#trigger warning: violence/gun

[anothersimlishtragedy]

Part 1 - The Ghost and the Stranger

With a bar of soap in one hand and a pair of trousers in the other, Magnolia sank her hands into the hot water and begin to scrub and lather the material against the textured tin of the wash board.

She plunged and scrubbed the thin cotton chemise she'd been given on her wedding day by her mother. Next was a pair of Hollis' wool socks that had so much sweat and dirt on them they could nearly stand on their own. She grimaced and chucked it into the tub.

The whinny of a horse caught her attention from the front of the house. She stood and quickly wiped her hands on the skirts of her dress, then grabbed her pistol and started around the house.

"State your name!" she shouted to the stranger from behind the mesquite tree, her pistol in hand and finger on the trigger.

"Howdy, Ms. Brannon." the stranger called out from on top of his horse. She had to squint against the afternoon sun to make out the face of a man.

She cocked the pistol and a familiar metallic click sounded as the bullet entered the chamber.

"I said state your name or I'll blow your head clean off your shoulders, mister!"

"Woh, I don't mean no harm....I- I was just looking for the man of the house."

Through the leaves of the tree, she saw him shift in the saddle and grimace, like there was something about him that was hurt. She wasn't risking moving closer to him but something made her step aside from the leaves to get a good look at his face.

"He aint' here." Magnolia said through grit teeth.

The stranger shifted again and his horse whinnied, antsy and frustrated that they were standing still.

"I apologize, ma'am. This is the Brannon homestead, ain't it?"

"You sure got a lot of questions for someone who's got a gun pointed at 'em" she snarled. " I'm going to give you to the count of 3..."

"Name's Brannon. Hollis Brannon, ma'am." the stranger sputtered.

It made sense at that moment. The jawline, the vacant hazel eyes.

"You- you're, Jake's brother?" she manage to breathe out, chest tight and squeezing with every second that passed. She felt violently ill in that moment.

"Yep, his kid brother. Ya see, I was coming to ta-." he reached down towards the revolver on his hip and she fired a shot into the bramble to his left in defense.

"Shit!"

The horse bucked at the sound of gunfire and knocked the man onto the dirt with a thud, then took off like lightning down the road that trailed down to the river nearby.

She closed the distance between them fast. And then there he was, hat in the dirt, looking just like her late husband did 10 years ago. He clutched his right side where his shirt was plastered to his skin, wet and shiny with blood.

"I didn't aim for you." Her brow furrowed.

"Got shot on the road to Brindleton Bay." he winced, trying to sit up, then flopped back onto the dust with a thud.

"Aren't you a popular feller?"

She studied him for a moment, a ghost of her past come back to haunt her in the form of her late husband's brother. After a quick assessment, she knew he'd be too weak to try anything stupid, and she looped his arm around her neck to help him stand.

"My horse." he croaked, lips dry from days riding under the sun.

"He'll be aight. There's a river just down there. I'll go find him in a second. We need to get you on the porch."

"I don't want to impose..." he groaned between heavy steps and arms sagging against her shoulders and neck.

"It's a little late for that, now, isn't it?"

[indigoire]

You know I hate fucking talking about it but I'm literally sick, like physically ill, and I can't sleep or relax, so yeah, let's fucking talk about the hypocrisy of gun violence in America. It's no big deal if a man is shot and killed for dodging a $3 subway fare by the NYPD, but it's a HUGE fucking deal that a CEO was shot and killed for indirectly killing people and indirectly bankrupting families. AND because the CEO was shot and killed, Blue Cross Blue Shield retracted their stupid "no anesthesia after a certain time limit" policy. Talk about direct action.

Like truly, our healthcare system in the US is heartless, it kills us in a million ways. If your life is saved you might be buried in medical bills instead. We've all been subject to its millions of humiliations and degradations. But god forbid we celebrate getting some of our own back. God forbid we should project our anger onto the shooter and feel as if justice was finally, finally served. I think the closest we've come to seeing true justice done on these leeches was back when Martin Shkreli was convicted in 2017. Even then it wasn't half as satisfying as seeing...well.

Meanwhile we are subject to viewing a thousand unjust deaths and injuries, children dying of gun violence in school, innocent men shot down in broad daylight, and with bodycams on our police it doesn't stop it, just makes it so we can see how stupid and incompetent these pigs were before killing their victims.

A baby was shot in the head during a domestic dispute just one month ago. Both her and the mother were killed.

But we can't defuuuund the poliiiiiiice! Think of all the good they do! Like. Uh. Like when--uh. Hm.

So when they say they're looking for the shooter of the UHC CEO I hope they never find him. I hope he lives his best life. I hope other CEOs have at LEAST a few sleepless nights, wondering if they're next. I hope they bankrupt themselves hiring private security. It won't come close to what their insurance agencies have done to the people of this country, but it will feel a little bit like justice. It will feel a little bit like getting our own back.

For my FBI agent: I do not own a gun, I do not condone gun violence. I am not asking folks to arm themselves. I am not asking for retribution.

For everyone else: I am asking for everyone to understand the hypocrisy of these mealmouth politicians and celebrities that condemn the shooting of Brian Thompson but do not condemn the NYPD. That do not condemn police killings all over this country. That do not call for gun laws. That do not call for universal healthcare. That do not call for the dissolution of healthcare insurance agencies.

Deny. Defend. Depose.

[tani-b-art]

Megan Thee Stallion: In Her Words

[micamicster]

Everybody gon respect the shooter

Money Trees by Kendrick Lamar vs The Wire (2002-2008)

[chandisappointment]

Herb min n sol

[fortress-substitution-team]

*peeks head through the TV like from horror move*

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Can I borrow some cheese?

TW BLOOD and GUN VIOLENCE

an advice, don't scare a mercenary.

also, you're still out of cheese.

[zyxwvutbackwards]

Comic UTC - TW: (attempted) gun violence, (attempted) murder, discrimination - read at your own risk, and please take care of yourself!!

HELLO IM BACK — AND WITH A COMIC!!! Sorry for the worsening quality as it goes along and sorry for the very poor pacing - this has been in the works for a while atp, and I realized if I didn’t finish it now I wouldn’t finish it at all 😭 hopefully it isn’t too sore on the eyes!

Anyways, when I first heard about MR Mycheal - and how good etiquette and even good intention would do nothing for him like it does for regular Mycheal - what came to mind was that the most well meaning thoughts have insults laced in them and the most polite people keep their distance. When humans do try to hurt him, he knows just how scared they are; he knows, that in their mind, they think that they’re trying to protect themselves from a monster. He’s the monster, of course he is, certainly not the one trying to kill him. No wonder he thinks all humans are evil…even the “good” ones insult him. How unlovable and alone must he feel? To be rejected by creatures like that?

Anyways, this comic is just to explorer some of the experiences MR Mycheal may have had that make him so much less trusting than the OG! It’s set in kind of a generic time frame, as I don’t know when Mycheal was “born,” and intended to be set just before he stopped making direct contact with humans overall. Hope that makes sense!

MR Mycheal/Mushroom oasis is by @deerspherestudios

[triscribe]

So y'know what is scarier than a single shooter in a school?

A group of teens deciding they're gonna work together to kill as many people as they can.

Thankfully, in this particular instance, they were reported by a third party, so the boys involved who separately brought bullets and at least one gun to the school where my mom teaches were caught and arrested over two days. But fuck, word's going around they were planning to pull the fire alarm, fill the main halls, set up on the second floor balcony and just... hnn.

I took her some lunch today, got to see the lingering police presence, and unintentionally stuck around long enough to hear her spiel to the handful of kids present in her fifth period. My mom's not the sort to sit quietly if shit's going down, that's for sure. She treated it like any other class activity, showing her students where the skinnier ones can go out a particular window to hide on the roof, and the bigger ones where she's arranged a chair and desk and bookcase by the wall so they can literally climb up into the ceiling. Make sure to close the window afterward, last person up pushes the foam tile back in place, have it look to anyone coming in like there weren't any students present at all. And she finishes this with "and see? the coat rack inside this closet comes loose. nice solid piece of metal here. worst comes to worst, I'm sending you all out, and putting myself next to the door. key rule of being in close quarters with a gunman, you go for the knees, then the head, and don't stop hitting until they stop moving."

One of her girls got overwhelmed at this point and began quietly crying. 15 or 16 years old, just. dismayed that this is something real. something they need to go over. Two thirds of that school's student body were out today, kept home by worried parents, and the ones who still came were pretty evenly split between laughing it off, and cracking under the fear.

None of them deserve being in that position. Not the kids, not the teachers, not the office staff or kitchen workers or janitorial crews. But most of all-

A grey-haired, overweight ornery woman in her fifties with a makeshift bat shouldn't be the last line of defense between teenagers and assault rifles.

[davycoquette]

ruck rucking dies

He doesn’t deserve to die the way he does.

What the outlaw Ruck Ward deserves is to stand on a platform on a sweltering August afternoon in the deep south of Butler County and hear his sins read to him aloud. To stand powerless before God and man awaiting reconciliation. He should be spat on and scorned and his head wrapped in a hemp sack, and the last thing he should hear is the snap of his own neck before he’s suffocated by his weight and the weight of the suffering he’s caused. He should be buried in an unmarked plot and his name should never be heard again.

But there is no such thing as justice in this world. He was fond of saying that, once.

It is quick. Painless.

He doesn’t see it coming. The bullet pierces just above his eye and cavitation turns his brains to slush and the exit wound yawns at the back of his head. It tears the soul right out of him, and his body sways back drunkenly then drops out of the saddle into the infinite dust and that is the end. He is none the wiser.

The period of peace and silence and non-existence happens outside of time. As he becomes cognizant again he thinks maybe he’s been reborn, because it feels like shackles have been cut away and something evil has been dug out of his heart — but there is a sense of loss, too. Something that is dear and precious to him has been left behind in that other end, where his body lies under a circle of vultures in the squirming, arid heat.

— an excerpt of random exposition on the death & reincarnation — the reintarnation, if you will — of the outlaw Ruck Ward.

[azuramarigold]

A story focused on a young Yuji already harboring Sukuna as a vessel and it's up to teenage sorcerers of Tokyo Jujutsu High School to go and help him! Involves a parental Kento Nanami and Gojo with his usual antics.

Please note that the AO3 link has the proper fonts used in the fic for Sukuna's dialogue.

Chapter 2: The Mean Voice

Summary:

Due to Yuji's episodes, Wasuke Itadori decided that he was going to take his beloved grandson to an old friend from high school in order to help him. Meanwhile, a voice is able to have full conversations inside Yuji's head - too bad he happens to be mean.

Notes:

** TRIGGER WARNING!! ** Mentions of blood and violence in this chapter! Also gun violence.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

It was the fourth night in a row, Yuji felt the burning sensation all over his body.

            He gripped his stomach and panted, feeling tears sting in his eyes. A maniacal laughter buzzed in his head like an annoying insect, mocking him.

            A child…? They expected me to take a child…? How pathetic and weak.

            “IT HURTS! STOP IT!” Yuji screamed in pain. The burning was intense, like a fire was deep in his belly and was getting hotter and hotter. He screamed again.

            “Yuji…!” He heard his grandfather barge in. He cradled him in his arms and began to rock. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay… just resist, okay…? You’re a strong boy…”

            Old Man, this is futile, and you know it.

            Yuji sniffled against his grandfather’s shoulder, feeling his hands grip against his shirt.

            “Grandpa…?” Yuji sobbed. “Why does it keep hurting…?”

            “Yuji… we’re going to go somewhere in the next couple of days,” his grandpa said to him gently. “I have a friend who is going to help…”

            “H-Help…?” Yuji hiccupped.

            “Yes.”

            Old Man, are you going to try to put me dormant again…? Heh…

        Yuji felt his face burning, knowing those odd marks are there again. He never knew what they were, but they were terrifying. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror, he saw himself smiling, but he knew it wasn’t his smile. At five years old, he knew something was wrong.

            “Fight it,” Grandpa encouraged. “You’re a strong kid… You always have been.”

            And he wasn't wrong either. Once the boy was able to grasp objects, his strength was abnormally strong – he had nearly broken Wasuke's finger from grasping so hard. Taking the boy to any doctor was a complete nightmare – Yuji fought tooth and nail against anyone that tried to give him a shot or examination of any kind; he was discharged at more than one office due giving nurses and assistants black eyes and other injuries.

            But Yuji wasn't just strong physically – he was strong mentally too. He took everything with a smile, not letting anything get to him.

            Except right not his screaming in pain and fear was what about to break him.

            The boy took a deep breath, fighting off whatever was deeply cackling within him. The burning subsided, and he felt his eyes drooping with exhaustion.

            “Thata boy…” his grandfather sighed with relief.

            Yuji felt the marks fade from him, him collapsing into his grandfather's arms. He was breathing heavily, his energy depleted. He felt his body be carried into his grandfather's room so he could sleep with him, his pink hair being brushed back gently.

            When he had these episodes, he was allowed to miss preschool the next day. Yuji was thankful as he was drained and didn't remember to keep his strength in check; there was more than one occasion he accidently tapped a kid too hard in tag and they collapsed to the ground and nearly broke an arm or collarbone.

            It was now the day that his grandpa said that they were going to a friend of his that was going to help. His grandfather didn't elaborate on who they were going to visit, just that she was an old friend of his from back when he was in school. Yuji didn't question it.

            Outside was cool due to it being early Spring, so he was put in a yellow spring jacket that had black stripes with a small hood with rounded ears; when he put the hood on it made him look like a small tiger cub. He insisted on wearing his red rain boots with a cartoon picture of a tiger on the side that faced the outside and he wanted to carry his stuffed tiger toy with him as well.

            His grandfather didn't refuse the requests.

            The two sat on a bullet train, Yuji kicking his feet in excitement as he played with his stuffed toy on his lap. Other people around were commenting that he looked adorable and asked how old he was, and he would proudly state he was five and in preschool.

            “Those other people are staring too…” Yuji whispered to his grandfather uneasily.

            His grandfather looked to where Yuji was alluding too and gave a frown. “Just ignore them, it's okay…” he told him.

            Yuji found it difficult, they had large, creepy smiles with unnaturally sharp teeth. Multiple eyes blinked and it was almost like a dark veil wisped around them. He didn’t like it at all, but he did as he was told and continued to focus on his tiger plush.

            The train stopped at Kyoto and Yuji fought the urge to run off the train like a bullet. There was almost a mocking laugh in his head.

            Really boy? You're that scared? How pathetic… They're so weak even you can kill them with a flick of a finger!

            Yuji felt his grandfather grasp his hand and lead him off the train. “Alright, Little Tiger Cub, let's go meet my friend, alright?” he said to him.

            “Okay, Grandpa,” Yuji replied softly.

            The train station was crowded, so many people in one area that Yuji didn’t know could exist. He held his grandfather’s hand a bit tighter so that he couldn’t get separated from him. The two walked for a bit, the intercom overhead announcing the schedule, girls and boys in various school uniforms walking around and chatting with each other.

            After walking up a set upstairs they were met with sunlight and more crowded streets. A woman greeted them near the exit, long dark hair streaked with silver with kind, yet hard gray eyes. She had a few scars on her face, which was a shame as she looked like she could be a nice grandma.

She wore what looked to appear a Miko Shrine Maiden outfit, however, the traditional scarlet fabric was replaced with a dark, navy-blue as though made of shadows, and the white was almost a sickly gray - it was a stark contrast and almost uneasy. A black bow was tied around her waist, the center pinned with a button in a deep red, a full circle in the center as it flowed like a wave from four spots before connecting as a circle around.

            “Wasuke, it’s been quite some time,” the woman hummed.

            “Minori,” Yuji’s grandfather replied to the woman in familiarity. “I wanna say it’s been about… thirty years…? Maybe a bit a more?”

            “Something like that,” she guessed. “Time has not been kind to you,” she commented.

            “Curses have not been kind you,” the old man retorted.

            Minori grimaced. “It’s part of being a sorcerer,” she clicked her tongue. She then saw Yuji and gave a smile. “And this is your grandson you were telling me about…?”

            “Yes, this is him, Yuji.”

            Yuji stood up straighter, trying to be polite. “Hello…! I’m Yuji Itadori! I’m five years old! I love tigers! I can count to twenty!”

            The woman chuckled. “Wow… twenty, huh?” she humored. “And what is your tiger’s name?”

            “Tetora,” Yuji smiled brightly. “She’s my tiger plushie!”

            “That’s adorable,” Minori said sweetly as she placed a hand on his head. “He looks a lot like Jin…” She then commented.

            “Yeah…” Yuji’s grandfather replied softly.

            Minori gave a slight frown as her hand hesitated. “So much… there shouldn’t be this much in a tyke like him…” she murmured. “Let’s head to the school, I’ll be able to look at him better there.”

            “Haven’t set foot in Kyoto Jujutsu High in so long…” the old man sighed blissfully.

            “You could’ve made an amazing sorcerer, Wasuke,” Minori informed.

            “And had my family in danger constantly? No thanks!” the man stubbornly grumbled. “Why do you think I had to take Yuji out of Sendai?”

            Minori then offered her hand so that Yuji could take it freely. “How would you like to visit where your grandfather and I went to school together?” she asked gently.

            Yuji’s eyes widened in excitement. “Yeah! Yeah! Let’s go!” he shouted gleefully. He immediately let go of his grandfather’s hand and grasped Minori’s.

            You Brat, this is a trap! Let her go this instant!

        Yuji ignored the angry voice in his head - he always did. The voice wasn’t very nice anyways.

            Minori chatted with Yuji’s grandfather as they walked for a few minutes. Yuji didn't know what they were talking about, but he was more preoccupied with staring at people anyways. They were led to car that had a young woman with short black hair in the driver seat.

            “Still using Assistant Managers, Minori?” Wasuke asked.

            “Makes the bureaucracy of everything easier,” Minori pointed out with a slight shrug. She opened the back door and let Yuji inside and the Wasuke so that he could assist the boy oin a child's seat that was already in the vehicle. Minori got into the front passenger seat and the driver began to drive.

            Yuji began to hum to himself, continuing to play with his plushie while occasionally staring out the window; the buildings passing by were large and unfamiliar compared to the small town he and his grandfather were living in. After a bit of driving, the driver stopped in front of a path that led to a wooden bridge to a remote building surrounded by blossoming Sakura trees.

            “Couldn't update the place, huh?” Yuji heard his grandfather grumble.

            “You know as well as I do the energy that flows here, Wasuke,” Minori reminded curtly. She then got out of the car and opened the back to remove Yuji promptly, causing him to giggle. “Now, little Yuji, let's get you inside so we can talk more, okay?”

            “Like what?” Yuji asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.

            “Like…” Minori tried to think for a moment. “Let's see… you have nightmares, right…?” she then asked tentatively. She recalled the sudden phone call she received from Wasuke one day, him panicked regarding his grandson. Minori hadn’t heard from the man in a couple of decades after he had moved to Sendai and started a family - she had met Wasuke’s son, Jin, by chance when she was out and about one day in the Tokyo area and the Itadori family was there as well for an event. Minori didn’t even realize that Wasuke had changed his last name after he had left Kyoto, using his mother’s maiden name.

            Yuji's lower lip trembled. “Y-Yeah…” he admitted. His brown eyes glossed over, suddenly looking terrified.

            “You wake up screaming, your grandpa told me.” she then revealed. “Do you ever… see a man that looks a bit similar to yourself…?”

            Oh, this bitch!

            “Are you talking about the one with the black marks…?” Yuji then asked as he pointed at his face. “Like a human tiger!”

            Minori's eyes widened at the comparison, her expression turning grim. “A human… tiger…” she repeated slowly.

            Yuji gave a frown. “He's not very nice,” he then said. “He's always yelling.” He then proceeded to point at his head. “He calls me ‘brat'.”

            Because you are, Brat!

            “He just did it now!” Yuji wailed in complaint.

            Minori was already walking down the path to get to the bridge, Wasuke following close at her heels. Her expression was grim, and she was absently patting back Yuji's hair and murmuring softly.

            “Minori…!” Wasuke's voice broke her thoughts – it sounded as though he was trying to get her attention for some time.

            “He's already taking hold of Yuji’s soul…” Minori grimly whispered. “That’s too soon… the boy is too young… this could kill him…”

            “What!?” Wasuke hissed angrily. “I know your Cursed Technique let's you see into the age and history of the soul… but how can you tell!?”

            “Ryōmen Sukuna is already trying to take hold of this boy's soul as a vessel,” Minori explained, her finally reaching the main building.

            “And… how!?” Wasuke demanded, his frow furrowed.

            “I've already told you Jin’s connection when I met him,” the sorcerer reminded him, causing the man to grimace. “A reincarnated soul… and not just any reincarnated soul, but the reincarnated soul of the twin of Sukuna – one that was unknown to the world of Jujutsu.

            “That woman, Jin’s wife, must've known this connection somehow… and Yuji was the result… a crafted vessel for The King of Curses himself…” Minori sounded so defeated and angry at the revelation. “He is such a sweet boy… why… all this Cursed Energy… what was bonded with him…?”

             “I have no idea… I always suspected he was almost like a Cursed Object himself…” he admitted.

            They made it into one the buildings and headed into what looked like an infirmary, the room being stark white. Yuji squirmed a bit in Minori’s arms, him already getting ready for a fight as he did not like doctor offices. Once in the room, Minori shut the door behind them and locked it promptly so they wouldn’t be interrupted. She then set Yuji on the examination table, which caused him to try to wriggle his way off, however, Wasuke forced him to stay on.

            Minori pursed her lips, glancing at Yuji, who was looking at her with wide, brown eyes. “Sukuna left behind twenty fingers,” she then mused aloud, trying to figure out what could be the binding medium.

            “I think I would know if my grandson stuck one of those in his mouth,” Wasuke deadpanned.

            “No… it wouldn’t be like that…” Minori informed. “He would’ve been born with it… or at least placed within him shortly after birth”

            Wasuke’s face twisted in disgust. “That is… disgusting,” he commented.

Minori only hummed in agreement as she then placed a hand on Yuji's stomach and closed her eyes, a blue of energy engulfing her hand.

            Oh…? Feeling me out? Not a wise decision foolish woman.

            Immediately, Minori took her hand off the boy. “That presence… so powerful…!” she nearly gasped.

            “Was he being mean…?” Yuji asked in almost an annoyed tone. “He’s always mean…”

            I will rip your tongue out, Brat…

        The voice sounded more irritated than threatening.

        Minori put a hand to her head. “I should be able to suppress the binding medium to keep Sukuna unconscious,” she informed Wasuke. “He may have intense power at this state, but it’s not enough to overpower my ability to suppress his soul to a deep slumber.”

            Wasuke nodded his head. “Okay, good, and it won’t hurt Yuji?” he then asked worriedly.

            The woman grimaced slightly. “It might be painful for a moment because there will be resistance… but this is the best course of action,” she explained. She leaned down and patted the boy’s hair back. “And I should be able to suppress his ability to see curses as well… and suppress his memory of what happened the last few months… He can live a normal life as long as he doesn’t go near a powerful Cursed Object like Sukuna’s Fingers or Heaven forbid ingest one.”

            The old man took a deep breath and sighed. “Okay… Minori, I trust you, I wouldn’t have called you or asked the help of someone from the Jujutsu world if I didn’t…” he said to her.

            Minori smiled. “I know…” She went to put her hand on Yuji again when there was a sudden gunshot in the distance. Her hand was hovering over Yuji’s abdomen when her head snapped up. “Wh-What was that…?” she asked slowly, her voice stammering.

            “A gunshot…?” Wasuke answered, his voice just as confused.

            More gunshots rang out. Each gunshot sounded closer and closer to the room, a few bodies sounded like it hit the ground.

            “Are there students here…!?” Wasuke demanded, his tone laced with panic and worry.

            Minori shook her head. “N-No, they’re out on a couple of missions with teachers, that’s why I chose this day for you and Yuji to come… The only other people here are a few Assistant Managers.” she replied.

            “Good, no other kids,” Wasuke sighed with relief. He pulled out his knife and it glowed blue with Cursed Energy.

            “Don’t you dare!” Minori hissed angrily knowing how stubborn her old friend was.

            “Keep Yuji safe-” Wasuke tried to say but he was cut off when another bullet rang out. The sound of splintering wood rang through all their ears in the room as Yuji screamed in panic. Wasuke’s knife slipped out of his hands, and he crumpled to his knees, scarlet splattering to the once pure white floor.

            “WASUKE!” Minori screamed.

            “GRANDPA!” Yuji cried out.

            The door was kicked open and three people entered in, completely dressed in black. One of the men kicked Wasuke to the side and he collapsed against the wall with a grunt, the red blood smearing against the wall. One then aimed a gun at Minori as she desperately grabbed Yuji and held him close to her chest to protect him.

            “Who the hell are you!?” Minori demanded angrily, her arms tightening around Yuji.

            “We’re here for the Vessel,” one man replied emotionlessly. “Just give him here and maybe we’ll let you live.”

            Yuji’s body was trembling, his hands gripping tightly around his plushie. He could feel Minori’s arms tightening around him to the point where he almost couldn’t breathe.

            “What need do you have for a five-year-old child!?” Minori spat furiously.

            “The Vessel of Sukuna,” the man repeated, clearly annoyed. “Hand him over, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

            “Over my de-”

            BANG!

            Yuji felt something warm and sticky drip onto the top of his head and slowly stream down his cheek. His hand hesitantly touched his cheek and there was the bright scarlet on his fingers. His vision went blurry as tears began to flow, mixing with the blood to almost make it look pinkish. He began to scream loudly.

            “Damn it, now the kid is crying,” the man muttered. He bent over and yanked Yuji from Minori’s limp arms, his tiger plushie being left behind, soaked in her life’s blood.

            “N-No…!” Yuji wailed. “She needs help…!”

            “Quiet, Vessel!” the man snapped as he slapped a piece of duct tape over Yuji’s mouth. Before Yuji could rip it off, his arms were forced behind his back and then tied.

            Ah, a kidnapping situation…? I wonder who they are… They don’t need to be so rough.

        Yuji didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. The man that was being mean held him as the other two were in front with their weapons pointed around. When they said things were clear they all left the building and headed toward the bridge to leave the campus. Yuji saw the person who drove him and his grandpa there in the black car, but they were slumped over the wheel, blood seeping from a wound from their left temple.

            Yuji squirmed in his restraints and was trying to scream through the tape, but it was no use. He was stuck.

            He was taken to a white van and was tossed into the back like he was a sack of dirty laundry. Around him was other guns and weapons, but there were also many books that were written in a different form of Japanese that Yuji didn’t recognize. What Yuji did recognize was a few painted illustrations of the person behind the mean words in his head - the same pink tuft of hair, the tattoos, four eyes that were a blood red…

            It’s the meanie!

            That’s me you insolent, Brat! Ryōmen Sukuna, the King of Curses!

        The King of MEANIES!

            Brat, if we weren’t sharing the same soul and body right now, I would SMITE you!

        Meanie.

            And here I was worried about your wellbeing, Brat.

        Yuji.

            Brat.

            The van began to drive away from the Kyoto Jujutsu High School campus, the three men talking to each other about how they finally have the Vessel and step one of their plans were complete. Yuji had no idea what they were talking about - all he knew was that his grandpa was now gone, and the nice grandma-type of lady was too.

            Tears stung his eyes at the realization. He never knew his mom and dad, and now the man that was raising him was gone.

            It’s my fault… I did this…

***

10 Minutes Earlier

The Assistant Manager, Yuko, was waiting in the car as instructed by Minori after dropping her and the Itadori’s off at the entrance path to the school.

            After roughly ten minutes of waiting, she noticed a white van pull up. A frown etched on her face. They weren’t expecting anyone else on campus that day, and all the students and teachers were off on missions. The only people at the school were a couple of Assistant Managers doing paperwork and Minori with the Itadori’s.

            Three men exited the van and went to the back, unloading guns and making sure they were loaded up.

            Yuko felt her jaw drop. She had to warn Minori. She dialed her number from her phone, but the phone rang, and she heard it next to her. Minori’s cell phone had fallen out of her pocket and fallen between the seat of the car and the door without her noticing.

            DAMN IT!

            It seemed the three men had heard the phone ringing, Minori had a loud and annoying ringtone from an American singer named Katy Perry with the phone blasting “Hot N’ Cold”. Yuko didn’t know who else to call as all the Kyoto sorcerers are on missions that could last days. In a desperate plea, she dialed the number of one of her friends that was an Assistant Manager at the sister school, Tokyo Jujutsu High School.

            “Hello…?” her friend answered.

            “Hey, it’s one of those managers!” one of the men shouted.

            “Just shoot her…” the head one sighed in annoyance. “It’s not like they can really fight anyways.”

            “Hey, Yuko, what’s going on!?”

            “Right, boss!” the one man said.

            “After all, we’re just here for Sukuna’s Vessel…” the head man sighed with annoyance.

            BANG!

            “Y-Yuko…!? YUKO!”

            She never replied.

Notes:

* Minori never got married and had children. She was close with Wasuke when they were students. If he had stayed as a sorcerer, she most likely would've ended up with him. * I chose an unorthodox color scheme of the Miko clothing for Minori as Utahime already wears the traditional Miko attire. There are multiple colors, but each one has a significant meaning depending on the level you are with the shrine and if you're a priest. With Minori, I decided on not using traditional Miko colors and gave her the color scheme more seen with the Jujutsu High School uniforms (blues, navy, grays, blacks). - No matter what universe, Sukuna will always call Yuji "Brat" lol - "Tetora" translates to "iron tiger". For females it also means radiance and brilliance. "To be strong as a tiger." - Yuko is a name I have used in a Ace Attorney fic; it's unisex and means "helpful child". Yuko was just trying to be helpful :(

[noheroessarge]

muse: Leo Barnes (The Purge) open to: 21+ only please / mutuals and non-mutuals / other canon horror muses, multifandom crossovers, OCs, whatever! triggers: canon-typical, including mentions of death/dead bodies, genocide, guns, violence, classism, racism, ableism, police, grief

21ST MARCH 2028

― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ―

EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM

WEAPONS OF CLASS 4 AND LOWER HAVE BEEN AUTHORIZED FOR USE DURING THE PURGE. ALL OTHER WEAPONS ARE RESTRICTED.

GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS OF RANKING 10 HAVE BEEN GRANTED IMMUNITY FROM THE PURGE AND SHALL NOT BE HARMED.

ANY AND ALL CRIME, INCLUDING MURDER, WILL BE LEGAL FOR 12 CONTINUOUS HOURS.

POLICE, FIRE, AND EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES WILL BE UNAVAILABLE UNTIL 7AM WHEN THE PURGE CONCLUDES.

BLESSED BE OUR NEW FOUNDING FATHERS AND AMERICA, A NATION REBORN.

― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ―

07:26:03 LEFT OF THE ANNUAL PURGE

― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ―

With one exception, Sarge had never cared for Purge night. It went against everything he'd sworn to do as a police officer. Protect and serve. It had been hard to argue with the results those first few years though because it seemed like it worked. Overall crime did go down in the country, and it stayed down. His job got easier. Then his world ended, and he believed in the Purge a lot. The Purge kept him going that whole first year. The Purge would get him the justice he'd never see in a courtroom. The Purge would set him free.

Yeah, grief could mess with a man's head like that. It wasn't until that night that he started to see it for what it was. Who was mostly likely to be a target. (Not him.) Who suffered the most on those nights. (Not him.) And who stood to benefit the most from things staying exactly as they were. (Not. Him.) It was unfairly stacked against people of color, people of low income, people who couldn't protect themselves. And, naturally, the New Founding Fathers liked it that way. Crime wasn't lower because people got to purge their darkest impulses once a year. It was lower because it cleared out all of society's "undesirables," and the government no longer had to pay to protect them. And when the Purge wasn't effective enough on its own, they sent their own people to help.

He would know.

He hadn't been able to stomach going back to the force after that night. He'd worked on the edges of private security for a couple years but hadn't yet decided if it was going to work out. Nobody needed a bodyguard more than on Purge night, and he wasn't quite willing to give this up. He'd been warned to stay out of it, warned not to play hero, but shit, it wasn't illegal. Nothing was tonight. The worst they could do was kill him, and that could happen just as easily if he was sitting at home as out here in the thick of it. (Maybe not just as easily. But he'd rather be a dead hero than a sitting duck.)

It wasn't that hard to tell the government Purgers from the regular population if you knew what you were looking for. They were better trained and better funded. Sure, you'd get the occasional rich asshole on a murder spree, with piles of fancy or custom weapons they had no fucking idea how to use, but more and more these days, the rich preferred to Purge in the privacy of their homes. Get someone old or sick or dying to come on Purge night, pay their family an enormous sum of money for their sacrifice, and never risk a damn thing. You could bet the government would be extra and trained. He fucking hated those semi-trucks with the automatic weapons in the back, take out a whole block at once like it was a goddamn genocide. (Wasn't it, in a way?)

He'd gotten lucky that first night. Few people had ever dared to fight back against that kind of weaponry. He'd caught them off guard. They were prepared now, but he was too. The explosion had knocked the semi on its side and left a crater in the street, and it was a chaos of gunfire and screaming. His team might not be well-funded or ex-military, but with a sniper rifle at that range, they didn't really have to be. There were plenty of people who hated the Purge even more than he did, and they were more than willing to hit back in any way they could. A little strategy, a little target practice, a little contracting, and you got this, a little street guerilla warfare.

When everyone with body armor, gas masks, and automatic weapons was on the ground, dead or dying, he stepped out from his cover but didn't holster his gun until it was clear he wasn't being shot at. Most of the people who had been hauled out of their tenement buildings to be slaughtered had already fled at the first opportunity, but a few had stayed behind, too shocked or injured to run. All of his team wore the same matte black mask, featureless and invisible in the shadows. It was an extra precaution; they'd already thrown out a signal jammer for the cameras. Everything might be legal on Purge night, but there were 364 other days in the year where "accidents" might happen to people who fought back.

He pushed it up to reveal his face as he knelt by a girl, maybe eight, frightened and bleeding. "Hey, it's alright. Can I have a look at that?" He nodded toward her arm, gently inspecting the three-inch gash in it, likely from being pushed to the ground. "It'll be okay. Hold it up like this to stop the bleeding. You got somewhere safe to go?" This he directed at the woman who had joined them. Mother, aunt, older sister? He had no idea. When she shook her head no, he produced a business card with a single address printed on it, no other information. "Memorize it. Head that way and take a left on 5th. There are weapons and medical supplies. You'll be safe there until morning." The card disappeared back into a pocket, and he nodded a goodbye as they started down the street. He needed to move too, before the next wave, before all the noise brought vultures of a different kind down on them.

It was instinct that had him pointing the gun before he even understood what the threat was or if there was one. He couldn't see clearly enough in the shadows of the alley to tell whether it was victim, threat, or something else entirely, but he hugged the building for cover and kept his aim steady.

"Come on out of there. Slowly."

[sirfrogsworth]

I was curious what the comment section on Fox News was like regarding the Allen, Texas mass shooting.

I scrolled through about 50 comments and none of them showed any sorrow or sympathy for the victims.

Every single comment was a mental scramble to blame anything other than guns.

I saw three people independently blame TikTok.

One person blamed Gen Z and their rampant mental illness.

One guy complained they never show videos of people defending their homes with AR-15s.

And the most popular comment was people suggesting we need a more heavily armed populace who carry 24/7.

They continue to cling to the "good guy with a gun" trope. Even though this situation did have a good guy with a gun. The shooter was able to kill 8 people before he was taken out. Several mass shooters have only had ~30 seconds to a minute before they were stopped and were still able to do extensive harm.

But sure, let's ban TikTok and see if that does anything.

[mournwatches]

❝ YOU KNOW… YOU MAY NOT BE AWARE, BUT THEY CALL ME IN FOR VIOLATIONS, NOT PROTOCOL. YEAH, IF MY NAME IS IN THE LOGBOOK, THEN ETHICS IS NOT A PRIORITY. I'M A… LISTEN. I'M A VERY BAD PERSON. I'M A SCARY MONSTER. I'M A… I'M… I'M NO GOOD, HUGO. I'M TROUBLED. ❞ / MR. OSMUND PRIEST.

[pfhwrittes]

Snippet of 'That Time I Fell into Another World and Found Out the Video Game I Only Know Exists Because Of Sleep Token Is Real and Saved One of My Favorite Characters But Then They All Read the Smut I've Written and Saved on My Tablet About Them and Now I Want to Die' (yes that is the whole ass title,)

Rough Draft

When you wake up in the hospital (at least you hope it's a hospital) everything feels gross and just ew. From your greasy hair and itchy scalp to your somehow both oily and ashy skin. The cannula in your nose that you can feel go into your stomach to feed you. Your mouth that is sour cotton. The sticky leads on your chest that connect to the EKG that's beeping your heartbeat. The feeling of glue and stitches on your abdomen from the gunshot (OH LORD YOU HAD BEEN SHOT) wound. The weird compression device that is massaging your calves in a way that makes you think of how a butcher massage meat while cutting it. Honestly though the biggest discomfort is the damn catheter and plastic IV tube in your hand. You desperately want to rip them out but can't. Cracking open your eyes and lord the crusties along your lash line makes you want to gag.

Next to the non-stabbed with an IV tube hand is the bed remote along with the nurse bell. Pressing it desperately hoping the nurse will come soon because the feeling of gross is just overwhelming.

Looking around the room your eyes settle on a familiar blue cap. Oh. Oh no it was real. The cap is pulled low over his eyes arms crossed legs spread, god he is beautiful. He seems to have heard you waking as a small smile spreads across his face.

"morning visitor from another world."

"how." Swallowing trying to keep your voice from cracking. "How do you know that?"

He looks up and when your eyes meet you want to fall into them. The video game didn't do him a lick of justice. Self-conscious with how much you must look like a warm pile of shit. Why do you have to be in such a sorry state when you're meeting one of the prettiest men alive? What deity did you piss off to be cursed like this?

"your laptop." He popps the p lingering on the letter as horror blooms in your chest. "And e-reader were surprisingly easy to crack. Was a bit surprised to see ourselves as video game characters not to mention those stories." He purrs the last sentence and nope this is worse than your sorry state. "those stories are a treasure pet. What nasty little things you are desperate for us to do to you." His eyes gleam with a tricksters light.

Oh fuck, you really wish the truck has killed you now.

HEY FOLLOWERS COME GET SOME FRESH WIP WEDNESDAY STUFF FROM THE WONDERFUL STIGGY of @stigandr-the-cat FAME! (that includes you @mortuarywriting!)

stiggy i LOVE this whole concept and i'm beyond honoured that you decided to share it with me! i'm hooked and jeeeesus i am DYING from the second hand embarrassment already.

[kapreday]

I've been working in US elections for 10 years, this is my first year off the cycle since I was 18. I feel like Cassandra. I feel Apollo targeting me with that damned red dodge ball. I speak it into existence because I am afraid.

I feel like we are rapidly approaching a mass shooting at a polling place in the US. I have felt the inevitable gunning down of Democracy by right wing radicals breathing down my neck since 2012. January 6 and Project 2025 are just a taste of the violence being prepared by a vocal minority of fascists.

I hope by naming this fear I diminish it's possibility. But I'm still just waiting to see the news headline that an urban predominantly black polling place was shot up by white supremacists.

[morganmerylhodgepodge]

I love it when he says the thing

I unfortunately could not figure out how to simplify his Hawaiian shirt :-(

Ironically all this started out with the thought of how I should simplify drawing bodies. bleh.

Joe Barbaro from Mafia 2! I always loved in a gunfight when he says this :-D