#monopolization of violence by the state

[hellyeahheroes]

We Need to Rethink Justice by Andrewism

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART THREE !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!jinx, obsessive!jinx, yandere!viktor, g/n reader, kidnapping, blood/violence, death, nonconsensual affection, & displays of schizophrenia.

jinx's yandere traits are . . .

jealous, smothering, & territorial

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Jinx always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself sauntering through the world with bare feet; to exist with no inner turmoil wreaking havoc on her happiness. It is an embarrassing, pathetic fantasy, as her life has tested her strength and vitality time after time again. Yet alas, her heart will always ensnare itself around the jagged edges of this reverie. 

To bring an end to the parasitic chaos in her mind — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

Even as a child, Powder would innocently fantasize of a life devoid of smoke and tears. Maybe even a prosperous life in Topside, where she’ll forge a living off her groundbreaking inventions and spend the earned revenue on lavish dresses and the tallest houses. Or, maybe she’ll stay in the Under-City, but forge it into a land of sheer luxury, where Topsiders will beg for a life in the city they abandoned.

That is not exactly what the universe had in store for young Powder, however. There is no room left to daydream with her and her family's current circumstances.

Wind turbines have now been halted after their power supply had been cut off by Piltover. To escape the perfusion of gas and polluted air, citizens of the Under-City have been desperately trying to cross the bridge to Topside. Powder and her family are some of those citizens. 

In their attempts to cross, however, tall figures in blue and gold suits use violent force against them. Caught in the crossfire is her parents, who sacrifice themselves to protect the lives of their children. 

Powder races after them, but trips over some rubble and twists her ankle in the process. Her hand is then grasped by Violet, who sprints away from the scene with her. One glance over her shoulder and Powder finds them stomach-down on the bridge surface. Empty, dead eyes staring past her.

In their rushed journey back to the Under-City, a sandstorm intensifies around the grief-stricken girls. Violet now carries a wounded Powder in her arms as she struggles to find shelter. The route home is impossible to discern, now overwhelmed with suffocating dust and thick brume.

With this weight in her grasp, Violet feels herself becoming more and more lethargic. She winces with every step taken, before she inevitably collapses to the sand-ridden ground from exhaustion. Powder lands harshly in the process, a pained cry leaping from her throat when the rough ground greets her sprained ankle.

“Vi? Violet!” Her weak voice is a whisper against the thrashing force of the surrounding storm. 

She crawls to her sister and presses her shoulders with her tiny palms, begging for her sister to awaken from her unconscious state.

“Violet, please-!” 

A figure stands in the distance. 

She squints, trying to discern the identity. Her efforts fall short, however, when all she can distinguish is a dust-ridden haze. The figure then begins stepping forward, approaching them. Powder, to her shock, is not afraid at all. Instead, she is the exact opposite, covered in a canopy of peace like a warm blanket. 

Halting just several paces away from them, Powder finds the figure to be adorned in a dark cloak; all features of their physicality hidden away in polished fabrics. She swears she can almost see jewels, of some sort, peeking out from beneath their coat. 

The figure then lends their hand out towards the two sisters. Powder’s confusion is promptly replaced with sheer amazement with a bright cloud of blue and purple perfuses from their palm. A flurry of incomprehensible letters surround the cloud, of which she assumes she cannot read due to her young age. With that being said, she’s never truly seen a language that looks like that.

A few swift flicks of the stranger's hand and Powder’s vision is engulfed in a white light. She shields her vision to no avail, but the bright intensity is only temporary. When the light swiftly fades, she finds herself astonished, once again. 

The rampant storms have been entirely replaced with lush, vibrant fields. She now sits upon fluffy grass nestled against arrays of colorful flowers and vibrant greenery. From above, sprinkles of blue and purple orbs drift through the wind. The moon is clearer than it ever has been in the Under-City, basking her in its gentle glow. Her lungs are now clear of thick pollution and gleefully welcome the perfusion of healthy air.

Too busy engrossed with her surroundings, Powder nearly fails to notice the mysterious stranger as they begin to walk in the opposite direction, flowers with blue and purple petals blooming with every step they tread. 

The young girl attempts to garner their attention, once again, but these efforts are halted with a few groggy coughs from her sister. She scrutinizes her surroundings with confusion, but with a perceptible relief upon finding Powder. Violet then gestures to her ankle with intentions of inspecting the injury further. When the two of them look, however, they find that the wound has seemingly vanished. As though Powder had never twisted her ankle in the first place.

She then stands to her feet with her freshly-healed ankle and begins frolicking through the fresh land. 

“Magic! Magic!” She exclaims, excitement burning inside of her. 

Violet does not share this excitement, however, and sets out on finding shelter, once more. Powder joins her with a newfound pep in her step, as though nothing bad had ever happened before. As though nothing bad could ever happen…

Then, it did happen. 

Each chapter of her life ended in blood and destruction. With every final sentence jotted down, she found herself uttering the same sentiment. The stranger will protect me, just the same as they did all those years ago. 

A heist in Topside gone wrong? The stranger will protect me. 

Underestimating the powers of a certain blue crystal, resulting in the death and abandonment of the people most important to her? The stranger will protect me. 

Collapsing into the arms of a new parental figure who leads her to question every moral she’s ever known? The stranger will protect me. 

The same man telling her she is not ready for larger missions alongside his strongest soldiers? The stranger will protect me. Just the same as they did all those years ago… 

Right?

Then, why aren’t you here? Where did you go? What more do I have to do to bring you back to me?

These thoughts plague the mind of Jinx in the midst of a quiet night. 

Through the foggy air swifting through the bridge to Piltover, she sits on one of the grand pillars.  Summer of 2021 has arrived and she still has not seen you in the years leading up to this moment. Stalking the bored guards inhaling dry conversations and cigar smoke, Jinx fiddles with Pow-Pow and fights against the truth: the severity of your loss is impacting her more than she is willing to admit. 

Another argument results in Silco telling her for the zillionth time of how she is not ready to stand by his side and fight for Zaun. Too overwhelmed by her “past demons”, he always remarks. The one thing restraining her from becoming the killing-machine he raised her to be is you, but she will never inform him of your existence. No one can know of this sacred memory of hers. 

This leaves Jinx where she currently remains, plans of invading Piltover and capturing a taste of the rich side clouding her mind. Yanking a few of their valuables will earn the recognition of Silco, no doubt. And maybe, just maybe, if she garners enough of these riches, you’ll be attracted to the sight. Maybe you’ll come back…

With that, she descends from the pillar and scurries past the oblivious guards, excited to set her plan into successful motion. Jinx rushes into the sleeping city and strives for the largest building their prosperous land has to offer, right in the very center and towering over the others. 

The interior is most definitely more opulent than the outside. Far more extravagant than any insect-ridden estate the Under-City has to offer. However, none of them have anything interesting to offer her. Every door is slammed open by her aggressive hand, azure-blue eyes scrutinizing the contents for anything appealing.

“Boring. Boring. Ugh, super boring!” She exclaims, no regard for any lurking guards.

Reaching the highest floor, however, she finds stark differences in this expanse than the others. Finally, something that piques her interest! A grand window looks over the entire city, shielded in a haze of soft moonlight. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes, watching every step she takes. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and tools scattered on the surfaces. 

Jinx, the eccentric engineer she is, immediately strives toward the dispersed gadgetry. She finds the usual array of hammers and screwdrivers (which she swiftly stuffs into her satchel). She also discovers inventions she does not recognize, even during the times she has snuck past the investors and scientists in the heat of Progress Day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A thick accent pervades. 

A smirk, one that has claimed Jinx’s lips as home, grows on her face. When she turns over her shoulder, she finds a man standing in the threshold of the office. A mess of brown hair, a lanky body, and thin hands grasping a wooden crane (of which he does not use at this moment, for some odd reason) — an easy kill, that’s for sure! 

Jinx utilizes this perceived weakness and is on the man in mere seconds. The cane he holds is swiftly stolen from his grasp and ensnared around his ankles. A quick yank and he is on the ground with a violent grunt. She pulls several loops of rope from her satchel and ensnares them around his limbs in record speed. The polished works of a skilled villain, if you will.

“Don’t you-!” 

A sharp kick to his gut and he is silenced, only interrupted by his sputtering coughs against the force of her boot. 

“Nice try, bones-y! That’s not how this game is gonna go.” 

With an exasperated huff, she throws his feeble body onto a nearby office chair. Patting her hands of imaginary dust, she sits down on the adjacent office desk. Dangling a pocket knife before his brown eyes as though it were shimmering jewelry, Jinx then explains herself. 

“Ground rules! You answer my questions truthfully, and I’ll let ‘ya keep all your toothpicks.” 

The tip of her knife breathes over his restrained limbs as she speaks. She fails to restrain her laughter at the pathetic way his chest rises and falls with rapid trepidation. 

“Are we on the same page, bones-y? Or should I read your diary?” 

Without a glance away, her long nail presses into the leather corner of his journal and drags it her way. She begins scouring through the written contents, expecting some juicy, Topsider gossip. Her excited disposition is replaced with a dramatic roll of her eyes when all she finds is boring, scientific jibber-jabber. Just scribbled equations adhering to this “Hextech” nonsense, or whatever the Topsiders call it. 

Jinx flips through the remaining pages with aggressive impatience, leaving irreparable tears in the paper in her careless effort. 

And then, for the first time in years, the world halts on its axis. 

She blinks, gaping at this discovery. Sketched onto the lined paper is no other than you. Drawn in exquisite perfection, just as she remembered you. Same cloak, same jewels, same everything! Something within her flutters; as if those wrangling insects gnawing on the grooves of her brain have finally bloomed into tickling butterflies. 

“Get your filthy hands off my-!” 

“Shut it, creep!” 

Her shaky hands flip page after page as she scours through the remaining contents, desperate for another hit of this drug. She then shoves the pages into the man's face.

“Who is this!? How did you find them?” 

The ropes holding him hostage churn and hum as he fights against the restraint. 

“I will never let you near them.” He growls through clenched teeth. 

Jinx eases her grasp on the journal, which lands lazily in the man's lap. She punctures the knife into the chair, mere centimeters away from his shoulder. 

“And I will rip you into itty, bitty pieces if you don’t tell me who they are!” She threatens, forehead nearly touching his as she leans in closer. 

“They’re mine! You degenerate!” 

Splotches of his spit land on her cheeks in his outburst. Their foreheads buck as he lunges forward, desperate to escape his restraints and strangle this stranger for even uttering mention of his beloved.

His attempts to shield the pages of his journal are only now brought to Jinx’s attention. She does not let this effort pass by unnoticed. 

“Hmm…” She muses teasingly. 

Bringing the journal back into her possession, the man fights against the ragged ropes with more violent intent, tiny mumbles of “no!” filling the new silence. Scouring through the notes more intently, Jinx finds information regarding a “sanctuary”, of some sort. Then, in bold ink… 

“Y/N…?” 

“NO! Don’t you dare!”

The journal is swiftly shoved into her satchel with the other stolen borrowed goods. A haunting laugh pervades through the grand expanse. As an infuriating farewell, Jinx hops off the desk and skips out of the office, leaving behind a screaming, thrashing, enraged man to fend for himself.

Jinx now saunters through a forest on the outskirts of the Under-City, exactly where the scribbled notes of that scientist stated she should. Here, she is sure she’ll find you. Maybe a pretty penny or two to impress Silco back home, as well.

The sun is blinding, just as it was all those years ago. Without the busy city-life in the way, the weather of Runeterra is granted the opportunity to persevere here. It is blissfully and heartbreakingly nostalgic, and Jinx is swift to swipe away the evidence of tears brimming in her eyes. 

“Anyway, Y/N…!” 

She tuts three times as she searches for the right information in the journal held in her grasp. 

““The only way to subdue Hextech is through the consumption of human blood. It will strengthen the power of the Hexcore, but will temporarily weaken it as said powers charge.” Blah, blah, blah! Okie-dokie, little vampire, let’s find something actually useful for you, yeah?” 

Further scrutinization reveals standing on specific coordinates is the only correct way to summon a portal, the scientist claims. And just as she finishes reading, her satchel then begins to strangely vibrate. It soon accelerates into a violent thrashing, as though a rabid animal were trying to claw its way out of the encasing. 

The force sends Jinx to her feet, the skin of her knees splitting upon the unwelcome intrusion of rocks and rubble beneath her. As she studies the wound, one of the inventions she snagged from Piltover falls from her bag. From the invention is a crystal, swarming hues of blue and purple permeating around the sphere. It rolls away as though it were a marble a child had tossed. The inhuman force continues onward before it begins to skip into the air. One last skip and it hits an invisible wall just several paces ahead of Jinx. 

A sudden tornado then springs from the crystal, forming a whirlwind of dirt and wind around her. It hastens and spreads, engulfing Jinx in its entire wrath. Visions of her parents and the thick sand that perfused through the Under-City overwhelm her thoughts. She cowers into herself, palms clenched tightly around her ears and nails digging into her scalp. 

“Stop! Stop! Make it stop!”

Like a record scratch, the force of the tornado abruptly halts. Sheer silence prevails, as though there were no deafening calamities to begin with. 

Hesitantly, Jinx lifts her head. The gentle fog blanketing the forest floor leads to two newly-grown trees, whose trunks rise and intertwine with one another. The descending leaves frame the oval-shape between the trees, which is filled with a glistening gray haze and reflects her tiny form scrunched-up in the dirt. From the haze is a soft squelching, a gentle pitter-patter, as something behind fights against the surface. It twists and turns like stretched glue, before a crack finally forms. 

Jinx watches in mesmerized trepidation as a boot steps from the entrance. Then, a full figure. And like the crescendo of a vibrant, aggressive song, the revelation settles and her entire world comes crashing to her feet. 

The cloak, the jewels, the flesh — this is no other than you, the one who has haunted her every thought for years. Colorful clouds perfusing from your form and everything. 

As you step closer, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a friend she knows all too well, swiftly becomes a stranger. It is abruptly replaced by satiating tranquility; the kind of peace only an infant would be enveloped in. As though she’s been nestled in a crib, her only worries being the gentle sway of the mobile above her small head and how many fluffy sheep have hopped over the fence. 

Her heart, for once, has been lulled to a soft rhythm. All of the tight muscles in her body have been reduced to slick jelly as you kneel down beside her, your face still a mystery behind the dark cloak you adorn. 

A force within her thrashes and fights within her, desperate for the violence her hands are familiar with to persevere beyond such petty matters like this. But alas, the force of this wizard overpowers all. It’s almost as though every power the universe possesses has been utilized to force her to give into this new feeling, to fall into the depths of your magic spell. As if the trauma and hurt of her past has simply slipped away like sand between her fingertips. 

When the jagged flesh of your palm meets her cheek, her body has a natural reaction to reject your advances. Despite the desire to cling to that cloak and never let go, her legs act on their own and she scrambles to her feet. 

Jinx rushes to the Last Drop in and does not look back once.

“It wasn’t them! I know! J-Just some wannabe street trash!” 

The blade of the large extractor fan (of which she has claimed as her bedroom) juts uncomfortably into her thin back as she drapes herself across the surface. The neon doodles of her past scattered around the expanse all mock her, messily etched eyes glaring daggers into her. 

“They would have saved me by now…” 

Jinx abruptly stands to her feet, treading over to her makeshift desk. Returning to the gadgetry left languidly on the surface, she grasps a few of the tools and begins patching the screws and nails of her newest project. 

“Isn’t that right, Y/N?” 

She points the screwdriver in her hand behind her. Following her gaze there, there is a dilapidated teddy bear hanging from a shredded shoelace, a torn page from the journal with your face sketched on it taped to its cotton head. It sways in silence.

“Knew you’d agree with me!”

When she turns back to the task at hand, her elbow nudges a microscope and knocks the tool over. With a “whoopsie-daisy!” bridging on her tongue, the instrument reaches an encasing she snagged from Piltover, causing the metal strap to loosen and open. From the enclosure is another blue sphere, which rolls out and falls from the desk. It meets the ground  and explodes with life, painting the room in effervescent splotches of sheer blue. 

Jinx’s vision becomes overwhelmed in a sudden darkness, scrambled with ink etchings. Words of her past slither through the gloom and paint themselves into reality. She finds Milo, decaying lips twitching into a sneer at the sight of her. She finds Claggor, peering at her with disgust through his cracked goggles.

“Mistake! Mistake! It was a mistake!” Jinx rasps, digging her long nails into her hair at a desperate attempt of protection. 

Her scrawny knees meet the unforgiving tile and she curls into her own body like a dying cockroach. She finds Vi in this effort, her violent words screeching through the rain. The toy monkey holding the gemstone claps and with every bludgeon to the crystal, a new memory resurfaces – rough hands on her face, the blood painting her chin, the term “JINX!” practically stamped behind her eyelids.

A wrench is clasped from the desk and Jinx chucks it at the vision of her sister standing several feet away from. Then, with utmost clarity, she reveals the truth. 

“I wish I’d let you die in that storm! I wish I’d gone with Y/N and left you to rot like you fucking deserve!” 

The fan blades shiver beneath the force of her animalistic volume. The rage is soon overwhelmed with devastation when the fantasy of what her life could have been flashes through her mind. Claiming you as hers and leaving her joke of a sister to fend for herself — what more could Jinx ever want?

Through the chaos, she finds an inspiring conclusion. She is not afraid anymore. You are what she deserves and nothing less. And she’ll bend worlds to clasp this desire in her calloused palms.

Nostalgia was something you claimed was painful many years ago. Now, you’ve befriended the feeling and welcome it with open arms. That is certainly the case today, as you’re reminded of yourself long ago with a wicker basket overwhelmed with Moonflowers and Dusk-Petals held in your strong arms.

Strolling through the garden of your palace, indulging in idle chatter with a few village residents in your path, you think of the child you were lifetimes ago. No matter what dangers may encounter your path again, you'll protect that baby. While others have failed that child, you will devote yourself to your promises to them. After all, no child deserves the pain you once endured.

A gaggle of children then skitter from the corner of the garden’s fountain, abruptly colliding with your legs in their effort. A few wobble from the impact, while the others fail to keep themselves standing. Their stuttering snivels lead you to abandon your intentions of gifting flowers to anyone you can find; your inner turmoils had faded as quickly as those little legs rounded that corner. You can’t help it, those teary eyes are like blades puncturing your heart. 

From here, you take notice of the scrap metal they’ve somehow found and strapped to their chests. Without missing a beat, you play along with their antics. 

“Oh, no! Our beloved knights have fallen!” 

Bending down to their level, you guide them to their feet and dust off their clothes. 

“Back on your feet, soldier! The state of our empire is in your hands.” 

The audience of smiles you receive fills your heart with fluff and their playful giggles work wonders in softening your disposition further. One of the children then brandishes a twig they attempted to carve into something reminiscent of a sword. Once again, you play along. 

“My, what lethal weapons you wield! The enemy will stand no chance against our strongest knights!” 

All children then flaunt their best fighting poses, where their stern scowls are soon overcome by amused grins and giggles. 

One points a tiny finger towards you. “You’re our emperor!” 

“Oh, am I?” 

Their laughter increases in volume as the others repeat the sentiment. 

“Goodness, how could I have forgotten?” 

You reach into your basket beside you, plucking a few flowers from the wicker-encasing. 

“As your loyal emperor, I must ensure my best defenders receive my protection out on the field.” 

A few swift twists and turns of your fingers and you’ve woven several flowers into a makeshift crown. The children all brighten with excitement, crowding around you to scrutinize your efforts further. You bow down and gently place the crown atop the head of one of the children, who proceeds to leap with irrepressible excitement with their new adorning.

Before the others can deliver an onslaught of demands for a crown alike, a screech of your name permeates through the air like glass shattering. 

When you turn to identify the sound, a force strikes against your back abruptly and sends you to the pavement. A thin pair of arms are clasped around your waist like a lifeline, bony hands clinging tightly to the jewels and harp strings aligning your arms. You try to escape their grasp with normal effort, but the figure still refuses to relent. A simple flick of your hand and his grasp on you is eased, purple and blue perfusing from your palm. 

You soon find that familiar pair of honey-colored eyes and head of messy brown hair. Said eyes are blown wide in a nervous flurry, with strands of dark hair latched to his sweat-painted forehead.

Viktor. What a surprise. 

You had given him a mere task. Just one. Travel back to Piltover, gather his belongings, then return here to discuss what being “your messenger” will entail. The man didn’t hesitate in the slightest before he was rushing to fulfill your command. When the sun had risen and fallen with no trace of his return, you rightfully suspected something in his intended efforts had gone awry. 

Viktor attempts to explain what exactly went wrong through hyperventilated breaths and relieved expressions of your safety. How concerned he was for your well-being and the like. However, all that is discernible from his relentless rambling is his snarl of a “blue-haired street-rat”. 

His incoherent babbling is getting you nowhere, so you are quick to halt his word-vomit and help him to his feet. Your touch shuts him up immediately, to a degree where upon your further inquisitions, Viktor had forgotten what he was speaking of in the first place. He attempts to clasp your face in his palms, practically threatening the prospect of trying to kiss you again.

“‘Blue hair’? Viktor, what is the meaning of this?” 

You should’ve known how much of a weapon your voice is, as the man positively melts beneath the embrace of your cadence.

Once again, unsurprisingly, he tries to kiss you again, but his efforts are halted short when a sharp explosion pierces through the air. 

Viktor nearly trips to his feet again when he instinctively shields you from the sudden force. You ignore this effort in favor of the late-night sky, which is now overwhelmed with swarming fireworks. Through the vibrant calamity, you find a message. 

“JINX + Y/N” is written in colorful particles, pink hearts and sparkles surrounding the bright words.

Several other villagers crowd around you in fear, but before you can scrutinize the threat further, the harsh bludgeon of smoke bombs permeates from all corners around you. Clouds of purple, pink, and blue surround your palace and rid you of the ability to see your surroundings. It certainly does not help when Viktor tackles you to the ground, yet again, in an attempt at preserving your precious life. 

None of this hinders your effort, however, and you continue to fight against the threat to your sanctuary. The challenge is almost impossible when you cannot see anything through the pandemonium of vibrant fog and dancing glitter (and of course, the lanky man atop of you). 

You call out to the residents of your sanctuary, but are only met with heart-hammering fear when you receive no response. No shouts, no running children, not even the flowers you forged into crowns can be seen through the chaos. 

As you attempt to wrangle yourself out of the grasp of this parasite latched to you, something sprints toward you from the haze. All you see is a flash of a gun, which is used to pistol-whip Viktor and send him into complete unconsciousness.

“Purple goes better with blue, I’d say!” A rich, raspy tone calls out. 

Puffs of vibrant hues then beam from your palms — a warning against this monster stood before you. 

“Please. I do not wish to hurt you…” 

She, who you now assume as “Jinx,” laughs hysterically in response. She then shoves Viktor’s dead weight off of you, replacing his stance of towering over your form. 

“I know that, silly goose!” 

Her blue eyes, wide and crazed, peer into yours. Blue hair pools into ropes beside your shoulders.

“I know everything about you! The whole Y/N-cyclopedia!” 

Beneath her blue-and-purple painted fingernails is a leather-worn journal, where you find notes written from scientists working on Hextech.

You do not wish to do this, but alas, you have been given no choice. This threat knows of your powers, how they function, and has now proven to be a danger to your people. With that, you latch your palms around her wrists that are pinning your body to the ground. Harnessing your powers, your colorful palms brighten in their hues and the uncomfortable sound of flesh sizzling fills the air. 

Her teeth bare like a rabid wolf when she groans in pain. This effort of yours only results in her pinning you harder onto the ground. 

“Naughty birdie!” Jinx growls through heaving breaths. “Maybe this will calm some of those heebie-jeebies, yeah?”

Before you can enact your next course of defense, the monster above you swiftly gathers some of the blood seeping from Viktor’s open skull. The terror in your chest of having your weakness utilized against you is temporary, as her two blood-adorned digits are promptly shoved into your mouth. 

Your vision sways like calm waves as your body weakens. With a final echo of “sweet dreams, chickadee”, you fall into the arms of peaceful unconsciousness.

You awake softly, without the terrified aggression your body had forced out of you shortly before. As though you had simply laid down in your morning room for an afternoon nap. Reality is now strikingly different from the tranquility of your sanctuary, however.

Attempting to discern your new surroundings, you find yourself within the interior of a large extractor fan, built long ago to clean the gasses perfusing through the Under-City. It has evidently been abandoned and decorated to the likes of a wild, eccentric somebody, with not a single surface untouched by neon graffiti. The scattering of spray paint cans, jagged-edged chalk, and other art supplies explains such.

These details are accentuated by the flamboyant lights adorned throughout the expanse, specifically the pink candles waxed into the ground surface. Romantic, in a personal attempt, you think. 

Scrutinizing further, you find stuffed animals and chopped mannequin heads strung from descending ropes, some with ripped pages taped to the faces. You also find robes that are strangely familiar, which are dangling from old, fractured wires. Almost like a deranged closet, of some sort.

When you shift your gaze down, you look to your body and find yourself in an old clawfoot bathtub that has been dragged onto one of the fan blades. You’ve been laid upon several blankets with your limbs restrained to an impossible, uncomfortable degree with ragged rope. 

The bathtub itself is beneath a canopy of several ragged, yet colorful drapes staples over you. Almost like a child’s fort, you note. Your cloak has vanished, as well as the adornments of trinkets and jewels you’ve strapped to your form, which leaves you in almost complete nudity.

Thundering music surrounds the expanse and abuses your eardrums. Some mushy-gushy old-timey tunes, from what you can tell. They burst out from a rusty gramophone just several feet away from you. 

And with these tunes is the undeniable sound of someone humming along.

Before this realization can settle, a distorted figure hops into the bathtub with ease and situates herself on your lap. The long locks of blue braids are unmistakable. So is that cheshire grin plastered on her painted lips.

Sharp nails, like the claws of a purple-striped cat, dig into your cheeks and pinch them as though you were a chubby baby. Any effort to yank away from her aggressive affection is met with an authoritative tut, doing nothing to mend your feelings of being an adorable child facing the whorls of ‘stranger-danger’ for the first time.

“Aww, shucks, tweety! Can’t help it when you’ve dolled yourself up for me!” 

From seemingly nowhere, Jinx draws a cracked hand mirror and presents you with the horrors of your reflection. Your mouth has been shielded by a thick wad of duct tape. Doodled on the surface is the humiliating sight of a red kissy-face. The artist did not halt there, either, and scribbled a bold “KISS ME, JINX!” across your forehead. 

“Didn’t think you’d be so forward on our first date, but hey! Who said I was complaining?” 

Her lips are on yours without a second to process, the duct tape serving as your only form of protection against her violent adoration. Your eyes are wide and crazed as they stare into her closed ones, all while she mindlessly loses herself within the affection. God, how long has she been wanting to do this?

You try to fight against her force, but any attempt to harness your powers is futile. Even with the taste of iron still heavy on your tongue, you still found it within you to try with your best effort. Must be that “naivety” your parents spoke of, you suppose. 

You don’t have a mere moment to theorize how she (or anyone, for that matter) had learned about how your supernatural body is weak to human blood, however. Not when Jinx finally satiates her hunger and pulls away with an obnoxious “mwah!”, a nauseating string of saliva connecting the two of you together. A few more peppered kisses and you’re finally free from the lips of this lunatic.

“Hoo! Ten-outta-ten, toots!” She exhales, as though your mere kiss was reminiscent of inhaling a line of the most lethal drug.

Her gaunt elbows dig into your chest as she rests her chin on her palms, gaze burning into yours.

“Didn’t expect anything less from you, of all people…” Her voice, which has been stagnantly animated and fiery, has now shifted to something wistful and soft. “All that I’ve been through… After all you’ve done for me…” 

Her finger drags down your features, ignoring every fearful shiver of yours in favor of scrutinizing the beauty beneath her.

Every bruising hardship, every bludgeon of trauma, every drop of thick blood — all of the world’s most torturous fates has been forced upon Jinx from the very second she was born. All of which you could have halted with the mere snap of your fingers, but for whatever reason, chose not to. 

She should be angry; she should burst into a blood-hungry rage. One look to that face, though, and all that ache just melts into candied goop. Just sheer perfection, you are. Smoothing out all those tight nerves and stitching up her loose, awkward threads. You bring forward serenity she didn't know existed, as though nothing bad had ever happened to her… 

You’ve done so much for her without even blinking. Only makes sense she’d give you something in return, right?

“Gotcha somethin’, birdie.” Jinx’s voice is still breathless as she reaches for something beneath the bathtub, eye contact still strictly maintained. 

You stare in trepidation as she then presents to you a dilapidated box, painted in blue and black stripes with a grand purple bow glued on top. It lands with a quiet plop on your chest as the blue-haired maniac above you watches in expectation. She gestures for you to open the gift, and the glance of confusion smeared on your expression reminds her of a doe-eyed puppy-dog. Too cute! 

You nearly jump out of your skin when she abruptly bursts out in manic laughter. Her jagged nail points to the ropes around your limbs, as though her deranged actions were pure comedy gold. 

“Sorry about that, baby-bird.” She wipes a stray tear from her eye. “Had to clip your wings for a minute. No biggie, though! Jinx will give ‘ya a hand.” 

The box is opened swiftly, like an excited kid on Christmas morning who can’t bother to waste anymore time waiting for their exhausted parents. Upon looking at the contents, she lets out an obnoxious, animated gasp. Hand covered over her mouth and all. The box is then abandoned in favor of the gift inside. 

Much to your horror, held in Jinx’s lanky fingers is a black, leather collar. Imprinted in copper calligraphy is “Property of”, with a vibrant and messy “JINX!” doodled beneath in neon paint. How fitting. 

The collar is then promptly ensnared around your throat, the master lock swung upon the metal latch frigid against your neck. Before you can even attempt to conceal your perceptible disdain, the key is shoved into the lock and latched shut; claiming you as permanent property. Her personal marked territory, if you will. 

The key gleams beneath the colorful lights as she dangles it in the air. With a swift flick, the key is tossed from her grasp and down the expanse of the extractor fan. Never to be seen again. 

“Oopsie!” She teases with a forced, dramatic gasp.

You’re then ensnared into a tight embrace, despite your efforts to resist the act of affection. All the playful nuzzles into your new dog-collar and sloppy kisses to your flesh — you’d surely vomit if it were within your supernatural capabilities.

And if any word could be used to describe the affection of Jinx, you would abuse the term ‘suffocating’.

This fact reminds you of its violent existence as a week passes.

The hours of the day move at a snail’s pace as you remain pliant in the bathtub. The torn duct tape still remains latched to your mouth, only torn off to feed you more heaps of blood. You don’t have the strength to question where exactly the blood is derived from. Not that you have the ability to ask anything, for that matter. 

Nonetheless, the only stagnant thought in your mind is the state of your sanctuary and your people. Your abduction was so abrupt, it is impossible for you to properly discern exactly what occurred. Just a blurry mess of colorful smoke and blue hair — that is all you can properly recall. 

While these inner turmoils reign havoc in your head, you’re stuck in a constant sway between the fine line of consciousness with Jinx subduing you with blood. In the rare bursts of clarity, you normally find her tinkering with new inventions at her desk, a plan of “revenge” against all the “topside trash”, as she commonly restates.

In the process, she has also claimed you as a new invention, as well. Guinea pig, to be more accurate. Always poking and prodding and testing your unnatural abilities. You’ve lost count of the amount of times she’s held pots of soil to your feet to marvel at the Dusk-Petals that bloom in response. Much to your dismay, “Petal-Toes” is a nickname that has been added to the mountain of others she has stored for you. 

The cherry on top to this mess-of-a-milkshake is, undoubtedly, Jinx and her infamous jealousy streak. 

You’ve learned it can burst from something as minor as an inanimate object. Nestling that teddy bear in your restrained embrace, she’ll force you through a deranged photoshoot (with an expensive camera she snagged from Topside, indubitably). Within the clap of a second, she’ll become overwhelmed with jealousy over the stuffed furry-friend in your arms before snagging it away from you, chucking it off the edge of the fan blade. 

Promptly, and without surprise, she then replaces poor teddy’s spot in your arms with her scrawny self. Even without another soul near, this possessive disposition always perseveres through the sickening sweetness.

This treatment stretches into the night, as well. With another dosage of blood (dinner for two, she jokes), Jinx curls up against your chest like a clingy cat, quiet snores drifting past her parted lips. How she finds such comfort in this cramped, unbearable bathtub remains a mystery to you. You swear, clawfoots will haunt your nightmares for the rest of your eternal life.

Today, however, is different. 

Jinx drags on with another rambling fit, something that has now become a daily habit. Currently, she boasts about “protecting precious cargo”. Why is a madman like her concerned with the transportation of goods? Something in relation to the influx of shimmer, perhaps? 

She then grasps Pow-Pow, shoving it into its holster, before rushing over and planting a hard kiss to your tape-covered mouth. Quick, as Jinx always is, she is gone before you can even blink. 

The consideration behind her intent is left to float around in your head as the rare silence settles. They permeate to such a degree, in fact, you almost do not note how she had forgotten your morning dose of blood. “Breakfast for Birdie,” as she infamously titled it, which she has seemingly abandoned in favor of this task. Or, possibly, she has made the mistake of trusting you. 

Nonetheless, for the first time in several agonizing days, a flicker of hope glimmers on the horizon. And you do not let this hope snuff itself out. 

Easily enough, you clench your fists and puffs of blue and purple spurt out like an old engine. You did not realize how badly you missed the hum of magic concentration until you felt the vibration rumble in your palms. A few jabs at the rusted skill and your abilities have finally returned. 

With ease you have longed dearly for, a mere tap of your finger and the ragged ropes latched around you finally loosen their grasp. They lay in lazy loops beneath you, granting your limbs the opportunity to finally sigh with relief. You do not let a second pass before you rip that damn tape from your mouth, either.

When you try to stand, however, you find your body to still be weakened by the strain this week has forced upon you. In this attempt, you also overestimate the efforts of your newly-charged powers. With a swing of your arm, a lightning bolt of light springs from your palm and strikes the golden clawfoot. The effort knocks the entire bathtub on its side, sending you tumbling onto the decaying fan blade.

The collision is loud, enough for you to anticipate Jinx’s return in record speed, despite her departure from minutes ago. The silence that follows is frozen, but with no blue-haired sicko there to slap-you-silly for your attempts, you waste no time in chasing after your escape.

With no remaining strength in your feeble body, the only action you can resort to is slithering across the premises like a drunken snake. Soon enough, with your stomach covered in cat-scratches (and smeared lipstick stains from a certain somebody), you find yourself at Jinx’s desk. You use the surface to lift yourself and finally reach a place of reliable stability. The heavy doses of blood still swaying in your stomach make this task almost impossible, but you find your way to your feet, nonetheless. 

Even though you are almost nude, you rid the need to conceal yourself and your identity in favor of the door across one of the fan blades. The effort is pathetic, but with several limping paces, you open the door and are met with the pitter-patter of rain caressing your naked skin. It is a feeling you have not touched in centuries; always blanketed in your beloved cloaks. 

Nostalgia is now painful as you rush down the stairs of the fire escape. Soon, the night life of the Under-City soon welcomes you and your lethargic self. A major juxtaposition to the tranquil stillness of your sanctuary. When the neon lights and grand buildings begin to double in your vision, you realize time is not on your side tonight.

Staggering into an alleyway, it is not long before your body finally gives out on you. When you collapse on top of a pile of rain-soaked cardboard scraps, piles of crushed beer cans and shattered shimmer bottles there to cushion your descent, your final fighting act is praying Jinx does not find you. Or anyone, for that matter.

“Honey, I’m home!” 

The door to the interior of the extractor fan bursts open; a dramatic entrance aligning with the nature of no other than Jinx.

“I have an idea for another photoshoot with my smoking-hot supermodel! Clothing optional, of course!” 

In her grasp is a gift of a ragged bird plushie. Once cradled by a baby in a stroller, but was swiftly yanked by a stranger's sticky paws. You can’t blame her, though! The beady, doe-eyes reminded her of the special someone she has waiting patiently for her back home.

Except, you aren’t there. 

Blankets and ropes left in a languid mess, bathtub left on its side — the evidence is laid out perfectly like a cheesy detective film.

“Y/N…?” 

The call is quiet and gentle; a warning, almost. 

“Y/N…” 

Now, a demand.

“O-Okay, okay! Hide-n-seek! We can play a little, but when I find you-” She huffs out angrily. “I call the shots in round two. Y’hear me?” 

The decor surrounding the expanse is left in a sloppy mess in the matter of minutes, gadgetry and plushies thrown about in a desperate, childish fit. Every failed attempt at finding your face hidden away in some secret nook, candy-sweet smile there to congratulate her on her win, breaks away at her sanity piece by piece. 

There’s sounds of squealing scratches, like skittering bugs, that fill her ears. Colors gleam in her periphery like a film strip burning under heat, mending with the blurred, distorted pictures her mind forces her to watch. Neon outlines of the ghosts from her past spring to life, lashing out in blinding animation and barking out incomprehensible, echoing insults. 

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! I need to think!” 

A bullet pierces through the gramophone, distorting the upbeat tunes to stuttering nonsense. This effort does not cease the abuse of Mylo, Claggor, Vi, and even that stupid scientist! 

Tears seep down her face as she desperately searches for you through the calamity. Even a puny figment will be enough to ease this chaos. When your abandonment proves itself in acute clarity, she is left with the distorted sounds of her cracked wails, her rough nails scratching her skin, and the fated return of all her demons.

The door is shoved open, once again, and Jinx, for just a mere moment, allows herself to hope. Your face will fill her vision and she’ll watch in glee as her demons are yanked back to hell. Exactly where they belong. Then, you’ll stumble over and sink into her arms, drowning her in affection and apologies. Exactly where you belong. 

And, of course, she’ll forgive you for this little hiccup. Just a lost birdie who finally flew their way home — that’s what has happened. Just a little mishap, which you’ll both poke fun at after another good clawfoot-nap. 

When she finds blue suits trimmed with gold, long barrels pointed her way, that hope is snatched from her grasp as quick as she claimed it. The faces behind the thick gas-masks and goggles shout out demands at her. Their voices are warped, however, bending beneath the force of her prevailing hallucinations. 

Another step closer, another voice louder and she latches onto her gun and swings it their way. She is swift, but so are they. The rear of a shotgun is rammed into her temple. In a flash, she is out like a light.

Jinx now stands at one of the highest points in Zaun. 

Sneaky as she is, the carriage ride back to Piltover needed a few well-placed bullets and she slipped out of their hands in easy effort.

Scratching itches still whisper to her, threaded together with the words of her past. 

“You’re a jinx!” 

“Please. I do not wish to hurt you…” 

“They’re mine! You degenerate!” 

Through the roaring mayhem, one fact prevails: the fault is in the arms of no other than those filthy topsiders. From the murder of her parents to the betrayal of her sister, every wrong she has ever endured has been caused at their hand. And the robbery of the only thing she has ever loved has now completely pushed her over that edge. 

Jinx currently stands at the roof of the warehouse where the people she thought she loved left her behind. In her grasp is her latest, most grandest project. Metal wings adorned in blue and purple splotches, with a sharp beak clutched around the Hextech-powered rocket – the weight of the rocket launcher is heavy. “Bird-Brain” is the name she gave it, inspired by the birdie that was stolen from her.

Cursed images begin to flood her mind, a hallucination stronger than ever before. Jinx sees her beloved Y/N and that scientist, locked away together in a laboratory. She is haunted by sights of needles and tubes, forcing you to live as a lifeless lab rat. She is prey to the ideas of that annoying, thick accent telling you of what a monster she is, with you latching onto every syllable. She is nauseated by painted pictures of romantic endeavors, where you and the scientist lay together with matching golden rings. 

And it pains Jinx in ways no other torture could.

With a thundering roar, her finger plunges the trigger and the rocket soars through the sky. Wings flap as it finds Piltover, beak poking right at the council’s headquarters. Just as she should have done long ago. 

Like the dejection of a curtain call, Jinx’s dreams were once true: to bring an end to the parasitic chaos in her mind. After an entire lifetime, she was finally free. There, beneath the light of you, everything thawed. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Jinx will kill these demons, whether material or make-believe. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU ARE MY MEDICINE

WHEN YOU'RE CLOSE TO ME . . . ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[eternal-evergreens]

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Into the looking glass - II " ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Post format: Multipart series

Pairing: Yandere!Male!DoL x Fem!Isekai!Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Synopsis: You gain the chance to wake up in the world of one of your favorite games. Unfortunately, the 'favorite game' happens to be one about rape, violence, and stalking. Not only that, but the game seems to be rigged against you. All you want is to find a way home and put this all behind you, but is that even possible...?

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Attempted Non/Con, Stalking, Violence, Age Gaps, Teacher/Student, Caretaker/Ward, One Suicide Joke, Bullying,

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible

What…what does that mean?

Darling? Surely, they don’t mean it the way you think they mean it…

…But, if that were the case, why would it be written in red and pink? You think back on all the strange occurrences of the day and come to a horrifying realization.

Beauty: 7/6 Your beauty is beyond measure. Robin wants to be your best friend.             Love: 100% Confidence: 0% Trauma: 0% Lust: 40% Whitney wants to own you. Love: 50% Dominance: 50% Lust: 100% Kylar is obsessed with you. Love: 100% Jealousy: 55% Lust: 90% Sydney is conflicted. Love: 77% Purity: 44% Lust: 66% Bailey doesn’t want you to leave. Love: 25% Lust: 99% You’re Leighton’s favorite. Love: 10% Lust: 85% Your fellow students desire you.

When they say “Darling,” they mean it as in the victim of a yandere.

This...this isn't DoL.

Your phone buzzes. You’ve gotten a text. 

Congratulations! You’ve made a key discovery and found a fragment of the true nature of this world. 

What the fuck does that mean? Wait, this thing can read your thoughts? 

View fragment?  Y/N

Yes. If you can go home, yes.

There are 7 total fragments.             Fragments found: 2             Fragments remaining: 5 Fragment 1:            Welcome to the alpha of Degrees of Lewdity!           If you want to avoid trouble, dress modestly and stick to safe, well-lit areas. Nights are particularly dangerous. Dressing lewd will attract attention, both good and bad.            The new school year starts tomorrow at 09:00. The bus service is the easiest way to get around town. Don’t forget your uniform and backpack!

You remember getting this message. So, that was a fragment, then? Why weren’t you notified before? Did you need to unlock something first?

Fragment 2: This is a world full of yanderes, so be careful! Balance your social stats between fascination, love, lust, jealousy, and devotion to survive. A quick guide on these crucial four states is provided below:  Fascination indicates how enthralled your yandere is by the idea of you. It’s dangerous to let this get too high!  Love indicates how much a yandere values the authentic you. Putting on airs will lower your yandere’s love, but may be necessary at times. Having a negative love will lead to more dangerous encounters. Lust indicates carnal desire. Higher lust can aid in negotiations if you’re willing to reward them, but if this stat goes up too much, they won’t be willing to hear you out before taking what they want. Jealousy indicates the yandere’s volatility and desire to monopolize you. Some yanderes’ jealousy will go up if you don’t spend enough time with them.  Devotion indicates how far the yandere is willing to go out of their way for you. Having this stat means you can make use of your yanderes, but they may also use their devotion in less productive ways.

Seems like every fragment reveals one truth about the world, as well as some tips on how to make use of the information it provides.

Your phone buzzes.

System error. Please reboot.

You look down at your phone with curiosity. What happened? Not knowing what else to do, you restart your phone and open it again. 

Your social tabs have been updated with more accurate information. View tabs? Y/N

Yes.

Social                Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible Primary relationships Robin The Orphan Robin wants to be your best friend.       Facination: 100% Love: 0% Devotion: 30% Lust: 40%         Confidence: 0% Trauma: 0% Whitney The Bully  Whitney wants to own you.       Facination: 50% Love: 0% Devotion: 0% Dominance: 50% Lust: 100% Kylar The Loner Kylar is obsessed with you.       Fascination: 100% Love: 0% Devotion: 30% Jealousy: 55% Lust: 90% Sydney The Faithful ? Sydney is conflicted.       Fascination: 77% Love: 0% Devotion: 20% Purity: 44%        Lust: 66% Other relationships:  Bailey The Caretaker Bailey doesn’t want you to leave.       Fascination: 25% Love: 0% Lust: 99% Devotion: 1% Leighton The Headmaster You’re Leighton’s favorite.       Fascination: 16% Love: 0% Lust: 85% Devotion: 0% Reputation  The police aren’t concerned with you, and have no evidence linking you to any crime. The atmosphere in the orphanage is calm. You are considered a normal student by teachers. Your fellow students desire you. Lust: 100% Status: 50%

Before you can properly digest this new information, your phone buzzes again.

Congratulations! You’ve unlocked a new quest.  You have just discovered two secrets of the world, and with it, your understanding becomes clearer. ++Awareness. You feel as if you are on the verge of remembering something important. Discover all there is to know about this place, and perhaps you may be granted the opportunity to escape it. View questpage? Y/N

You might be able to go home? You quickly hit the yes button and keep reading.

Main questline  >Find the remaining fragments and discover the true nature of this world. >Meet the remaining love interests.  Time-sensitive >Bailey wants £100 on Sunday.

…You have to meet the remaining love interests? Doesn’t that mean getting kidnapped?! You stare at your phone dejectedly as you roll over in bed. You’ll worry about that later. For now, you just need to rest. You close your eyes, but you can’t get comfortable. Your phone buzzes for what feels like the millionth time, and you lazily pull it out to check. 

You’ve unlocked a new quest!  Your bed is uncomfortable. All rest points are reduced by half. Nightmares are more intense. Every rest has a 5% chance of waking you up sore. Save up your funds and buy a comfortable bed!  Current funds: £186 Funds needed: £2400 Optional: Decorate your room to match your taste. Current funds: £186 Funds needed: ??? Rewards: Triple current rest points, nightmares reduced Penalty: None Bonus Rewards: +Love to all LI’s, passive stress and trauma decay faster while inside.

Money again, huh? Typical. Still, the rewards are pretty good. You’ll have to do it later. For now, you should probably go to work to make it happen. You change out of your uniform and head to the office building, where you approach the kiosk and apply as a temp. It’s a somewhat risky job, but the pay is one of the best, especially once you start getting bonuses.

Your manager this time is a trim man named Marcus. He shows you around the building and you get to work. It’s not too bad, though your clothes get caught in the shredder more times than you’d like to admit, at least you didn’t fall in the koi pond.

Before you realize it, it’s 22:00. Dark once again. Dark in Doltown with a constantly maxed allure. 

Fuck.

You go downstairs and are debating whether you should risk the bus or the streets when a growling pair of yellow eyes meets your gaze. 

“If I get molested by a dog, I’m actually gonna kill myself,” you say to no one in particular, immediately turning to the direction of the nearest bus stop.

That’s another reason you should work at the dog pound from time to time, actually. Completing various tasks there makes the streets safer at night and beastiality encounters less frequent. 

You end up having to use your sole pepper spray charge on two men from the bus, leaving you unprotected and uneasy. You open your phone and turn on the flashlight, but your eye is caught by your status. Right under the blurb telling you about your current state, is purple text reading: “Something is watching you.”

An idea strikes you. It’s bold, it’s risky, it’s—

This is stupid, you think to yourself. This is so, so stupid. You follow your flashlight to a secluded, dead-end alleyway. There’s only one way for someone to come in here. You check your phone. Something is watching you.

“Hello?” You call out. “I know you’re watching me. Come out already.” You hear a rustling near the garbage bags, then see a short figure dart out and make a run for it. You were expecting this, though, so you immediately break out into a sprint and give chase. You aren’t very fast, but your legs are longer, and you quickly catch up. “Gotcha,” you say, hand on their shoulder as you turn them to face you. “Kylar.”

“H-how did you know?” 

“Forget that. Just know I’m not mad.” 

“Y-you aren’t?” There’s a twinge of hope in his voice. Time to crush it.

“I’m not. Not yet, anyway.” Kylar looks confused. “I hear you’re good at chemistry. Can you make pepper spray?” 

“How did you-” 

“Can you?” You say, allowing your voice to take on a flirtatious lull as you lean in close. “I’d be very happy if you could.” You bat your eyelashes and Kylar gulps. He tries to nod but ends up hitting your head with his own by accident. +Pain 

“Good,” you say. “I want you to make pepper spray for me. Make sure I never run out, and you can follow me to your heart's content. Deal?” You hold out your hand for him to take. Kylar considers it for a moment, then takes your hand. ++Devotion. You shake, but he doesn’t let go. Not wanting to provoke him, you leave it, and Kylar ends up walking you home. It’s silly, but you actually feel a little safer walking with him. +Love.

Together, you reach the orphanage’s entrance. Kylar looks like he wants to ask you to stay the night but quickly flushes and runs away. 

Thank God. 

You climb into bed. It isn’t very comfortable.

——————— 

It is the 6th of September, 2022. -It has been 2 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn.  -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £357 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are alert Stress: You are calm Trauma: You are uneasy Control: You are confident Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

You walk with Robin to school but part ways after reaching the courtyard. You aren’t sure where Robin goes when you part, but you suppose it doesn’t really matter. You head to the library but are surprised to find that Sydney isn’t there. You guess he must have overslept at the temple again, which means he won’t be back until lunch. 

You suddenly wish you knew where Robin went after arriving at school. It’s probably more dangerous to wander around looking for him, though. So you settle down with a textbook until it’s time for class. When you check your school progress, you’re delighted to see every subject at nearly a 50% understanding for the week already. You’re on track.

The science project is assigned. You decide to do one on lichen. The money will help a lot, and it’ll be a good chance to meet Avery for your quest, too.

Someone spills acid on you during class. It was probably supposed to hit your shirt, but because of how you can’t button it up past your chest, it ended up hitting your breast instead. You spent the rest of class in the infirmary getting lectured about lab safety. Luckily, it was hardly even a first-degree burn. It’ll heal in no time, she said. 

+Pain +Willpower

You return just in time to be late for math. +Delinquency 

“Detention,” River says, not bothering to look up from the whiteboard. 

“But—”

“Don’t talk back to me.”  ++Delinquency

You nod, though you doubt he can see it, and look for a seat. The room is full, save for one seat in the back next to Whitney. It’s covered in boxes full of heavy textbooks.

Your phone buzzes. 

>Move the boxes and sit next to Whitney +Fatigue -Dominance Increases chance of harassment >Sit in Whitney’s lap (Promiscuity 4) +++Dominance +++Lust -Jealousy  >Ask someone to move +Delinquency -Dominance >Leave the classroom +++Delinquency

You sigh and march over to a toned boy sitting in the front. You try to smile but end up grimacing instead. “Could I sit here?” You ask. The boy laughs. River shoots you a look. -Status +Deliquency

>Get physical ++Delinquency +Status ? >Move the boxes and sit next to Whitney +Fatigue -Dominance Increases chance of harrasment >Sit in Whitney’s lap (Promiscuity 4) +++Dominance +++Lust -Jealousy  >Leave the classroom +++Delinquency

You grit your teeth and walk over to Whitney, who pats his lap mockingly. You turn away from him to pick up the boxes, and he lifts your skirt up. You don’t think anyone saw, but it was still humiliating. You quickly move the boxes and sit down, trying to focus on the lesson. You’re doing pretty well despite your low grade, but sitting next to Whitney is definitely not helping. About halfway through the lesson, he throws a note at you, and despite your better judgment, you open it. 

“show us your panties slut”

>Flash (Exhibitionism 1) +Lust +Dominance >Throw away -Dominance >Correct the note and throw back (English: Very difficult) --Dominance

You try to correct the note, but find nothing wrong. You toss it in a nearby bin instead.

-Dominance 

The rest of class passes, and although Whitney tries to undo your bra strap again, he reaches for the back instead of the front, leaving you protected.

You go to English next, your previous encounter with Whitney leaving you motivated to do well. You see Kylar sitting in the back. You ignore him and focus on the lesson instead. It’s boring, but you need the grade, so you muddle through it.

You try to muddle through it, anyway. The person behind you keeps kicking your seat, and then looking away every time you turn to face him.

>Tell the teacher -Status +English >Endure +Stress >Move seats +Delinquency

You quietly inform the teacher of your predicament, and she sends the boy to another seat. Some students snicker at you, but you’re able to finish the lesson in peace. -Status +English

The bell rings, and you head to lunch. Robin is eating with some others from the orphanage; they seem to be having fun. Sydney is sitting behind a large pile of books; he looks stressed. Kylar is eating alone, stabbing food with a fork; he looks bored.

>Sit with Robin +Love -Stress -Jealousy  >Sit with Sydney +Love -Stress -Jealousy >Sit with Kylar +Love -Jealousy +++Pepper spray charge  >Eat Lunch -Stress

You sit with Kylar, and hope no one notices. He immediately perks up upon seeing you. “I-I got you this,” he says, handing you a pepper spray canister. “Should keep the perverts away.” 

You gained 20 pepper spray charges! Talk to Kylar each week to refill. >Take it but say nothing -Love >Take it and thank +Love +Devotion >Take it and kiss ++Lust ++Devotion >Take it and reward +++Lust +++Devotion

You thank him sincerely, and the two of you spend the rest of lunch together. +Love +Devotion

After eating, you buy a coffee and head to the library, walking up to Sydney. “Welcome back!” He chirps from behind the desk. He looks exhausted despite the chipper tone. You hand him the coffee. 

“Don’t overwork yourself,” you say, smiling. Sydney looks surprised but quickly smiles and takes the coffee from you. You look down at the stacks of books on his desk. +Love “Anything I can help with?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” you say firmly. You feel bad just leaving him there, plus…

>Help Sydney +Love +Devotion +School -Sydney’s purity

Well, how can you turn that down? Aside from the purity loss, those are all pretty damn good. 

“Well, if you don’t mind,” he says, fidgeting a little. “Could you help me stamp these books?” You nod, and Sydney lets you in behind the counter. +Love +Devotion +School

The two of you chat while you work, and it actually ends up being pretty enjoyable! -Stress -Trauma +Love

Your hands brush with Sydney's while you work. -Sydney'd purity.

“Hey, Syd! Oh, and [First], too!” Someone says, walking up to the counter. It’s Sirris, Sydney’s father and your science teacher. “How are you doing, love bug?” Sydney looks embarrassed but still answers. “Oops! I forgot I’m not supposed to call you that at school. Sorry, hon.” You get the feeling he did it on purpose, but if Sydney also thinks this, he doesn’t say anything. The two of them chat for a little bit, with Sirris mostly ignoring your presence. You feel a little awkward, but it’s cute to see the two of them getting along so well. Sirris leaves after a few minutes, waving to you both.

You smile at Sydney. “Seems like you and Dad are pretty close, huh?” He flushes. 

“L-let’s get back to work,” he says. You decide not to tease him further. The two of you finish the rest of the work in silence, and the bell rings, so you get up and head to History class.

A mousy girl is sitting in your seat next to Robin. You ask her to move, but she won’t budge. You already have detention today, so you decide not to push it and sit somewhere else. Robin looks at you sadly from across the room +Jealousy

You’re called up by Winter to demonstrate the pillory in front of the class, you hesitate to step up, but, remembering Leighton’s punishments, decide to risk it. Unfortunately, luck is not on your side, and Winter is called out while you’re still locked in the pillory. 

“Who thinks the lesson should continue?” Says a slight boy. He gets up from his seat and begins to saunter over, but Robin stands up, too, and blocks his path forward. 

“Stop,” he says, tone even and steady.

“Oh? And what’re you going to do about it?” The slight boy asks. Robin seems to falter for a moment, and the slight boy takes advantage, pushing past him and walking up behind you. You don’t see what happens next, but one moment Robin is in front of you, and the next, he’s gone. You hear a smacking noise behind you, and then a thud as if something had just hit the ground. The class looks incredulous. Winter walks back in. 

“Assaulting another student? I expected better from you, Robin,” he says. 

“Wait, I can explain–” 

“Detention.” 

The slight boy smacks your ass on the way back to his seat. 

+Trauma +Stress

You go to swimming, but your earlier run-in with acid leaves you unable to participate, so you just sit by the pool in your swimsuit until class is over. When you get back, you notice your underwear is missing. You put your clothes on over your swimsuit. It looks a little funny from the front, but it’s better than nothing.

Actually, you might start doing this more often. A swimsuit is tight and harder to get off, no one can unclasp your bra, you don’t have to change, and it’ll actually cover your boobs, even with the shirt unbuttoned. This is a great idea, you think to yourself, feeling a little proud. 

You start to walk to the front courtyard when your phone reminds you of your detention. Shit. You’d forgotten. At least Robin will be there with you? 

Sighing, you head back inside. 

“Keep writing, and don’t stop until I tell you to,” Leighton says. You glance at Robin, who’s working diligently. You decide to work hard, too. +Fatigue 

Robin asks to walk home with you, but you tell him you’re going to the park instead. He waves you off, but there’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before. +Jealousy

You go to the park and meet Avery, asking for help gathering Lichen. You tell him about your school project, and he offers to take you out for drinks. You don’t really want to get involved with him, but you’re a little afraid of refusing him.

>Go for drinks +Facination +Dominance +Love? >Refuse -Love +Lust +Rage

None of those options look good, but you remember the guide saying that negative love leads to more dangerous encounters. You take his hand, and the two of you go out. The place he picked is cute, and the employees there seem to recognize him. 

“Can I recommend you a drink?” He asks. “I think I know what you’ll like.” 

>Buy Avery’s recommendation +Facination +Dominance +Stress >Pick your own drink +Love -Stress -Dominance -Fascination -Endearment

You pick your own drink and the two of you find a quiet corner to sit down in. +Love -Stress -Dominance -Fascination -Endearment

Your phone buzzes. 

You’re on a date with Avery! How do you want to conduct yourself? >Act cute +Facination +Endearment >Act shy +Facination -Endearment >Act aloof --Endearment ++Lust  >Be natural -Facination +???

You choose to act natural, hoping he’ll lose interest in you. You don’t voice any complaints, but you don’t bother to hide your discomfort, either. You fidget, you avoid eye-contact, and you don’t listen when he speaks to you.

-Fascination --Endearment +Love

When the date is over, Avery looks annoyed. He doesn’t say anything to you as he walks you to the exit, though his hand still rests on the small of your back.

You go to the manhole next. You don’t really want to, but you want that lichen. Luckily, you encounter no problems getting it. But that says nothing about what happens after.

You’re accosted by a giant lizard. If the game hadn’t told you what it was, you would have thought it was a crocodile based on its sheer size alone. It attacks you from behind, and you struggle to get it off your back. It claws at your clothing, leaving it worse for wear, but you’re able to roll over onto your back. The lizard is pinned underneath you now, but you still can’t reach it. You roll over and feel your shirt rip, exposing your back. You reach into your bag and pull out your pepper spray, aiming for the lizard’s eyes. It scurries away, leaving you panting in the sewers. You get a good workout.

You want to leave, but you still need that Lichen. 

You crawl out of the sewers and head to the tailor, who offers to fix your clothes for £29.99. You accept and head to the office building, where you work as a temp for the next few hours, fighting through the exhaustion. You make £126.

You pass out on your way home and wake up in the hospital. Dr. Harper introduces himself and asks a few questions, but you leave out any details that could cause him to ask you to go to “therapy” with him. You’re discharged soon after, and Bailey picks you up.

“Don’t make me do this again,” he says. 

When you get home, it’s already past midnight. You don’t bother putting on Pajamas, just stripping and hopping under the covers. 

… 

……

………

You should’ve worn clothes, you think to yourself as you feel Kylar’s breath on your face. He’s hard; you can feel the outline of his penis through the blanket. You try to steady your breathing, too embarrassed to open your eyes. He shifts on top of you, and then lifts your blanket from your body. You react without thinking, immediately sitting up in a panic. You just barely avoid colliding with him. Your eyes meet his, and he looks down, getting a fully unobstructed view of your breasts. He flushes deeply and scrambles away. ++Lust

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you stand up to close your window. You notice that it doesn’t have a lock.

You put on pajamas before going back to bed this time and wonder if you can find some way to board it up. You close your eyes, but rest never comes. You’re too on edge. You roll in bed for hours, never relaxing enough to fall back asleep. When you finally give up, it’s already 06:00. You remember your idea from earlier, and decide to wear your swimsuit under your uniform today.

It is the 7th of September, 2022. -It has been 3 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn.  -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £454 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are fatigued Stress: You are strained Trauma: You are uneasy Control: You are insecure Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

You decide to spend some time in the garden growing daisies. It’s relaxing. By the time you finish, your hands are covered in dirt, and it’s 07:30. You wash your hands and go to Robin’s room to play video games for the next half hour.

“This one’s a cooperative game,” he says. “It’s known for being really difficult.” 

“How do I play?” You ask, taking the controller. Robin leans over, wrapping an arm behind your back and taking your hands in his as he guides your hands to the correct positioning, fingers lingering over yours for a moment longer than necessary. You feel his breath on your skin as he walks you through the controls, his head over your shoulder and his arms still wrapped around you. +Lust

The two of you play for a little bit. Neither of you are very good, but you have a good time regardless. -Stress -Trauma

You and Robin are about to walk to school together when a car pulls up beside you. You brace yourself for the worst, but the window rolls down to reveal Avery instead. “I thought I recognized you,” he says, smiling warmly. “How about I give you a lift?” He glances dismissively at Robin.”Your little friend can come along, too.” Robin looks at you, clearly nervous. 

>Ride with Avery +Robin’s jealousy >Ride with Avery and Robin +??? >Walk with Robin -Love +Lust +Rage -Robin’s jealousy

You try to smile at Robin, but it comes out strained. You hop into the car with Avery. Robin reluctantly follows your lead. You try to act naturally, bringing Robin into the conversation whenever Avery ignores him. Robin seems happy you’re paying attention to him, but still extremely out of place. -Robin’s Jealousy +Robin’s love +Avery’s love -Avery’s Fascination 

Avery leaves, and you head to the library. Sydney isn’t there, so you study by yourself until it’s time to go to Science. A group of students pass by you in the halls; they leer at you but don’t say anything. 

Science, math, and English all pass by without incident, for once. You feel yourself begin to relax as you head to the canteen, only to jump when an arm wraps around your shoulders. You turn around. It’s Whitney.

“I’m hungry,” he says. “But I don’t want anything here. Come with us to get a snack.” Your sense of control wavers. Fearful of his intentions, you shove Whitney off of you and try to run, but he grabs your arm. Delinquents pull out their phones and circle around you. You lift the arm he’s holding and swing it to the side, using the created opportunity to elbow him with your unobstructed arm. He staggers and lets go of your arm, nearly falling but just barely managing to regain his balance. You rush to the least populated area of the circle and try to push past the delinquents, but they grab you and push you back in instead. 

You reach for your pepper spray but notice your backpack has been taken from you. You glance behind you, and sure enough, a group of students are rifling around your things. You lunge for them, but they toss it to the students across from them, playing keep-away. 

Whitney is glaring at you from the other side of the ring. He rushes you, and you fail to dodge. He pushes you to the ground, his friends scattering out of reach. You headbutt him on the way down, but he’s got your arms in a tight grip. You struggle against his hold, kicking and squirming under him. Whitney sits over you, straddling your waist and holding your arms in place beside your head. His face is inches from yours, and you can feel his heavy breath on your skin. 

You try to bridge him, but he’s too heavy. You’re quickly losing strength, and Whitney can tell your struggles are becoming weaker. “Just give up,” he says. “Or I might have to do something worse.” Your sense of control weakens. He leans down over you, rubbing his penis against your stomach. You freeze, a sense of cold, numbing dread overtaking you as Whitney climbs off of you. He offers a hand to help you up, and you, briefly forgetting your situation, take it. 

He pulls you up and into his arms with surprising strength, smirking at you as your noses brush. He releases your hand but still wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you from leaving. 

“Can I have my bag back?” You ask, hopefully. Whitney looks over your shoulder at the people rifling through your things. One of them reaches for the side zipper you keep your pepper spray in, and you freeze. 

“She’s got pepper spray!” The short boy exclaims. 

“Holy shit,” a lithe girl says. 

Whitney releases you from his grip on your waist but soon grabs your arm and forces it behind you. You move your left leg around his and plant it on the ground, then you twist yourself away from him until your arm is beside you again. You plant your other foot and lift your left, kicking him in the back of his knee. He falls, but you fall with him. He lets go when you land, and you roll over off of him, quickly standing. You kick him in the groin for good measure and then walk up to the delinquent, holding your backpack and pepper spray. You hold out your hand expectantly and hands it to you stiffly. +Status

You decide to skip lunch and go to the mall instead. You pick up a keychain with a latch and attach your pepper spray to it, hooking it onto your skirt’s belt loop. It took you a while to find the right kind of keychain, and by the time you’re back on campus, it’s already 13:06. +Deliquency

You quickly head into history class, where Winter takes note of your tardiness, and sit next to Robin. He notices your ruffled hair and asks if you’re okay. You smile at him as you take your seat, but he seems unconvinced. You spend the rest of History daydreaming. 

When you get to your swimming lesson, you don’t even have to get naked. Your swimsuit is already under your uniform, so all you have to do is take them off. Your injury yesterday has healed well enough to allow you into the pool, too, so you get to improve your swimming grade. It isn’t until after the lesson is over, and you emerge from the pool, dripping wet, that you realize the fatal flaw with your underwear idea. 

You have to put clothes on over your wet swimsuit. 

Not seeing any other viable option, you put your clothes on over your wet swimsuit. The fabric clings to your body, but it does that anyway. You leave the changing room and head to detention, trying to ignore the stares of your peers as they gawk at your see-through shirt (they can’t even see anything through it, you aren’t sure what they’re staring at.).

Detention only takes ten minutes, so you’re still able to walk home with Robin. He doesn’t say anything, but you catch him taking peeks at your chest every so often. +Love +Lust +Stress

You go to the temple after changing and pick up some pink lichen for your science fair project. 

You think about the last sample of lichen you need and wonder if a £500 prize is worth being molested by ghost tentacles. You wonder if £2,000 is worth being hunted with a vengeance every blood moon.

You do need the money…

——————— 

<Prev Next>

[flokali]

Hi!! I am brainrotting and cannot get it out of my mind, so I thought to share. A very simple thought.

Accolyte Zhongli. Very willing to please et cetera. But biting him? Like come on, biting a Dragon? Is it ownership? Is it playful bite? You know, the sudden urge to bite someone (or is it just me?). So biting a very willing Zhongli.

Sobbing. This will haunt me for a while.

Slight NSF_W

Thinking so many thoughts... happy belated valentines day every1 ><

Warnings: NB! Reader, yandere!Zhongli, SAGAU, implied Dom!Reader/Sub!Zhongli, unhealthy relationship dynamics, biting, soft-violence (?), possessive behavior, jealousy, ask to tag!

Dragons in Liyue are known to be loyal, fierce, and elegant; the stories always describe them as powerful beasts who are to be respected, with sincere hearts and wisdom beyond a mere mortal’s understanding.

In a way, such behaviors did translate to your acolyte, Zhongli. He was one of your oldest followers, not just in age but time serving you, over six millenia he has existed and can proudly state he’s worshiped you for most of it. You would think that the years would have mellowed him out, polished up the edges of his devotion, soothe the tempest in his heart into a much milder dribble, and yet – you knew very few of your acolytes who could rival the passion he seemed to hold towards you.

The relationship between you and all of your followers was strange, at least to you — going from a normal person to being worshiped as a God was not an easy process, much less in a world as different from your own as Teyvat was to Earth — however none were perhaps as strange as the relationship between you and Zhongli.

He is always at your side, from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. At first, his insistence on being your attendant had been met with heavy resistance from the others but his stubbornness greatly overpowered their annoyance; no matter what rotation you were in, Zhongli was always by your side.

You knew of his vessel, Morax, the large dragon that he’d used to fake his death, and you knew that “Zhongli” wasn’t his true form – you just hadn’t guessed some traits would have seeped into the other form or maybe it was simply part of his personality.

He was possessive and overprotective over you, it was like an internal struggle between submission and the need to monopolize you was constantly going on in his head, yet he refused to outwardly admit it.

“I am simply concerned for you, Your Grace.” He’d say whenever you’d bring up his overbearing nature, considering that he and the rest viewed you as an all-powerful being, you’d think he’d have more trust in your ability to protect yourself. And yet, whenever he’s allowed, he’ll always attempt to deter you from leaving his side. At some point you realized it was probably for his sake rather than your own, but by then you had grown endeared to the man and decided to allow it anyway.

Even as your most loyal follower who you spent most of your days with, Zhongli had his quirks and habits about him that simply baffled you – no matter how many days you’d spent with the former Archon, there were just things he’d do and say that’d leave you questioning all you knew about him prior.

All you really knew about him before was reduced to what had been revealed in game, from the Traveler’s perspective and the NPC’s who’d speak about him. Meeting him and interacting with him quickly let you know that his personality, at least when directed towards you, was quite different from what you had assumed from your previous observations.

An example of such discrepancies was his obsessive need to please you.

The traditional Liyue clothes you once complimented him on? Most of his wardrobe has changed to include such attires more frequently. The hair accessory you bought him once when you traveled to Fontaine? You don’t think you’ve seen him without it since. That one time you complimented him when he wore warmer tones? It seems his closet has been rid of any other color.

It was unsettling if not a bit cute, who wouldn’t be a little bit flattered to know their opinion held such weight to a man such as Morax; but it was only a matter of time before it all escalated

Somewhere, at some point, your relationship with Zhongli changed – morphing into something more complex than you would have expected. You would soon wonder if he was classified more so as a lover or some sort of concubinus than a mere helper, his role as an attendant seeming more like a guise so he could spend his time with you each day.

Fleeting touches now lasted longer, the feeling of his hot gaze on you burned stronger with every passing moment, it was a natural escalation; kisses now were no longer restrained to the hand, they now landed on your lips, your cheeks, your neck, wandering hands found their home in your waist and the small of your back.

When he told you he loved you, you knew not if he spoke as a devotee or a lover.

It was during a heated make out session that you found out his weakness to being marked and claimed, much to your surprise. He’d been quite insistent on not leaving a single mark on your person, not a hickey or bite, you guessed it must have been a preference but never asked about it either. You decided that, for the time being, you would avoid the topic until it naturally came up - and up did it come.

You had been on top of him, sitting on his lap and caressing his hair as your lips danced with one another’s, his golden eyes were shut tight in pleasure as he let you use his lips and body as you wished. His hands rested on your waist, tightly gripping at your robes and skin as he desperately clung onto your body. Soft whines left his lips periodically, his breathing was quick and you could feel his heart beating where your chests met.

You playfully decided to trail kisses across his face, at first he whined when he felt the loss of your lips on his but he soon fell quiet – other than a few moans and whimpers – as you left open mouthed kisses into his skin and down his neck.

It’s there that, in the heat of the moment, you decide to bite his neck, leaving a small hickey on his flushed skin. His reaction is immediate; his head falls backwards, his whole body heats up and you feel something stiffen below you, his face burns a bright red as a loud moan escapes his lips. His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your skin to a point you are certain it’ll leave a mark, and his heartbeat quickens; pleasure basically radiates off of his body the minute your teeth nib at his neck.

You stop, teeth sunken into his skin and hand tangled in his hair, his reaction so lewd and surprising you become flustered and stop dead in your tracks.

Zhongli, however, only pulls you tighter into his body, using a hand to press your face deeper into his neck, as if urging you to use more force in your bite – timidly you give in and nibble into his flesh, further deepening the imprint of your teeth in his skin. His whole body feels hot to the touch, his mind feels hazy, your soft bites into his skin send shockwaves through him.

You had no idea what you were doing to him, did you? Or else you wouldn’t have been so careless when picking the spot, but it doesn’t matter, in this moment of intense pleasure, the former Archon decides to give into delusion and believe you knew the meaning behind biting a draconic being such as himself — and in the neck of all places as well.

Old traditions dictate that a bite mark, especially in the jugular or neck, was a sign of ownership. It was often that mates would mark each other in the neck with enough force to leave scars, sinking sharp teeth into one another with ironic tenderness. It showed trust and care for the other, both to be marked and leave a mark, as it required vulnerability and care from both parties. It was a deeply intimate act, one that would be reserved to life-long partners and mates, it was a gesture of possessiveness and devotion tinted with love.

If he were to be honest, Zhongli would have thought himself to be the one to mark you instead of the other way around, it’d been something he’d often fantasized at night before your arrival, and yet, as he felt your — significantly duller teeth — bite into him he could feel his admiration and love for you grow as he became yours; even if you may not have known.

He’d always imagined himself on top of you, your naked form beneath him, as he sunk his canines into your flesh until he tasted your holy blood. He’d imagined himself cradling your pleasure stricken body while you moaned his name, a sinful sound coming from a divine being. Instead, it is himself that lays within your grasp, panting in ecstasy as he holds himself back from coming completely undone and showing a depraved side of himself even he did not know of.

If he was honest, he almost wishes you’d draw blood, sink your teeth so deep into his skin it breaks layers of flesh and leaves a deep scar that could never heal – a sign of your favoritism and ownership, one that he could proudly say was unique to him. If only you weren’t so careful with him, so scared of hurting him; he means no offense, but your current form is significantly weaker than his and he’s survived wars most have not heard of; even if you wanted to sink your nails into his skin and carve your name into his body, he thinks his strength and shear devotion to you alone would prove the pain to be nonexistent.

A gasp of your name leaves his parted lips, it’s erotic - the way his pink lips let a symphony of pleasured sounds - a wave of hormones rushing through his body, sending his brain into overdrive.

You look up at him, not having expected such a lewd reaction, but the sight of his half-lidded eyes as they burn into your own sends a hot-buzz down your spine. His cheeks are flushed, his lips bloodied as he bites them, his bare chest is heaving up and down; the expression on his face is orgasmic. His loose hair sticks to his forehead as sweat runs down his temples, clearly your gesture had taken quite an effect on him.

You slowly remove your lips from their spot, about to question his reaction - wondering if you’d perhaps crossed a line, but he stops you with a crooked smile and warm hands against the back of your head.

“It is okay, Your Grace,” he whispers, tongue darting to wet his drying lips, he guides your head back into his neck, “bite me all you want, my neck is yours for the taking.”

You giggle a bit at his eagerness, feeling his hard-on press against your ass. You playfully adjust yourself in his lap, softly nipping at his neck before biting down in a new spot.

“Ha-ah,” he moans once more, you feel him startle beneath you, “don’t be afraid to draw out blood, either… in fact, please, feel free to do so.”

He can only hope you take on the challenge, eager to flaunt your lovely bites to Neuvillette and any poor soul that even so much as thinks of questioning his position in your life.

[qqueenofhades]

my mom and I are watching the DNC right now and she's feeling the energy too. she's excited. she used to split ticket vote but ever since 2016 she's been straight blue and gone even more left. I have hope 💙

The thing that's been so refreshing about the DNC this year (aside from like, them literally murdering Donald Trump for five hours straight on prime time national TV) is that the Democrats have finally taken back the USA FREEDOM message from the Republicans who have monopolized it since AT LEAST 9/11 and before (everyone once more stare hard at Reagan). That has been used to justify even more restrictive assaults on rights and freedoms, fascism and militarism, etc. (For you younguns, the major surveillance bill passed after 9/11 was literally called the Patriot Act). Basically, if you've been waving the American flag and shouting FREEDUM, you're probably a MAGAist, and that has driven a lot of people away from feeling it and the Democrats from using that message, because they didn't really have a good way to counter it.

But now that the Republicans have gone fully off the deep end of militarized fascist theocratic police state in the name of Freedom (somehow?), and Trump snuggles up to the world's worst dictators and shit-talks America all the time and hurts American people, the Democrats have managed to craft an effective and resonant message that no, WE are the party of freedom and American values-- the best and more aspirational values, rather than the well-known shit ones. And judging from the sheer number of Republican and ex-Trump voters/officials speaking at the DNC, that's reaching and persuading non-Democrats and ordinary people who are responding to an uplifting and joyful message (just as they did in 2008) far more than this constant vindictive hateful negativity and violence that is the only thing Trumpworld is capable of putting out. And I think that's very important.

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in this part.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART ONE.

⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS. 

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. 

Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.  

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago. 

Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting. 

Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way. 

There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God. 

The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy. 

When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much. 

The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.

Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?

Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?

It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.

No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.

Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily. 

Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true. 

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely. 

He needs you. He needs you. He needs you. 

Snow is falling. 

__

Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door. 

He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled. 

He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher. 

“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?” 

You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.

“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,” 

Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up. 

“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?” 

You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself. 

“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?” 

If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.

“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.” 

He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction. 

“Oh, uhm, then,” 

He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back. 

“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.” 

You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares. 

“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head. 

“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands. 

“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,” 

“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,” 

“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts. 

“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,” 

“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?” 

“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face. 

“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,” 

He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens. 

“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!” 

Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.

Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up. 

“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?” 

“Could I borrow your shower?” 

Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things  - sharp and sinful. 

“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,” 

You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse. 

“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease.  Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,” 

“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.

 You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that. 

“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away. 

“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the  bathroom before the conversation is too much. 

“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly. 

“Stupid.”

He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.

“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?” 

“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on. 

When the water rushes, he follows you. 

He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him. 

For someone like you, it’s probably impossible. 

It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5  minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that. 

You trust him, or you try too. 

When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you. 

He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for. 

Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome. 

He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it. 

The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room. 

He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding. 

He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.

 But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.

It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily. 

But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours. 

Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin. 

But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen. 

The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those. 

At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry. 

He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body. 

He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge. 

Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed. 

Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.

( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )

The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth. 

He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm. 

Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself. 

Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking.  It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.

You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you. 

“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little. 

“Morning. Are you making breakfast?” 

“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.” 

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” 

“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,” 

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”

“Get started on some coffee maybe,” 

You nod your head and yawn. 

“Sounds good to me,” 

__ 

You decide to stay for a week. 

More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a  week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.

But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right? 

But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over. 

I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure. 

Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors? 

Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on. 

(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.) 

The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch. 

(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off.  What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand. 

Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. ) 

On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently). 

(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on  your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package. 

“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning. 

“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room. 

The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.

But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it. 

��...Clothes?” You repeat. 

“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.” 

A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.

“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs. 

“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes. 

He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from. 

The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically. 

“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it. 

“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.” 

“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.

“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose. 

“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”

“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”

You snort. 

“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.” 

“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.” 

“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs. 

“Change in management,” 

You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again. 

“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?” 

“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.” 

“Yeah. See you” ) 

If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything. 

The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires. 

On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself. 

Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult. 

On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task. 

You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him. 

(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.

“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.

“...Is it okay to ask what happened?” 

Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly. 

“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around. 

“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.” 

“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little. 

“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.” 

“You say that so easily,” 

Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself. 

“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.” 

For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born. 

It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all. 

There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this. 

He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did. 

Maybe when he was 17.

“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle. 

“How are you not crying?” 

“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.” 

“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,” 

“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that 

“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums. 

“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.” 

“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care” 

“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.” 

“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?” 

“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.” 

You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,” 

“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,” 

“Because of your friend, right?” 

Gojo smiles. 

“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.” 

“Like?” You ask, curious. 

“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.” 

You’re silent for a while, again. 

“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story. 

Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word. 

“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”

He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost. 

“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.

“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout. 

You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.

 You see Gojo as human, still. 

Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late. 

So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him. 

 Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont. 

He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all. 

For now, he smiles at you. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself. 

“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?” 

And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time. 

But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his. 

“Scouts honor,”

When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you. 

“What was that?” 

“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.” 

Gojo stares. 

“Yeah. Thanks.”) 

The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone. 

Today is the 7th day. 

On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.  

Night falls on the 7th day.

Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak. 

Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him. 

He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life. 

And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy. 

The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall. 

Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.

Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed,  so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo. 

You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression. 

The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him. 

Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words. 

“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought. 

He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him. 

Then he talks, his voice tender. 

“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?” 

It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him. 

“W-what are you…? What do you mean?” 

He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this. 

He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free. 

But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you. 

You look so frightened.

“Wh-what are you..?” 

“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,” 

“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,” 

“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”

Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming. 

Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you. 

“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,” 

You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin. 

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?” 

You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo  groans against your skin. You flinch. 

“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown. 

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?” 

“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,” 

“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.” 

“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.  

“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,” 

He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath. 

“S-Satoru,” 

He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head. 

“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,” 

You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are. 

“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,” 

“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—” 

“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,” 

You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists. 

“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.” 

“I don’t,” 

“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know” 

A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles. 

“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.” 

You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him. 

“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth. 

He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in  easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it. 

He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you. 

“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space. 

“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient. 

He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors  - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly. 

“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.” 

Despair flashes in your expression. 

“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.” 

It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question. 

“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.” 

A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound

It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air. 

When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy. 

You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs. 

“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?” 

It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently. 

You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs. 

“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?” 

You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently. 

“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?” 

“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try. 

“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?” 

Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry. 

“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”

It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you. 

“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.” 

So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be. 

“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?” 

You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.

Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless  little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this. 

Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist. 

You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin. 

“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?” 

Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself.  A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt. 

“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince. 

“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?” 

You scowl at him (you try too).

“Open your legs, baby,” 

You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank. 

Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth  too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold. 

He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you. 

Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip. 

It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then. 

He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle. 

When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name 

“Oh, Satoru, its.” 

He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more. 

If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again. 

“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.” 

You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice. 

Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it. 

He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin. 

“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.” 

You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed. 

“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,” 

“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?” 

A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you. 

“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.” 

Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.” 

He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything. 

He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark. 

“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.” 

And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper. 

Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere. 

He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. . 

When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed. 

It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake. 

“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,” 

—

Communication stills. 

Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened. 

He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.

You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch. 

Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.

He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same. 

They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.

What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back. 

But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.

You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take. 

Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc. 

Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it. 

It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go. 

Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown. 

It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.

He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless. 

It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again. 

Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply. 

A way to tend to it. 

Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view. 

He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned. 

A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit. 

The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet. 

“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully. 

He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump. 

He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process. 

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks. 

He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for. 

He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes. 

“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?” 

__ 

At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table. 

The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out. 

There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word. 

So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now. 

The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways. 

The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful. 

Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing) 

At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion. 

The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious. 

At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow. 

The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before. 

At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard. 

He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment. 

When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp. 

He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy. 

You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead. 

He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass. 

If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless. 

But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark. 

So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports. 

When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you. 

Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded. 

(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.) 

He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent. 

He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life. 

He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction. 

At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this. 

The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out. 

It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary. 

Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.” 

“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying. 

“H-how’d you…?” 

“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.” 

You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent. 

“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.

“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?” 

You stare at Gojo for a long time. 

“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.” 

“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.” 

You look agape as he relays this to you. 

“Share…?” 

Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside. 

“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.” 

He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee. 

“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?” 

You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going. 

“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?” 

It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable. 

“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down  silently nd you nod. 

Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you. 

“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.” 

Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings. 

Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges. 

It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.

 It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.

It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together. 

But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide. 

So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared. 

Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.

He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off. 

It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment. 

Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you. 

“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.” 

This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do. 

And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you. 

“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.” 

__

Gojo brings you home quietly. 

When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly. 

It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart. 

It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better. 

He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this. 

All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort. 

Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom. 

Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly. 

Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined. 

He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens. 

He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin. 

“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly. 

“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.” 

This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you. 

“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.” 

You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you.  Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.

He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it. 

So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting. 

He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit. 

Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him. 

From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens. 

Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning. 

You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him  and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?

Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you. 

“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him. 

“Oh?” 

“Can you guess what I want?” 

You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with. 

“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.” 

If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to. 

He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you. 

He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now. 

And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring. 

He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with. 

Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy. 

How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust. 

Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him

The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.

“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow. 

He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.

“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.” 

A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole. 

Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.

He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin. 

“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?” 

“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.

“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily  “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.” 

And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips. 

“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?” 

Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you. 

“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.” 

The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his. 

His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“C’mon. You can look.” 

He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you. 

“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.” 

A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms. 

“Fuck that’s it,”

He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him. 

With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him. 

Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep. 

He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you. 

“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?” 

You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you. 

“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”  

It’s not a question or a request. 

So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there. 

And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down. 

“Hurt too much?” 

“N-no. Just… feels weird.” 

He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter. 

With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.

“Still okay?” 

You nod weakly. 

“Can I move?” 

Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.

So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly. 

‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,” 

He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess. 

“Starting to feel good?” 

“S-satoru.” 

He swears. 

“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.” 

You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.

Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things. 

“Touch yourself for me, okay?” 

You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him. 

He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.

Now this part of you is all his too. 

“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…” 

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.” 

It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.

You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go. 

Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still. 

“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.” 

You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you. 

And with this, he’s taken everything.

EPILOGUE / OVERTURE : 

Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now. 

You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same. 

In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.

But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you. 

The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed. 

That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel. 

(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.) 

This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you. 

You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it. 

Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised  and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.

Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways. 

Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin. 

“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.” 

He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles. 

It is not the cold. 

“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.” 

You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this. 

A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.

[not-terezi-pyrope]

A longstanding opinion of mine that I am feeling increasingly strong about of late (for probably obvious reasons) is that when two heavily armed violence monopolizing nation states start chucking bombs at each others civilians and brainwashed recruits, you really don't gotta pick one to cheer and wave flags for like it's sports.

They're probably both pretty bad! In at least some of their facets, even if others are good and/or justified, because these are comex institutions and not like, a guy, or a conceptual/ideological framework.

But everyone has to pick a camp and flatten "their guys" to an image of righteous heroism and glory. Instinctive identificational emotion fuelled tribalism really is the greatest flaw of our species.

[handweavers]

what do you think of halifax?

i think the city is beautiful but it has a past and present predicated on suffering, to put it simply, and i don't think it's navigating that well. the ambient experience of walking around and existing here is far more pleasant than toronto, in the sense that people are a lot more friendly and kind, the weather is cooler, and being near the ocean is soothing. i appreciate how diverse the city is, that was a pleasant surprise. i hate how much navigating the downtown core requires walking steep uphill. i like the architecture and how old a lot of the buildings are, but simultaneously this 'oldness' is a result of halifax being one of primary landing points for the colonization of the country. the land that halifax sits upon - kjipuktuk - has been a sacred site for the mi'kmaw people for thousands of years, and now it is covered in shipping container cranes and gentrified gastropubs and atlantic superstores. i've been to a few historic sites and museums in the area and it's fascinating seeing how the canadian state limply tries to acknowledge these crimes while reifying itself, like referring to colonial settlement as 'immigration' among other things, and continuing this history of violence through the intense gentrification halifax is experiencing at the present.

many older people i've spoken with have said it has changed drastically in the last 20 or so years, and the overwhelming amount of construction at the moment has made a lot of the city inaccessible. it's also facing a lot of the issues i've seen elsewhere across canada, ie. increased monopolization and the closing down of local businesses because they can't afford to stay open. walking near the waterfront or in the historic district, a lot of the ground is being torn up to build high rises and tourist traps. it's unearthing a lot of iron and clay deposits, among other things, and i think a lot about how the mi'kmaw used to bury their dead here before white people came. there's something deeply sinister about this, and i'm trying to find ways to navigate that as a visitor.

[eunxhan]

❝ You are my object of admiration, my precious and perfect possession. You're mine and only mine. From now on, you will always belong to me, and I'll always praise you and worship you ❞

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Ꮺ 😻 Requested ⨾ Hiii just 😻 Anon passing by again, I wanted to request one final time (for now) a simple yan! bloody marry, Btw luv your writing, Thanks!

Ꮺ Eun Replies ⨾ Hello! I'm so grateful for your request and I'm happy you came by again, Your kind words hit my heart. I love her character and how they design her.

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Ꮺ Disclaimer — I do not condone this kind of behavior in real life situations. Unhealthy relationship, violence, delusion, observation. English is not my main!

Reader & Genre ⨾ GN!reader, ( You, They/them, Darling, Beloved ), Can be seen as platonic and/or romantic

Words used ⨾ 8,100 ( 18 headcanons )

Character ⨾ BLOODY QUEEN / BLOODY MARY

Links ⨾ My Navigation and Mandates

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I view her as a possessive and controlling type of yandere. She would have deep and intense feelings for her object of affection, and a strong desire for exclusive companionship and ownership. Her possessive behaviors would likely involve a willingness to monopolize the affection of the one she loves and a need to control and possess them. She would likely see herself as entitled to the sole attention and devotion of the person she is obsessed with, and would probably use manipulative and aggressive methods to ensure she is the only one who has access to her beloved.

She's very observant when it comes to her object of affection. She would pay close attention to all their behaviour, movements, and actions in order to maintain a high level of control. She would likely be highly aware of any potential threats to her dominance and control over the one she loves, and would be quick to take action and make sure that the one she loves remains dedicated to her and only her.

Mary constantly noticing and observing the minute details of their behaviors and actions. This attention and observation include a heightened awareness of their emotions, thoughts and feelings, allowing her to quickly pick up on subtle shifts and changes in their moods and states of mind. No dear, of course she will not use your emotions against you. She just love watching you.

She's easily jealous and prone to intense episodes of possessiveness when the reader is with other survivors. She would likely become extremely controlling over her beloved, demanding absolute exclusivity and ownership over the reader. Any presence or interactions of darling with other survivors would likely cause intense feelings of jealousy and insecurity in blood queen, causing her to respond with anger, aggression and a desire to remove or eliminate any competitors for the Darling's attention and affection.

She'll become extremely possessive and clingy, demanding excessive attention and time from the reader. She would likely become extremely possessive and possessive over her darling, demanding them only interact with her and no one else. She would likely resort to stalking, spying to ensure their attention and affection remained solely with her. She'll show extreme levels of jealousy and aggression towards any perceived romantic competitors for the reader's affection.

She'll manifest in her intense and unhealthy fixation on her beloved, to the point of losing sight of the difference between fantasy and reality. She would likely start to lose the ability to differentiate between their actions and behaviors in reality and those in her fantasies. She would likely act as if she is actually in a relationship with Darling, and would start to act as if they have actual real feelings for her, blurring the lines between the relationship she wants the two of them to have and the actual state of the relationship.

she's likely be plagued by recurring, intrusive thoughts or urges about her darling, such as the need to possess and control over you, or the need to keep you in her life. These urges would likely manifest in her obsession with you and her obsession with owning the you.

Mary would suffer intense feelings of anxiety and discomfort when those urges or thoughts are not being satisfied or followed, and struggle to function regularly unless she is able to fulfill those urges.

She would likely feel frustrated and angry that you're avoiding her, feeling as if you're purposely not interacting with her and trying to snub her. Bloody queen would likely react with more obsessive behaviors, becoming even more possessive and controlling of you in an attempt to force the reader to interact with her and give her attention. She would likely become even more intense and aggressive, becoming more volatile and unpredictable to force you to stop avoiding her.

Bloody queen would react with extreme anger and aggression if her beloved always hit her with the reality that you don't care or love her. She would likely feel hurt by the rejection, and would likely respond with a strong display of anger and hostility, potentially leading to violence and an attempt to hurt you.

Mary would not handle the rejection well, and would likely respond with more obsessive and controlling behaviors that could lead to a greater level of aggression and hostility.

If she felt rejected and ignored by you during trials, she would likely become very angry and aggressive. would likely feel deeply hurt, angry and insulted by the rejection, and might not be able to control her violent impulses or outbursts. She would likely want to cause physical damage to the reader as well as psychological damage, and an attack would likely be a way to do both.

She would likely attack the reader as a way of venting her frustration and expressing her anger at the reader for not giving her attention and affection. She will launch violent attacks towards you, trying to harm and even kill the player as a way to express her angry and aggressive feelings. She would likely want to make you feel the same way she feels, and would likely want to inflict a similar level of pain and damage that you have caused her.

She would act soft and gentle towards you in certain situations. She'll become soft and gentle when you're showing a level of kindness and compassion towards her that you do not normally have during trials.

There are some cases where you may see a softer side of Bloody queen in certain special events. Mary could show mercy or kindness towards the reader in these situations. Her sudden gentleness toward her darling would be jarring and unexpected after her usual hostile and aggressive behavior, but it would also be refreshing to you.

Though she is known for her violent and aggressive behavior, Bloody queen has also been known to express some gentleness and affection towards the one she loves, and dolling you up could be a way she expresses a softer and kinder side of her. Dolling up her beloved would likely involve applying makeup, hairstyling and dressing them in a way that emphasizes your beauty and appeal to Mary.

Bloody queen likely have a desire to see the one she loves look and feel their best, and this would manifest in her dolling up her lover. She would likely pick out nice clothing, accessories, or hair and makeup that she thinks suits you, and would likely feel proud of the appearance and beauty she has bestowed upon the person she loves.

Bloody queen sees you as a source of satisfaction and validation for her obsessive behaviors and her attachment to you. She would likely want to please you and make you happy, and would likely consider your praise and worship as the highest form of attention and affection.

However, her worship of you would likely be in a somewhat dominant and controlling manner, rather than truly praising and worshiping you as a superior being. Bloody queen might express her praise and worship towards you, but with the intention of reminding and enforcing that you're within her control, and also to further express her authority and dominance in the relationship.

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Ꮺ ⨾ I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING COPIED OR TRANSLATED.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Staat ist diejenige menschliche Gesellschaft, welche innerhalb eines bestimmten Gebietes das Monopol legitimer physischer Gewaltsamkeit für sich (mit Erfolg) beansprucht.

A state is that human society which (successfully) claims the monopoly of legitimate physical violence within a certain territory.

Max Weber (1864 – 1920), German sociologist, lawyer, and national and social economist

[dailyanarchistposts]

Empire’s radical monopoly over life

Ivan Illich was a prominent radical intellectual in the 1970s, but aside from his radical critique of schooling, is not well-known today. For Illich, modern schooling was only one of the many ways that dependence was being entrenched—a dependence not only on capitalist production and consumption, but on a whole violent, industrialized, disciplined, and controlled way of life. His concept of radical monopoly points to something more systematic than the control over a particular market by a particular firm. Instead, radical monopoly gets at the way that Empire monopolizes life itself: how people relate to each other, how they get around, how they get their sustenance, and the whole texture of everyday life. A world built for cars forces out other ways of moving, and modern building codes and bylaws make it impossible and illegal for people to build their own dwellings, or even to live together at all if they cannot pass as a nuclear family. Modern medicine does not just create a new way of understanding the body: its scientific understanding is premised on a radical monopoly over health, and the subjugation (or commodification) of other healing traditions. To be healthy under Empire is to be a properly functioning, able-bodied, neurotypical individual capable of work, and to be sick often means becoming medicalized: isolated, confined, and dependent on strangers and experts. Law, policing, and prisons monopolize the field of justice by enforcing cycles of punishment and incarceration, forcing out the capacity of people to protect each other and resolve conflicts themselves. The rise of industrial agriculture has been accompanied by a loss of the convivial relations surrounding subsistence: the connection to the growing and processing of food, the intimacy with ecosystems and seasons it entails, and the collective rituals, celebrations, and practices that have accompanied these traditions. Empire’s infrastructure induces dependence on forms of production, specialized knowledge, expertise, and tools that detach people from their capacities to learn, grow, build, produce, and take care of each other.

Since Illich wrote, these monopolies have folded into ever more diffuse and generalized forms of control, sunk deeper into the fabric of life. Deleuze called this new form of power taking shape over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries “control societies.”[102] Rather than telling people exactly what to do, this mode of power regularizes life, calling forth certain ways of living and feeling, and making other forms of life die. Surveillance no longer ends when one exits a particular institution: through social media, smartphones, browsing histories, and credit cards, surveillance is ubiquitous, continuous, and increasingly participatory. We are enjoined to share, consume, and express ourselves, and every choice feeds back into algorithms that predict our habits and preferences with ever increasing precision. The performance of self-expression is constantly encouraged, and as the Institute for Precarious Consciousness writes, “Our success in this performance in turn affects everything from our ability to access human warmth to our ability to access means of subsistence, not just in the form of the wage but also in the form of credit.”[103] Under this apparatus, there is little room for silence, nuance, listening, exploration, or the rich subtleties of tone and body language. Anything too intense or subversive is either incorporated or surgically removed by security, police, or emergency personnel. Class, anti-Blackness, Islamophobia, ableism and other structured forms of violence are coded into the algorithms that make everyone a potential terrorist, thief, or error. Even those who are supposed to enjoy the most—those who can afford the newest screens and the most expensive forms of consumption—are inducted into a state of nearly constant distraction, numbness, and anxiety.

Perpetual individualization obscures the crushing collective effects of Empire. When this form of control is working, interactions are hypervisible, superficial, predictable, and self-managed. To be constantly mistrusted and controlled is also to be detached from one’s own capacity to experiment, make mistakes, and learn without instruction or coercion. To internalize the responsibilities of neoliberal individualism is to sink into the mesh of control and subjection. The responsible economic subject owns her own property, pays her own debts, invests in her future, and meets her needs and desires through consumption. She is individually responsible for her health, her economic situation, her life prospects, and even her emotional states. These forms of subjection make it difficult to imagine—let alone participate in—collective alternatives. From the dependence on armed strangers to resolve conflicts, to the hum of an extraction-fuelled world, to the glow of screens that beckon attention, to the stranglehold of policy and bureaucracy, to the intergenerational violence and abuse that permeate lovers and families, Empire is constantly entrenching dependence on a world that makes joy, trust, and responsibility difficult.

It is not a question of revealing this to people, as if they are dupes. Struggling amid these forms of control means grappling with their affective hold on us and our daily lives. Anxiety, addiction, and depression are not merely secrets to reveal or illusions to dispel. Preaching about Empire’s horrors can stoke cynicism or ironic detachment rather than undoing subjection. One can still feel bound and depleted, despite one’s awareness. Empire’s subjects are “free” to be mistrustful and resentful of the system under which they live. One can hate Empire as much as one wants, as long as one continues to work, pay rent, and consume. There is no simple correspondence between intentions and actions, as if the problem is simply figuring out what to do and doing it. Undoing subjection is not about conscious opposition, or finding a way to be happy amidst misery. Challenging Empire’s radical monopoly over life means interrupting its affective and infrastructural hold, undoing some of our existing attachments and desires, and creating new ones.

[nesiacha]

Relations Between Gracchus Babeuf and Jean-Paul Marat

After relaying Babeuf's opinion of Napoleon here https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/767626191447392256/the-journey-of-the-forgotten-french-revolutionary?source=share

It seemed important to me, after having mentioned Albertine Marat, to say what relationships and opinions Jean-Paul Marat and Gracchus Babeuf may have had.

Gracchus Babeuf and Jean-Paul Marat had a rather complex relationship. In fact, Gracchus Babeuf was arrested in 1790 for, as he stated, “having supported that the French, being free, could sow motions in the streets and tobacco in the fields. He was taken from his bed in the night by an armed squad with the secrecy and violence once used by Sartine and Le Noir; and he was dragged from Roye to Paris, where he was incarcerated under an order from the Court of Aids, combined with the Committee of Searches” (National and Political Journal, directed by Salomon [his real name: Antoine de Rivarol, 1743-1801] and before him by Antoine Sabatier de Castres, No. 3, Cambrai, July 1790). He wrote to Marat to inform him of his conditions of detention, arbitrary decisions, and Marat published his correspondence with Babeuf: "These unfortunate individuals were each thrown into a separate dungeon, where they were shackled, and all imaginable precautions were taken to prevent any communication. What are they accused of? Who issued the orders? Why were short-coated horsemen used instead of the National Guard? Why these barbaric precautions, these violations of the home in the dark of night, to drag the poor from their sleep, who appeared to be living without reproach and peacefully in their families? Who could have caused this alarm, fear, and pain? Why this gloomy, dark, frightening procession? Why these chains, these black cells? Why this sequestration of each prisoner, of the rest of the living? Why, why, why? … Important questions raised by these alarming acts of despotism and barbarism, to which every good citizen awaits an answer.” (Babeuf, in L'Ami du Peuple, No. 138, June 19, 1790). Historian Jean Marc Schiappa claims that Marat continued to support Babeuf’s release.

However, there were differences in their opinions, and at times, they harshly criticized each other. An example is the "Joly affair", one of the secretaries of the municipality (unfortunately, I was unable to access the full document due to technical issues, but I will send you the link). They also disagreed in their critiques of Necker, despite both being opposed to him. Marat accused Necker, according to Babeuf's correspondence, of having “sought to restore the chains of despotism to the King, having ceased to appear as the defender of the People at the very moment when his enthusiasm had rehabilitated him; of having cowardly abandoned, in order to solicit clemency for the traitors to the Homeland, the blind trust of this devoted People whose loud demands had brought him back from exile. He had even gone so far as to lead the vile monopolizers, and barbarically tried to make the People perish from hunger.” Babeuf responded, saying: "If Mr. Marat’s grievances were valid, if he could prove what he claims, if while France believed him to be the virtuous Minister and the honest man par excellence, he had the talent to discern a traitor cloaked in the mantle of hypocrisy, and was capable of clearly exposing his black deeds and criminal machinations, his denunciation would become an act of courage and true patriotism, for which the Nation would owe him eternal gratitude. But if this act is merely a slanderous attack aimed at sowing distrust towards an administrator who has become the idol of the Kingdom, such an offense cannot be punished too harshly. Mr. Marat will need strong evidence to justify his accusations when the feelings inspired by the person he accuses are such that the French would hesitate to believe he could do harm, as though they saw him committing it. It will not be with epithets like 'foolishly adored minister,' 'ambitious intriguer,' or 'knight of industry,' and other similar terms that he can make an impression; but with the evidence, which prudence requires always to support anyone who dares to act as a denouncer." Moreover, while Marat constantly attacked Necker, he was also opposed to the maximum and the establishment of stable prices in February 1793, according to Daline (a policy favored by the Hébertists, close to Babeuf, such as Chaumette), while Babeuf, according to Daline's excerpt, believed that the only way to solve the supply difficulties was "taxation," the establishment of stable prices. In his correspondence, he wrote: “Until we come to more decisive taxation, we will always be at risk of shortages, and no committee of provisions will stop us from suffering hunger.” The unfinished manuscript also contains interesting observations by Babeuf about the grain market of Santerre in Picardy, France, as he tried to understand why the grain coming from there to Paris was not reaching the capital.

But in 1793, a kind of rupture occurred between Babeuf and Marat. Mathiez claims it was an act of ingratitude on Babeuf's part toward Marat, but Victor Daline sees it differently. It is important to also understand the private context of Babeuf’s life: his wife Marie-Anne Babeuf , who was his political right-hand (a fervent political activist in her own right), had to give up part of their family credit to pay off creditors, even though they had three children (their daughter Sophie would die of famine two years later in February 1795, to their great sorrow). They were helped by a friend of theirs, Claude Fournier, known as "the American" (another revolutionary figure at the time). In a pamphlet, C. Fournier (the American) wrote to Marat: "Marat, you are not the Friend of the People. True friends of the People do not lightly denounce the best patriots. (…) If you are truly the Friend of the People, if you are truly of that unfortunate portion that has done everything and for whom nothing has yet been done for four years, to whom it seems that no one has even thought of helping, be constantly in the tribune, make it a permanent station, and do not leave until you have achieved what Duchosal and Tallien, friends of the sans-culottes, have dared to ask: THE COMFORT OF THE INDIGENT CLASS, etc..." Dommanget points to a contradiction between Babeuf’s praise of Marat and his attack on him. But let us not forget that Babeuf believed that friendship should not spare criticism. As for his critique of Tallien, he was forced to show that Marat was right in my opinion to present Tallien as “a greedy intriguer seeking positions” (Manceron, 1989). According to Eric Walter, later, Babeuf would break with Tallien, seeing him for what he really was, starting in December 1794. He attacked the world of the Directory in his Tribune du Peuple journal, calling it “fakery” and “mercantile,” and the “empire of the frisure” and the “legislation of the wig” (No. 28). He then attacked Theresia Tallien as a “Messalina,” a “Pompadour,” an “Antoinette,” and other “Venus-Dubarry,” while addressing his fellow citizens: “Frenchmen, you have returned under the reign of the courtesans” (No. 29). (This is quite sexist on Babeuf's part, and I say this while not liking Theresia Tallien at all, but he would have done better to attack her on political grounds, where there was so much to criticize, even if the fact that he saw his daughter slowly starving to death while these people lived in corruption without being able to do anything about it may have fueled his anger. This is clearly not his finest moment, which is an understatement). When Marat was alive, he would speak of "creating a great scandal" in such situations, while Babeuf says he will break windows, “the Tribune of the People here breaks the windows and releases all the important truths” (No. 29).

However, Daline explains that while Babeuf was harsh in his critiques, it did not prevent him from having friendship or admiration for those he truly admired; he just expressed his opinion clearly, even if it was unpleasant for the person he considered a friend. At times, Marat was right about Tallien, while other times it was Babeuf who sought to see beyond Necker's record. Moreover, Babeuf, who received a warm welcome in Picardy, liked the nickname "Marat of Picardy" and was popular there.

Babeuf also had political ties with Simone Evrard and especially Albertine Marat. When Guffroy, his former ally (with whom he would sever ties, much like Fouché), betrayed him, Babeuf, in his own words, “went to the refuge of the family of the Friend of the People. I felt the involuntary movement that pushed me in my distress towards the sanctuary of liberty. I told the widow and sister of Marat what had just happened to the one who had tried to follow in his footsteps.” Albertine Marat would form political ties with Gracchus Babeuf. Albertine Marat was a subscriber to Le Tribun du Peuple, and it was Babeuf who published her letter against Fréron. Babeuf would say of Albertine Marat, "The sister of the Friend of the People has taken a truly wise course: it is good, it is useful that one should follow her..." He also paid tribute to all mothers who “dedicate their entire days to prevent us from starving” and said of them, “But beware, women, whom we have degraded, without whom, however, and without their courage on the 5th and 6th of October, we might not have had freedom!”

Sources:

Eric Walter

Jean-Marc Schiappa

Victor Daline

https://www.jstor.org/stable/41926004?read-now=1&seq=20#page_scan_tab_contents

[secularprolifeconspectus]

Why I call Abortion Violence a Genocide

The reason I stand by my use of "genocide" is because abortion violence follows "The Ten Stages of Genocide" as defined by Dr. Stanton of Genocide Watch in 1986.

To prove this, I will illustrate stage-by-stage how abortion violence meets the criteria of the framework below. Note that I am working from the reasonable premise that all human organisms are people by default, and burden of proof rests on those who claim a class of "human non-persons" exists.

1: Classification

"All cultures have categories to distinguish people into “us and them”. Bipolar societies that lack mixed categories, are the most likely to have genocide."

"Us" is the class of born people, "them" is the class of preborn people.

2: Symbolization

"We give names or other symbols to the classifications. We give the pariah class a name, or distinguish it by colors or dress; and apply the symbols to members of the group."

Born people gave the class of preborn people the name "fetuses".

3: Discrimination

"The powerless group may not be accorded full rights or citizenship. The dominant group is driven by an exclusionary ideology that deprives less powerful groups of their rights. The ideology advocates monopolization of power by the dominant group. It legitimizes the victimization of weaker groups."

The powerless group is The Preborn. They are denied the right to protection from aggressive violence, and they are not recognized as citizens by law. The dominant group, The Born, uses political power and custom to maintain this status quo. Their ideology excludes people with certain age-appropriate limitations of ability from human rights. It advocates for born people to have exclusive power to grant or deny the humanity of powerless preborn people.

4: Dehumanization

"One group denies the humanity of the other group. Members of it are equated with animals, vermin, insects or diseases. Dehumanization overcomes the normal human revulsion against murder. Hate propaganda is used to vilify the victim group. The majority group is taught to regard the other group as less than human. They are indoctrinated to believe that “We are better off without them.” The powerless group can become so depersonalized that they are actually given numbers rather than names. They are equated with impurity and immorality."

Born people deny the humanity of preborn people. The Preborn are equated with primitive animals, property, parasites, or tumors. The Abortion Industrial Complex (AIC) and its activist wing, the Pro-Choice Movement (PCM) uses propaganda to blame The Preborn for patriarchal oppression. The Born are taught to regard The Preborn as not yet fully human. They are indoctrinated to believe that "we are better off without unplanned babies". Preborn people usually are not given names. They are equated with sexual stigma and shame.

5: Organization

"Genocide is always organized, usually by the state, often using militias to provide deniability of state responsibility. Sometimes organization is informal or decentralized. Arms are purchased by states and militias to facilitate acts of genocide. States organize secret police to spy on, arrest, torture, and murder people suspected of opposition to political leaders. Special training is given to murderous militias and special army killing units."

The State sanctions elective feticide and organizes it under NIH population control programs (eugenics campaign by the 20th century elite), using the Planned Parenthood Federation of America (PPFA) to provide deniability of responsibility (see: Alan Guttmacher.) Facilities are built and supplied to facilitate mass feticide. The State uses the DOJ & FBI to spy on, arrest, and incarcerate pro-life activists. The Ryan Residency gives special training to abortionists.

6: Polarization

"Extremists drive the groups apart. Hate groups broadcast polarizing propaganda. Motivations for targeting a group are indoctrinated through mass media. Extremists intimidate moderates, silencing the center. The dominant group passes laws or decrees that grant them total power over the targeted group. The laws erode fundamental rights. Targeted groups are incapable of self-defense, ensuring the dominant group control."

Pro-Abortion Extremists drive the PCM apart from the PLM (Pro-Life Movement). PPFA broadcasts polarizing posts and ads. Motivations for seeking an abortion are indoctrinated through social media. Pro-Aborts intimidate moderates, silencing the center. A Supreme Court decision grants born people total power over preborn people. The repeal of abortion regulations erode the right to life. The Preborn are incapable of self-defense, ensuring The Born have total control.

7: Preparation

"Plans are made for genocidal killings. Perpetrator group leaders plan the “Final Solution” to the targeted group “question.” They often use euphemisms to cloak their intentions. They indoctrinate the populace with fear of the victim group. Leaders often claim that “if we don’t kill them, they will kill us,” disguising genocide as self-defense. Inflammatory rhetoric and hate propaganda are used with the objective of creating fear of the other group."

PPFA plans to increase their abortion sales quota and expand their business into the global south. The AIC leaders plan the "Solution" to the unplanned fetus "epidemic". They call it "healthcare" to cloak their intentions. They indoctrinate the populace with fear of The Preborn. AIC leaders claim "without abortion, women will die," disguising feticide as self-defense. "Gestational slavery, forced birth" and "unwanted children, rapist's baby" are used in order to create fear.

8: Persecution

"Victims are separated out because of their class identity. Sometimes they are even deported or confined and starved. They are deliberately deprived of resources in order to destroy them. Programs are implemented to prevent procreation through forced abortions. Children are forcibly taken from their parents. The victim group’s basic human rights become systematically abused through killings, torture and forced displacement. They are acts of genocide because they intentionally destroy part of a group."

The Preborn class is treated as separate from the rest of humankind because they exist where and how humans do at that age. They are expelled from their literal place of origin, or held captive within it and slaughtered. They are deliberately deprived of oxygen or nutrition. Preborn babies are forcibly extracted from their parents with vacuums, forceps, and curettes. The basic human rights of preborn humans are systematically abused as they are lethally injected without due process and dismembered alive without anesthesia. The unplanned, imperfect, and unprivileged are intentionally destroyed.

9: Extermination

"The mass killing called “genocide” begins. It is “extermination” to the killers because they do not believe their victims to be fully human. Acts of genocide demonstrate how dehumanized the victims have become. Already dead bodies are dismembered. Destruction of property is employed to annihilate the group’s existence from history. They do not differentiate civilians from non-combatants. They result in widespread war crimes: mass rapes of women and girls, all men of fighting age are murdered."

Mass feticide began with industrialization. It is "termination" to the abortionists because they do not believe The Preborn to be fully human. Brutal later procedures demonstrate how dehumanized The Preborn have become. Already dismembered babies are burned for electricity. Disinformation is spread to eliminate the existence of The Preborn from serious consideration. They do not differentiate viable fetuses from unviable. They result in widespread social and economic coercion: the mass predation by the AIC upon vulnerable women and girls, the silencing of all men who would fight for the lives of babies.

10: Denial

"The perpetrators of genocide try to cover up the evidence and intimidate the witnesses. They deny that they committed any crimes, and often blame what happened on the victims. They block investigations of the crimes, and continue to govern until driven from power by force, when they flee into exile. There they remain with impunity."

The AIC covers up the inhumanity of abortion, malpractice at facilities, and extralegal fetal tissue trade. They intimidate PLM activists and deny the existence of abortion survivors. They lie about evidence and falsify data; they gaslight women who regret their abortions as "sensitive to stigma." They block legal investigations by colluding with corrupt officials. Dangerous abortionists continue to operate with impunity until driven out of business by force, when they flee to a vulnerable community and practice under the radar.

Further commentary:

Over the past few weeks, especially with current events between Israel (committing a genocide) and Palestine (Gaza is a death camp West Bank is apartheid), I've gotten more pushback than usual on using the word "genocide" to describe the mass killing of abortion.

And the critics aren't wrong: abortion doesn't fit the definition in the strict sense. If you are limiting genocide to the original meaning, then it refers exclusively to systematic extermination of the population of an ethnicity, nationality, or religion. In fact, in this sense, "holocaust" probably better describes abortion, as it refers to a sacrificial killing en masse; however, calling abortion "THE Holocaust" is anti-Semitic, so avoid the term altogether. Democide is another option, but it is limited to a mass killing executed by a government power.

And simply calling abortion a "mass killing" or "massacre" frankly doesn't communicate the extent, gravity, and urgency of the human rights violation. Some genocide scholars have generalized the term to describe any widespread killing of a targeted class of people.

When I say "abortion is genocide", I don't mean abortion fits the DEFINITION of genocide. I mean abortion violence fits the PATTERN of a genocide. I'm open to arguments against this, but it's where I stand for now, and I hope I have illustrated my argument well.

ps. The genocide of Gaza is NOT up for debate. FREE PALESTINE!

[tobiasdrake]

If we play our cards right, we might not get shot today. Those are better odds than we had ten seconds ago.

You, sir, are a braver man than I. You were hanging onto that thing with one foot in a footrest. You could not pay me to balloon-float from the highest point in the city like that.

Hahaha I don't think you have the authority to make that happen. Everyone, including you, has talked about how this guy's organization are basically the supreme rulers of Kanai Ward.

Son of a fuck I knew I should have thrown you out that window!

Shit, maybe you do have the authority. Halara, kill. Uh, please.

That's not quite the story he told us earlier. He said he has demon blood and that seeing his face causes people to lose their sanity.

Of course, Yuma cut him off before he could tell the full tale, so this might be some of the stuff we skipped. Or he's lying.

Honestly, I think it's a lifestyle choice. He invents stories to avoid having to explain that he wears it because he likes it. Hey, you do you, man. I'm not gonna judge.

Just like that? Man, you have told me outright that the Peacekeepers are basically the rulers of Amaterasu and this company town. I doubt it's going to be that--

Oh, We definitely should have thrown you out that window if you have clout like this. Holy shit.

The CEO can be top dog of a privately-owned company, but a company of Amaterasu's size is likely publicly traded. That would mean the company has a Board of Directors that the CEO must answer to, who are themselves accountable to the shareholders.

That might not be what Makoto's talking about, though. The fraught relationship between him and Yomi is extremely imbalanced. Though Makoto legally holds authority over Yomi, at the end of the day, all of the guns in this city answer to Yomi.

The line between megacorporation and mafia is extremely blurry. If Makoto tries to fire Yomi, Yomi can respond, "Yeah? Well, all of these men with guns say you're fired."

This is a company town. The first right of a government is the monopolization of violence. The Peacekeepers are that monopolization. If Yomi and a thousand men with guns decide that Yomi is God-King of Kanai Ward now, who's going to stop them? The military is always the greatest internal threat to a government.

Makoto is walking a thin line, trying to resist Yomi's consolidation of power without outright provoking Yomi into a full-scale coup.

Of course, like I said back in his tower, being against bad things doesn't make you a good guy. To be a good guy, you have to be for good things. We only know what Makoto's against. As CEO of Amaterasu, he's a key component of the mechanism that made this monster in the first place.

Makoto gives me the heebie-jeebies, in a "The enemy of my enemy can kiss my ass too" sort of way. But I suppose he did bail us out back there, so we owe him one.

...and then what? This is an isolated city-state, my dude. When you declare his exile and he and a thousand guns respond, "No, you go," what are you going to do to make him? What higher authority wields power over Yomi and the Peacekeepers that can force him out against his will?

This is the same problem that Shachi had with his plan to "gather evidence" of Peacekeeper corruption. When he starts shooting, when the streets run pink with the blood of his enemies, how do you intend to pry that power from his fingers?

No matter how sound your logic or how solid your evidence, you can't win a debate against a bullet.

...Did... Did Makoto just gift us a new sub? Ooh, maybe it'll have that new car smell. And bunk beds. I call rooming with Fubuki!

[meluhha]

Brahmin supremacy

Social hierarchy: The Brahmins established a social hierarchy in which they occupied the topmost position, giving them immense power and control over other communities and perpetuating systems of oppression.

Caste system: Brahmins created and maintained the caste system, which divided society into rigid hierarchies based on birth. This system reinforced Brahmin dominance and enabled them to control the resources and opportunities available to different groups.

Caste-based violence: The Brahmins perpetuated violence against lower caste communities, particularly Dalits, through the caste system, which allowed for institutionalized discrimination and violence.

Marriage practices: The Brahmins established strict rules around marriage and family structures, which helped to perpetuate their social and economic power.

Religious monopoly: Brahmins claimed a monopoly over religious knowledge and practice, which allowed them to control and manipulate the spiritual lives of others. This further reinforced their social and political power.

Religious hegemony: The Brahmins established themselves as the custodians of religious knowledge and texts, giving them significant influence over religious practices and beliefs across South Asia.

Cultural appropriation: The Brahmins appropriated and assimilated elements of indigenous cultures and traditions, erasing the contributions of other communities and further consolidating their power.

Intellectual property: The Brahmins often appropriated the knowledge and intellectual property of other communities, erasing their contributions and further consolidating their own power and influence.

Education: The Brahmins monopolized education, particularly in the pre-colonial period, creating a system that privileged their knowledge and excluded other communities from accessing educational opportunities.

Education: Brahmins controlled access to education and knowledge, which further reinforced their social and economic dominance. They monopolized education and ensured that only members of their own caste could become scholars, priests, and teachers.

Land ownership: Brahmins acquired vast amounts of land through various means, such as gifts from kings or temples, and used their wealth and power to further consolidate their control over society.

Land ownership: The Brahmins, particularly in colonial times, acquired large tracts of land, often through exploitative means, consolidating their economic and political power.

Language and literature: The Brahmins established Sanskrit as the language of knowledge and literature, excluding other languages and literary traditions from the mainstream.

Language dominance: Brahmins promoted the use of Sanskrit, which was the language of the elite and the language of many Hindu religious texts. This gave them further linguistic dominance and helped to consolidate their cultural and political power.

Political influence: The Brahmins have played a significant role in shaping political structures and institutions across South Asia, often to their own advantage.

Systematic exclusion of lower castes from religious and social institutions

Appropriation of land and resources from indigenous communities

Imposition of Sanskrit as the language of power and knowledge, leading to the neglect and suppression of other regional languages and cultures

Establishment of a rigid caste system, with Brahmins at the top and other castes relegated to lower social status and economic opportunities

Monopolization of education and intellectual discourse, leading to the suppression of dissenting voices and alternative knowledge systems

Co-optation of indigenous spiritual practices and beliefs, leading to the marginalization and erasure of non-Brahmin religious traditions

Control over political power and governance through the Brahminization of the state

Promulgation of patriarchal norms and practices, leading to the subjugation and exploitation of women and other gender minorities

Promotion of vegetarianism as a moral and ethical ideal, leading to the marginalization and stigmatization of non-vegetarian communities

Use of violence and coercion to maintain Brahmin hegemony and suppress dissenting voices and movements

Creation of a cultural hegemony that has influenced and shaped the social, political, and economic structures of South Asia for centuries

Control over the production and dissemination of knowledge, leading to the suppression of alternative epistemologies and worldviews

Consolidation of economic power through the control of trade networks and commercial enterprises

Implementation of discriminatory and oppressive laws and practices against lower castes and non-Brahmin communities

Maintenance of a system of inherited privilege and power that has perpetuated Brahmin domination across generations

Control over religious and cultural practices, leading to the erasure and marginalization of non-Brahmin traditions and beliefs

Construction of a narrative of Brahmin superiority and moral authority, leading to the internalization of caste-based discrimination and oppression by non-Brahmin communities

Establishment of a culture of fear and intimidation, leading to the suppression of dissenting voices and the perpetuation of Brahmin hegemony

Appropriation and commercialization of cultural artifacts and practices, leading to the exploitation and erasure of indigenous communities and traditions

Creation of a caste-based system of labor and economic exploitation, leading to the marginalization and impoverishment of lower castes and non-Brahmin communities.

[ausetkmt]

In late October 2021, a top U.S. envoy met with Sudanese military commanders and Sudan’s top civilian leader to shore up the country’s precarious transition toward democracy. The generals assured Jeffrey Feltman, then the U.S. special envoy for the Horn of Africa region, that they were committed to the transition and would not seize power. Feltman departed the Sudanese capital of Khartoum for Washington early on the morning of Oct. 25. En route, he received news from Sudan: Hours after he left, those military leaders had arrested the country’s top civilian leaders and carried out a coup.

For the next 18 months, Washington adopted a series of controversial policy measures to both maintain ties with the new military junta and try to push the East African nation back toward a democratic transition. Months of work led to a new political deal that offered, on paper at least, new hope, and some Biden administration officials felt they were tantalizingly close.

But the deal blew up in the eleventh hour as violence erupted across Khartoum last month between forces controlled by the rival generals, Abdel Fattah al-Burhan, who leads the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF), and Mohamed Hamdan “Hemeti” Dagalo, the head of the powerful Rapid Support Forces (RSF) paramilitary group.

The collapse of Sudan’s democratic transition has led to anger and backlash in Washington among diplomats and aid officials, some of whom feel that the Biden administration’s policies empowered the two generals at the center of the crisis, exacerbated tensions between them as they pushed for a political deal, and shunted aside pro-democracy activists in the process.

“Maybe we couldn’t have prevented a conflict,” said one U.S. official who spoke on condition of anonymity. “But it’s like we didn’t even try and beyond that just emboldened Hemeti and Burhan by making repeated empty threats and never following through.”

“And all the while,” the official added, “we let the real pro-democracy players just be cast to the side.”

The conflict between Burhan’s and Hemeti’s forces turned Khartoum overnight into a battle zone that put millions of citizens, as well as U.S. and foreign government personnel, in the crossfire of firefights, airstrikes, and mortar attacks. The fighting has pushed Sudan toward the brink of collapse and undermined, perhaps permanently, a Western-funded project to bring democracy to a country beset by autocracy and conflict for half a century.

People run and walk through the streets in front of an armored personnel carrier as fighting in the Sudanese capital of Khartoum continues between Sudan’s army and paramilitary forces on April 27. AFP via Getty Images

As successive rounds of cease-fires fail, Western officials and analysts increasingly fear that the fighting could lead to a full-scale civil war, bringing a new vacuum of instability and chaos to a region already suffering humanitarian crises and along the strategic Red Sea, through which 10 percent of global trade flows.

“The way things are going, Sudan begins to resemble a massive Somalia of the early 1990s on the Red Sea, a total state breakdown, if the fighting doesn’t stop,” said Alexander Rondos, a former European Union envoy for the Horn of Africa.

Interviews with about two dozen current and former Western officials and Sudanese activists close to the negotiations describe a deeply flawed U.S. policy process on brokering talks in Sudan in the run-up to the conflict, monopolized by a select few officials who shut the rest of the interagency team out of key deliberations and stamped out a growing chorus of dissent over the direction of U.S. Sudan policy.

“From the outset, there was a consistent and willful dismissal of views that questioned whether the U.N. talks would be a recipe for success or for failure,” said one former official familiar with the matter. “Those warnings were ignored, and instead the U.S. built a dream palace of a political process that has now crashed down on the people of Sudan.”

Current and former U.S. officials, many of whom spoke on condition of anonymity, said internal warnings of roiling tensions in Khartoum and a possible conflict were dismissed or ignored in Washington, setting the stage for U.S. government personnel to be trapped amid the fighting in various parts of Khartoum with no advance preparations to move them to safety. In Khartoum, these officials and Sudanese analysts said, the policy was further hampered by an embassy that was for years understaffed and out of its depth, without even an ambassador for much of the crucial period.

A woman inside her house protects her face from tear gas in the Abbasiya neighborhood of Omdurman, Sudan, on Nov. 13, 2021. Organizations called for civil disobedience and a general strike during demonstrations against the military coup. Abdulmonam Eassa/Getty Images

“We seemed to have lost all institutional memory on Sudan,” said Cameron Hudson, a senior associate at the Center for Strategic and International Studies and former State Department official. “These generals have been lying to us for decades. Anybody who has worked on Sudan has seen this stuff play out time and time and time again.”

The U.S. State Department has sharply disputed these characterizations. “U.S. engagement after the October 2021 military takeover was centered on supporting Sudanese civilian actors in a Sudanese-led process to re-establish a civilian-led transitional government,” a State Department spokesperson said in response.

“The United States did not press for any specific deal but tried to build consensus and put pressure on the key actors to reach agreement on a civilian government to restore a democratic transition,” the spokesperson said and added that those efforts included “near constant diplomacy, often working closely with civilians, to defuse tensions between the SAF and RSF that arose multiple times and again emerged in the days before April 15, 2023,” when the fighting began.

Still, for an administration that has made promoting global democracy a centerpiece of its foreign policy, many government officials who spoke to Foreign Policy contended that Sudan could stand as one of the starkest foreign-policy failures, even in the wake of the successful evacuation of all U.S. government personnel and campaign to help U.S. citizens escape the country.

These officials also fear that the crisis could reverberate well beyond Sudan’s borders if the warring sides don’t agree to a viable cease-fire soon, with the risk of rival foreign powers exacerbating the conflict and transforming it into a proxy war.

Interviews with multiple Sudanese activists and civil society leaders, meanwhile, paint the picture of a pro-democracy movement that has completely lost faith in the United States as a beacon for democracy and supporter of Sudan’s own democratic aspirations. Many spoke on condition of anonymity for fear of their safety as fighting continued in Khartoum.

“Either the U.S. and West properly step up or they just need to fuck off because halfhearted steps and empty threats of sanctions, again and again and again, are doing more harm than good,” said one Sudanese person deeply familiar with the internal negotiations. “Our trust in the U.S. is entirely gone.”

Sudanese protesters cheer on arriving to the town of Atbara from Khartoum on Dec. 19, 2019, to celebrate the first anniversary of the uprising that toppled Sudanese dictator Omar al-Bashir. Ashraf Shazly/AFP via Getty Images

After a popular pro-democracy uprising ousted longtime dictator Omar al-Bashir in 2019 and set the stage for Sudan to rejoin the international community after decades as an international pariah, the United States invested countless diplomatic resources and hundreds of millions of dollars in Sudan’s democratic transition.

Sudan seemed poised to be a success story. A popular uprising, led in many ways by Sudanese women, had ousted one of the world’s most notorious dictators. U.S. President Joe Biden in a major U.N. speech in September 2021 denounced the global rise of autocracy and touted Sudan as one of the most compelling contrasts to that trend worldwide after the 2019 revolution. In Sudan, he said, there was proof that “the democratic world is everywhere.”

Just a month later, Burhan and Hemeti orchestrated their coup. Afterward, the Biden administration froze some $700 million in U.S. funds to aid in the democratic transition and, over a year later, issued visa restrictions on “any current or former Sudanese officials or other individuals believed to be responsible for, or complicit in, undermining the democratic transition in Sudan.” The World Bank and International Monetary Fund also froze $6 billion in financial assistance.

But some U.S. diplomats felt that didn’t go far enough and none of those reprisals would directly affect Burhan or Hemeti. A fierce internal debate unfolded. Some officials argued that Washington needed to roll out punishing sanctions against Burhan and Hemeti to bring them to heel and show support for pro-democracy activists. Other officials, including Assistant Secretary of State Molly Phee—Biden’s top envoy for Africa—argued that sanctions wouldn’t be effective and might undermine U.S. influence with Burhan and Hemeti as they sought to bring them back to the negotiating table.

“There was the right thing to do, to show the Sudanese people we were all-in on democracy, to punish Hemeti and Burhan for this blatant coup, and then there was the wrong and slightly more expedient thing to do, [to] just keep working with them after some stern finger-wagging,” said one U.S. official involved in the process. “We chose door number two.”

Jeffrey Feltman, the U.S. special envoy for the Horn of Africa, leaves after meeting with Sudanese Prime Minister Abdalla Hamdok in Khartoum on Sept. 29, 2021. Ashraf Shazly/AFP via Getty Images

Feltman, the former U.S. envoy, said he advocated for sanctioning Burhan and Hemeti during his time in government but in hindsight wasn’t sure if it could have prevented the conflict. “Do I think sanctions ultimately would have prevented them from eventually taking 46 million people of Sudan hostage because of their personal lusts for power? No.”

There were other complicating issues as well. Senior Biden administration officials working on Africa policy were consumed by the war in neighboring Ethiopia, where an estimated 200,000 to 600,000 people died during a bloody conflict in the country’s northern Tigray region. And the U.S. Embassy in Khartoum was understaffed and unable to come to grips with the situation; a full-time U.S. ambassador wouldn’t arrive until three years after Bashir’s ouster. During this time, officials say, Phee took direct charge over U.S. policy on Sudan.

Phee worked closely with a U.S. Agency for International Development official detailed to the State Department, Danny Fullerton, in Khartoum to negotiate directly with Burhan and Hemeti and bring them to the table for a new political deal.

“The embassy was just very beleaguered, with a real shortage of skilled or enough political officers, and both the chargés d’affaires and later the ambassador when he got there were very frustrated with a lack of support from Washington,” said one American familiar with internal embassy dynamics. “It was a group that was out of its depth, overly busy, and, frankly, not as well connected as it should’ve been with the right people in Sudan’s pro-democracy communities.”

This official said severe embassy staffing shortages, detailed in a State Department watchdog report on the embassy published in March, and leadership issues contributed to difficulties in hashing out negotiations with Burhan and Hemeti. But other current and former officials dispute that, insisting that the State Department can still make deals with high-level involvement from officials in Washington, even with an understaffed embassy.

Five current and former U.S. officials and two Sudanese activists familiar with the negotiations said that before the U.S. ambassador came to Khartoum in late 2022, U.S. officials involved in the negotiations with Hemeti and Burhan didn’t do enough to incorporate Sudan’s pro-democracy resistance committees into deliberations on a new political deal with the two generals, nor did they heed warnings about the inherent risks and flaws in a new deal.

A Sudanese woman chants slogans and waves a national flag during a demonstration demanding a civilian body to lead the transition to democracy outside the army headquarters in Khartoum on April 12, 2019. Ashraf Shazly/AFP via Getty Images

These officials said there was mounting dissent in Washington over the trajectory of U.S. policy but that Phee dismissed other policy options, including threatening Hemeti or Burhan with sanctions or other forms of pressure or incorporating Sudan’s pro-democracy groups into the political negotiations. The State Department watchdog report also noted that the deputy chief of mission in Khartoum “at times remained focused on her predetermined course of action and did not consider alternatives offered by staff”—though the report did not address whether this had any affect on U.S. policy.

The State Department spokesperson, however, sharply disputed these characterizations: “While we cannot comment on internal policy deliberations, State Department leaders carefully considered policy proposals and different opinions on our policy on Sudan and did not dismiss or stamp out any dissent.”

All the while, Burhan and Hemeti sought to expand their own power and influence across Sudan, currying favor with foreign powers and setting the stage for a growing rivalry that would later ignite a deadly conflict. Burhan found backers in neighboring Egypt. Hemeti courted the United Arab Emirates and Russia and began deepening ties between the RSF and the Wagner Group, a shadowy Russian mercenary outfit widely reported to be responsible for war crimes in other parts of Africa and in Ukraine. Hemeti, implicated in widespread atrocities in Sudan’s Darfur conflict that broke out in 2003, launched a coordinated public relations campaign to try to transform himself into a statesman on the world stage in what was seen as a political charm offensive and challenge to Burhan’s rule.

Hemeti visited Moscow on Feb. 23, 2022, on the eve of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, to discuss the possible opening of a Russian port on Sudan’s coast along the strategic trade routes in the Red Sea. Some U.S. officials who had been pushing for sanctioning Hemeti believed his brazen visit to Moscow would finally convince top decision-makers to finally pull the trigger on a major new tranche of sanctions. The sanctions never came.

Around that time, at least one memo was written and circulated within the State Department’s Bureau of African Affairs warning of the risks of current U.S. policy on Sudan and listing potential scenarios that could emerge from the rivalry between Burhan and Hemeti, including those tensions erupting into a full-scale conflict. The memo, described in broad terms by several congressional aides and former officials familiar with it, was meant to go to U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken’s desk, but the draft was heavily edited, watered down, and never passed out of the bureau, those people said. “Still, the State Department leaders can’t say they weren’t warned,” one former official said.

Human rights advocates have also criticized the Biden administration’s approach to Sudan in the months leading up to the eruption of violence in April. “By repeatedly failing to hold abusive leaders accountable or making clear, through concrete measures, that abusive behavior would not be condoned, Sudan’s Western partners sent these generals the signal that they can continue holding the country at a gunpoint with almost no consequences,” said Mohamed Osman, an expert on the region at Human Rights Watch.

During this time, Sudanese activists became increasingly disenchanted with the U.S. approach to Sudan. “There was no meaningful commitment that we’d ever seen from either [Burhan or Hemeti], and that was all put aside and sacrificed effectively at the altar of a political process and a political agreement that was never going to hold and that had very little popular support,” said Kholood Khair, a Sudanese political analyst who followed the negotiations closely.

John Godfrey, the U.S. ambassador to Sudan, delivers a speech in Port Sudan amid the delivery of tons of corn as part of U.S. humanitarian support for the country on Nov. 20, 2022. AFP via Getty Images

In September 2022, John Godfrey, a career U.S. diplomat with experience in the Middle East and North Africa and a background in counterterrorism, landed in Khartoum as the first U.S. ambassador to Sudan in a quarter century. Godfrey, officials said, immediately began trying to make inroads with so-called resistance committees and other civil society organizations that had been the driving force in Sudan’s push for democracy.

“He was beset with the cards that were dealt to him,” the American familiar with the embassy’s internal dynamics said. “He was burning the candle at both ends trying to make this deal happen, even if people back in Washington, outside of Phee and the [Bureau of African Affairs], weren’t giving Sudan much attention or thought.”

Even as Russia’s war in Ukraine and the ongoing conflict in Ethiopia distracted most in Washington, Phee and Godfrey—alongside counterparts including senior diplomats from the United Kingdom, United Nations, African Union, and a regional bloc called the Intergovernmental Authority on Development—pushed to restart Sudan’s transition to civilian rule. An apparent breakthrough came last December, when Sudan’s military leaders and some factions of the country’s pro-democracy forces agreed to a new civilian-led transitional government in a matter of months.

But the Western negotiators acceded to demands by Hemeti and Burhan to cut civil society and pro-democracy activists out of the negotiations, giving the military junta an early win over the weaker civilian groups, officials said. The December agreement also left unresolved one major issue that would soon become an explosive one: plans to incorporate the RSF into the SAF to create one unified military force for the country.

People gather to protest the framework agreement signed by Sudan’s military and civilian leaders, which aims to resolve the country’s governance crisis, in Khartoum on April 6. Mahmoud Hjaj/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images

That question fueled more tensions between Burhan and Hemeti in the coming months. Analysts in Khartoum began sounding alarm bells about the roiling tensions that would set the stage for an eruption of violence. The push for the agreement may have exacerbated it.

“There was this absolute desperation to push the final deal over the line to the point of succumbing false hope,” said another person involved in the negotiations.

In Washington, however, plans were underway to celebrate the new transitional government the second the agreement was signed. The embassy continued arranging meetings with Hemeti and Burhan and conducting routine embassy business; an American rock band played a festival in March as part of a State Department public diplomacy tour.

The business-as-usual approach belied the tensions in Khartoum. A signing ceremony for the deal was delayed and then delayed again. Burhan and Hemeti were amassing forces around Khartoum. Some low-level U.S. diplomats and Sudanese civilian negotiators began more explicitly warning their friends and colleagues back in Washington through informal back channels that a conflict seemed imminent.

“People were calling around, saying, ‘You’ve got to pass up these messages to everyone you know in D.C. that there could really be a war, it doesn’t feel like the international community is taking us seriously’” said the American familiar with internal embassy dynamics.

Activists demonstrate in front of the White House in Washington on April 29, calling on the United States to intervene to stop the fighting in Sudan. Daniel Slim/AFP via Getty Images

Top officials in Washington either downplayed or misinterpreted these warning signs, according to six officials and congressional aides familiar with the matter. It wasn’t the first time that Burhan and Hemeti had amassed forces around Khartoum, nor the first time that U.S. interlocutors had to step in to help calm the tensions.

Godfrey and his counterpart from London, Giles Lever, who played key roles in shepherding the December deal to the finish line, left the country on separate vacations by early April, a sign that Washington felt the deal was all but done. Back in Washington, after Burhan and Hemeti signed the agreement, the State Department sent word to Congress that it wanted to ready $330 million in funds to aid Sudan’s democratic transition, according to three congressional aides and officials familiar with the matter. Those officials said the department was drafting a carrot-and-stick plan for Sudan, with the millions of dollars of funding the carrot and new sanctions authorizations a hefty stick.

The State Department had a long-standing Level 4 travel advisory for Sudan, recommending that U.S. citizens “do not travel” there, and sent out one additional security alert, on April 13, advising citizens to avoid Karima in northern Sudan, and barring U.S. government personnel from leaving Khartoum, in light of the “increased presence of security forces.” The United States didn’t issue a broad travel warning urging citizens to leave via commercial air travel, consolidate U.S. government personnel inside Khartoum in the event of a crisis, or order a departure of nonessential personnel as tensions between Burhan and Hemeti reached a boiling point.

“We’re all really questioning why we didn’t do more to prepare for the worst-case scenario,” a third U.S. official said.

Drone footage shows clouds of black smoke over Bahri, also known as Khartoum North, outside Sudan’s capital, in a May 1 video obtained by Reuters.Third-party video via Reuters

On April 15, the tensions between Hemeti and Burhan finally boiled over. The RSF launched what appeared to be a coordinated series of attacks on SAF bases and hammered Khartoum International Airport with gunfire and missiles—effectively cutting off the only viable means of escape in a densely populated city that is hundreds of miles from the coast or nearest border.

At once, the city of some 5 million people became a battle zone. The U.S. Embassy began working frantically to consolidate all its personnel and their families in several key locations. Godfrey, the U.S. ambassador, had rushed back to Khartoum, cutting his vacation short, just before the fighting erupted. RSF fighters carried out wholesale looting and assaults, and SAF troops began bombing sites around Khartoum. RSF fighters assaulted the EU’s ambassador in Khartoum, Aidan O’Hara, and in various other instances reportedly fired on, briefly kidnapped, or sexually assaulted U.N. and international organization workers, according to internal U.N. security reports obtained by Foreign Policy.

The White House, State Department, and Defense Department leaped into crisis mode, working around the clock to draft up embassy evacuation plans. On April 22, a contingent of U.S. troops took off from a U.S. base in Djibouti on three Chinook helicopters and, after refueling in Ethiopia, landed in Khartoum to safely evacuate all U.S. government staff and their families. All the while, top U.S. diplomats worked to arrange temporary cease-fires between Burhan and Hemeti to aid civilians and assist those trying to escape.

“None of the foreign diplomatic missions in Khartoum changed their security posture or staffing levels before the outbreak in fighting, and the U.S. embassy was very focused and effective in consolidating its personnel immediately after the war started,” the State Department spokesperson said.

An estimated 16,000 U.S. citizens remained trapped in the city, including many dual U.S.-Sudanese citizens and a smaller number of NGO and aid workers who worked on U.S.-funded humanitarian and development programs. U.S. lawmakers became infuriated that the Biden administration wasn’t doing more to aid in the evacuation of U.S. citizens after the initial outbreak of the conflict, comparing the fiasco to the ignominious withdrawal from Afghanistan.

The Saudi-flagged ferry passenger ship Amanah carrying evacuated civilians fleeing violence in Sudan arrives at King Faisal Naval Base in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, on April 26. Amer Hilabi/AFP via Getty Images

One resident who stayed in Khartoum was Bushra Ibnauf, a dual U.S.-Sudanese citizen and doctor who had moved back to Khartoum from Iowa. “He had a passion for doing good. I remember him saying, ‘I can be replaced in Iowa, but I can’t be replaced in Sudan,’” said Yasir Elamin, the president of the Sudanese American Physicians Association and a close friend and colleague of Ibnauf. Ibnauf and other doctors ventured out amid gunfights and explosions to provide aid to wounded civilians as the conflict dragged on.

Other Sudanese citizens began trying to make their way out of Khartoum, either by fleeing north to the Egyptian border or on a precarious overland journey to the coast at Port Sudan. “It was hell on earth,” recalled one Sudanese activist who escaped Khartoum. “We only left through the city and all the firefights because we were running out of water. Our choice was either definitely die of thirst or maybe get hit by bullets. It was no choice at all.”

U.S. officials have made brokering a sustainable cease-fire their top priority, but so far no cease-fire has held. Both Burhan and Hemeti have sent negotiators to peace talks in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, coordinated with Washington and Riyadh, but many officials and analysts doubt the talks will lead anywhere after multiple ceasefire attempts failed. On May 4, Biden announced a new executive order granting new legal authorities to impose sanctions on those involved in the violence in Sudan. Some Sudanese analysts doubt sanctions will work.

“The point of sanctions is that it is used as a threat during normal times to prevent bad actors from doing bad things,” said Amgad Fareid Eltayeb, a former assistant chief of staff to Sudanese Prime Minister Abdalla Hamdok before he was ousted from power. “I think right now it’s too little, too late—it’s already a war situation.”

The situation in Khartoum remains dire. “​​I don’t think so-called safe areas right now are going to be safe for much longer because the aim of the game from both sides seems to be total control of the country,” said Khair, the Sudanese political analyst.

A Sudanese person paints graffiti on a wall during a demonstration in Khartoum on April 14, 2019. Omer Erdem/Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

U.S. lawmakers are pressing for new envoys to enter the fray. Rep. Michael McCaul, the Republican chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, and his Democratic counterpart, Rep. Gregory Meeks, issued a joint appeal to Biden and the U.N. to appoint new U.S. and U.N. special envoys to Sudan, saying that “[d]irect, sustained, high-level leadership from the United States and United Nations is necessary to stop the fighting from dragging the country into a full-blown civil war and state collapse.”

Many Western officials fear that Sudan could plunge into civil war if the fighting isn’t stopped soon, but it’s also unclear what a viable cease-fire would mean for any hopes of reviving the moribund democratic transition in Sudan. “This is not yet a full-scale civil war, à la Syria, à la Libya,” said Feltman, the former U.S. envoy. “It’s still a fight between two rival forces. Now is the time to arrest it, to stop it before it spirals.”

All the while, the fighting in Khartoum continues. Some U.S. citizens have found additional ways to evacuate, either with the direct assistance of the U.S. government or of other countries.

Others weren’t so lucky. Ibnauf, the Sudanese American doctor who stayed in Khartoum to provide succor to civilians amid the fighting, was stabbed to death by suspected looters in front of his family on April 25.