyn never really knew him.

Morgott is definitely not a virgin.

song I associate with them

Take me to War by The Crane Wives! Dreams Wash Away by Joe Wong!

Forsaken by Savant!

Monster and Arms Unfolding by Dodie!

Torture by Les Friction!

Cirice by Ghost!

Favorite Picture

My commissioned piece for my fic Gilded Apotheosis. The art is by bora-in-tamriel

@barrowlands567

@bad-as-me (since you asked this too!)

[scarlet-witchery]

hit 5k words on the shameless soulmates au draft I'm so fucking pumped y'all

I promised a preview so here's the beginning, I hope you enjoy it

—————

For as long as Ian could remember, there was a golden thread around his sister’s wrist. The same swirls were mirrored on her best friend, who also had a bold red pattern along her collarbone to match her boyfriend. Ian had seen all of those marks for years now, knew the story about how Fiona and Veronica just knew they’d be friends for life. How Vee and Kev weren’t legally married but they might as well be. They were perfect together.

He’d also seen the blue lines along Frank’s side when his father was passed out half-naked and drunk on the kitchen floor; vaguely recalled Monica flashing them all at breakfast one time to show off her own matching marks in the middle of a screaming match with her husband. Ian didn’t remember what they were fighting about—it never mattered, really, one argument turning into another into another—but something about how they were meant for each other, how Frank needed to leave that prissy bitch who can’t even handle a line of coke. Ian knew how bad both of his parents could be on their own, but how together they were even worse.

Soulmates could cut both ways. It was one of the earliest things he learned.

On Ian’s left ankle, he had an orange mark like a sunburst that matched Lip—his big brother, his best friend. Fiona used to tell them how when Ian was still a toddler, she showed Lip how to hold him. Lip in Fiona’s lap, Ian in Lip’s. Then Ian cried, and Lip knew he was hungry just like that—Fiona said that was when she saw their marks solidify, the color slowly spreading across like a sunset.

“I barely knew anything about soulmates back then,” she’d told them once over a shared bottle of beer, the three of them passing it back and forth as they sat on the couch. Some stupid reality dating show played on the TV, which was how they'd gotten onto the topic in the first place. “Frank and Monica ain’t exactly the picture of what you want outta romance, after all. But I heard some of the kids at school talk about it—brothers and sisters being your first soulmates.” She didn’t have a mark to match any of her kids, as she called them all, but it didn’t matter. Fiona was more like a mom to them than a big sister, anyway.

Ian could feel the faint trace of another mark wrapping around his left wrist, too. Another along his right thigh. Neither had filled in by the time he turned fifteen. Not that he minded—not that it mattered—because who gave a fuck about him besides his family? As long as he could remember, it’d been him and Lip against the world, helping Fiona with each successive younger sibling. Gallaghers took care of their own, after all. They weren’t the only ones to have matching marks, either; Debbie and Carl had them, too, splashes of dark green down the backs of their right legs. Liam of course was still too young for his marks to show up yet, but it wouldn’t be long now.

Fiona always said that romantic marks were bullshit, and Ian found himself agreeing with that more and more. Hell, the only people he knew that had made it work were Kev and Vee, and they seemed to be the exception to the rule. But part of him couldn’t help wondering who his other marks were a match for. He might be a jaded South Side hood rat, but fuck, didn’t everyone wonder now and again? A guy couldn’t help being curious about this sort of thing.

They always did say be careful what you wished for.

[limbuscompanysituations]

(post canto VI) Some angsty stuff, like Ishmael being upset because Heathcliff acts totally different, all in all mainly missing the deep friendship that has started to form between them, some longing for a feeling she can't quite explain. She wishes to help him but doesn't know how to approach him properly ww

He changed.

It's normal for sinners to experience sudden, drastic changes; be it either in opinions, values or goals. Through the entirety of a bough retrieval mission, they are forced to revisit their own life stories. Their emotions change, their thoughts change, their hearts change. They change.

This change, however, is most unnatural; she would risk calling it unnerving.

He's always at a corner, doing something to his bat. Ishmael thought it would be a matter of waiting a couple days. She decides to leave him to it. Their stay at the Wuthering Heights was confusing, with a lot of it vanishing from their minds. It was clear there was something she missed here.

She's still expecting that the camaraderie that had blossomed between them would lead Heathcliff to tell her what was up. Instead, all she got was a man who was a shadow of himself. Ishmael can't handle it anymore, so she goes ahead and confronts him about it.

He iss still modifying his bat, bowing over it and completely focused on the task at hand.

"What's your problem?" She asks. It takes a minute or so for Heathcliff to slowly raise his head and look at her. It took him another half minute for him to really look at her. It's like he's deep underwater.

"What d'ya want?" He asks back. She frowns.

"So this is how it's gonna be? Hiding at corners, sanding that damned bat over and over and... carving? What happened to you? It's like... some ghost snatched the soul from inside your body."

He flinches at the word "ghost".

"Catherine." He speaks in a barely audible whisper.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, thought so." He sighs and goes back to his task. Ishmael grits her teeth, considering whether or not she'd get scolded for beating the shit out of him then and there.

"The name doesn't ring any bells to you, or anybody, for that matter. That means I still... have much to do." He quietly explains.

"You could start with growing a spine." She growls, "And tell me what the fuck happened to you." The next words she speaks hurt her more than anything, "You used to trust me."

Heathcliff pauses, shut his eyes and presses his lips into a thin line.

"Yeah I... I used to... Think many things before." His voice is weak, cracking and drifting away at the end, "And you're right. My soul was stolen, snatched out of my bones. I'm hollow, pumpkin." He chuckles, "Hollow like... birds' bones, I guess."

And for the first time in weeks, a little bit of that grief started showing through the cracks. Their stay at Wuthering Heights was brief and chaotic, but she remembers one thing clearly: the moment his mind broke, his insanity took over and he became not a friend but a foe; overcome with pain beyond what a human could bear.

"Don't call me that." She replies, "Not when you're like... this."

"Aight, Ishmael. D'ya want anything else?" He doesn't look at her.

"I want you to come back." It doesn't take a heartbeat before she says these words, and then he raises his head to look at her again, "However long it takes. I'm waiting, you stupid piece of shit. Waiting for the moment you want to tell me what the hell happened to you. I'm waiting."

Heathcliff stares at her, wordless and exhausted.

"I'm waiting." She reassures him, and turns her back, ready to walk away.

"Thanks, ginger. I... may not be all right in the head but... that's much appreciated."

Without any other word, she leavwa him be. Whether it worked or not, only time would tell. Ishmael couldn't do anything but to wait. And if it was necessary, she didn't mind having to knock some sense into him either.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Above Or Below? (Another Level Extra)

Okay, so, it's not a lot of the beatdown, but it's what I got for you guys lol

It's below the cut!

You can read Another Level on AO3 💕

2018

He felt his smirk grow to a sneer as he practically slammed the door open, meeting Naobito’s wary gaze.

“Heard you were waiting for me to pay you a little visit,” he said simply, raising his eyebrows when the man stayed silent. “Something you might wanna talk to me about? No?”

Naobito’s eyes narrowed at him as he shrugged his shoulders.

“You gonna tell me what the fuck you did to her? Or am I gonna need to start-”

“I saved her fucking life,” Naobito snapped. “She was the one stupid enough to come barging in, screaming at anyone she could find. And I tried to get her to a goddamn doctor, but she left before-”

“Doctor wouldn’t have fucking helped her and you know it,” Gojo cut him off. “She would have died if she’d stayed for your doctor, and that was why you were fucking panicking.”

Stepping closer, he felt his sneer grow.

“Who started the fight?”

Naobito clenched his jaw before he shrugged.

“I wasn’t here, so I don’t-”

He pulled his shades off as he glared at the old man, watching fear flash in his eyes for a moment.

“Don’t bullshit me, old shit,” Gojo ordered, watching Naobito tense further. “You talk to each other. And ya had to for this shit, yeah? To get your goddamn stories straight for when I showed up. But you’re gonna tell me the fucking truth and then you’re gonna tell me where the fuck Jinichi is.”

When Naobito didn’t answer, he narrowed his eyes.

“Who started the goddamn fight?”

“Jinichi started the fight,” Naobito admitted. “Hit her on her way out.”

Gojo grinned as he placed his shades back onto his face.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked, his grin widening until he was baring his teeth. “Now, where is he?”

“I won’t have you killing a member of the Zenin clan over that-”

“Call her a mistake, old man,” Gojo said quietly, letting his shades slip back down. “Or a half-breed. Go on, you piece of shit.”

Part of him wanted the old man to do it. To give Gojo the excuse to kill him for being part of why she fucking saw herself that way. Called herself a goddamn half-breed when that shit never even fucking mattered.

When Naobito clenched his jaw again, Gojo sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he gave him a bored look.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he reasoned, stuffing his left hand into his pocket. “Unfortunately for me, I can’t beat him as bad as he beat her. Ya know why, old man?”

Naobito stayed silent and Gojo pushed his shades up as he gave him a cold grin.

“Because Jinichi would die before we got even halfway to how bad he beat Kurisaki. On top of that, I promised her I’d beat him within an inch of his life if she gave me the okay.”

Naobito’s eyes narrowed at the last statement, and Gojo smirked, shrugging carelessly.

“Which means I gotta avoid that margin, too,” he continued. “But I’m sure you know all about these little specifics, huh? So here’s our deal: You tell me where Jinichi is, and I’ll let you decide if we go above or below that. Two inches from death or half an inch. Your choice.”

“He’s with the rest of the Hei,” Naobito relented, his eyes narrowing when Gojo’s grin widened into a sadistic one. “They won’t stand by while you-”

“They will,” Gojo cut him off, clapping his hands together once. “You’ll tell them to. Because if they don’t, our little deal is void. And I won’t give anyone else the same courtesy he gets this time.”

Leaning closer, he let his shades slip again as he stared into Noabito’s eyes.

“Now, you didn’t say which: above or below?”

-

Gojo pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and held it up after he unfolded it.

“Had Shoko make a chart just in case you need visuals,” he said gleefully, watching Jinichi roll his eyes. “List of all Kurisaki’s injuries. Had ‘em listed in order of how severe they were. Y’see this line here? That is the line where shit starts becoming fatal. Now, you see all of this?”

He pointed to the graphic slowly and grinned when he saw the fear flicker through Jinichi’s eyes.

It had made Gojo feel sick when Shoko first handed it over.

Cracked skull, ripped lungs, broken sternum, four broken ribs, three cracked vertebrae, broken cheek bone, bruised larynx, broken left hand, misc. internal bleeding, ruptured spleen, broken nose…

Oh, this piece of shit had done a number on Rinko, alright.

Gojo was even more surprised she was still alive after seeing the full list.

He’d make her cum for each injury after the fatal line once he was done here.

If she didn’t pass out first, he thought as he looked at the list. Might be too many for one sitting. She usually started crying around four-

“According to science, she should have died here.” Gojo pointed to the little mark. “So, here’s what we’re gonna do- hang on, lemme just-”

He retrieved the measuring strip from his pocket, causing Jinichi to roll his eyes again. Holding it up to the chart, Gojo located the injury listed exactly two inches from the fatal mark.

“That is where I’ll stop.”

Stuffing the paper and measuring strip back into his pockets, he pressed his hands together happily.

“Two inches from death. Just as agreed.”

Warping behind Jinichi, Gojo rammed his fist into the back of his head, throwing him out of the room and into the courtyard.

“Heard that was the first hit, hm?” he called, holding his hand up beside to mouth to make sure he was heard. “Back of her head? Weren’t even brave enough to face her in a fair fight?”

Warping again, he raised his leg and kicked Jinichi in the back. Squinting slightly, he made sure he aimed correctly. Shoko had said the fifth vertebrae.

“Don’t worry,” he stated calmly, grabbing Jinichi by the throat and slamming him back into the ground. “I didn’t put enough behind that kick to snap your spine quite as bad as you did hers. Shouldn’t paralyze you, yeah?”

Sadly.

“Now, while I don’t have seven fists,” Gojo mused, grinning as he went over the list in his head. “I think I can move fast enough to simulate that damage.”

[mylarena]

hrngh. zombie apocalypse au.

ghost is the big ol' lone wolf whos doing perfectly fine in the apocalypse, of course, no he doesnt need anyone else. he has no group bc he doesnt need one.

soap is some guy who got separated from his group, 141, (price, gaz, laswell, etc.) and stumbled into ghost somehow, and for whatever reason ghost didnt kill him and instead told him to get lost, but soap decided fuck that and started following him instead. ghost does not like this and wants him to fuck off. soap insists that he has no where to go because he doesnt know where the hell he is or how to get back to his group- all he has is the name of the location they have their base at. so hes staying with ghost bc he seems trustworthy and like he would protect him. (hes a fucking moron. how the hell can he call some guy he just met 'trustworthy'? what makes him think ghost would protect him? he should know that even people that you trust with your life can hurt you.)

ghost shows him the route to the place via map. he lines it out. soap insists that hes shit with directions and will need a guide. ghost says he can find one elsewhere. soap says that no one else is anywhere around, plus ghost already knows the route, so why not he just lead him there? ghost says no. they go back and forth for a while, but eventually ghost gives up and agrees to bring him to his group- just to the location, and then hes getting the hell out of dodge. soap is very happy about this, much to ghosts disgruntlement.

this is when soap tells him that he didnt just get separated from his group, but that one of the people in the group had sold them out to another, larger group- who had captured him and put him all the way out in fuck-all-nowhere. he says he doesnt know what the state of his group is- if theyre alive, dead, imprisoned, or banished- but he wasnt just going to stay away when they could be okay.

he wasnt just going to knowingly lead ghost into potential danger without telling the man first. he wasnt that much of an asshole. he gives him an out, saying that hed understand if he changed his mind.

ghost, despite knowing that itd be fucking stupid to help him, agrees to escort him there. he justifies it in his head as having already made a commitment to the job and he isnt willing to back down from a challenge.

so they start some sort of post-apocalyptic roadtrip, fighting like hell through cities and towns and forests and at one point a literal cornfield, for whatever fucking reason.

throughout their journey, they talk. its mostly soap. (john, he insists, or soap. thats what his friends call him. ghost, in some sort of rebellion of being one of his friends, calls him johnny. it threw the man off guard at the start for whatever reason, so ghost kept it up in hopes of unsettling him and keeping him at arms length. it didnt work.)

ghost never gives him his name. never gives his story. never shows his face. never lets johnny past the walls hes built up over decades, no matter how hard the man tries. he keeps everything to himself, even his wounds- no bites. never any bites. hes not stupid enough to hide a bite from johnny, no matter how much he dislikes the man. the man trusts him for some reason, and hes not going to let himself turn and kill him if he can stop it.

johnny talks about his life. he talks about his family over in scotland; his maw, his brothers and sisters, his cousins, nieces, nephews... he tells him about his childhood pets, his time in high school, the jobs he had over the summer.

he tells him about his group. price, their de facto leader; laswell, the woman who has price by the ear and actually runs shit; gaz, a snarky little shit that loves to cause problems on purpose; and graves. johnny never talks about graves, and anytime he mentions his name his voice fills with bitter venom. ghost assumes that this graves fucker is the one who betrayed them.

ghost is curious, he wont lie, but its nothing personal about johnny. he just likes to know all he can about a situation, naturally. and the way the usually sunny disposition of the man darkens whenever he thinks about this graves man seems to be an important part of johnnys situation. thats all it is. he never asks. johnny will tell him if he wants to, anyway.

and he does, one night. theyre camping in the woods, no fire. ghost is taking the first watch, leaning against a tree with his rifle in his lap, while soap lies on his back, staring at the stars. its quiet, and johnnys own voice is barely more than a whisper as he starts to talk. he starts talking about graves- phillip graves- and his friendship with the man. how they got along, how they helped each other, how johnny trusted him.

then he talks about how he was the last time they had seen each other.

at first, it had seemed like a normal day. gaz was on watch, price was in his office, laswell was with her wife- and graves had pulled soap into a side room, saying he needed to talk to him about something. he had seemed tense, riddled with nerves and some kind of excitement. soap followed him without protest, figuring the man had gotten into some kind of mischief.

and he had. just... not in a fun, harmless way like soap expected.

he told soap about what hed done. he had given shepherd's group- a larger faction named the shadows that had been poking and prodding and pushing for ownership of their base and the surrounding territory- integral information on their schedules, defenses, and weaknesses. he had been approached while he was patrolling their territory and offered a position of power in the group if he gave them information. and he did.

soap listened, horrified, angry, and distraught- and then graves told him he could come with him.

he told him he had a place alongside him in the shadows, that he had already cleared it with shepherd as long as soap agreed to be loyal to them. he said that they could be great together. he offered as if he was already dead certain that soap would join him, that he would follow him in betraying the 141.

he offered as if he truly believed that soap was more loyal to him than to his entire family.

and so soap punched him, (hopefully he broke his nose,) and immediately ran to warn price or laswell, or anyone else. but graves had chosen his timing well. as he ran down the hall, he could hear the beginnings of a fight. of fucking warfare.

he didnt go into detail about the fighting, giving a bare bones rundown of how it went before he had been knocked out. the next time he had woken up, he'd been in a moving vehicle, blindfolded and bound. no matter what he did, what questions he asked, or how hard he struggled, he was kept in the dark about where they were going. he didnt know how long he had been slipping in and out of consciousness before he finally woke to the jostling of being thrown out of the car onto the hard ground, hearing the clang of a pocket knife sounding next to him and the doors slam shut, then the unmistakable rumbling of the car driving off.

at that point, there wasnt much left to tell. he managed to find the knife, cut away the bindings, unblindfold himself, and then end up in the trouble that ghost saved him from a day later.

when he finishes telling his story, the two of them sit in silence for a minute. johnny's glad ghost doesnt mention the way his breath had began to stutter partway through the story- even more glad for the dark hiding the way his cheeks were wet.

just as he opens his mouth to say something more, to brush off the vulnerability he displayed, ghost cuts him off with his own confession.

"simon."

"huh?"

"my name."

"oh."

"mm."

theyre silent for a few minutes more.

"goodnight, johnny."

"... g'night, simon."

at some point during their travels, they meet alejandro and rodolfo. it started with a short scuffle in a safehouse the two men had been occupying, but it ended with only a few bruises and a shaky agreement to not hurt each other.

its over dinner that soap mentions graves- they had been making small talk about how they got there, soap and alejandro immediately hitting it off- and both of the men have a nearly visceral reaction. rudy is significantly calmer about it than alejandro is, but the anger in his eyes is the same.

soap gives them a minimal description of his experience- graves betrayed his group, attacked them, and dropped soap in the middle of no where- and its not long after that alejandro and rudy have an exchange in spanish, then alejandro turns and insists that they join the group to get revenge on graves.

soap usually wouldve immediately said yes, but instead he turns to ghost. they make eye contact, seemingly having a silent conversation, before ghost sighs and turns back to the two men.

"right, fine. but im laying down some ground rules."

and so two became four.

while theyre traveling, things are stirring back with the 141. price, even though he was imprisoned, managed to get both himself and gaz out unnoticed. graves had admitted that soap had simply been removed instead of killed, hence his absence, so price is hoping that if he looks hard enough he can find him. because he knows soap would never abandon them if he had the choice.

and so they travel. price watches over gaz, gaz keeps price on his feet, and they continue searching for soap, until they find them neck deep in the middle of a horde and rescue them.